Hunt

Victory Park is important. This is going to be the clue that leads me to her.

I scanned the space, hoping to find her within the growing darkness.

It was so vast. She could be anywhere.

Victory park spread over several city blocks, with fields of grass, towering trees, and a landscape of flowers on all sides. The vibrant place had five massive fountains spouting water and dozens of sculptures covered in lounging birds.

During the day, children played on the grass and floated kites on a breeze that caressed the flowers. Food trucks lined the front, luring employees to come out during lunch. The aroma of food, flowers, and fresh air thrilled the senses.

Throughout the afternoon, running groups congregated near the fountains, stretched, and then raced on the long meandering paths. During lunch, yoga classes met throughout the park.

It was calming to enjoy the park’s sounds—kids laughing, birds chirping, water rippling and flowing.

But at night, the park shifted into a nightmare that fascinated and disgusted me at the same time. It was a cruel playground for the left-behinds of humanity—the homeless and mentally ill, the drug dealers and drug users, the pimps, prostitutes, and runaways.

The streetlights cast a haunting yellow glow across the grounds. Rats scurried around, nibbling on dropped food from earlier in the day. And the scents from the day were drowned by the stink of the night. Dirty sex soaked the air and merged with the odor of meth pipes and marijuana smoke.

At this time, the sounds of misery filled the air—deep mournful cries mixed with pleas. Many times I left my bench and went in the direction, wondering if someone needed help. Usually, it was a homeless person crying for a child or loved one they’d lost.

Gunshots sounded too. They were sharp and sudden, like the rapid popping of popcorn. Next, screams of horror ripped through the air.

How did she sleep here?

Around two in the morning, this old man would arrive in a black van with no license plate and tinted windows. Each time, he left the van with an armful of puppies and walked over to another picnic table near the bathrooms.

None of the older street kids ever went to him. A few of the younger runaways appeared eager to play with one of the puppies. Always, the older kids held them back.

With that, the old man played with the puppies for an hour and then left. The first time he came, I had Griff follow him to his house and get his information. When I had time, I would kill him.

I knew without a doubt that the man came to hunt the teens.

How did she fucking survive?

To me, Phoenix was a delicate bird—petite, yet curvy, with a lovely ass. She provided hope in a hopeless world.

And all I could do was wait like a starved man desperate for another taste.

Because of her, I’d become born again for the third time. The first birth, I was a new helpless infant, entering the world.

The second, I awakened bathed in the Reverend’s blood. That one transformed me into a monster.

This third time, Phoenix lured me out of the monster’s sick cocoon. Before her, I had never experienced such intense bliss. I found myself undergoing a new sort of metamorphosis. And I didn’t know what I would become. I just knew that it would end and begin with her.

She was the lock and key.

The question and answer.

I couldn’t live without her.

The thought of not finding her terrified me.

I felt like a beast. A beast that had been caged. A beast who’d just woken up from a thousand year slumber. A beast who was terribly, terribly, terribly hungry. A beast who wanted to get out of the cell, to feel the taste of his mate’s blood.

Although impatient, I was set on my obsession.

When I didn’t carve my angel, I picked up my favorite book called, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. It was by Patrick Suskind. I’d read it many times before, but this time it rang truer to my soul. It was all about obsession and for once I understood the hero more than ever before.

The novel was a terrifying examination of what happens when one man’s indulgence in his greatest passion leads to murder. The hero’s sensual obsession was erotic and animalistic. With this latest reading I finally understood the story on a primal level.

I would kill for you, Phoenix? Do you understand?

I read the book during the early hours of the day, when I didn’t think Phoenix would appear. But I never read too many pages. Only a few at a time.

Always, I looked up from the book and checked to see if she appeared. Always, I stayed focused and ready.

Do you understand how patient I am, Phoenix? Do you understand that there’s no other option for me?

Griff’s voice flowed through the bud in my ear. “This is a waste of time, Cain. She’s not coming to this park. She’s long gone, man.”