Undercover Hunter
Author
Rachel Lee
Reads
18,0K
Chapters
16
Prologue
Calvin Sweet knew he was taking some big chances, but risks always invigorated him. Coming back to his home in Conard County was the first of the new risks. Five years ago he’d left for bigger cities because the law seemed to be closing in on him.
Returning to the site where he had hung his trophies was a huge risk, too, although he could claim he was out for a hike in the autumn mountains before the first snows fell. There was nothing left, anyway. The law had taken it all away, and the sight filled him with both sorrow and bitterness. Anger, too. They had no right to take away his hard work, his triumphs, his mementos. His boys. He knew his mother would be proud of what he’d done, but the proof that he’d appeased her was gone.
They’d taken it all away. After five years all that was left were some remnants of cargo netting rotting in the tree limbs, the remains of a few sawed-off ropes.
But he could close his eyes and remember, and remembering filled him with joy and a sense of his own huge power, the power to purify them forever. Calvin had saved them.
Unlike his boys, he was filled with great purpose, a purpose handed down to him by his mother.
From earliest childhood he had been fascinated by spiders and their webs. He had spent hours watching as insect after insect fell victim to those silken strands, struggling mightily until they were stung and then wrapped up helplessly to await their fate. Each corpse on the web had been a trophy, marking the spider’s victory. No one ever escaped.
No one had escaped him, either.
But his boys were gone, carried away to a different fate on cold slabs and cold holes in the ground. Honored no more, at least not by him.
He stood for a while, remembering, then turned to begin the trek back to the ranch. A small ranch, left to him after his mother’s death long ago, but it was isolated enough to pursue his calling, and without his mother around it would be even more private. He considered it a bonus that construction at the new ski resort had begun. An influx of people for the jobs made his return even less remarkable.
These past years, moving from city to city before he could be found, he’d had to give up a lot of his boys, which had left him feeling incomplete and unsatisfied. Certainly there’d been no spiderwebs. Well, he could rebuild his triumphs here. Not in the woods, perhaps, since they’d found his first group, but maybe in the barn loft, out of sight? He needed to think about it.
He really wanted his web again, his carefully preserved trophies. He wanted what every spider wanted, and he’d find a way. The need was growing stronger. He needed to act again, and he needed to honor those who sustained his soul. He also needed to carry out his mission of purification. Sometimes, though, he lost track of what mattered more: his mission or his need. In those moments, he felt a little confused, but eventually he righted himself.
A cautious part of his mind warned him to wait a little longer, to make sure his plan would work. Soon that voice would give way to the compulsion that filled him, making the whole world seem luminescent, especially the chosen one.
But for now he suppressed the need. He wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was quite smart, as proved by the fact that no one had come for him yet. He knew he was committing crimes. He just didn’t care. His mission was bigger and more important than mere mortal laws.
He was himself chosen, just like a spider, to be exactly what he was.
Chosen. He liked that word. It fit both him and his boys. They were all chosen to perform the dance of death together, to reach the ultimate purity. To sacrifice the ordinary for the extraordinary.
So he quashed his growing need to act and focused his attention on another part of his life. He had a job now, on the crisis hotline. Calvin had worked at them before, which had gotten him a job almost the instant he walked in the door. Five evenings a week for four hours he answered telephones and talked with distressed people: victims of rape, of domestic abuse, and the ones who interested him the most, the desperate boys.
He was whistling now as he walked back down the mountain to his truck. A spiderweb was beginning to take shape in his mind, one for his barn loft that no one would see, ever. It was enough that he could admire it and savor the gifts there. That he could bask in the purity of his successful missions.
The impulse to hunt eased, and soon he was in control again. He liked control. He liked controlling himself and others, even as he fulfilled his purpose. Self-control was everything, as his mother had often reminded him.
Like the spider, he was not hasty to act. It would have to be the right person at the right time, and the time was not yet right. The right times were coming to him more often now as he grew in strength.
But first he had to build his web.
