Just a Taste Part 6

Ch 6: Frenzy

Dylan

December 19th, 2024- Abandoned Hotel, South Carolina Woods- 8:07 PM

Turns out, getting out of dodge was more complicated than I expected. Although I've gotten away with stealing more than a dozen bodies from Richland County over the years, the drunk driver I took was evidently too much.

He was apparently a volunteer firefighter who had fallen on hard times. A report was filed when his co-workers arrived to claim his body, but it was missing. Since then, chatter has filled every radio, and authorities have blocked most roads.

I had to ditch my car and hide out in the only place I could think of: the abandoned hotel on the edge of the woods. Based on my sources, it's been untouched and unclaimed by the state for more than a decade. I'm resourceful; I can make do with or without.

Perks of being a homeless vagrant, I suppose.

With my duffel bag of emergency food and water supplies, I bide my time until everything cools down. Or until I can find someone to pin it on. My DNA and prints were not present at the scene, so it makes things easier. Plus, a few predators are usually lingering around. It would be… entertaining to find a scapegoat.

Passively, I'm listening to the radio, catching up on local news, and a few morons making political jokes, when I heard something fucking insane.

"In all seriousness, the search continues for Isabella Montgomery. She's the only daughter of Jerald and Helen, who, after coming home for winter break, went out for a run and never came back. This was two days ago."

She was fine just a few days ago! What the hell happened?

Turning the dial, I listened for crucial details regarding her disappearance.

"Jerald released a statement claiming that she went for a run on December 17th, 2024, at 6:08 AM, beginning at their expansive estate, and ending at the further edge of their property line. Typically, her runs lasted about thirty-five minutes from start to finish. When she didn't come back to the mansion, he and his wife panicked, as she's very punctual and precise with her locations.

Additionally, not in his statement, he dispatched security guards to search the area. At the edge of the property, there were signs of a struggle, torn scraps of clothing and a fair amount of blood in the grass. Once the police arrived, the medical examiners took samples. The results are not available at this time; however, the ongoing assumption is that it belongs to Isabella. We received a bulletin from the Montgomery family offering a substantial reward for any information regarding her whereabouts. Here, let me play it for all of you."

'Hello, my name is Jerald Montgomery, and this is my lovely wife Helen. A few days ago, my teenage daughter, Isabella, went missing from the outskirts of our property. It appeared as though someone had also attacked her. Please, if anyone knows anything, ‌come forward. I am offering a $500,000 reward to anyone with information. Isabella is the light of our lives. Please bring her home to us!'

"You heard it here: $500,000 for any information regarding Isabella Montgomery's location. With all the heavy stuff over with, let's listen to some classic rock, nonstop for the-"

I turned the radio off, feeling intense feelings of confusion and anger welling up inside me.

What in the ever-loving fuck happened to Isabella? After our 'moment', I put her back in the hallway, wrapped up safely in her blanket. Then she wandered back to her dorm room. She was safe.

She mentioned going away that morning, home to her 'Daddy'. Could one of his business rivals, or perhaps one of his former disgruntled employees, have kidnapped her looking for a quick payday?

I don't give a single fuck about the money, but Isabella has become just an integral part of my life that I can't ignore. Either situation I think of will end the same: me viciously slaughtering someone, and claiming Isabella for myself.

With nothing else to lose, I texted my source:

Give me everything you have on the Isabella Montgomery disappearance. ASAP! 

8:27 PM 

Anxiously, I awaited a response from my source. Granted, this is a new burner phone, but they know me by now. They knew I didn't like to wait for information, especially regarding Isabella. 

Finally, after several annoying minutes, I received an answer: 

Don't contact me again. Our partnership is over. Police are all over the place; it's too risky.

What a pussy! I'm aware of the risks, as I'm the one they're after! Angrily, I tossed my phone across the floor. Fuck, now I've got to get creative.

As I racked my brain, a thudding noise came from outside my room. Hm, it seems I've got company.

Carefully, I grabbed my hunting knife and crept toward the sound near the window. I peeked out into the frigid, pitch-black darkness, but I couldn’t see anything. Then, suddenly, a pale, familiar face popped up. Possum, a fellow 'predator'.

He's smiling like a maniac. Blood matted his short black hair, and intestines hung from his jaw. It was disgusting. He could at least try to look human.

"Hey, Diablo..." he rasped, licking his lips. "Can I come in? It's fucking cold outside."

On the one hand, I don't want to, as he creeps me out, yet this could be an opportunity.

"Fine. Present any weapons at the door and stand back." I ordered firmly, moving toward the doorknob.

Possum chuckled, shuffling around, muttering something to himself. He's always talking to himself like a lunatic. It's no wonder he doesn't have a partner.

"I've placed my weapons on the porch, Diablo." He growled; it sounds like he's walked away from the door. "I'm back about six feet!"

Unlatching the door, I poked my head out and examined the area. Just as he said, he's several feet back, his knife, gun, and signature cooler are on the porch.

"Come in, be quick," I stated, grabbing his belongings.

Possum lowered his head and dashed inside, sheltering himself from the brutal winter weather.

"T-Thank you for your hospitality, Diablo." he muttered, bowing low, sitting in a corner. "I thought I would die out here in the cold!"

"Who's in the cooler?" I demanded, eye-balling the blood-soaked object.

Possum waved his hand. "Oh, some firefighter lost his head in an accident. I found it by accident and have been‌ savoring it slowly." He shuddered, wiping his mouth. "That, and some succulent college boy intestines." He pointed at the cooler. "You can have some."

Wrinkling my nose, I declined. Flesh and blood are my cup of tea. But what he just revealed to me is very enticing.

An idea popped into my head. One that ensures my freedom and moves me closer to my objective: Isabella's location.

I pretended to text someone, reacting to their 'tip' with a dark chuckle.

Possum's eyes widened. "Diablo? Is everything alright?"

"My source told me there are a few white rabbits not too far from here. On the outskirts of the woods, close to town, but not too close." I rasped, licking my lips. "We could share them. All fresh; the flesh for me, the rest for you."

He shuddered, practically drooling, as he scrambled to his feet. "Lead the way! I'll follow you anywhere!"

Excellent, I think to myself as I led him outside and to his own demise.

I used Possum's burner phone to call the police hotline and confessed to the firefighter's corpse theft while he was distracted. Then, before breaking it, I called my source one last time.

For the first time in years, I heard a human voice. What confuses me is that it's not a distorted mechanical one, but that of a terrified woman. Screaming and sobbing, terror dripping from their tone.

What the fuck was that?

"Hello?" I whispered into the phone. "Are you there?"

Suddenly, the woman's voice fades. Maybe she passed out, or he was hunting someone while answering the phone?

The familiar mechanical voice came on. One that I've scarcely heard over the years.

"I told you, we're done! Don't call me again! I'm busy!" It boomed; the distorted voice made my ears ring.

The woman's voice cried out in pain. My heart stopped. It sounded like Isabella!

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are fictitious and the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, organizations, or events are entirely coincidental.

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