One
With the soft rustling of feathers, a Screech owl glided in low and perched on the neon Brandt-Collins Life and Casualty sign. The owl rolled its head around towards a normal looking young man laying in the grass near the crumpled, smoking remains of a Buick Skylark protruding like a foot from the leg of a bent lightpole. A short, thin man in a dirty yellow tee shirt stood over the still form of the other man. The cool hues of the full moon filtered slowly down through gaps in the clouds, washing away color and setting the men in sharp relief against the dark-covered ground. The owl's sharp eyes narrowed, focusing, watching him with a curiosity and intensity not her own.
Alan Nash lay dying in the grass. Blood stained his neck and shirt as it trickled from a terrible wound that should have gushed. He felt cold, though it was a balmy autumn night. His eyes darted around absently, the lids fluttered, a comfortable numb spread over his still body. When he was about fifteen, he broke his leg. It had gone cold and numb, with a throbbing dull ache: its mottled skin blanched as circulation was pinched off by broken bone. His body felt that way now. ‘Dying should hurt more,’ he thought.
"Not quite dead are we, Mr. Nash?" The little man, seeing Alan awake, stooped down near his head and grabbed a handful of hair. He lifted Alan roughly to a sitting position, holding him there. Thick, red blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, "Too bad for us."
Alan forced his head over to one side, his eyes barely open, and dizzily saw the crumpled car disgorging wisps of stream into the night air. He glanced through a shock-induced haze at the man holding him up. A huge, yellow smiley-face adorned the man's tee shirt. The smiley-face had a bullet hole--- a real bullet hole--- through the forehead. Fangs were drawn on the mouth and the words, 'I vant to drink yer blud,' had been inscribed loosely in black magic marker beneath it.
A few blurry shadows in the tall building across the street betrayed the dedicated business people pulling late hours. ‘What would they think when they saw me here?’ He would probably make the front page of the DeVille Falls Tribune. The headline would even have his picture beside it, framed in text. ‘What else would do for a Sheriff’s Deputy?’ He remembered the pride he felt when the force accepted him. As a child, he always dreamed of being a FBI Agent or Federal Marshall. Sheriff Deputy was as close as he got. He could still help people though and loved his job with his heart and soul. The Sheriff, Bob Tarver, trusted Alan enough to put him in charge while he was away on personal business. Not that it mattered now.
‘I’m so cold.’
His eyes blinked slowly as he turned his eyes skyward. The big blue moon hung motionless as clouds raced by, its face watching him. His wife, Jennifer, loved the moon. He bought her a telescope one year for her birthday and was surprised when she cried. From that day on, whenever the moon was out, he could find her out on the front lawn pointing the long cylinder at the nighttime sun; adjusting it until it was perfect. He wished he could see her smiling face and feel her warm touch on his cold skin one last time.
Earlier that night, he and Jennifer, walked hand in hand down the quiet street near their house. The warm colored evening sun filtered through the autumn leaves to the charcoal colored pavement of the tree-lined street. The soft 'whoing' of an owl broke the otherwise silent air. Alan absently rubbed his thumb in little circles on Jennifer’s palm, smiling at the warm familiar touch. He sensed she was nervous. She always was, when he worked nights.
"Do you have to go?" She asked.
"You know I do." Alan put his arm around her lovingly. He breathed in the crisp ‘Summer Rain’ scent her shampoo left in her hair. "It's just one more night, then I've got three weeks vacation. This time tomorrow, we'll be in France and finally taking that honeymoon your mom spent so much money on." He winked at her and made a little clicking sound with his mouth. She smiled weakly.
"I'll be careful," he promised, "After all, I have you to come back for." Alan smiled and Jennifer smiled with him, looking into his eyes.
Even now, the memories of the only woman he had ever loved were fading. He struggled for more. A salty tear cleaned a path down his bloody cheek as his killer held him by the hair, watching him die.
"I love you, Jennifer." Alan said aloud, wishing she could hear. He knew what she would have said; "I love you...more." It was what she always said.
"Really, Alan, couldn't you just call in sick?" He remembered her asking, "I want you here tonight."
