Spoiler! :
I watch. I wait. I plot. I am patient. I am the hunter.
I like to portray myself as a highly skilled hunter like a tiger in a forest, shadowing its prey but skilled enough to never give away their position to its intended victim until, sadly it is too late. As any hunter, you must stalk your prey even in the most foulest of weather, when the wind blows ferociously and its cold and crisp breeze numbs your skin and the rain pours down in sheets, drenching you, making the bitter cold seem insignificant in comparison. It thrills me and it makes me feel alive, more alive than I've ever been. It elevates my senses I am one with the wind and the rain.
It's amazing how people run like rabbits when it begins to rain; I see no reason to because as a hunter, you only run when you’re in danger. But right now I am calm, and I am patient, for I am the hunter.
Cars go swishing past at a breakneck pace. I walk close to the gutter parallel to row after a row of houses, the water splashes up at me from the passing vehicles. I take no notice as more icy water is dumped over me. What's it matter? I ask myself.
I continue to walk, rather I limp. Despite the icy cold, my arthritic riddled knee continues its warm, yet dull throb of pain. As a hunter, I must disregard this minor inconvenience and push on. I walk on as the ever persistent rain continues to fall on my eyes and cheeks. I reach a hand up and grip my dripping wet black fedora hat. A notice the peculiar glance I get from a passing by car. I know what I must look like, an aging man limping down the pavement dressed in in an all-black ensemble, I assume I look like a washed up drunk as well, with nothing to live for but too walk, aimlessly around until my body can no longer carry on the task of life. My fedora feels squishy upon my touch, like absorbent paper towel. I grip it harder and casually throw it into the gutter. Then I watch with amusement as it is whisked away along the current made by the rushing water. It reminds me, in a less confused time in my life, before I became a hunter where I had a small, yet stylish boat, black in color. It had been my most favorite possession. Given to me by my young and vibrant, we were going to be married.
But the boat and my wife are gone from my life now, swept away just as the current took away my unusable hat. So fast it had been, but do I really care? It’s a question I continue to ask myself, but maybe she was the reason I became the hunter.
I remember my wife she was the woman of my dreams, her angelic voice, a voice as sweet as honey that had melted many a heart in her short lived life, the same voice still haunts my dreams and I swear I can hear her down the hall; it echoes and carries in the home I had bought with her. She had loved that house; it was to be our dream house, with the quaint little windows that were circular shape and the drapes she had ordered before we had moved in with the deep purple color that I had hated but I let her have them anyway.
The door from which we had carved our initials into, I held her hand, it was soft like lamb’s wool as she carved out her name. She whispered in my ear, I had felt her breath upon my cheek. She had said to me on the door step of our recently purchased home as the sun began to set from behind us and the birds sang harmoniously from the apple tree. “I love you, William Jensen and you better not forget it.” I smiled looking up our freshly carved names and replied, “No one can knock that.” This brought a smile to her face; it lit up her entire face. Her cheeks were rosy red like the roses I had planted myself just earlier that day, “Oh William.” She whispered. With a smile I had gathered her in my arms and carried her into the house kicking the door back into place as I went. She giggled and withered in my arms, “Will, stop that.” She yelled. She was hitting me playfully upon the back of my head knocking off my fedora in the process. “Sorry honey, no can do on that request, care for another?” I had said, beaming with affection.
They were good times, but do I truly want them back? I wish I could say I did, but I am the hunter now. But she is always on my mind, on those lonely nights where the wind blows and the rain spits at the window, as if it wants to come in. It’s her I know it is, I could hear voice coming from the wind, it howls for me and her purple drapes dance in the moonlight as if mocking me.
Those nights remind of when I could feel her weight, as I held her body in my once strong and toned arms. Blood was dribbling from her mouth I didn't care; I pressed my lips against hers. I could taste mingling flavors of her coppery tasting blood and her strawberry lip balm. Oh how I had cried for her tears rolling down my cheek, I was crying in the raid, rocking her half naked limp body back and forth in that cold bed room, where the wind and rain and blew in from the opened window.
But I am the Hunter now and that is in the past and I shall have my last hunt. I reach a trembling hand into my pocket, my heart sinks. But then my shaky hands grip the piece of hotel note pad paper with the address of my last hunt and a wave of relief washes over me. I take it out, instantly it becomes soaked making the scrawl almost illegible but not before I read the address. My eyes were still strong unlike the rest of my decaying mind and body. I throw the crumpled piece of paper away no longer needing it.
