The long-forgot-about FanFic "Shots of the Past" COMPLETED!!! (post 1)

After quite a wait, here it is, completed (too large of a file for one post)
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"Hunter: Shots of the Past"

Rockford, Illinois
Friday, January 13, 1995

An eerie orange-tinted light illuminated the parking lot of the Road Stop Plaza. The plaza

was filled with a variety of different stores including a card shop, a craft store, a cleaners, and on

the end a fast-food delicatessen named Freeman's. Every store had closed early due to the

inclement weather, which had snow blizzarding through the town at a fast rate. However, being

that it was a Friday night, a typically busy day of the week, Freeman's remained open. Inside, two

young employees were wishing the night away and waiting for their time to go home. On a night

when they thought business would be abundant, an unexpected snowfall changed everyone's

plans.

"Do you think anyone's even gonna show?" Mike Rapala asked, turning to his co-worker,

hoping for a response.

"Well, people have gotta eat, don't they?" Ashley Lancaster replied, glancing over at Mike

and knowing he had every intention of going home. Mike was a lazy 26-year old who had only

signed on at Freeman's because his parents had talked him into it. A rare occasion it was when he

would come in and work a full week. Ashley, on the other hand was a very diligent young lady,

22 and full of a passion for life. Ashley had gone to college and was working at Freeman's until

she could find a higher-paying job.

"I've got stuff I could be doing at home," Mike claimed.

"Like what, stuffing your face with chips and playing video games?" mouthed Ashley

sarcastically.

"You know me too well. Would you close up?" Mike asked. "Please? I'll pay you back

someday."

Seeing that it was already 9:45 and closing time was in fifteen minutes, Ashley agreed to

Mike's request.

"Thanks a bunch, Ash!" Mike yelled as he bolted out the door.

"Yeah, sure," Ashley mumbled to herself. She thought of going home as well, but decided

to stick out the final fifteen minutes, being the type of person she was. Ashley turned on the radio

and turned the dial to find her favorite station, hoping to catch a song or two.

Meanwhile, Mike was already in his car and waiting for the stop light to turn green to exit

the plaza. Before the color could change, a large navy blue van made the turn and entered the

plaza. A chill suddenly went through Mike's body for some reason as the rusting blue van passed

him. He glanced over at the occupant, a forty-something man who's scalp was becoming bald as

fast as his vehicle was getting rust. Mike also noticed something very strange - the man was

wearing sunglasses in the pitch black of night. Knowing that the only business open was

Freeman's, Mike thought about going back to the deli to help Ashley with this customer. But

Mike then thought about the comfort of his home, settling down and finishing the season on his

football video game. At the sight of a green light, Mike careened out of the lot and on to the

main highway, ignoring his instinct about the van that had entered the plaza.

The van backed into a parking space in the very end of the parking lot and shut the engine

off. From this vantage point, there was a very clear view into Freeman's and of Ashley sitting

behind the counter enjoying the sounds coming through the radio. The man reached into the back

seat of the van and grabbed a pair of high-powered binoculars, putting them up to his eyes.

Focusing the lenses, the man used the tool to stare intently at Ashley. Slowly, the man put down

the binoculars and exited the blue van. Creeping as not to make a noise, the man ventured over

near Ashley's green Jeep Grand Cherokee, which did not appear that color with the tinted lighting

overhead. Upon reaching his destination, the tall figure drew a long, sharp butcher knife from his

pocket and glanced down at his weapon. Crouching down, the man jabbed the knife into the

rubber of the sport utility vehicle's front left tire. Approving his own actions, he knew that Ashley

would not simply be able to drive off now. Being careful not to be seen, the man peered into the

deli and observed that Ashley was still listening to music behind the counter. He crept once again

back to his van, parked at the edge of the plaza. Entering the driver's seat, the man picked up his

pair of binoculars again, staring at Ashley as she began to shut down the store.

Slipping her arms into her long brown coat, Ashley shut off the last light and turned the

lock, closing the door behind her. Her night of work was over, she thought. She would go home,

where her parents would be in bed already. She would take a hot bath and go to bed, getting

some much needed sleep after a long week. Ashley reached into her coat pocket and fumbled

around for her keys. Upon hearing the jingle of metal on metal, she clasped the keys in her hand

and headed for her car. As she unlocked the vehicle, given to Ashley by her father for her 21st

birthday, she noticed that the front tire had gone flat.

