Captive *Complete*

Chapter Two

Ethan Miller. 

Ethan woke up to his phone ringing. The merry ringtone sounded more like thunder rumbling in his ears. He groaned and reached with his hand aimlessly to the nightstand until he found it. He squinted one eye open to see Liam's name flashing as the caller ID.

"Liam, what the heck, man? . . . It's. . ." He pulled the phone back to check the time, only to find out that it was later than the usual time he would usually wake up. 

He knew staying awake the whole night studying that damn case was a bad idea, but he did it anyway. He was so excited about closing that case, eager to forget about it and the uncomfortable feelings that filled his heart while he was investigating, he didn't even care about how tired he was until he finished and emailed all the papers to the FBI chief.

"Nevermind. What is it?" He sat up and listened to his friend frantically talk about something aired on TV.

He groaned and reached over for the remote that he didn't touch in days, for how busy he was. He turned the TV on and switched to the news channel. The camera showed a live feed of a mob of people holding signs and flyers in front of the police station. The reporter came in view talking about how people were happily chanting and praising the police for catching that serial killer, while some were demanding for his release. What looked like a peaceful yet heated protest, the camera focused on the supportive group shouting and yelling at the police.

He frowned at that, wondering how those people found out that he got caught. They brought him to the station last night, which was why he worked the whole night to finish his paperwork.

The news really does travel fast.

The police department door opened, and an army of police officers spread around to stop the people from swarming over the killer. The cameraman zoomed in on the deranged man, who still had his mask on.

I guess no one could take it away.

The police told Ethan yesterday that they couldn't identify him, and his fingerprints weren't in the database. Yet, no one dared to approach him and attempt to remove that damn mask; A black mask that covered most of his face except for his eyes, adding mystery and engraving fear in people’s hearts. This ominous mask was considered as a symbol of justice and resistance by his fanbase, rooting for him to win against what they referred to as the corrupted system. 

Ethan snorted at that, rolling his eyes when the camera focused on his supportive group holding their hands high, showing their support and sympathy to this murderer. Ethan couldn’t understand why they would show this much support to this man. Whether what he did was for a great cause or not, he was still a murderer. He took the lives of many innocent people, robbing them of their family and friends. 

Ethan watched on TV as the guy was escorted out of the front door like some badass. He strolled proudly with his head held high, glancing left and right at the terrified people around him. The mob of people got quiet; the reporter as well stood there, stunned, unable to form words coherently.

He, for sure, looked scary.

He stood near the police-armored truck and glanced back at the crowd one more time before getting in the back of the vehicle.

"There you have it." The reporter went on, still looking a bit agitated. "The infamous killer is being deported to an unknown location under the federal custody of North Carolina. . ."

Ethan lowered the volume when he heard Liam calling for him. "Yes, I've seen it."

"This is all thanks to you. . .Listen, I'll call you back when they bring him here."

"Sure." He halfheartedly mumbled. Truth be told, Ethan didn't want anything to do with that guy anymore. The way he carried himself yesterday, when he caught him, made him feel uneasy.

He tracked him down as they asked him to do, and he found him sitting on a bench in a public park. It was dark, around eight in the evening. The park was empty, and Ethan thought that it was the perfect opportunity to catch him. He was about to call the police for back up since he was alone, and it would’ve been a pain in the ass to handle this guy on his own. To his surprise, the killer glanced back at him. The unsettling crow-looking mask made it impossible for him to see his expression.

Was it surprise or shock? Ethan wondered then. 

He heard him sigh heavily, looking back and staring again at the empty playground. Ethan debated whether to approach him or wait. One thing for sure he knew he should do, and that was to pull out his handgun and aim it at him. He didn't want to be jumped by a lunatic psycho and become an addition to his grim collection.

"Hands up!" He shouted at the guy who didn't even flinch or move an inch. He sat there, glaring at the swing that its chains kept creaking each time the wind blew. “Hands in the air!”

A chilling feeling hit Ethan to the bone. The killer didn't seem to care or feel threatened at all. Ethan felt alarmed by all of this yet intrigued to know the man behind the mask. He took careful steps and faced him, trying to, at least, make out what color his eyes were, but it was dark, and the two holes on his mask were too deep for him to determine their color.

He felt relieved, and a bit baffled when he saw the cops coming from every corner. He didn’t call for them, which made him consider that they were following him. Ethan took a mental note to ask Liam later about this. The police started yelling orders at the guy who didn't even glance at them. His eyes were glued on that swing, his breathing sounded calm, and his stance was relaxed. Ethan wondered if this killer wanted to be caught and had enough of spreading terror.

