Succulent Prey (30 page)

After driving for hours without stopping, Professors Locke and Douglas pul ed

up outside the state hospital only to find it swarming with police and news media. They were too late.

They parked the car in a parking lot

across the street from the hospital and walked across the four lanes of slowmoving traffic, making their way through the crowds of onlookers and

newshounds to get to the police officers. Professor Locke ran up to the yel ow

crime scene tape, ducked under it, and

seized the nearest officer. Professor

Douglas was right behind him.

Douglas was right behind him.

"You there! Officer! What happened here?"

"Who the hel are you? Get back behind that barricade! "

"I'm Professor John Locke and this is Dr. Martin Douglas. We're here looking for a murderer."

"Wel , take your pick. There's about a hundred of them locked up in that

hospital. Now please step back."

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing that concerns you. Now get the hel back behind that tape!" The

exasperated officer be gan forcibly

pushing the two professors back into the crowd.

"I need to know what happened. Has there been a murder? Has someone

been arrested?"

"If you don't step back, your ass is going to get arrested!"

"But we may know something that could help you," Professor Douglas spoke up.

"I'm real y not interested in what you know."

"Oh, but I am." Detective Montgomery stepped forward, flashing his gold

shield. The faces of the two professors fel in defeat.

"Is your captain around?" he asked the flabbergasted patrolman.

"Uh, yeah. Who are you again?"

"My name is Detective Montgomery of San Francisco Homicide. I'm here

investigating a series of murders that I believe may involve your fair city. I also believe these professors may be

material witnesses. Now, would you

please do me a favor and arrest these

two gentleman for withholding evidence

and interfering with the course of an

investigation and whatever else you can think up, then take me to see whoever's running this show?"

"I'd be happy to," the officer said, glaring at the two professors with an everwidening grin.

"We haven't done a thing wrong! You can't detain us!"

"Yeah? Wel , we'l see about that. I want them to be available for questioning.

There's a kil er on the loose and I think they know where he is."

Another officer took Montgomery to

meet the captain in charge of the

investigation. He was a stocky, middleaged man of medium height, with thick, weathered skin from too much time in

the sun. His eyes were hard but jovial. He looked like an old cowboy or

farmhand, like he would have been just

as at home on a horse as in a squad car.

"Captain Marshal . This is Detective Montgomery of San Francisco

Homicide."

They shook hands and leaned back

against the captain's vehicle.

"So what brings you al the way up from San Francisco?"

"I'm looking for a man named Joseph Miles. He's kil ed two people that we

know of and he's going to kil a lot more if we don't stop him. I have reason to

believe that he might be here in your

town and that he might be responsible

for whatever happened here tonight. Uh

... what exactly did happen?"

"A janitor was kil ed. He had his throat ripped out. The ME says it looks like his larynx was bitten through and the bite

marks look human. We've also got a

dead inmate. He was carved up,

vivisected. There's pieces of him al over his room."

"Are there any pieces ... uh ... missing? I mean ... is there any evidence of

cannibalism?"

"Not as far as we can tel ." The captain's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Maybe you'd better tel me what you know about al this."

"Unfortunately, I don't know a hel of a lot, but the two professors that I fol owed up here might. They're with a couple of your officers right now awaiting questioning. I have a feeling they know a lot more than they're tel ing. One of them used to be a profiler with the FBI. At the very least he may have a theory."

"I think we'd better go talk to them then. Oh, and there's something else. You said your boy was a cannibal?"

"Yeah, his last two victims were both partial y eaten. One of them he roasted alive."

"Wel , a woman was brought into the hospital earlier today in critical condition. The man who brought her in told the

emergency room nurse that she had

been attacked by pit bul s. He

disappeared before he could be

questioned. Both of her breasts were

missing. Bitten off. The surgeon that

treated her said the bite marks looked

human."

"Christ."

"Her ID says her name is Alicia Rosales

... from San Francisco."

"Has anyone questioned her yet?"

"She's stil in critical right now. We'l talk with her as soon as she regains

consciousness."

"Was the nurse able to give a

description of the man who brought her

in?"

"Yeah. That's the funny thing. She said that he looked just like-"

"Superman?" Montgomery asked

knowingly.

The captain paused, staring at

Montgomery in disbelief and what

looked like disappointment. "Shit. I was hoping you were wrong about al this.

Yeah, she said he looked just like the

comic book character. I guess this real y is your boy we've got here. Looks like

we'd better see what those two

eggheads have to say."

The two professors were stil seated in a patrol car with the officer who'd arrested them, doing his best to ignore their

whining when Captain Marshal and

Detective Montgomery approached the

car.

"Get them out of there!" the captain barked.

"Now see here! You can't hold us like this! We haven't broken any laws!" Locke was yel ing almost at the top of

his lungs. His face had turned a bright pink and thick blue veins pulsed in his forehead.

"Then tel us how you knew that Joseph Miles would strike here. Why you two

drove al the way from San Francisco

straight to the scene of your student's latest murder? You're either witnesses or accomplices. It al depends on how you

answer our questions." Montgomery

stood nose to nose with Professor

Locke, glaring at him as if he were a

schoolyard bul y shaking him down for

lunch money.

"I don't have to answer a goddamned thing!"

"I think we'd better tel them what we know," Professor Douglas croaked

meekly, the unlit mahogany pipe

dangling from his trembling lower lip.

Locke whirled on him, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "We don't have to tel them shit!"

