Chapter Text
•~•< H U N T E R >•~•
His feet were screaming in pain and his lungs were hurting but he pushed on. He had to run. Running from all he ever knew felt surreal? Shouldn’t he run towards it? Towards him?
He hastily threw branches out of his path nearly getting a face full of leaves. Huffing, he redirected his thoughts to his surroundings where they were meant to be. Like uncle taught.
Darting through the woods, he ran away from the blaring sirens that scratched his ears, the blinding flashing red and blue lights, the swarms of evil bad people, and him home.
He still couldn’t quite piece together what had happened, every time he trying to recount the events that led him here they slipped through his fingers like fine sand. Focus.
With every racing step his heart pounded along thriving on the adrenaline. He could hear yelling and dogs barking which made his head hurt. His awareness daring him to take a split second glance. He couldn’t. Uncle trained him better.
All he seemed to remember was his uncle, praying, and a knife. He bit his lip, hard. The tangy metallic and dull pain refocused him enough to not slip down the steep cliff he nearly went tumbling down.
Stumbling back and refocusing he quickly stood in a defensive stance well his eyes darted around for an out. The cliff had a steep drop that led to a rocky sloped stream. If he jumped it would surely leave him unable to run. He learned that before. He should have remembered! So think. He could hear them getting closer making the hairs on his neck stand and his ears ring.
He was stuck. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He heard his uncles voice distantly chastise him as he viciously tugged at his hair. He was right, uncle was always right. But he can punish himself and repent once he wasn’t being chased. He would just have to take account of all his sins for later. Taking a panicked glance back down the cliff then up to the tall trees that built their home on its edge, he made a choice.
Quickly he pulled off his ill fitting tattered hoodie and his left shoe. Both were too small and worn to be useful anyway- not that he wasn’t greatful. He is alway grateful to uncle- focus. Quickly he chucking them over the cliff before, with practiced movements, clumping up the large old oak to a reasonable perch.
It wasn’t a well thought out plan but hopefully it could work. He knew he was stupid but maybe all uncles lessons and kindness would be enough. The combination of environment, stress, and evidence would ward off the bad people. The mix of his sweat soaked hoodie and worn in shoe would get the dogs off his scent too. All which gave him more of a fighting chance.
He breathed, waiting.
He hoped.
•~•< L I L I T H >•~•
She never wanted to be a field worker because of cases like this. Let alone one that the authorities called. Yet here she was standing in what could only be described as a cramped, cluttered yet almost military organize, secluded blood bath.
There were dozens of worn bibles, half melted candles, religious alters, rosaries, and jars filled with substances laying around the room. The older man, around his mid 40s, caucasian, average build and height, laid belly up in what looked to be a religious study. His most notable feature was the dagger plunged into his abdomen leaving him at the centre of the pooled blood.
He, however was not why she was called her. No, she was called to deal with the child who resided with the now dead man.
According to their file, the authorities had been contacted to do wellness checks on the two 46 time in the span of 5 years. They found their home, if I can even be called that, mostly how it is now. Aside from the body and blood.
When ever they separated the two to ask questions the ‘uncle’ would be agitated and worried sometimes even angry. Always questioning why they were involved and calling them satanic worshippers.
The boy however, would become alert, paranoid, anxious, and upset. He would be hesitant to answer questions and when he did they seemed to be practiced responses. He would also rush things and constantly ask where his ‘uncle’ was. This of course worried her.
She looked all over their property and couldn’t find the boy. According to the responding officers who got a glimpse of the boy and the file he was between the ages of 15-17, caucasian, dirty blonde, bean pole skinny, and average height.
“Mis. Clawthorne! We got a lead on that boy!” One of the lead officers of the case called over to her. Turning away from the body she walked over to him.
All of which currently lead her to looking over a steep cliff down at a dark red, tattered, child’s hoodie and one worn beyond repair black running shoe.
The scene was painted by the blue light of early dawn, riddling her with thoughts. She analyzed every possible outcome as the officers searched around and below the cliff. She continued in thought until she heard it. Snap.
Looking up she couldn’t believe what she saw. It was definitely him, the boy. He was covered in blood, bruises, cuts, and grime looking down at her with an expression of deer in the headlights pure terror.
Silently she signalled to an officer she found him well still keeping eye contact with the boy. Deciding to take the risk she took her opportunity,
“Caleb?”