A Predator for a Hunter

You only came here if you were beyond desperate. So far beyond it that you’d be willing to give anything — do anything — to resolve some sort of problem.

Which was, of course, why I was here.

The house was the absolute dream for a middle-class suburban couple trying to get their kid into a specific school district: completely tasteless. Only different from surrounding homes by siding and shutter color. It sat halfway down the street filled with minivans and children playing in yards not much bigger than them. The privacy tree-lined property line tightened around the back like a noose ready to strangle any thought of using the space for more than a backyard barbeque a couple times a year.

Streetlights began to wink on as I parked on the street in front of the house. Winter daylight savings had robbed us of a good hour of light; most people weren’t even home from work, by the look of the empty driveways. Would my presence go unremarked? I could be visiting a friend, perhaps, or coming by for dinner with the family.

Did people even pay attention to what their neighbors were doing anymore?

Before my courage bailed and took me with it, I got out of my car and onto the dead grass. One foot in front of the other, bringing me closer to the lifeless clone of an oversized single-family home. The siding was beige, the shutters taupe — or the other way around depending on which was more bland, which was impossible to tell by sight. The doorbell rang cheerily inside as I pressed the button with shaking fingers, then shoved my hands into my pockets. My mouth felt as dry as the grass, a lump in my throat constricting my breathing just enough to send a hint of panic through me.

Each thud of my heartbeat resounded like a gong, shaking my brain until this entire trip became the worst idea in the history of the universe. What was I doing here? I was so far out of my (admittedly small) comfort zone I was a different person. This was all a terrible mistake. I’d find a way to deal with my own problems. Somehow. I turned back towards my car.

The door opened behind me.

I couldn’t resist looking back. The sight greeting me was just as unbearably bland as the rest of the neighborhood. A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, laugh lines, and the makings of a beer belly stood at the door. He smiled like we were old friends and raised his arms in welcome, offering me the only glimpse that I was at the right house. Just barely visible beneath his sports t-shirt were the straps of leather — leather I assumed held a gun holster somewhere in the small of his back. “Katherine!” He moved to the side, opening the door wider to an entryway about as exciting as a box of off-brand wheat cereal. “So good to see you, come in!”

Well, the door was open. I had to see this through. My feet dragged themselves back around and over the stoop, and then the door was shut behind me. The slide of metal against metal shivered up my spine as the deadbolt was set.

That would certainly make it a bit harder to run from the house if I couldn’t repress my desire to.

The suburban dad-slash-bouncer moved in front of me, holding a hand out. “Wallet.”

“Why?” I couldn’t stop the question, gripping the straps of my bag tighter.

“Collateral. You’ll get it back when the boss is done.”

Another layer to keep my fear in check. I reminded myself how much I needed this help. I’d exhausted all other options. I’d moved cities, changed jobs, completely restyled my hair and clothing, bought a house under a trust instead of my own name…and he was still there. Watching, always at the edge of my vision. A threat. Someone who really didn’t understand the meaning of the phrase “fuck off”.

Shaking my head, I withdrew my wallet and tried not to shit myself when the bouncer’s hand shifted towards his weapon. It's a precaution, I reminded myself. I could have anything in my purse.

I placed the card wallet in his open hand and swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the panic stuck in the back of my throat. He flipped through it, checking to ensure it was actually mine. After a moment he nodded, shoved it in his pocket, and pointed to the hallway on the left. I walked; he followed a few steps behind. The walls seemed to shift inward, closing around me, a vise set to ensnare. Light shone from under the doorway at the end, a soft flicker like firelight. Totally Normal Guy pointed to the door.

Holding my breath, I took the handle and turned.

Movies told me what I would find here: a suited figure sitting in shadow, smoking a cigar or drinking a glass of brandy — or both — ready to take my soul in exchange for what I needed. Some sort of mafia don with a strange codename.

The study was lit by a fireplace in the corner and warm overhead lamps, giving it an overall cozy feel that belonged more to a mansion than a house like this. Built-in bookshelves lined the walls, filled with what I had to assume were first-editions, all gleaming leather and fabric covers and embossed script. The movies had one thing particularly correct: the center of the room was dominated by an old-fashioned wooden desk. It was polished to perfection, the desktop tidy with only a fancy laptop, a handful of pens, some paper, and a half-drunk cup of coffee sitting out.