"Damn it! Why now?" she shouted out loud in disgust.

Ashley kneeled down and examined the black tire, noticing a slice on the visible portion.

However, she didn't suspect that anyone had intentionally done the damage. Getting to her feet,

she looked around, hoping that Mike was still around to provide her some assistance. All she saw

was a parking lot empty except for a white blanket of snow. Her eyes then traveled to a van

nestled in a corner of the lot, away from the flickering orange lights. The van appeared very

suspicious to Ashley, who let her brains tell her something was not quite right about the situation.

Her eyes then moved to see a trail of large footprints in the snow, leading to her car from the

shady van. She looked back at the van and noticed a faint red glow coming out of the darkness.

The red dot appeared to be the burning end of a cigarette, meaning that there was someone in the

van, watching her. Ashley rushed back to the storefront and quickly opened the lock of

Freeman's. She headed straight for the phone and dialed her her older brother, who lived with his

wife about twenty minutes away.

Ashley frantically spoke to her brother's answering machine. "Brad, pick up please! Brad!

It's Ashley! I need..." She was cut off by her brother's voice on the other end.

"Calm down. What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I'm at work, and I've got a flat. I don't know how to change a tire!"

"That's all? That's what your all crazy about?"

Ashley thought of telling Brad about the van in the parking lot and how she believed

someone was after her. She knew that Brad would probably just laugh at her, so she left that part

of her story out.

"I just want to get home. It's late, Brad."

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Bye."

"I'll be here. Thanks a bunch." With that, Ashley heard a dial tone on the other end, and

she hung up, knowing her brother would be along shortly to help her out. She thought once again

about the van in the parking lot. Ashley knew that she should remain in the restaurant until her

brother arrived, but she was also stubborn. Ashley walked out the front door of Freeman's and

began to walk once again toward her green Jeep. She glanced over at the creepy van in the

corner, noticing that the red dot was no longer there. Ashley laughed to herself, convinced that

she had just imagined that someone was smoking in the van. Ashley looked at her slashed tire

once again, and stepped in her Jeep, putting the key in the ignition. She turned the car on and set

the heat on full blast, hoping to warm herself up in the ice cold weather.

"Might as well," Ashley mumbled as she turned her car radio on to her radio station once

again. The music playing was not a song Ashley liked. Slow, with a creepy tune to it, not the

type of music she typically listened to. Strange for a light-rock station to be playing. Out of the

corner of her right eye, she noticed something strange. A cigarette butt was laying on the mat in

front of the passenger seat. Ashley did not smoke cigarettes. She despised the smell of the

smoke they emitted. Pulling her glove off to grab the cigarette, Ashley leaned down over the

passenger seat. On a cold night with near-zero temperatures, the cigarette butt was still

smoldering and warm. It had an orange-red glow still barely evident. Then it hit Ashley. She had

seen a similar glow coming from the dark van minutes earlier.

"Oh my God," Ashley panicked, brushing her long brown hair to the side with her hand.

She looked up and took a glance in her rear-view mirror. From this mirror, she could see a

reflection in the very back part of her car, bouncing off the window, being lit up by the lights

above the lot. It appeared to be a massive black shape. Before she could move, a figure sprang

up out of the back area and lurched forward over the seats. It was a large human being, and he

had his hands around Ashley's neck. Ashley grabbed the door handle and pulled, but to no avail.

