Hunters: The Beginning

Prologue: Aden

     Portland, Oregon. Just another pin on the endless map of cities my mom drug me through as a kid. And it seemed like each city got even more crappier than the last. Or maybe it was just the motels we stayed at. It’s not like my mom was in the most luxurious of careers. 

She called herself an Entrepreneur, and told me that we went from city to city, state to state because her customers never stayed in one place too long. At five years old, I knew this was a lie. How many entrepreneurs sharpened knives while they thought their kids were asleep? How many kept a duffle bag full of weapons under their bed every night? And how many were fluent in Latin? No, my mom was no entrepreneur. She was a full blooded, all-American Hunter.

It started out like any other night in every other crap motel room we stayed in. My mom had just finished my Latin lesson and told me to get ready for bed.

“Aden, mi corazon, I’ve got a deal I need to go close. Mommy will be back soon. Okay?” she asked as she tucked me into the bed we were to share that night.

“Okay, mom.” I replied as I watched her smile before kissing my fore head and wishing me sweet dreams. I may have been five but I wasn’t dumb. I knew that for my mom, a “deal that needs to be closed” was always code for another hunt. What it was this time, I didn’t know. Hell, I never knew. My mom went through a lot to keep it that way.

I watched as my mom walked towards the decrepit motel room door as she always did, duffle bag in hand and a face full determination and another unreadable emotion that I could only recognize as fear.

However, this time instead of shutting off the light and walking straight out of the door, she did something that I think surprised us both. 

“Do you remember the emergency number I told you about?” she asked, door open and her back still turned to me.

Confused, I replied, “Yes mommy. The one inside your big diary. Right mommy?” She had told me about the emergency phone number only once. She told me it was inside of the huge book that she wrote in every time she came back from one of her “deals”. She also told me that I was never to go inside of that book unless it was an extreme emergency. So, I had no idea what could have possibly made her think of that.

“Yes, mi crazon. If I am not back by the time you wake up in the morning,” she paused for a moment as if in thought. “I need you to call that number. Tell the man who you are and what state we’re in.” when she finished, her voice was shaky, as if she were about to cry. 

“Why mommy?” I asked.

“Te amo Aden...” she replied, using the beginning of our phrase.

“Hasta que el sol deje de brillar.” I finished, still confused.

She didn’t give me a chance to ask any more questions, knowing that I would, before she darted out of the motel room and into the dark night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Hello?” replied the masculine voice on the phone.

       “M-my n-name is Aden Delgadillo. I’m in Oregon and- and my mo-mommy didn’t come home last night.” I sobbed into the phone.