"Darlin', I have to go... Bob won't be back until tomorrow, until then I'm Sheriff. Maybe I can get away early tonight." He promised, kissing her hand.
‘Why didn’t I just stay?’ Alan walked backwards down the steps, not taking his eyes off Jennifer standing in the doorway.
"I'll see you later. Be back before you know it." He said, not knowing the fate that awaited him.
He got into the Sheriff decal covered S-10 Blazer and started the engine. Shifting into reverse, he looked back at Jennifer and waved as he backed out into the street. He knew without looking that Jennifer watched as he drove off, standing in the doorway until the green and white SUV disappeared around the corner.
Alan tuned the radio to his favorite classic rock station. He cranked up the volume a bit as he approached downtown DeVille Falls, Mass. The sun made its final effort to light the world for the day, before settling peacefully behind the closely situated Taconic Mountains. Their proximity, Colossi Point in specific, caused sunset to come a full hour earlier in DeVille Falls. Alan hummed to the song ‘Blinded by the Light’. He could never remember any words other than ‘Blinded by the Light’.
In the distance ahead, Alan saw the car, an older model, careening wildly from lane to lane. It turned sharply and jumped the median of the four-lane boulevard, crossing into the oncoming traffic side. The car swerved onto the shoulder and smashed, at what Alan judged to be around forty-five miles per hour, into a streetlight. The driver was thrown through the windshield and hit some ten feet away and upside down against the brick walled Brandt-Collins Casualty and Life office building. The driver fell, unceremoniously, headfirst, to the ground. Alan grabbed his cell-phone, dialed the prescient and requested medical aid as he skidded the SUV to a howling halt in the street just behind the crashed vehicle. Alan jumped out and ran over to the crumpled man laying heels over head in the grass. The body was thin, twisted and broken, reminding Alan of big, clothed pretzel.
"Poor bastard," Alan said, rolling the body over.
Alan took the man's wrist and checked him for a pulse; he found none. Suddenly, the man's hand broke free of Alan's grip and cinched, tightly around his throat. He remembered it vividly. Little spinning spots floated in his vision as the man’s vice-like grip choked the blood flow to Alan’s brain. The broken man's limbs began snapping back in place with sickly cracking and popping noises. He stood up, lifting Alan with one hand as if he were weightless, shaking him around a bit for good measure. A definite red glow emanating from the man's eyes subdued Alan's struggling. Labored gurgles emitted from Alan's mouth as the impossibly strong little man with a face like a cobra choked him. Alan blacked out. After a few moments of blackness, he came to and found himself here, carelessly tossed to the ground with the little man standing over him.
Sirens echoed in the quiet night. The little man let Alan fall heavily back to the ground. He ran with amazing speed to Alan's vehicle. Planting his hands firmly on the hood, he propelled himself into a forward handspring. He landed, catlike, on the driver's side of the SUV and slid race-driver style through the window into the seat. He fumbled around the dashboard a moment and smiled a bloody, toothy smile. The flashing strobe-style lights came on accompanied by the whine of the siren. Tires squealed, leaving a cloud of gray smoke that stank of burned rubber as Alan’s SUV disappeared in the night.
Alan coughed out his last breaths in bloody spatters as his last memories and thoughts slipped away. He shivered slightly and his ashen, dying face went still.
The owl, satisfied, flew off into the night.
Two
Stephen Randolph Mully, Ph.D. and special agent for the FBI, eyed the murder scene with a professional intensity born from years of experience. He found himself in charge of an investigation that should have been under the jurisdiction of the local Sheriff’s department. Unfortunately, the Sheriff was away on personal business and the body of the acting Sheriff was lying dead in the grass. Trained in forensic science, Mully, as his friends called him, had an eye for detail. The early morning sunlight fell warmly on the grisly sight before him. He shoved his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose in frustration, critically eyeing the trampled remains of HIS scene.
"Officer," he called to the Deputy in charge, "Why the hell have your men been walking all over the crime scene?"
"We are securing the body." He stated matter-of-factly and with just a little disrespect.