The doors appeared to be locked somehow. Ashley began to have trouble breathing as the man's

hands grasped tighter around her throat. Choking and coughing, Ashley swung her right arm

backward, hoping to strike the man and get him off of her. Grunting with brute strength, the

large man pulled his hands and yanked Ashley back over the seat, sending her into the back of the

Jeep with him. He continued to fasten his hands around the young woman's neck, as if he was

trying to strangle her. Finally, gasping for air, Ashley broke free from the man's grip and clawed

at his face with all the strength she had. The man's bald head began to bleed, crimson trickling

down his enraged face. Ashley attempted to scream, but she couldn't even hear herself over the

music that was still playing from her stereo. Kicking the man in the groin, Ashley subdued the

man long enough to fling the door open and crawl out. Crawling through the snow, Ashley

staggered to the front door of Freeman's and pulled the door, but she had locked it on her way

out. She then reached for her keys, but they were in the ignition of her Jeep. There was no way

into Freeman's. Ashley began to cry out of fear as she ran around to the side alley. There was

nowhere to go. All doors were locked and there was nowhere to hide. She heard the sound of

her four-wheel drive SUV moving through the snow, even with shredded rubber on one rim. She

frantically tried to find some where to go as the Jeep's headlights now lit up the path in front of

her. The Jeep hurdled forward and came up behind her like a 4,000 pound rocket. Ashley kept

running, seeing the end of the alley was near. She could feel the heat of the Jeep's headlights

shining on her. Just as she jumped off to the side at the end of the alley, the front of her own car

collided with her legs, and Ashley caromed off to the side, behind the plaza. Her head smacked

the side of the brick building, and blood began to stream down her cheeks as she lay unconscious

on the snowy pavement.

The Jeep stopped in the snow and the man shut the engine off. The bloodied man stepped

out of the vehicle and strolled nonchalantly over to the lifeless-looking body of Ashley Lancaster.

Red ran down her face and was beginning to soak into the white Freeman's Deli shirt she was

wearing. Continuing to show no emotion, the man stared blankly as he drew a disposable camera

from his pocket.

The man held the camera up to his face and took a photograph of Ashley, laying

motionless next to a dumpster on snow that was beginning to turn red. With that, the man

casually walked away and pushed the camera back into his pocket, putting the sunglasses on once

again. Walking through the alley and the eerily lit parking lot as if nothing had happened, the man

opened the door to his dark blue van. Hopping in to the driver's seat, the bulky figure pulled out

a Marlboro and a lighter, inhaling smoke once again. He turned the vehicle's engine on and drove

out of his corner parking space and up to the stoplight, running right through the red signal. The

man was on the highway and off into the night. His job was done.
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San Diego, CA
July 1, 2003

The sun glistened on the coastline of San Diego, California. It was 8:30 in the evening and

the sun was beginning to set on one of the southernmost cities in the state. It was the time of

night when water skiiers and other traffic were pulling their equipment out of the Pacific Ocean

and the night fishermen were launching. The Silver Strand Beach Park, on the other hand, was

beginning to fill up with motorhomes and RVs in preparation of the upcoming Independence Day

festivities. With their sedan parked in a secluded corner of a camp parking lot, San Diego Police

officers Rick Hunter and Dee Dee McCall were lying in wait -- waiting for a deal to go down.

Hunter and McCall had solved a murder for hire, but wanted to conclude the case by taking both

parties down at once -- the hit man and the paying customer. A wiretap from earlier in the

morning led Hunter to suspect that that paying customer, Ted Crandall, would be paying his

hitman the remaining money for a job well done.

"Come on, when's this dirtbag gonna show?" Hunter exclaimed out of frustration. Hunter

had seen what Crandall had ordered to happen. When the body of Melanie Crandall had washed

up on the shores with fifteen bullet holes in it, Hunter was at the scene, viewing the carnage that

Melanie's husband had paid a professional to create. He wanted to take Crandall down for what

had occurred and be there to see him thrown in a holding cell.

"Patience pays off, Hunter. This guy'll show for his last stroll on the beach." It was

McCall. Hunter's partner and best friend. Thirteen years ago, the two had gone their separate

ways, but fate had drawn them back together once again, miles down the California coast. They

knew each other better than anyone else ever could.

"Take a look. That's gotta be the hired help," Hunter said, pointing toward a suspicious

man across the lot.

"I'd say so. That's gotta be Sal," McCall added.

