Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Followed…

Hunter's eyes opened at the rooster's brassy crowing in the distance. Sleep had taken hold of him, perhaps due to exhaustion. The light of the morning peered through the window, enticing him to get out of bed, which he happily did, temporarily forgetting all about his ordeal. For the first time since his arrival, he looked outside through the window. It was more of the same; the narrow path leading to the lodge zigzagged across the more mountainous terrain.

On the right horizon, a thick layer of pines shrouded the horizon as the pale green meadow plodded on. This gave way to mountains in the distance, punctuated by scattered lakes. Within a few yards of the lodge was a one-story wooden shed, possibly used as a garage. The shed's roof was vast, covering nearly half of the lodge's width and blocking the view underneath. Hunter stared aimlessly at the scenery for a while before heading to the washroom.

Despite its small size and lack of amenities, the washrooms were tidy and provided all the proper amenities for the price and location. "Why would anyone build a lodge in the middle of nowhere?" Hunter wondered as he turned on the tap. "Not like it's a tourist attraction." He murmured to himself as he grabbed a handful of cold water to wash his face. It was evident to Hunter in the creased oval mirror that his face was in the same plight as a barren wasteland after a hurricane had just swept through it.

While embracing the cold water running down his body, he took off his clothes and turned on the shower. He tried to clean himself without getting sucked into the thoughts from last night as his thoughts slowly resurfaced. For today would be a long day, he needed a clear head since time was one of his scarcest resources.

Hunter dried off and wore the same grey shirt that was starting to smell repugnant. He did not have access to shops or people nearby where he could get a change of clothes. Therefore, he would need to travel back to Sylvania station where he had gotten off. His mind became exhausted by the mere thought, and he stumbled towards his bed. After grabbing his jacket, he saw that the envelope was tucked inside. It was seven-thirty when he glanced at the clock. Putting on his boots, Hunter headed downstairs to make sure he wouldn't miss breakfast.

When Hunter reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Shaw sitting at the table eating food from a plate. Five chairs surrounded a single table in the entire hall. At one end of the table, there were two doors, and at the other end, just beside the stairs, was the kitchen. The layout was simple, something Hunter missed amid all the commotion last night. As he walked toward the table, he saw Shaw occupied with a plate of fried eggs.

Shaw wore a red tattersall shirt with brown patches on the shoulders and washed-up blue jeans were paired with rugged brown ankle boots, hinting at some upcoming outdoor activity.

"You're up. We got sausage and eggs for you," said Shaw, whose attention had shifted to Hunter after being alerted to his footsteps. Shaw got up from the table and quickly retrieved a plate from the kitchen. On it were two poached eggs, three pieces of sausages, and a medium-sized piece of bread.

"That will be two pounds, or two and a half pounds if you want butter with your bread," Shaw said dispassionately.

Hunter nodded silently in consent.

Shaw returned from the kitchen with a small cup of butter, which he placed beside Hunter's plate before returning to his chair. As Shaw bent backward to eat another poached egg, he said, "Pay me when you're done."

Hunter devoured the eggs and sausages rapidly. He had not eaten since yesterday morning and had consumed only one bottle of rum before departing from Hartford. Shaw finished eating and impassively cleared the table. Hunter pulled out his wallet and placed two one-pound notes and a 50 pence coin under the glass. Hunter asked Shaw if there were any shops nearby once he returned from the kitchen having done the dishes.

Shaw asked huffily, "Did you see any while coming here?"

Hunter replied, "Not since Sylvania station."

"Well, there you go," said Shaw as he pocketed the two and a half pounds.

Hunter walked out the door shortly thereafter and prepared himself for the hour-long hike, knowing that the day had already begun.

After an exhausting hour-long walk, train tracks became visible. Hunter accelerated his pace as he could see clusters of people looming around Sylvania Station's platform in the distance. The railway terminal had only been built a few years ago and the trains had only recently begun to come to this northern area. His attention was drawn to a few shops at the station, whose shutters had just been raised. He was calculating the costs he would incur based on the shopping list he had in mind. He counted the notes and coins in his wallet, which totaled 270 pounds and 60 pence. He had no other means of coping with the inevitable storm. Therefore, he was both short on time and short on funds, a highly perilous situation for him to be in.

Despite the depressing outcome, Hunter walked to the convenience store and turned right. He was greeted by a frail, middle-aged man as he entered the room. An attractive pair of razors caught his eye on the counter. A shave was clearly in order, as his rugged face was attracting unwanted attention, which he least needed now.