He finally stood up, making all the officers take steps back. One of them handed Ethan the handcuffs and asked him to use them on the killer, wearing a pitiful smile. Ethan wanted to argue with them, but it wasn't the right time and place. He just carefully approached the guy who extended his hands for him to put them on. To say Ethan was shocked was an understatement.

"Turn around. Hands behind your back." He commanded, and the man simply complied, showing no signs of resistance. He reached over and touched his hands and heard him grunt a sound like a moan.

Ethan didn't want to question or contemplate anymore about it. He cuffed him tightly and let the now relieved officers handle him.

The day went by, and Ethan, from time to time, checked his phone. He had that uneasy feeling of something bad would happen. He tried to take his mind off it by playing video games, but it was not helping when some diehard fans of that psycho, were roaming the virtual game, in his bone-chilling costume. It was just a plain gray hoodie and a crow mask, but people named it after him.

'The Mad Vigilante.'

Ethan always wondered how this guy got this name. He was told that he had one of the craziest and creepiest laughter that echoed every night he claimed a victim, alarming the people nearby that he hit again. All too paranormal for people as they claimed a murder of crows would always surround the scene of the crime.

It was weird how they could not find any record of him, as if he were a ghost. The fact that he worked alone and committed all those crimes was disquieting. Although Ethan never witnessed his crime scenes or had seen his victims, he believed his friends when they told him that it was brutal.

The phone went off again, startling Ethan with a jolt. He hastily swiped the screen and answered the caller.

"Liam?"

"He. . .He's gone, Ethan."

Ethan realized he was waking up even before he could force his eyelids to open; his senses awakened when he smelled coffee. It smelled wonderful. He had no idea how long he had been out, but his stomach felt empty. And when he was finally able to open his eyes, the lids practically scrapped across the corneas.

He realized that he had been out for a while. 

"More than twenty-four hours. It's around dawn, On Sunday."

He blinked several times, turning this voice in his mind, frowning for not recognizing the place he was in. He recalled the events that happened, which almost lead to his demise. He remembered the struggle he went through to escape the killer and coming across the hunter, who evidently saved him.

Ethan began to push himself up onto his elbows, biting back a groan as his leg throbbed in protest. He was covered with a blanket but could feel the constriction of the bandage around his upper thigh.

A pillow was stuffed behind his head and shoulders, and a steaming cup placed in his hands.

"You shouldn't move very much, just yet." The caring and gentle voice of the stranger rang in his ears. “You’ve already lost a lot of blood, and I had to dig pretty deep to get that bullet out."

He had to dig?!

"You're lucky, though. The bullet was right up next to the bone but hadn't damaged it as far as I could tell."

When Ethan was able to focus, he found his back to him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. All he could tell was how slim yet masculine his figure was. He could tell that there were some muscles under his thin sweater and close-fitting jeans. The guy had a shoulder-length ebony black thick hair, and he could see a tattoo on the left side of his neck.

Tearing his gaze off him, he looked around to find himself in what appeared to be the main room of a log cabin. He could see a hallway with two closed doors. A couple of oil lamps as well as battery-powered lights scattered around. The main room was divided by a long wooden table into two halves; a kitchen and a cozy living room.

Ethan was on a comfortable, soft, and warm couch.

The place was warm with a big stone fireplace, colorful rugs scattered on the planked wood floor; A hunting trophy. The head of a bear was mounted above the fireplace. It was the only sign that this might be a hunter's cabin.

Remembering the coffee in his hand, he lifted it and took a cautious sip. As he savored the strong taste he preferred, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head.

A dog lying on a thick bear rug near the door, watching him fixedly. A very white dog as the snow that was covering the terrain outside. He looked heavily muscled.

A husky? No, it is definitely a wolf. Didn't the killer have a wolf-looking dog as well?

It was dark when Ethan met the killer's dog, but it was evident that the fur was of a clear color. Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, because if this guy were the killer, why would he save him and tend his wounds?

"His name is Lucky." The guy said.

Ethan looked at him, now facing him, and got struck by how beautiful he was. There was something unreal about him. A faintly freckled face with delicate features, almost feminine-like. Cerulean blue eyes complemented his tan complexion.

He guessed he was in his late twenties, early thirties.

"I snooped while you were out." He stated his voice calm. “Checked your ID, assuming it's real."

