Page 45 of Gone Hunting

I can’t touch her, and she can’t feel me. That doesn’t stop me from curling around her and wishing I could take all her pain away.

Chapter Twelve

The next few memories I experience with Celia are of her hunting the other men who killed her parents. I wake up to find her a little bit older and more troubled by her burdens.

The weather has turned cold enough to see her breath as she prowls down the street. The man she’s stalking was the one who pulled his knife out first, ready to kill her and her little sisters without a second though. She follows him to a triple X movie theatre. The man sitting at the box office allows Celia through without question. I wanted to throw him through the service counter. It’s clear she’s underage and walking into an establishment where she doesn’t belong.

Celia’s only saving grace was that this mission was faster. One slash of her claws across his throat was all it took. His gurgled scream was ignored by the men sitting a few rows ahead. She shook out her hands, trying to rid herself of the blood that stained her claws.

Disgusted with the environment and by her actions, she left quickly, shoving her hands into the jacket of her coat to hide the evidence of the kill.

The next man Celia found wasn’t easy prey. Not like the other two. It was very late at night. Spring had arrived, but the remaining cold was more akin to winter.

The man waited on the corner of a residential neighborhood, huddling into his coat as he spoke to someone on the phone. He pocketed his phone several minutes later, spitting at the ground and growing more impatient as time sluggishly passed by.

Celia and I watched him from the side of a boarded-up house just across the street. The grass was overgrown in most of the yards, and moonlight cast a glow along broken beer bottles carelessly tossed on the sidewalk. Despite the lack of care for the environment and that every home was in rough shape, this place was worlds better than the inner city. It still didn’t make it easier to witness Celia there on her own.

A metal gate squeaked opened a few houses down and three teens swaggered out. There were three boys in gang colors and a girl on her phone trailing them. They tried to act tough, but their toughness diminished when they neared the man we’d followed.

The oldest boy nodded and passed the man a roll of wadded bills. The man exchanged the bills for what resembled a white brick secured in plastic. The boy tucked it into his pants and bunched his jacket over it. It seemed like this was his first time doing something like this. Based on his stance, it wouldn’t be the last.

There were no words spoken. The deal was made and now it was done. The teens quickly dispersed, the girl continuing to talk on her phone and pretending she hadn’t seen what she had, even though her strut suggested she was proud to be a part of it.

These weren’t good men that Celia hunted. That didn’t make the kills any easier on her.

Celia waited until the teens disappeared back into the house and the man crossed the street. She crouched low, biding her time until the man drew closer.

His close proximity should have made things easier for Celia from a hunter’s perspective, except this man was used to fighting those bigger and stronger than him.

Celia pounced, snagging him in a headlock and covering his mouth so he couldn’t scream. Rage blazed across his eyes as Celia dragged him behind the house. He kicked her in the knee, hard enough to cause her to lose her hold. She limped after him, tackling his waist and bringing him down on the sidewalk.

They rolled around, each fighting for control. The thin jacket Celia wore offered little protection against the broken glass. It cut into the fabric, puncturing her skin and allowing blood to seep through.

The man kicked at her, striking her hard in the nose and momentarily stunning her. He staggered into the next yard, securing a large stick and breaking it across Celia’s jaw when she charged. Her mouth pooled with blood, but this time, she wasn’t letting go.

Celia clung to him, grabbing tight to his head as he begged for mercy. If he could have heard me, I would have told him Celia had no mercy left to give. She snapped his neck, the blood spilling from her mouth soaking his coat when she finally let him go.

Celia hobbled onto the bus several blocks later. She dropped her money, keeping her scarf pressed tightly against her face. Most of the passengers ignored her. Some stared. But not one person asked if she was okay.

“She’s a kid!” I yelled to them. “She’s hurt and alone. What’s wrong with you people?”

My shouts meant nothing to them or to her. Again, I fell to her side, offering her gentle words she couldn’t hear and an embrace I never wanted to break.

“One more, baby,” I said to her. “Just one more.”

The best way I could describe the moments that followed were that I fell into a state of mourning. Celia hadn’t died, but her innocence and spirit had taken a harsh beating.

I cursed several times. The beast controlled Celia and incited her need to hunt. She didn’t understand that this desire for vengeance scared Celia, and failed to offer the retribution her tigress felt she deserved. The way Celia trembled and how she curled into herself afterward was hard to watch. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking the actions of her beast were righteous.

As terrified and hurt as Celia was, she needed to do this for her and her sisters.

And she couldn’t do it without the help of her tigress.

My reasoning did little to comfort me. Like I said, my beast could protect my conscience and ease the strain my actions caused. Celia’s tigress didn’t have that same power.

“I want to keep you with me,” I whispered, my lips grazing over her cheek. “I can’t let you go back to that life.”

I meant what I said, but she didn’t hear a word of it.

---