I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them / Chapter 2: Pulling Weeds in the Dark
I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them

I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them

Author: Taylor Parker

Chapter 2: Pulling Weeds in the Dark

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I waved Hannah over. Forced myself to swallow the nausea. She didn’t flinch—just started the autopsy.

Can’t let a woman outdo me, right? Even if my stomach was churning.

Lit a Lucky Strike. Took a few drags. Needed something to steady me.

The sharp burn of smoke. Almost a relief. Grounded me in something real. Something I could control.

"‘Pulling Weeds’? What’s that supposed to mean?" Hannah asked, peeling off her gloves after the autopsy, her face a little pale.

Her voice was steady. But her hands shook. Hannah was tough. But nobody’s made of stone.

"It means the one who pulls weeds," I said. Finished my cigarette. Stared at the writing on the floor.

Heard the name for years. Never thought I’d see it in person.

"Hadn’t shown up in five years. Now, this."

My voice sounded far away, even to me. The Weed Puller—one of those stories you hear in the back of a bar. Half believed. Half dreaded.

Legend says: ‘If weeds aren’t removed, crops won’t flourish.’ Everyone he killed was a monster. Over ten years, the Weed Puller became a legend among regular folks.

Some called him a hero. Others, a madman. In Chicago, maybe there’s no difference.

Ten years back, he wiped out the Callahan family in southern Illinois. Became famous overnight. Then the O’Rourke brothers in St. Louis. ‘Skinner’ McCabe from Iowa. The Butcher Doctor from the Twin Cities. Five years ago, he vanished. No one knows why.

Now, the dead guy—Pembroke—was half a hometown boy to me. We’d shared a meal once. Known for his charity, spotless reputation.

Dorsey—I’d seen him at meetings. Decorated, but not stuck-up. People liked him.

How could these two be monsters? Didn’t make sense.

I felt a prickle of doubt in my gut, the kind that never led anywhere good.

Tyler brought up Martin and the chef. Kept them far from the scene, just in case.

That way, no one could say he was slacking off. And I could question them whenever I wanted.

"Killer knew what they were doing. Weapon cut through steel like butter." Hannah handed me the autopsy report.

Spat out my cigarette. Read the report. Ignored Hannah’s look.

The tendons of both victims’ hands and feet were severed—cuts neat and clean. That told me, first, the weapon was razor-sharp; second, the killer was lightning quick.

No chance to resist. Forced to watch as their organs were laid out in front of them.

Not even dead when they were skinned.

Tongues cut out as they tried to scream.

Chests cut open. Hearts and livers ripped out. Hell couldn’t be worse.

Didn’t look like silencing witnesses. More like punishment. Or a confession.

Estimated time of death: between 11 and midnight last night.

Martin said last course was at 10. After that, the boss wanted privacy. No waiters until 12:30. That’s when they found the bodies.

Martin was slick. Always ready to please. I didn’t buy his story.

The chef, though—one look at him made me shiver. One eyelid drooped, the other clouded. Looked like he was rolling his eyes. Gave me the creeps. More butcher than chef.

Lexington Grill wasn’t what it seemed. Not by a long shot.

"Something wrong?" Hannah asked.

Shook my head. Looked around the room again.

Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. Something was missing.

"You see anything missing?"

"What?" Hannah looked around, confused.

"What were they doing here last night?"

"Eating... a meal, you mean?" Hannah shivered.

No food. Not a crumb. The table was spotless. Unnaturally so.

"Did the killer eat it?" Hannah’s voice was tight.

She knew that was crazy. Who could eat in a room like this? How twisted would you have to be?

"It was taken away. If they’d eaten it, the table wouldn’t be this clean."

But why take it? My gut told me—find the reason, find the truth.

"Were the victims’ stomachs empty?" I asked Hannah.

"Empty."

"Any chance they ate before...?"

Hannah stared at me, shocked.

She put her gloves back on. Turned on her headlamp. Checked the stomachs.

She found two small pieces of chewed meat. Half-digested. One from each stomach.

So, they weren’t empty after all.

"This is too weird. Never seen anyone kill and then take out everything from the stomach," Hannah muttered.

"There’s only one possibility: the killer had a reason to take it away."

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