"How many other guys do you know that wear all black, are 350 pounds and have foot-

long beards?" Hunter responded. His description was accurate. The man across the lot was

suspiciously pacing back and forth near a bench, as if he was waiting for someone. More

importantly, he matched the description of the hit man only known as Sal. Perhaps even more

damning was the gun holstered on under the man's overcoat, seen by Hunter and McCall when the

corpulent suspect turned around. Hunter leaned forward and picked up the police radio:

"Sanders, keep an eye on the big guy in black. I think he's our guy. We just have to wait

for Crandall to arrive, and then this guy's toast." Sanders was part of the back-up in place, poised

and ready for the takedown. The radio sounded back to Hunter:

"Hunter, Crandall just showed up in his red Escort."

"When we see the exchange, let's take him," Hunter replied.

Crandall pulled into a space near the restrooms and stepped out of his car. McCall peered

through the binoculars as Crandall approached the man believed to be Sal. Crandall appeared

quite tiny compared to the huge hit man. Crandall was about 5'8" and 130 pounds, approaching

age fifty. Suddenly, it happened. The exchange was made. Sal was paid off for a job well done.

Crandall had slipped Sal the money promised for killing his wife.

"Let's take him!" Hunter screamed into the radio, quickly shifting into drive and slaloming

toward the pair. Hunter slammed on the brakes and quickly jumped out of the car along with

McCall.

"Police! You're under arrest, Crandall!"

Before Hunter could utter another word, his eye shifted to the bulbous hitman. Sal

reached into his pocket, and acting on instinct, Hunter quickly shifted. A bullet from Sal's gun

had almost taken out Hunter. Hunter quickly returned fire along with McCall. Each one quickly

put a bullet in Sal. McCall hit Sal in the chest, while Hunter nailed his target right between Sal's

eyes, at the peak of his unibrow. By this time, the back-up had already arrived to detain Crandall.

Hunter glanced over at McCall. The first thought when he had seen Sal had a gun was of McCall,

not of his own safety.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's you you should be worrying about. That guy almost blew your head

off!" McCall told her partner. Hunter simply smiled back at McCall.

Hunter looked over at the half-dozen officers checking on Sal and arresting Crandall.

"Lancaster!" Hunter suddenly shouted.

"Yeah, Sergeant?" said a cop who turned and looked at Hunter.

"Is he dead?" Hunter asked, motioning to the lifeless Sal.

"Looks so. As far as I'm concerned, so's Crandall." Lancaster said, turning to look at the

pathetic Ted Crandall. "He's going away for a long time."

Hunter smirked. "That's for sure, but not if you don't answer your phone." Lancaster's

cellular phone had been ringing since the beginning of the shooting.

Lancaster answered the call as Hunter turned away to talk to another officer. McCall

stood for a moment, noticing a change in Lancaster's expression. It looked like he had just seen a

ghost.

"Brad?" McCall asked. "Is something wrong?"

Lancaster dropped his phone on the ground and just stared forward, even past McCall.

"It's..." he couldn't even speak. "It's my daughter Shannon. She's been kidnapped."

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Minutes after receiving the devastating phone call, Officer Lancaster arrived at his home

with Hunter and McCall in tow. Lancaster lived in a quiet and peaceful subdivision just on the

outskirts of San Diego. Things like this weren't supposed to happen there. Kids weren't

supposed to be taken. Lancaster flung the door of his cruiser open and darted toward the door.

Police had already set up a barricade around the grounds, preventing nosy neighbors or sleazy

tabloid reporters from getting a closer view. Back at the street, the immensely tall, gray-haired

Hunter thought out loud.

"Something's not right here. All this for a kidnapping?" He hadn't even thought to listen

for the call coming in on the radio. This crime scene set-up wasn't your typical abduction scene.

Something else had happened. Hunter looked for Lancaster, but he was already in his house.

"Hey, Batista!" Hunter shouted at a detective just inside the police tape. "What

happened?"

"We've got a 10-105 inside, and the little girl's been kidnapped."

"What? Who's the body?" Hunter questioned with a surprised look on his face.

"I.D. shows it's a Maria Suarez. Female, 5'1", 57 years old. Only witness is another little

girl, a Heather Quincy, 7, who says Suarez was a nanny. I guess Brad's daughter had this friend

over and Suarez was babysitting."

"Well, where was Eileen?" McCall asked, speaking of Brad Lancaster's wife.

"You'd have to ask Brad."