Captain Marshal stepped up beside

Montgomery, almost knocking him aside

in his eagerness to confront the two

professors. His face was beginning to

color from the effort of holding in his mounting temper. It was obvious that

Locke's self-righteous attitude was

rubbing the grizzled lawman the wrong

way. He shoved his finger into the

professor's chest as if he were trying to stab him with it.

"Let me tel you something, Professor. There's a serial kil er loose in my townmy town! He just snuck into a hospital and tore apart an inmate and a janitor. There's a girl in there fighting for her life with her breasts eaten down to the rib

cage. Eaten! By the man you two are

protecting! So I don't care what laws I have to stretch or even break. I'm going to find out what you two know and you

both wil rot in a jail cel until I do."

"Put him back in the car," Montgomery said, pointing to Locke. "We'l talk to Dr. Douglas here."

"Don't tel them anything. You hear? We can do this ourselves! We can stil do it!" Douglas shook his head, staring at his

friend with a newfound understanding

and pity. The man was desperate for his one last great act, his last chance at

fame and immortality, and he was wil ing to risk lives to do it. Dr. Martin Douglas wasn't quite so desperate.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you know Joseph Miles would show up here?"

"The patient he murdered ... his name was Damon Trent, wasn't it?"

"And how the hel would you know that?" Marshal asked.

"Because Damon Trent is the man who assaulted Joseph when he was a child.

Trent kept him locked up in his

basement for three days, raping and

torturing him repeatedly. Joseph was

Trent's first victim, the only one who

survived. Joseph believes that Trent was some type of vampire or werewolf or

something and that he passed his curse

on to him when he attacked him. He

thinks that by kil ing Trent he'l cure himself of his own homicidal impulses."

"A fucking whacko!"

"Wel , Captain ... maybe not."

"What are you saying? That Trent real y was a vampire?" Montgomery tried his best to stifle the smirk wriggling its way onto his face. Sarcasm leaked into his

voice despite his best efforts.

"I know it sounds far-fetched ..."

"Fucking loony is what it sounds!" the captain interjected.

"That's what I thought. But you'd have to understand how the human brain works.

I'm not a scientist. Actual y, Dr. Locke could explain it better if he were so

inclined. But basical y there is a specific area of the brain that controls our rage impulse responses, our sex drive, and

most of our animal instincts. If a virus were to attack that area of the brain and create an imbalance of some sort, it

could cause the type of confusion of the rage impulse and the sexual impulse

displayed by sexual sadists and

murderers. Not exactly causing

someone to grow hair and fangs, but

effectively turning them into a monster."

"Is there such a virus?"

"Right now it's only a theory, but that's why we wanted to study him. To prove

the existence of the virus and to find a cure for it."

"What if this theory's wrong and this guy just tore you apart like he did those in there?" Captain Marshal asked. "Did you two geniuses ever consider that?"

"Okay, so enough with al the bul shit. If you know where he's going now then

you'd better give it up."

Douglas looked from Montgomery to

Marshal to Locke, whose eyes were

pleading with him to remain silent. He let out a huge sigh and his shoulders

slumped as his eyes swept the ground.

"I honestly have no idea. If he thinks his cure worked he might disappear forever. He might disappear even if it didn't

work. Shut himself away from the rest of society and live as a hermit or

something. I'm not a psychiatrist. That's John's field of expertise. I'm just a

professor of sociology. Any ideas I have would be based on history and cultural

myths and legends, which would make

them not a hel of a lot better than yours."

"Get him out here too!" Captain Marshal barked in obvious exasperation, pointing at Locke, who stil sat handcuffed in

back of the squad car, straining to hear what was being said between the two

policemen and his col eague.

The uniformed officer opened the door to the patrol car and helped the professor out of the backseat.

"We want to know where you think this lunatic wil strike next," the captain barked.

"Who says he'l strike anywhere next?"

"Come on, Professor," Montgomery said, calmly draping an arm over

Locke's shoulders like they were old

pals. "We know al about Joe's little theory. We know that you guys came up

here on the hopes that he wasn't crazy

and there real y is a virus that creates these monsters. Now, if I arrested you for withholding evidence you'd probably

beat it, but think of al the damage it would do to your reputation. What would your col eagues think if they knew you

were protecting a serial kil er? If you don't help us, then we'l make sure that everyone knows it. Now, you know as

wel as I do that kil ing Damon Trent ain't going to do shit for Joe's pathology.

Those old urges are going to start

coming back to him any day now. What I

want to know is what he'l do when they do come back."

"He'l feed on whatever's handy.

Wherever he might be at the time. And

my guess is that his appetite wil be

much worse this time. I don't think you'l have any trouble recognizing his

handiwork."

"But how can we catch him before he attacks again? Where is he going now?" Captain Marshal interrupted.

"I'm a psychologist, not a mind reader. But maybe if I could speak to that girl he brought up here from San Francisco.

She might know quite a bit about what's going on in Joseph's head. It seems that he's taken quite a liking to her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she's stil alive."

Forty-three

Joe sat on the blood-soaked bed,

hugging his knees to his chest and

rocking back and forth. The room was

completely dark. Headlights from

passing cars spun shadows around the

wal s like a puppet show. Joe's thoughts were also dark and spinning madly

along the inner wal s of his skul . He

knew he wasn't cured. Kil ing Damon

had done nothing to assuage his hunger. The pants, groans, and passionate

shrieks and cries from next door were

awakening the big predator's murderous

libido. He could smel the thick musk of semen, sweat, blood, and stool from the semen, sweat, blood, and stool from the aggressive anal penetration taking place beyond his bedroom wal . In Joe's pants, the monster rose and stiffened. It was