Chapter 101: Hounds From Hell
Unknown Location, Unknown State...
Snakeskin boots touched down onto white dust as the infamous killer kidnapper known fully as Jarrett Quinton Beaulieu slid out of his truck. His keen narrow eyes had been fixated on a rather impressive but barely held-together hunting shack as he gripped a silver barrel shotgun and made his way up the small wooden steps and into the front door. There had been a good deal of blood splattered about the place, remains and carcasses of dead animals of various kinds, and an occasional human body or two shot through the heart and lying where they had been dropped Jarrett had not been a stranger to nature, no stranger to nature at all when it came to men, women, children and animals alike.
As he huffed and stomped about the darkened shack, he took note of the box of silver bullets that had been laid out on a makeshift table splattered with blood and animal guts. The flies had not yet gotten to the place but the rancid stench of blood and death still lingered.
The images of the bodies of Charlie Mack and the unknown dropping like flies had appeared before Jarrett as he found himself contemplating his next move. He was quite a resourceful man and capable of much of anything when it came down to it, his time in Temperance had ensured he'd made a good deal of contacts and then some while rearing a young Sara Downes as his child.
He had been well aware that something was off with the bikers that rolled into Temperance, especially the leader of the bunch. He'd also been well aware that he had shot the one known as Brick Kenneally and there he was walking around as if nothing had ever happened.
Jarrett had also been aware of the way Layla had looked at him, the familiarity passing between them ever since the strange group came into town. Jarrett had believed them to be trouble. He had not liked the look of them at first glance and with what he figured out about Brick after shooting him, he was quite sure that something supernatural had been going on with them.
He turned his attention to the collection of silver bullets he'd accumulated in his private stash and made it a point to hallow out the tips making them even more deadly, while Layla had not been his biological daughter he was willing to die to keep her out of the clutches of whatever this Brick had been.
"Silver bullet.... the only thing that can kill a known werewolf," he said more so to himself than anyone else.
He had been no stranger to hunting and killing his fair share of animals, given his aptitude for hunting he wouldn't think twice about putting one of the bikers into the ground with his well-noted track record for murder.
Jarrett cleaned his guns and stocked them with bullets with ease as he sat amid the chaos of the blood-filled shack, a bottle of half-full whiskey at his side as he sat in the old wooden chair at the old wooden table his mind a series of thoughts both about his past and his present. He didn't care much for his future as he knew that the hell hounds had been after him.
Jarrett had already been good and drunk as he continued to clean his guns his low blue eyes fixated upon the door. He did a good deal of reflecting, about Layla and his dead daughter, he knew there was no way a man like him was going to get a reprieve. Not after all the hell he caused.
He had hoped that Layla would at least remember that he had loved her in his own way, even if he'd been prepared to go out in a haze of bullets and whiskey. Jarret recalled the look on his second wife's face when he strangled her to death after she told him she'd take Layla away from him and tell the cops who he was, he'd been furious after finding out she was sleeping with Chauncy.
His furry got the better of him that day as it had when he'd taken the lives of his first ex-wife, her lover, and their drug dealer in the trailer. He didn't regret a thing aside from Layla growing up to hate him after all the years he's spent loving her. He couldn't blame her one bit for how she felt, he'd been the man who killed her real parents and kidnapped her from the carnival after all.
Jarret continued to clean his guns and aim them ensuring the scope and sights had been calibrated just right. He recalled the look of Brick, his towering height and muscular build he didn't suppose it would take much to bring him down but he had plenty of bullets.
Silver bullets at that.
He'd be ready for the lot of them.
More bullets, more whiskey.
It was only a matter of time before they tracked him down.
He had already made up his mind to go out on his terms.
A jail cell wasn't in the cards and going in the ground suited him just fine, at least then he could finally be laid to rest beside his daughter, his little girl, his baby Layla.
For a moment his mind traveled back to the girl he'd taken from the carnival, Sara Downes, her scared little blue eyes and her trembling hands. He had only wanted to be her father, her reminding him of his daughter had been something he couldn't shake and day after day, each encounter with her and her family in the town where the carnival took place made him want his little girl back all the more.
He can't remember the first time she called him Daddy, but he knew he'd inadvertently traumatized her with the body of the sheriff, it had not been his intention but he'd come so far and the nosey man was going to ruin everything. He killed him and dumped the body in a ditch. It had all come so naturally to him, living on the run and getting rid of people who threatened to take what was his, it was so far removed from the man he used to be, the man whose daughter was killed on his watch, a man who couldn't keep his job to provide for her, a man who couldn't keep his wife.
Jarrett Quinton Beaulieu had been an everyman that attempted to make the best of his life but Jarrett Quinn was a man of action and took whatever needed to be taken and didn't give a damn who had anything to say about it, blood or otherwise. Jarrett Quinn had been prepared to die with a smoking gun in his hand and whiskey in his veins and he didn't give a damn who'd mourn him.