With that, Hunter and McCall walked under the crime tape and made their way into the

home. It was a horrible scene. The body of Maria Suarez lay on the white colored carpet near

the dining room. A trail of blood on the carpet led to believe that she had crawled from the point

where she was injured. On the couch sat Officer Lancaster, his head buried in his hands. McCall

went over to the couch to see if she could get anything out of him. As Hunter looked around, he

noticed something off in the kitchen that caught his eye. It was a young girl's pink and purple

shoe, presumably that of Shannon Lancaster. It was a sick dose of reality as to what had

happened in this quiet neighborhood. Hunter approached the same detective again.

"What did the other girl have to say?"

"Well, she was incredibly thorough and brave. She told us that it was a big guy with a

knife. Said he was pretty big and was wearing a hat and something on his face."

"That's good, for a kid that just saw her friend get taken and her sitter killed." Hunter

walked over to the couch, where McCall was sitting with Brad, still sobbing into his hands.

Hunter decided he'd try to join in. Hunter believed Brad would open up to him. In fact, Hunter

had been a guest at Brad's New Year's party and was supposed to attend one for the Fourth of

July. He had met his family, including the wife Eileen and the daughter Shannon.

"I can't do this again," Brad mustered.

"What do you mean 'again', Brad?" Hunter asked. "Do you mean what happened to your

sister?" Hunter knew that Brad had a sister who was killed years ago.

"When I walked in and I saw Shannon's nanny lying there," Brad sobbed, "it was like

Ashley all over again. The blood, the red-stained clothing, the fear."

Neither Hunter nor McCall knew what to say to Brad at this point. Nothing except where

Eileen was at.

"Brad, does Eileen know yet?" McCall calmly asked, trying to have a soothing effect on

the man, who at the time was more of a basketcase than a cop.

"God, no! How'm I going to tell her? She's off visiting my father in the old folks' home."

Hunter's cell phone rang. He thought about not answering it in favor of questioning Brad

more, but instead he did. He didn't recognize the voice on the other line.

"Hunter, you killed my brother, now I'll kill you. Sal won't die without revenge of 'la

familia'. You messed with the wrong people, Hunter!"

"Who are you?!?" Hunter shouted into the phone, but it was too late. The thick Italian

accent on the other end of the line had hung up already. Great. Just what he needed. A dead

hitman in a park, a kidnapped child, and someone sending death threats.

"What was that about?" McCall asked her partner. She could see that he was rattled by

this whole ordeal going on.

"Some guy who said he was Sal's brother and that he'd kill me. Just more empty threats

from these guys. You know the story."

"Just what we need, an angry mobster's brother sending threats," McCall replied.

Hunter had a thought, turning back to the kidnapping. He had been mulling over what

Brad had told him before the Italian had called.

"Brad, did they ever catch the guy who killed Ashley?"

"No, they botched that whole thing. It's like Boulder two years earlier in Rockford. Only

thing was a friend gave a description of a suspicious guy's vehicle, and then the photo." Brad told

Hunter.

"Excuse me, photo?" McCall asked.

"The son-of-a-bitch sent my family a Polaroid a few months later of Ashley laying there

bleeding from her head. It made me so sick that I ripped it up then and there!"

"Did you ever get any prints off of it?" Hunter asked.

"What do you think? Look, Hunter, what are you getting at here?"

"Just a hunch, Brad. Just a hunch." Hunter said, then turning to McCall. "I wonder if the

other girl's still around here."

Overhearing Hunter, Detective Greg Batista pointed to an officer who was sitting at a

chair with young Heather.

Hunter immediately went over to the pair.

"Officer, would you mind if I had a word for a minute."

McCall knew what Hunter was doing, so she went over as well. After all, she would be

better fit to talk with the child.

Before Hunter could begin, McCall spoke up: "Heather, my name is Dee Dee. Can I talk

to you for a minute?" The girl brushed her brown hair out of her eyes and, teary-eyed, looked at

McCall.

"Look, I know you've been through a lot here, but if you can tell us anything more about

what happened, we can find Shannon." McCall had said it but she didn't believe it. Neither did

Hunter. Hope was fading, and all odds were that in the next hour, Shannon Lancaster would be

dead, strewn on a roadside much like Danielle van Dam a year and a half earlier in the same

county. Again, the 7-year old stared blankly at McCall.