"Securing the body? From a fresh scene?" He asked with practiced calm, waving his arm in the direction where the body lay.
"So you've got pictures, hair, cloth and blood samples... You know, the evidence?"
"Well, not exactly, but we did a preliminary..." the Deputy responded, a little reluctant to meet the intense gaze of the gray-haired FBI agent.
"So, what your telling me is, that I was asked to here to lend my forensic expertise to the Department and that same Department has violated the most basic of crime scene protocols by destroying any chance to accurately document this incident, possibly allowing Alan Nash’s killer to escape. Is that about right?" Mully's fervor became that of a Grand Inquisitor and the young officer’s will crumpled, his testimony condemning his soul to the fiery pit in Mully's eyes. "Leave the body and get your men off MY scene."
Mully turned his attention back to his work, focus returning instantly. He ran a moistened cotton swab around the broken windshield of the car. It appeared that a body had crashed through it. He judged the speed of the vehicle from tire markings and damage and roughly plotted the trajectory an ejected body could have taken. He traced an imaginary line to the wall of the office building. Apparently, whatever body it was that slammed into the Brandt-Collins building left the scene of its on accord. Footprints were impossible to distinguish from those of the officers, but Mully believed there to be only one attacker and surmised that the killer was the driver of the crashed Buick. Somehow. The car only gave up one other clue: A matchbook with a stylized ‘CA’ on its cover. Mully gathered his samples and placed them in a stiff-sided leather case. He placed it carefully in his rental car. For the first time, he noticed the crowd, or rather the lack of a crowd. Not a single reporter or nosey onlooker. People sneaking peeks from neighboring office buildings were about it. 'Were they really this non-invasive? Or were they just so used to this sort of thing that it became trivial.' He thought. DeVille Falls’ murders per capita easily compared to New York City. Mully took one last look at the sorry example for crime investigation and shook his head. Although it was trampled down by the careless Sheriff's deputes, there was still something wrong. Things that should be there simply were not.
The morgue at the DeVille Falls Memorial Hospital was spotless. The stingingly, clean scent of disinfectant hung in the air. The high mirror polish on the clean, white marble styled tile reflected Mully's black oxfords. Yellow tape lines lead visitors, the living ones, from the front claims desk to, what the staff had affectionately named The Drawer Room. Mully pulled open the drawer marked 15b and revealed the sheet-covered remains of Alan Nash.
"Ok, bring her in, Jeff." Mully instructed Jeff, the hospital's attending physician.
Jennifer Nash walked, weakly, into the room. She held Jeff's arm for support. Her reddened, puffy eyes betrayed the crying she tried, but failed, to cover up. She looked apprehensively at the clean, white sheet that was supposed to have the body of her husband underneath it.
"Miss. Nash," Mully said, "I'm sorry for this... we could get one of the officers to ID him, if you like..."
"No. I need to see Alan for myself. I don't think I can accept it if I don't see." She wiped a tear from a pale blue eye.
Mully reached down and commenced to pull the edge of the sheet back. Jennifer gasped as the when she saw the jagged scar between the index finger and thumb of Alan's right hand. He had gotten it while replacing the glass in their upstairs bedroom one summer. Mully continued pulling the sheet back in what felt like a slow-motion dream to Jennifer. The pale visage of her husband appeared finally above a gaping hole in his neck. A short staccato of sobs turned into a choking wail as she descended into tears. Mully caught her as grief robbed her brain of its precious oxygen. He stretched her carefully out on the cold morgue floor and looked to Jeff, the attending physician.
"You think you could have a room arranged for this young lady?" Mully asked, brushing the hair from her eyes, "She's had a hard go of it today."
--------------------
A few hours later, Mully located Jennifer Nash's room. He knocked lightly on the door.
"Ms. Nash," he announced, pushing the door open slightly. Jennifer stood, across the room leaning against the window. She looked in Mully's direction when the hinge squeaked slightly.
"Agent Mully," Jennifer said quietly, "Thank you."
"Your welcome. I'm afraid I have to ask you a few questions about Alan." Mully took out his compact tape recorder from his inside jacket pocket.
