I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them / Chapter 6: The Devil’s Banquet
I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them

I Ate Their Secret—Now I Hunt Them

Author: Taylor Parker

Chapter 6: The Devil’s Banquet

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Yesterday, he wet himself with a gun to his head. No way he killed himself.

"The guard said Martin dropped his bowl at dinner. Food everywhere. They picked up all the shards, but he kept one." Tyler said.

He saw someone. Got threatened. Forced to die.

Quentin once said he had ninety-nine ways to make someone ‘commit suicide.’

Looks like the third person is in the precinct.

I remembered Quentin’s words and called out to Hannah as she was leaving.

"Hannah, any news from your sister?"

"My sister? The one who worked for the puppet regime?" Hannah paused.

"Yes, your twin sister. Didn’t she come back after the war ended?"

"Why do you ask? Lost contact a long time ago. Maybe dead. Times are rough." Hannah said.

"Sorry, just saw a pair of twins on the street, reminded me you had a sister."

Hannah’s reaction was normal. But too normal means abnormal.

A year and a half ago, I mentioned her sister. Hannah snapped. ‘Price, we can’t be partial. Don’t mention traitors. Or we’re done.’

Same dislike. Different tone.

Back at the office, I asked Tyler who saw Martin after I left yesterday.

Tyler said only Hannah saw him. No one else.

Gave Tyler a letter and a note. Told him to take leave and go to Springfield. If I wasn’t there when he got back, call the number. Direct line to Colonel James.

No choice. Dorsey’s garrison was corrupt. The precinct was worse. Third person was probably there. I had to try the infantry.

Tyler took the letter and note, keeping them close. He hesitated, but finally said, "Got it, boss. Take care."

Before he left, Tyler remembered—Wallace visited the interrogation room when Hannah was with Martin.

Told him to wait. Wrote up an application to merge the cases. Gave it to Tyler.

"When you see them, tell them I finished the sketch. Ready to set a trap. Need a live capture. Sending the Weed Puller to Springfield for credit."

I leaned back, staring at my safe, blowing smoke rings.

"Okay." Tyler whistled as he left. Calm under pressure. Good kid.

The net is cast. Let’s see what fish we catch.

After Tyler left, I locked up. Left the precinct. Circled around. Slipped back during the guard change. Hid in the office across the hall. Half-dozed in a chair.

Used to be the records room. Now just office supplies. Nobody came here.

Wallace or Hannah—anyone wanting the sketch would come for me first. If they couldn’t find me, the third person would act.

Footsteps and knocks in the hall. People coming and going. I stayed half asleep.

Night fell. Ate a granola bar. Drank some water. Waited.

Just past midnight, soft footsteps down the hallway.

Rustling outside my door. Office door creaked open.

Flashlight in one hand. Revolver in the other. Sweating.

Counted to ten. Quietly opened my door. Kicked open the office door. Gun up. ‘Hands on your head. Turn around.’

At the same time, I flipped the wall switch.

In the dim light, the figure slowly turned. It was Hannah.

"You’re not Hannah, are you? Or should I call you Heather?" I shone the flashlight on her.

"How can you tell?" Heather stared at me, calm.

"I was curious, that’s all. You wouldn’t show me the sketch. Couldn’t sleep. Came to look. You can’t call me a spy for that, right?"

Heather tried to act coy, downplaying her theft.

"Heather, I can’t tell you and Hannah apart. But you messed up. Hannah taught me how to sketch weapons—she wouldn’t ask me for help. And she’d never give me sleeping pills. Makes me worse."

"But that’s what the prescription says." Heather, usually calm, showed a trace of doubt.

"Didn’t you say you were Hannah? How could you not know my illness and medication?"

My smirk got to her. She looked angry.

"Your medical record is fake? Price, what illness do you have that’s so secret?"

"Heather, the game’s over. Tell me, did you go to Lexington Grill that night? Where’s Hannah? If she’s dead, I’ll shoot you right now."

I cocked my gun, the sound crisp in the midnight silence.

"You’d better ask Chief Wallace." Heather grinned, her teeth gleaming.

Not good. I was careless.

I knew I was in trouble. Smashed Wallace’s gun with my flashlight. He chopped my neck. Too late to stop him.

Pain. Couldn’t breathe. Sweat down my back.

I vaguely heard a child crying.

Opened my eyes. Saw knives. Table set with bowls and forks. Copper fondue pot in the center. Red coals burning.

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