Page 105 of Natural-Born Cullers

Light went to say something, but footsteps came on the floorboard upstairs and dust filtered down into his eyes.

“Right.” The bundle of wire was tossed on the table, and Light turned around and rested, arms crossed, back against the unit as footsteps from above made their way along the hall up top.

And there it was. Light played with wires, but his eyes were still… wired. Pure ink blackness ate through dark chocolate eyes. Maybe a trick of the torchlight to most, but Martin knew differently. And he got really, really comfortable now, because as Gray stopped at the bottom of the stairs and took a look around, that same… darkness swamped his, all infused raw and wired adrenaline.

Life in the fast lane, with two top-class players. Father… son.

Martin knew Gray. He knew where this had taken him. And this was where life was lived, because Light hadn’t gotten a fucking clue…. But he was about to find out.

Chapter 30

Welsh Dragon Killer

In the low light from a few torches, Light stood farthest away, and Gray noticed he’d had time to wash up, but only barely. Red streaks covered his neck, and some of the edges of silver hair still carried a darker taint. His look stayed on Gray, where Martin sat on a unit back off to the left, always watching. That left Simon caught between him and Light, back to neither, not really trusting either one of them.

Gray held up the chemical mix Light had put in the ventilation duct in the hall upstairs, along with how he’d pulled out the wire to the remote detonation attached to it, then chucked the cannister at Light.

“Dumbass. Don’t stand there telling someone you’re holding poison and then let them mention where you put it without checking them for wires.”

Light caught the cannister, six inches long, two inches round, then snorted down at it for a moment before letting it rest on the unit by him. “And you let them walk in first so you could find out, huh? Your sappers. And we’re back to you and the whole coward talk again.”

“No, we’re back to talks on walking backwards through the oncoming crowd. Only difference being?” Gray held his look. “I don’t need the offer of a friend to walk it.”

He took out an evidence bag and tipped it up for the contents to fall at Light’s feet. “Mark. Remember.”

Three driving licences splattered with blood scattered across the floor

Light slipped a hand to the bundle of wires he’d stripped, pulled them close, then crouched and shoved at one of the licences with the wiring.

“Nathan Myers,” said Gray. “You knew him as the Controller, Red Room organiser, creative mind behind Seth’s Blood Eagle art, and ex-culler. At twenty-one, he caught culler attention not with his different tastes in victims, but how he knew and used the web just when it was coming into fruition. He was one of the new-age killers of the time. It’s how he’s managed to stay alive after retiring: what he has stored privately on the net when it comes to the Monarchy. He is… was… my predecessor when it came to profiling and hunting killers on UK shores for the Crown.”

Light stilled his touch.

“The other two?” Gray nodded at the closest first. “König. Hunt. Meet what’s left of the two remaining Crown’s cullers.”

Light’s look lowered to the photo IDs. Gray didn’t bother with faces, not when it came to who didn’t walk with him in the crowd anymore. They’d been culled. Simple as. Light had injected enough of the visuals over death into his system, so this, this wasn’t about stuffing more violence down his throat. Licences were enough, as no one walked away from stealing from a culler.

“Contracted by the Crown to run international waters, König was her marksman, the very best of,” Gray said over to Light. “On her trips abroad, you would have found him the furthest away from her, marking the crowd for threat. But he was mostly known for his work in the US between 1980 and 2010, where he was contracted through the presidents of the time to hunt in the latter half of the epidemic of the serial killers: Joseph DeAngelo, the Golden State killer, then the Craigslist killer, Philip Haynes Markoff, and Aileen Wuornos. The list goes on. The majority of those who committed suicide were ‘helped’ by König as they awaited trial. But he himself was caught at twenty-one, arrested, and marked as a culler when he went on a sniper’s spree from Parliament Hill, killing over twenty shoppers, men, women, kids alike. Although he preferred security guards.” Gray removed his leather gloves. “You wouldn’t have heard about that latter part because of the news blackout on him. That and how Hunt there, already a culler, stepped in with his signature mark to make sure the populace never got to hear about his lover, König.”

Light eased the last licence closer to him.

“Thomas Hunt.” Gray pointed briefly to the younger of the two, although that still made Gray the youngest between all three of them. “Forty-eight, he was the Crown’s logistical director on social deconstruction events. Only you won’t have heard about what he does.” Gray tugged something else from his suit pocket. “But a few conspiracy theorists have stepped close. When distraction’s needed to hide something the Crown wants kept quiet, like the imprisonment but not the charge of the Parliament Hill killer here, Hunt would devise and execute social deconstruction events to get people off the streets, thus bringing in distraction, then a curfew by police. Over a few weeks, he would take women off the streets and induce tensions on the streets by cutting them up for body parts. A cry of serial killer on the loose went up, people hid back in their homes… attention is deflected onto who could come through their door. But not just that: Hunt would then pit demographic against demographic. He’d rile the feminists over slogans that call out the age-old ‘you get what your clothes call out for,’ diverting attention in all other sociocultural ways.”

Light stayed so still, the bundle of wire fisted around his fingers to the point the sharp wrapping pierced skin, forcing blood to drip from his hand to the floor.

“At fifteen and known officially as the Primary School Strangler,” added Gray, “Hunt was pulled into culler ranks after using the strangulation of four primary-aged kids over a period of two years to distract from his real kink over going acid bath with soldiers from the Queen’s Royal Guard. That one no doubt really hit too close for comfort. But his… cloaking of one kill to enjoy another? That’s what got lead culler attention. I doubt if he could ever really imagine if it was heaven or hell being employed by the Monarchy and having her pretty toys all lined up all in a row for him.”

From his pocket, Gray plucked out a second evidence bag and tossed it at Light, away from the blood on the floor.

“Mark, and don’t youeverfucking forget the rest of it.”

Light took out three photos from the bag and laid them on the floor.

“König’s kids. Clara and Casey.” Gray pointed at two of the photos. “Casey is nineteen, in her first year of university. Clara is fifteen with Down’s Syndrome. A good portion of his wage goes to her care and Casey’s university fees at Oxford.”

Light stared down at the photos.

“Hunt has no kids,” said Gray. “Not since his own died as a toddler.” He pointed to the last photo that touched Light’s foot. “Ben Hunt, two years old, died when he fell out of a local playground swing and cracked his head open despite most swings having padding around them to stop just that. Hunt helped design a new foam padding for playgrounds so no other parent lost what he did.”

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