"Sure. I'll tell you whatever I can."
"When was the last time you saw Alan alive?"
"It was around eleven-thirty last night. He was working graveyard and it was his last night before he started vacation." Jennifer pushed a tear away with her thumb.
"Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to kill Alan? Any enemies you know of?"
"No. Alan is, was, well liked by everyone. He was a big Boy Scout."
"Did he arrest anyone recently that may have had it in for him?" Mully knew already the answer. He had read Alan's files.
"I don't think so. We talked about his work a lot, because I always worried."
Mully clicked off the recorder, "Ok. If I think of anything else, I'll call you." He retrieved a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. "Call me if I can help in anyway."
"I will."
--------------------
Mully leaned over his notebook at the desk the hospital had set up for him in the attending physician’s office near the morgue. It was nearly 10:00pm when Mully had completed the autopsy and lab work on Alan Nash. His head rested in his hand as he reviewed the recording he made during the autopsy. He pressed play on his tape player.
"This is the body of a well developed, well nourished, white male, measuring six foot, zero inches and weighs approximately two-hundred five pounds. He is wearing the uniform consistent with that of a Berkshire County Sheriff Deputy. Bruising on the neck and capillary ruptures in the eyes is consistent with strangulation. Sharp force trauma to the left side of the neck exposing the aortal artery, appear to be caused by a human bite. Absence of lividity due to complete lack of blood." Mully fast-forwarded the tape.
"Wound casting details human-like teeth to be the cause of the wound. Indications of extended canines shown in casting. Lack of salvia sample at wound. Cause of death is determined to be blood loss due to sharp force trauma. A classic example of vampire attack...."
Mully stopped the playback and smiled, almost laughed, to himself. There were many unanswered things about the murder of Alan Nash. Like why there was apparently no trace of the driver, that had crashed the car’s windshield at the scene. Mully pondered the problem. It wasn’t just the fact that the locals had trampled the scene. There was clearly some evidence that just wasn't there. Vanished. The person thrown from that car had hit that wall hard enough to leave clothing fibers, but not a trace of blood or skin. Moreover, the windshield on the Buick, not a single drop of blood or tissue samples. He just couldn't get his mind around it, but certainly, things were not so desperate as to fall back on such an unscientific answer.
Suddenly, as if in answer to his thoughts, a loud bang echoed through the empty morgue. Mully startled and unconsciously drew his automatic. Again, the tinny echo sounded and Mully came to his feet. He left his makeshift office and headed for the Drawer Room. Mully eased the door open; years of training guided his actions. He kept his pistol high and ready as he scanned the room for the threat perceived to be there.
A blue glow emanating from the seams of drawer 15b caught his eye. The shriek of rending metal nearly deafened him as the front of drawer 15b folded quite un-neatly down. The blue light inside had a definite man-shape to it. It struggled to escape the drawer. The glowing blue figure slid out and fell clumsily to the floor. It pushed itself to a shaky standing position. As the blue light began to fade, Mully saw the naked form of Alan Nash. His eyes glowed, red and crazed, and an evil looking grin adorned his lips. His gaze narrowed when he noticed Mully standing across the room. Two, wicked teeth grew in place of Alan's canines and, with the focus of a predator, he stalked Mully, his hunger burning.
"Alan," Mully stammered, backing slowly away. He prided himself on not being prone to panic but this seemed to be a special occasion. "Your wife, Jennifer, misses you very much." Alan's face softened and the red glow faded from his eyes. Mully thanked his minor in psychology and suddenly didn't feel so bad about paying back his twenty-five year old student loans.
"Jennifer?" Alan turned and ran with incredible speed. He dove, headfirst, out the first window he came to. By the time Mully crossed the room, Alan was no where to be seen. Mully was having a hard time taking all this in. He had studied the occult for quite a few years, but he had never put any kind of firm belief into the reality of such things. Never until now, that is. He moved cautiously over to drawer 15b and peered inside. The body or rather, what appeared to be the former body, of Alan Nash was nothing more than a withered and dry corpse. It looked like those bodies caught in the Pompeii eruption that they show on the discovery channel. The corpse was brittle and broke to the touch, as if the essence of what was Alan Nash had drained away and became something else. Mully holstered his weapon and looked around the room. He spotted a camera slowly panning its unblinking digital eye around; oblivious to everything that happened. Oblivious, maybe, but it still saw what happened here and, more importantly, it could show others.
