Chapter Text
Hunter gasped. Awake after a terrible nightmare. Little Jimmy had run away with a strange little boy, and they'd teamed up to shoot him in the chest.
His hands conducted a quick once over on his torso. Flabs of fat over hard muscle, knobs of flesh, deep scars long mended over nodules of swollen bone. Normal. Nothing missing, nothing noticeably new. He didn't look directly, though.
He grunted. Rolling out of the moth-eaten mattress, his heavy arm slammed onto the nightstand. He groped around until finding his leg. He sat up and shimmied close to the edge of the mattress.
His left leg snapped into metal brackets, just below the thigh. The right snapped into a metallic joint that replaced his kneecap.
"Rrrrrm." He mumbled as the prosthetics landed on creaking wood.
Hunter stretched, then slouched. It was bright outside, he'd overslept.
He pulled out a white tank top, then a long sleeved flannel. Buttoning it took half an hour, two minutes more than yesterday. His fingers were thicker than they used to be, less coordinated too. He hoped he didn't have to replace them anytime soon.
He slowly stumbled toward the broken mirror over the dresser. He yanked off its cloth covering to look himself in the eye. The dense feeling in his chest worsened when he saw the state of his face. The same. Completely unrecognizable, he made eye contact with himself and glared.
Hunter.
Charlotte.
James.
Anthony.
Another Woman.
He sighed and thought again.
Self.
Wife.
Son.
Father.
I Don't Know.
He repeated his series of thoughts out loud.
He pulled his old sack over his misshapen head and tightened the rope lining it.
Time to go fishin'. Fishin's fun. He slipped into his coat and hat. Hunter grabbed his pole and tackle box, and went tromping through the brush. The morning mist rolled past his waist...He left his gun at home. Gotta have a gun to catch fish. That's okay. He'd swing by the shed. It was only 10 minutes out of the way.
He hummed tunelessly, the noise died in his throat when he saw the shed. There was a hole. A big hole. Had an animal gotten in?
Upon closer inspection, the breakage indicated something large using brute force to break in. Maybe a bear or moose. The shed smelled like smoke. The gun was off its display, left on the floor. Gunsmoke. He hurriedly climbed inside to see what happened to his firearm. As he suspected. A shell was missing, someone or something had shot it recently...Not that recently, he conceded. Maybe a few hours ago, half a day at most. Probably while he was sleeping in.
A rogue hand lingered thoughtfully over his heart.
He growled. He'd fix the shed today and set more traps. After fishing of course.
The marsh was still. Too still, too quiet. Thoughts flitted into his mind before he knew it.
He knew he was missing something, worse, he knew what it was. No matter how much he played pretend with dolls, he'd never speak to them again. Never apologize for what he did, before and after they disappeared. He'd never let them go.
Hunter stood suddenly, perilously rocking the boat. He cocked his gun and fired a shot into the swamp. After a minute or two, a fat black carp rose to the surface, belly side up. He quickly unloaded several more rounds into the water at random. He observed his catch with a grin. Enough lunch for the whole family.
Hunter had been very productive today, despite the late start. He'd checked the traps, set new traps, fixed the shed, gone fishing, what a good day.
It was stew night again. He amiably stirred carrots and chunks of potato. A thump resounded from downstairs. He shrugged, just little live Jimmy stretching his le- le- le-what was he thinking about?
The spoon fell into the stew as he clomped down to the basement. Why? It was just a- another hole. Keys, where were his keys? He fumbled through pockets. They're gone, they must've fallen out somewhere in the woods.
A small blur streaked past his legs.
Little Jimmy!
He growled. How did he get out?
The answer made itself known when it strolled after Jim. And it was wearing Jimmy's hat. That little-
"Arrgghhh!!!!"
A stiff legged kick sent the child flying against the wall and into a pile of cotton with excessive force. The boy stirred slightly. Hunter reached out to grab the hat, only to withdraw his hand as a crackle of friction shocked him through gloves.
The boy groaned and made a weak attempt at standing. Hunter took the opportunity to seize his tiny body. A sliver of excitement crept through him as the little boy squirmed in his grasp. Little creatures always tried to run away.