"It is."

"Okay, Ethan Miller. Your wallet and gun are in the drawer of that end table beside the couch. Your jeans are soaking in the tub; I managed to get them off without doing any more damage than the bullet has already done, but they were blood-soaked down to the hem."

Ethan, suddenly very conscious of being in a t-shirt and briefs. He tried not to think about him stripping his unconscious body. He had, after all, taken care of his wound.

"In this chilly weather and without a dryer, the jeans won't be wearable anytime soon. Luckily for you, there is a trunk with my friend's clothes, and I think there are some things that will fit you well enough."

He took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips afterward and sucking the delicious coffee, making them grew redder than before. He grinned, showing off his pearly white teeth and held out a hand for Ethan to shake.

"I'm Wyatt, by the way." His hand was delicately soft, not as Ethan assumed a hunter's hand would be.

"This is my friend's place. We usually come here to hunt, but I needed some time alone, so I came here to spend Christmas and probably new year as well." He paused. “With a stressful job, breaks are a good idea. I come here for solitude and tranquility. . .December is generally very peaceful and uneventful here. This year, not so much."

"Sorry." Ethan apologized.

"Well, you didn't start the trouble, as far as I can tell. It appears that the vigilante did when he took up residence here."

"I meant to ask you earlier. Why didn't you call the cops?" Ethan asked the question that bothered him the most.

"Out here, we take care of our own problems. He wants to be left alone, and he made sure everyone in the area knows it by shooting fire on whoever came close to his territory. So, he'll be left alone."

"But he is dangerous," Ethan stated the obvious angrily.

In an indifferent tone, Wyatt replied with a shrug. "Bears are dangerous. Snakes can be dangerous. Escaped felons are quite likely dangerous. Private investigators who carry guns are probably dangerous." He paused and took a sip of his hot coffee, repeating the same motion he did before, but this time he grazed his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Ethan didn't know why he couldn't tear his eyes away from those plump lips. Everything was in slow motion for him. The way his lip parted and how his tongue flicked the left side swiftly catching the few drops of coffee, then making sure that he got everything by sweeping with his teeth on his bottom lip, that looked swollen. . .

The angelic voice snapped him back. Wyatt looked indifferent, and Ethan hoped that he didn't notice that he was gazing at his lips.

"This is a dangerous place. Most of us like it that way. Living with danger can make you feel alive in a way nothing else can."

Ethan happened to agree with that. The thrill of danger was what made him choose this profession as a career.

"I thought it was best to let you sleep, but you must be starving by now."

He stood up and took the empty cup from Ethan's hand.

"Food is ready. You should eat, then probably sleep some more."

He watched the slender yet masculine figure walk to the kitchen and pulled out a plate from the cupboard.

"You don't mind staying alone?"

Wyatt glanced back at him, and Ethan shook his head. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he resorted to staying quiet for now. The guy didn't seem to trust him yet. Ethan didn't trust him either and doubted that he would answer his questions truthfully.

"I will take Lucky and go check on your guy," Wyatt stated bluntly.

"Seriously?!" Ethan stammered. “Don’t go near him or he would shoot you."

Wyatt just gave him a stern look and muttered. “I am a hunter, you know. I can sneak on him without him knowing of my existence."

Like you sneaked up on me, Ethan wanted to say, but he bit his tongue not to say something that would provoke this stranger, who was, for now, a suspect of being the notorious killer. Even though he helped him and kept him alive. It didn't mean that he was not the one he was tracking. This guy could be in some sadistic s**t and wanted to keep him alive to toy with him.

Maybe I should let him leave and get out of this cabin to check the surroundings. I can pretty much remember how the cabin that lunatic was hiding in looked like. Just one look was enough to clear my doubts.

Wyatt didn't seem to notice or just wasn't bothered by his silence. He merely said. "Your food is served. Eat and get some sleep. Give your body time to heal. . .The sun will be up in a bit, so I'll try to get to his hideout before it gets bright."

He grabbed his jacket and put it on. He turned before leaving and eyed Ethan carefully.

"Don't try to leave. You may get lost and hurt in the process, maybe even killed." His tone was calm yet firm, making Ethan's stomach drop, and his face grew paler than it already was.

Wyatt whistled for his dog, whose ears perked up and averted his glare from Ethan, standing up next to the door in anticipation. They both left and Ethan felt himself panic. The way Wyatt spoke sounded like a threat.

A click was heard, making him jump.

Did he just lock the door?