--------------------
Alan Nash tumbled clumsily into a steep gully behind DeVille Falls Memorial. He came to a sudden, jolting stop in a small, muddy stream at the bottom. His nose caught an unfamiliar scent drifting in on a slight breeze. He scrambled up the steep slope and came to rest against a twelve-foot chain-link fence. Light drizzle began to fall. The sensation made Alan's skin tingle. He looked beyond the fence and saw a zoo. The unfamiliar smell came from a lion cage. Alan's eyes, sharper than ever, spotted the source of the smell. A trickle of blood ran down the concrete into the path. His stomach growled. With a mighty thrust of his legs, Alan launched himself into the air clearing the fence. Quietly and lightly, he landed on the other side in a balanced three-point stance. Cautiously he crept over to the trickle of blood. He bent down and touched his tongue to it. His body tingled and he began greedily lapping at the blood.
Alan's attention shifted to a huge, clawed paw swinging at him. He jumped back out of the way as the rest of the huge, male lion slammed into the cage. Alan stood and glared at the beast, his eyes burning red. The lion cringed and began to back away. Alan stalked the cage, taking slow, calculated steps towards the animal. He put his hand on a single bar and swiped his arm sharply to the right. The bars groaned and gave way. In a single, swift motion, Alan was on the animal. A fear-choked howl escaped the proud king of beasts. Alan's canines grew in and he bit deeply into the animal's neck, drinking the blood that flowed out.
Alan fell back onto the cold slab floor of the lion cage. His body twisted, while his stomach tried to heave out his its bloody meal. He couldn't focus his thoughts. He glanced around the cage wildly, he felt dizzy, high. The new blood flowed through his body giving him strength. Alan pulled himself to a standing position.
"What's wrong with me?" He whispered. The sounds of sirens screamed in the distance and panic began to take hold. Alan had no idea what the charges for eating a lion were, but he certainly didn't want to face them in the nude.
"Who," Sang the voice of a large owl perched just outside the cage. Alan looked into the eyes of the great bird. It's predatory eyes returned his look unblinkingly. Alan stood. He walked to the edge of the cage and stepped out onto the visitor's path. The owl ruffled her feathers, soft down drifted to the grass.
"What is it you want from me," Alan said to the owl, for no apparent reason. The owl fluttered and flew to a branch further from Alan. Alan got the impression it wanted him to follow and as if in response to his thoughts, the owl took flight. Alan followed. He couldn't figure out how, but he followed keeping pace with the bird that should have left him far behind. He passed, unseen, to the destination the owl had chosen for him. He stood in front of an abandoned antebellum house situated on the top of a small hill. Boards sealed the windows tightly from the outside world. The owl took flight, and flew high and out of sight, leaving Alan alone and naked in front of the house.
An ache swept over Alan. He could feel the rise of the dawn sun before it broke the horizon. His skin crawled nervously.
"Alan." a woman's voice called to him, "Come inside, Alan. It will be dawn soon. The sun will kill you, Alan. Come inside."
"Who are you?" Alan asked, unable to put a body with the voice.
"My name is Mara. Come inside. I will explain everything."
Three
Mully sat in the stuffy, little security room. Thick smoke from cheap cigarettes hung fog-like in the air. It had been a long night and, from all signs, looked as if it was to be a long day. He fingered the rewind button on the VHS recorder that held the security tape from the Drawer Room. Pressing play, he sat back and watched the tape again. Drawer 15b buckled twice and then folded down, revealing a brilliant blue light inside. The light moved out of the drawer, expanded and filled the camera view. After a few moments, the light suddenly vanished, leaving Mully standing by the broken window with his gun drawn.
