The Hunter Inside by David McGowan Read Free Book Online

asked in a voice that reflected how much Forsby irritated him.
    ‘We’re waiting for Special
Agent O’Neill. I told you - you will meet Special Agent O’Neill.’
    ‘Yeah, we ‘met’ on the
phone earlier,’ the unenthusiastic Paul Wayans said in the most sarcastic tone
he could muster. He was not relishing the moment when he was to come face to
face with somebody else that he knew he was not going to like. He had worked
out that much earlier in the day. Paul Wayans was not in the habit of liking
people who implied that he was a murderer without even meeting him, and he was
trying to shake off the niggling feeling that he was to have a lot of talking
to do.
    Special Agent Forsby looked
towards the door of the room. Paul listened closely and heard the distant sound
of footsteps coming down the long hall that he himself had walked down ten
minutes earlier. As the sound got louder he felt his heart rate quicken, and he
wondered at the fear he was feeling despite his innocence.
    The door opened and in
walked Special Agent Sam O’Neill. Out walked Pat Forsby. Paul Wayans just about
managed to stop his lower jaw from hitting the floor of the room. O’Neill was
huge; six feet five inches if he was one. Paul had been expecting a little
slimy faggot of a man. Nothing could have prepared him for the actuality of the
person whose accusatory voice had so offended him earlier in the day.
    O’Neill loomed over him,
and in the same tone that had left Paul Wayans wanting blood that morning, said
‘So. You’re our man, Paul Wayans?’ His voice was not angry, not mocking, not
anything in fact. It was neutral, calm. To Paul, he sounded almost resigned,
and he was definitely unnerved by this man. He could see by looking at him why
he was in a position of such power, he emanated success and strength.
    ‘What do you mean, I’m your
man?’ Paul’s question deflected back at him from the cold, stone walls of the
room, confirming to him that the bewilderment and fear he felt were plain for
anyone to hear.
    ‘I think you know what I
mean, Mr. Wayans.’ The power conveyed in the man’s countenance was backed up by
his tone of voice. He sounded like a man who knew how to get what he wanted,
and his confident, forceful tone was a far cry from the feeling that Paul
Wayans had building up in his own stomach. Now that his earlier thought - that
the police would suspect him of being involved in the murder shown in the
photograph - had been explicitly backed up by the big Special Agent’s opening
remark, the full extent of the fear he felt seemed to ooze through his skin.
His head spun.
    ‘Let’s talk, Paul. Shall we
talk? Are you ready to talk to me, Paul?’ The repetitive nature of the Special
Agent made him sound like a parrot. Oddly enough, Wayans wasn’t amused by it.
Even if he had been he would not have allowed it to show. He raised his eyes to
the fixed, hard stare of Special Agent O’Neill. It felt hot, like it would burn
through the corneas of his eyes, and he dropped them to focus on the scarred
formica table.
    ‘Listen O’Neill, you’re
making a big mistake here.’ His voice was shaky and O’Neill countered,
    ‘If I’m making a mistake,
then why don’t you tell me how you came to be in possession of this
photograph?’ He held the photograph under Paul Wayans’ eyes and Paul quickly
shut them. He didn’t want to look at it again.
    ‘It came in the mail.’
There was a moment’s silence, and Paul looked up to see the Special Agent’s
response. O’Neill did the thing Paul Wayans least expected him to do; he burst
into laughter. It took him two minutes to regain his composure, and when he
eventually did he said, ‘Cut the bullshit Paul.’
    ‘I swear to you, it’s not
bullshit. It came in the mail. Well, not literally in the mail. It just had my
name on the envelope, so it must have been hand delivered. I’ve had dozens of
letters from someone who says they’re going to kill me. They sent me that
photograph