"Shannon's gone," were the words that Heather Quincy was able to speak before turning

to the ground again. While looking down, she spoke once again: "The man, he had a hat. He had

a thing on his face. He was big. Shannon screamed. I saw him leave."

Hunter reached inside his coat to retrieve a pen and paper to begin writing what he already

knew. Upon whipping out the pen and paper, Hunter's sunglasses fell to the ground as well, much

to Hunter's dismay. At the incident, Heather gasped looked at McCall.

"What is it, Heather?" McCall asked the little girl.

"I saw it," she softly spoke.

"What? What did you see?" McCall followed up with.

The girl motioned to the sunglasses that Hunter was picking up and examining. "He had

those on his face." So that was another clue. Hunter and McCall now knew that the man was

wearing sunglasses.

"Heather, you said you saw him leave. Did he have a car?" Hunter asked the girl. She

nodded in approval.

"Can you tell me what kind of car? Was it a truck or a van or a little car?" McCall

questioned.

After a moment of hesitation, the girl quickly said "van". The wheels were starting to turn

in Hunter's head. He was thinking of his hunch once again.

"What color?" Hunter asked, thinking even further.

"It was three."

"What? Three?" Hunter was puzzled.

"The side was red. The rest was blue and brown spots." To Hunter, it sounded like she

had just described some multi-colored animal from a cartoon. He then remembered something

Brad had told him a few months ago. He made the connection. The brown spots weren't some

sort of cow-like pattern. They were rust.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


McCall knew what Hunter was getting at here. At times, she thought he was insane. But

she knew from all their years of partnership that a lot of his over-the-top hunches were right.

"Hunter, can we speak outside for a second?" McCall asked her partner. She gave a

glancing look to Hunter, a look of doubt. Hunter motioned with his eyes toward the front

entrance of the Lancaster home.

"Thanks, Heather, you've been a great help," McCall acknowledged the young witness as

she turned to walk with Hunter. The two approached the door and made their way past forensic

teams and such who were trying to collect what little physical evidence existed. As soon as the

pair made their way through the door, McCall voiced her skepticism to Hunter.

"It was eight years ago, Rick. It was all the way across the country."

"Look, we don't know much about the guy back in Illinois. I know from Brad that it was

a guy in sunglasses with a rusted out blue van," Hunter responded.

"Who is most likely still in Illinois, I might add. What are the odds that the same suspect

would show up here and pick the house at random of his victim's brother?"

"Actually pretty good, if the guy wants to finish the job he started and then some." Hunter

was trying to make his point and sway McCall. He had a way of doing that with her opinions.

"Let me tell you something. It's just a possibility. I'm not saying that I think it's him. I'm saying I

think it could be him."

"Ah, alright. I'll go with it on this one, but if you're wrong and it's not the Rockford

suspect, you owe me lunch." McCall had just turned this into a bet right under Hunter's nose,

trying to usurp a free meal out of Hunter's wallet.

"And when I'm right, and we find out that this guy took Brad's daughter?"

McCall had to think of a witty remark and not be one-upped by her long-time partner.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'll get you something at the dollar store. A candy bar or something."

"Oh thanks, and I was gonna offer a small fry at McDonalds!"

McCall just smiled. She had been left with nothing to say, as usual. She watched the tone

on the sarcastic Hunter's face quickly turn as he looked at the street beyond the police tape.

McCall turned her head to see what Hunter was gaping at. Trees. Fences. Bushes. Mailboxes.

A van. A blue van. That's what he saw. And my gosh, it was rusting. Without hesitation,

Hunter and McCall both ran toward the junked-out van, complete with a ladder rack on top and a

cracked windshield. Upon seeing two policemen approaching, the van quickly shot forward and

down the street, away from San Diego's finest partners in crimefighting. With the van now past,

Hunter darted toward his own car, McCall close behind. With a fling of the door and a key in the

ignition, Hunter and McCall were on the trail of the mysterious vehicle. Hunter could not escape

the feeling that this was it. Brad's daughter and the elusive criminal from years ago were in the

van, speeding away from the long arm of the law.