But the figure standing beside the desk was well-lit. Where the bouncer (who’d taken his place in front of the door) was the manifestation of the phrase “man cave”, the ‘boss’ was all city executive. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, sharpening her cheekbones and jawline into weapons of their own. She did wear a suit, but it was modern and well-tailored. Pumps peeked out from the hem of her pants, and her makeup was understated. Absolutely beautiful.

And deadly, if the stories were true.

She nodded at me, calculating light in her eyes. “You must be Katherine. I hear you need my help.” Her voice was silk, and it would have set me at ease if I wasn’t a half-step from fainting on the spot.

“Wait, you’re the Barn Owl?” I didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but this woman looked more like a lawyer than anything else.

“Hoot hoot.” She deadpanned, moving around to the front and perching on the edge of the solid wood desk.

“Where did your…name come from?” For a long moment I thought she was offended that I’d even asked. Then her lips pulled into a wide smile, too white and gleaming to be anything but predatory.

“I chose my name as I chose my profession — I hunt vermin.” Her smile fell. She tilted her head as she regarded me. “What do you need me to hunt, little bird?”

Reaching into my front pocket, I withdrew a folded piece of paper, then smoothed it out and handed it to her. She frowned at the picture; I felt like doing the same. I may have been smiling when it was taken, but it didn’t reach my eyes. It never had when I was with him.

“He said his name was Jason. Jason Smith. We only dated casually, and I broke up with him after a few months, but…” I paused, biting my lip and inhaling as deeply as possible before I continued. “He’s following me. I know he is. The police don’t care, and he’s very good at talking his way out of anything.” I cut off the rambling words, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking too noticeably. The Barn Owl’s face hadn’t changed at all, and after a moment she put the photo face down on her desk.

“So why are you here?”

“He wants to hurt me.” I said, taking a pause to figure out how to phrase my desire. “I want him gone.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me. Before I left, and after. I just found a note in my mailbox from him.”

“Hmmm. I can get rid of him, but as for the cost…” The sentence trailed off into an unasked question. I crossed my arms and hauled air into my lungs. What would work for payment?

“I have a house and a car.” I managed to get the words out of the labyrinth my throat had become. “They’re old but I take care of them. And I’ve saved up some money where I could, in case I had to move again.”

The Barn Owl’s face was thoughtful, her fingers drumming on the desk as she thought over my offer. A century passed before she straightened, focusing once more on me. “Tell you what, little bird — I’ll do it for no payment right now. But if I ever do need something in return, I will contact you for it.”

“And I’ll pay it!” I confirmed in a rush, nearly ready to slip onto the plush carpet and weep tears of joy. This wasn’t truly luck or altruism — a favor owed could be cashed in for anything. But in that moment I clung to her words like a life preserver.

“Perfect. You’ll receive notice when he’s been taken care of. Until then, act as you normally do.” She reached a hand out towards me and I took it. Her hands were smooth, her grip firm as we shook on the deal. If she noticed how clammy my hands were she said nothing. “Nice to meet you, Katherine. David will see you out.”

I turned to Suburban Working Dad — David — and followed him, only looking back for one final glimpse at the woman who was saving my life. “Thank you.” I said in a whisper, my voice nearly catching on the words. The Barn Owl just inclined her head, a slight smile tilting her lips up, and the door closed between us.

Bereft of the desperation that had drawn me here in the first place and given me strength to see it through, each step was a struggle. David returned my wallet and opened the front door for me. “It was so good to see you!” He said, the shift in demeanor abrupt and meant solely for the cover they kept here. “Stay safe.”

“Thanks, you too.” I replied, forming the words out of habit more than anything.

I was safe. Well, nearly safe. The weight of constant terror lifted from my shoulders, and I breathed the first free breath I’d had in over a year. My legs were still made of jelly, but I made it to my car and turned the key.

I was safe. And I’d gotten a much bigger predator to hunt the one stalking me.