"How much?" he asked.

"One pound," replied the shopkeeper.

A chill ran down Hunter's spine as he extended his hand to hand the one pound note to the shopkeeper, and his heart started pounding. Like a hawk scouting for prey, he shook his head, turned around, and scanned the shop. However, no one else was present in the shop or outside other than the shopkeeper and him. Hunter's sudden excursion captured the shopkeeper's attention, and his glance indicated suspicion.

"Did you see anyone back there just now?" Hunter asked.

"You are standing right in front of me. I wouldn't be able to tell if someone passed."

The shopkeeper's answer unnerved Hunter as his certainty grew that someone was nearby. Hunter didn't have a college education or even a lot of primary school education, as it happened. Hunter's academic knowledge was limited to knowing the bare minimum to distinguish himself from an illiterate creature. He always found it surprising that the caretakers at the orphanage never bothered to educate his lot. He wondered sometimes if all this caring for children was just a farce. This is because the caretakers never gave any affection to the children, preferring only to thrash anyone who didn't keep their rooms tidy.

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Furthermore, they were always strict about how much of Hunter's income he received working as a chimney sweeper in nearby houses they were entitled to. Every time she grabbed the 70 pence Hunter made in a day, Josephine used to say, "It was all done to make you all productive members of society, so you don't waste your lives away."

"They were taking care of him by making him toil in a hellhole and then snatching everything away," Hunter would often say under his breath.

Although Hunter was academically lacking, he was experienced when it came to living on the streets. He had lived in slums for the past decade and was well acquainted with the rules of the urchins. More importantly, he had learned resilience and danger sense. This made the difference between getting home safely and ending up beside the gutter with a knife stuck in his stomach. So, when he felt someone was following him, he made sure not to ignore the gut feeling, especially considering the situation he found himself in. He quickly handed over the one-pound note, grabbed the razors, and stepped out of the store.

The next few hours he spent buying the remaining items in his shopping list on the other side of the tracks, in the parish of Sylvania. There were clusters of houses and shops scattered throughout the town, but somehow it felt empty. It may be that people would prefer not to be noticed since they harbored secrets of their own. When he walked out of the last shop with his bag, he looked at the church clock, which showed it was one in the afternoon. After a long day, he headed to lunch in an eatery to rest and eat. Upon paying the bill, he looked inside his wallet and discovered that he was 40 pounds short. What caught his attention was an old man sitting by the door, seemingly lost in thought. The man wore a white shirt with black suspenders and a red tie. His wrinkles and folds on his face, together with his white beard and a few strands of grey hair, indicated old age and stress.

Though the man seemed to be uninterested in Hunter or his direction, Hunter was struck by something about him. It was the same feeling he had always learned not to ignore, so he fixed his gaze on the man. The unquivering feeling in Hunter's mind emerged after five minutes of conspicuous staring at him.

"Was I being too paranoid? Or was it just in my mind?"

He had been overthinking the past couple of days to a defining extent, and this adversely affected his judgment and actions. After removing his eyes and indulging in the thought, Hunter suddenly heard the door close. Immediately, he looked at the table where the old man had been seated a few moments ago, but it was empty. For a moment, Hunter paid barely any attention, but couldn't resist his curiosity. By the time he made his way outside to follow the old man, he could hear a car leaving the town as an engine roared and tires screeched. Hunter recognized the car to be a Vauxhall Victor from his time working at Bayside Service in West Hartford. Despite his inability to see the car's number plate, he was able to make out everything else. Knowing this, Hunter turned back toward the country road, chalking his actions to his overactive imagination brought on by his tumultuous state of mind.

While Hunter had done nothing more than buying a bag and some clothes, his mind was ablaze with thoughts and theories. He was trying to piece together the answer to this deeply entangled mystery. He thought of the woman in the photograph, but also of the letter that had come with it, one he was instructed to throw away as soon as he read it. But unlike the previous two times, Hunter kept it and read it repeatedly in a futile attempt to discover anything relevant. Due to the instructions in the letters, he knew that the identities of the three people he had murdered held the key to solving this unsavory mystery. He had never questioned the letters before, but he knew something was amiss the third time around. If he didn't find the culprit behind this whole affair, his deepest fears would come true. He simply could not commit these supposedly random murders without being caught. What had started with an accident had blackmailed its way into three gruesome killings, putting Hunter in an inescapable palate of quicksand. Now that he had to hide, he had to find something fast before another letter made its way into his hands. For at least a week. The murder of Angela Dawson would be on everyone's minds given her connection, so Hunter should stay as far away as possible. The patterns suggested Hunter would have four months at best, but he knew he would not be so lucky after his sudden detour.

