the one that got away
scott
In forty-five years of werewolf hunting, I went over the world. I bagged me no less than two hundred and thirty-seven of the two hundred and thirty-nine creatures I went after. Two hundred and thirty seven. Only two got away.
One was the one that killed me (goddamn gun jammed - son of a bitch).
The other was your guy.
The one you stopped me from killing.
I don't really remember the rest all that well - you kill one hairy blood-thirsty monster, you killed them all, really. But I remember your guy. God damn, I remember your guy.
I was SO close. So close, and you took him away from me in seconds. All that hard work for nothing. A goddamn high-school junior with a bug up her butt about killing werewolves screwed it all up for me.
And you bent my favourite rifle out of shape as well. Bitch.
It wasn't the money that mattered. Oh, don't get me wrong - I was a greedy bastard in life, collected all my cents up. And it wasn't like I lost a hell of a lot, or I had a contract on that guy - I made up my losses soon enough.
But Jesus, just because I got PAID for it didn't mean I didn't ENJOY it as well! You know what it's like, girl, to hunt something? To savour every minute, to follow every track, to stalk your prey from the shadows and then, when it's weak and defenseless - BAM! Have you ever felt the exhilaration from killing something you've hunted for so long and hard, the adrenaline burning inside you?
And then, have you ever had some whiny little bitch screw it all up for you?
I'm still pissed off at you, in case you ain't realized.
You screwed it all up. I bagged me more of those bastards after your guy, of course, but it was never the same after that. It was never the same with the bitter taste of failure in my mouth like ashes from that one score, the feeling that I'd screwed up just ONCE that coloured my entire career after that. If you hadn't interfered...
Well, time to go. I guess what I'm saying is that you, school girl, that librarian guy who's probably sticking it to you, the werewolf you saved and any other goddamn members of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Werewolves can all burn in hell.
See ya,
JEREMIAH CAIN.