Wraith

Chapter 36 - Memento Mori

Chapter 36 - Memento Mori

Redcliffe measured his odds for a moment, before cursing silently under his breath and letting the shotgun fall into the mud.

"Good boy," Hamish muttered, swinging Redcliffe around as the sounds of footsteps approached quickly from behind, using him as a human shield as three figured broke out of the darkness and black smoke.

Chancer froze when she saw the scene, holding her gun firm and not moving a muscle. Both of the Wraiths froze as well, guns raised, pointed directly at Redcliffe.

"Oh, so the FBI's siding with fucking serial killers now, Agent?" Hamish Houseman spat, his eyes darting back and forth between the two figures from over Redcliffe's shoulder.

Redcliffe could feel the heavy barrel of the revolver pressed firmly against his temple, barrel sizzled slightly against his skin, hot from continued use. He winced, but kept his jaw clamped firmly shut.

"This is your plan, Hamish?" he asked, looking out into the gloom, trying to maintain his balance as the shorter man manoeuvred his body around, doing his best to keep it between himself and Jackson's gun. "You think these two give a shit about me? They hate you too much, you don't have nearly as much leverage as you think."

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, before turning his attention to the trio frozen in the mud in front of him. "If you want dear Agent Redcliffe's brains to stay in his skull, then you're going to drop every fucking gun you have!"

"And then what?" Chancer shot back, "You just vanish, with the entirety of the FBI hunting you down?"

"Test me, bitch," Hamish spat, eyes locking with Chancer, "See what fucking happens."

Very slowly, her jaw locked, Chancer placed the sidearm back in its holster, raising her hands back in the air. "You know that they'll never stop looking for you, right? Even if you get away from us, you're a dead man walking."

"Castle and his little buddies?" he sneered, "They can take their best shot, but it'll be a bit hard to do from prison. They're mass murderers, remember? Made the FBI you rant and rave about look like fucking morons."

"You can't be that stupid," Redcliffe chuckled softly, sharing a quick glance with Chancer.

"If you think pissing me off is a good idea right now, then you really don't know me. My chances are pretty fucking great right about now, so I'll tell you all what's going to happen. Castle, and whichever one of his little freaks came along, ditch the masks. Agent Chancer, you're going to handcuff both of them, and then I'm going to walk out of here. I'm going to get in a car and drive out of here, and when I'm confident that nobody's following me, I'll let your dear Agent Redcliffe go."

Richard Houseman, chest ripped apart by buckshot, gave a short gurgle. A few bubbles rose through his bloodied chest as he tried to speak, words lost to the wound. Hamish never once glanced down to his dying father, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the two Wraiths in front of him.

The two killers turned to each other briefly, before reaching back and unclasping the dented and scratched carbon fibre masks each wore. The visors, cracked and smudged with smeared blood, fell to the ground. Jackson and Charlotte, with matching expressions of cold fury, stared directly at Hamish. Redcliffe stared back at them, and the emptiness in their eyes. None of the fury reached the eyes, and that unsettled him more than anything. It was just emptiness, dead and calculating, detached from anything resembling panic or mercy.

For a full five seconds the veritable graveyard around them was silent, save for the quiet gurgling that came from Sheriff Houseman. Redcliffe could feel the gun to his temple press even harder into flesh, the hand that gripped the side of his body armour shivering ever so slightly.