"It's a stupid gamble," he murmured to himself as he continued his familiar route towards the Moon Lodge.

Hunter reached the lodge just as the sun began to lean toward the west. After knocking twice, he quietly entered. Moments later, he opened the door by slightly pushing on it. Hunter stepped inside to see the lodgekeeper, but he wasn't there. Instead, a girl stood by the reception, staring at him. After a glance, Hunter was surprised. She could not have been more than twenty years old, her dark blonde hair draping across her shoulder. Her sparkly blue eyes contrast against the light cream of her face. Although she gave a wry smile, her furrowed eyebrows gave away her repulsed feeling most likely due to Hunter's worn-out look. It was only when he glanced at her pointed chin and forehead that he realized the girl was the lodgekeeper's daughter. When she realized he was approaching, the girl opened her reddish-pink lips to say something but was interrupted by a voice.

"You're back! I thought you took off!" Shaw exclaimed, glancing at Hunter as he entered the lodge, his high-pitched voice suggesting slight irritation.

"I'll stay for a few more days," Hunter replied, his eyes still fixed on the girl.

"As long as you can pay," Shaw said as he walked towards the reception. Holding up a book, he sat down behind the counter without acknowledging the girl. He gazed at the pages for a moment, then lowered his gaze and turned to Hunter, who was still watching the girl.

"What are you looking at?" Shaw asked. Upon hearing the raspy voice, Hunter quickly looked away as he began walking towards the stairs.

"Hmmm", Shaw grunted, perhaps to the girl or both as Hunter climbed up. Turning around, he witnessed the girl, who had been quiet the entire time, slowly turning away and walking out the front door.

For a moment, Hunter stared at Shaw without saying a word. Sensing that he was going to say something and not wanting to be drawn into a conversation, he quickly retired into his room. Ten minutes to four was displayed as he opened the door. Despite wanting to rest, he decided to clean up first after grazing his hand over the rough splintered surface. Taking a pair of razors and some shaving gel out of his bag, he stepped into the washroom to make himself look a bit better.

Ten minutes later, he was finished, and it appeared as though a quarter of his face had been removed. Hunter was not a brute, and despite his six-foot height, he was leaner, making him look like more of a petty thief rather than a hardened killer. Now that the beard had been trimmed, he seemed less threatening and more amiable. When Hunter finished up and was about to walk out of the bathroom, he heard the faint rustling of an engine. As his body jerked, he rushed to his feet. The noise became louder and louder as it approached, indicating it was approaching. He felt his heart pound against his chest when he heard the exhaust note. He heard it outside the restaurant a few hours ago.

"So, the old man was after me. Fuck!!! You daft bastard, what in the fuck were you thinking?" Hunter cursed as he listened to the tires screech. Hunter stood frozen to a standstill next to the door for a few moments. Eventually, he heard Shaw's voice, but could not understand what he was saying.

Later, Hunter heard another voice; the voice sounded old and creaky. It sent shivers down Hunter's spine. Could he have been found? Hunter wondered.

"The bastard must have followed me," Hunter murmured to himself as he began pacing the room.

Voices died down after a few minutes, and footsteps could be heard approaching the hallway. The thought of jumping crossed Hunter's mind as he looked at the window. However, it vanished as he remembered that leaping would mean crashing right into the roof of the shed. After taking a few deep breaths and getting a handle on himself, he slowly placed his right eye in the keyhole. He tried to get a glimpse of the visitor even though he was reasonably sure that it was him.

It came as no surprise to him to see the white stripe shirt and red tie swaying as he approached Hunter’s door. Hunter's heart leaped into his mouth when he saw the man's dark blue trousers were marked with thin lines. Hunter's mind immediately shifted to a fight or flight frenzy when the man stopped for a moment, turning towards the door as if getting ready to open it. Even though the man appeared old and weak, and Hunter could easily knock him down, he was worried about Shaw, because he knew what that man was capable of. As Hunter waited breathlessly for the lock to turn and the door to fly open, not knowing what to do next, the odds seemed dire.

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