My last hunt's door lay before me. The rain was deafening upon the tin roof of the rather grand house. I draw in a mighty breath. I called upon my all my composure to make my hands stop shaking. Even the third time, I still had the shakes when it neared the end. Admittedly it fear was a contributing factor, but it was far from the greatest. I knocked; my hand began to buzz after just one knock. The cold had indeed worked its way into my fingers. I paused. I could hear nothing as the rain overcame any other noise that I had hoped to hear. Suddenly the door opened. At first I was taken back, there was no one standing before me.
"Mister?" A voice inquired, I looked down, a small child stood before me, or rather, below me. I gulped; my mouth was dry like sand paper. I had not expected this, even with all my surveillance I had not seen a child here before.
"Ah, yes. Um would your dad be home?" I said, trying to sound as normal as I could. The child just stared back at me suspiciously.
The child turned her head and yelled down the hall. "Dad, some old guy is here to see you." And with that, she ran down the hall and into her room. And then, it was just me and the rain and the wind again. I felt calmed by it. My ears perked up when I heard a man’s voice gruff and angry. “What on earth do you want? I’m sick of you people coming to our door trying to sell merchandise that I don’t need. I haven’t the time for this shit!”
I didn't answer, I only just waited patiently at the door, hands in the pockets of my dripping wet pants, one hand gripped the cool metal....I am patient, for I am the Hunter. I plot, for I am the Hunter.
Just as the man reached the door, I shrieked like a frenzied man, the blood was coursing through my brain at ha high velocity, I was running on adrenaline, "And you are my hunted!" I drew my gun, a little silver Colt firearm I had gotten in my time in Vietnam.
I levelled it on my kill's head. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets and his neck became a crimson red with shock at what was pointed at him and his bald head began to shine like a lake with a thin covering of sweat, "Hey man, chill. I-I-I have plenty of money, you're welcome to it," he pleaded with me.
My lip was trembling. I whispered, "Rape."
The man only stared back wide eyed like a deer caught in the lights of an oncoming truck, and my, wasn’t that truck, going to get him good. Edging backwards, he looked back over his shoulder. I took a step forward. Despite my earlier shakes. My hand holding the gun was perfectly still. “Don’t worry about your daughter, she will be safe. As far as I know, she ain’t done anything wrong.”
"Sir, please sh-sh-show mercy, I-I---."
"Shut up," I roared, I had not come half way across the country to hear a blubbering rapist and murderer, I went on, “You and your mates never showed mercy to my wife did you? You each took a turn, I bet you went first. Whose idea was it to kill her? It was you weren’t! You raped and killed my wife!"
I paused, waiting for his reply. My heart was hammering hard in my chest, my eyes firmly transfixed on this bastard before me. His expressions were blank, but only momentarily. Knowing dawned on his face. I knew then that everything I had said was true.
He stammered, "Look mister, we were young, maybe only sixteen at the time."
"Does it matter what age you were." I spat, the man jumped back taking a further step back down the hall. I mirrored this move.
I fingered the safety, I felt sick to my stomach. "I am no longer patient. I have plotted, and I'm sick of watching you. For I am the hunter, and you are my hunt.”
I stabilized my gun, it began to shake again. I could see my dead wife's eyes in my mind. They blazed a fierce green. I love you honey, I felt her soft hand holding my arm with the gun just like when I had held her hand when she had carved our names into the wooden door of our home, I stopped shaking. Brilliant warmth erupted up my arm and my kill began to briskly walk back ward knocking over a vase as he did so. He fell over with a crash.
“My name is William Jensen and I shall have my sweet revenge.”
“Please stop,” they were my kill’s last words. He held up his hands, to ‘protect’ his face.
“Sorry you little shit, no can do on that request, care for another?”
He opened his mouth to speak. He never got that final request.
I stood there, looking at his lifeless body. It was if a an almighty weight had been lifted from me. I felt free for the first time since my wife had been killed. My gun lay limply by my side, wisps of smoke filtered up from my hand. I squatted down, looking deeply into his face. I spat, my saliva began to slide sickly down his cheek. It looked like a tear.
"Good, cry for what you did to me."I said solemnly.
Then a voice echoed down the hall. "Daddy?"
I help up my gun again. My wife's spirit with me. "I am the hunter." I whispered.
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