"Well, that didn't help much." Mully said looking to one of the security guards.
"Umm, well..." the guard stammered.
"I assume the equipment has been in perfect working order?" Mully asked, knowing the answer.
"Yes sir," the guard said pointing to the screens as an example, "Last night for one minute, thirty-five seconds was the only time we experienced any problems. Everything seems to be in working order now, though."
"How wonderfully inconvenient."
Mully headed back to his makeshift office and retrieved his case, taking it to the broken window. He opened the case on his desk and withdrew a small vial and a few swabs from a pouch. Carefully, he swabbed the edges of the broken glass and then dropped the swab into the small vial. Mully knelt in front of drawer 15b and looked inside. The withered remains of Alan Nash lay before him, though you could barely recognize who they once were. The corpse, brittle to the touch, looked as if it was dehydrated. Mully scraped a few bits into one of his vials and held it up to the light, shaking it slightly.
"Agent Mully," Jeff, the attending physician said standing in the doorway eyeing the scene with obvious nervousness, "You have a phone call."
Mully stood, slowly, fighting the resistance to physical activity the body acquires from age. He stretched a bit and headed to his makeshift office. Jeff held the door for Mully as he walked in.
"Did you see?" he asked, peering over his shoulder toward the Drawer Room. "Did you see what happened, Agent Mully?"
"Yes Jeff, I did."
"What was it?"
"I can't really say, Jeff but I can tell you it scared the hell out of me." Mully picked up the telephone and pressed the flashing line.
"Special Agent Mully, how can I help you?"
"Agent Mully, Bob Tarver here. I understand you’re in town helping us local yokels out in the crime analysis department." The man had a thick, southern accent tempered with the drawl of the Yankees around him.
"Yes, I was asked to lend my experience to the DeVille Falls Sheriff Department on the use of their new crime lab facilities." Mully said, "Who are you again?"
"Bob Tarver. Sheriff. I was in Dallas attending my Aunt's funeral. I read your report on the murder of Alan Nash and I apologize for the way my men acted. They didn’t feel like the Fed’s should take over the murder investigation of one of their own. Alan had a lot of friends in the Department."
"Well, Sheriff, let's put that behind us and focus on the resolution of the case. I assume you called for something more than to introduce yourself." Mully regretted coming off short to Sheriff Tarver, but when he thought of the shambles the Nash crime scene was in, it got his Irish up.
"Actually, sir, I did. We got a call around twenty-two hundred from the Melon-Cameron Zoological Park. Apparently the night attendant witnessed a naked man rip the bars off a cage and kill a lion with his bare hands. Normally we wouldn’t bother you but seeing as how you’re in town for training purposes anyways…"
"I see. How do I get there?" Mully asked. Mully's normal position would be to doubt the validity of such a statement, but after witnessing a glowing blue light fold half-inch stainless steel like a paper plate... well maybe he’d give the Sheriff the benefit of the doubt.
"Well, it's right across the gully behind the hospital. I had a man go down there to look for footprints, but he didn't see much because of the rain. Seems like that old gully just falls apart when it rains."
"Ok, Sheriff, I'll be right over."
"Looks like you got yourself in a little more than you bargained for, Agent Mully." Bob said, "I'll see ya in a shake." Bob’s end buzzed and Mully put the receiver down.
"Is this town really this weird, or is it just me?" Mully asked Jeff as jokingly as he could manage.
"Yes. All the time." Jeff responded seriously, "Some of the things that I see come through here... makes my skin crawl."
Mully put on his trench coat and Indiana Jones styled hat and headed for the door. He had gotten into a lot more than he planned on. The FBI director, Michelle Learner, called him to her office and told him that he was to go to DeVille Falls and lend his forensic expertise to the new department-ran forensic staff.
"Why would the town of DeVille Falls invest that kind of money when they could have samples analyzed at the Center for Forensic Research in Boston?" Mully asked her.
"Apparently, they have some trouble collecting viable samples in the first place." She said. "Their procedures are ancient compared with today’s standards, not to mention the questionable quality of their people. Their last medical examiner was committed because he was convinced that the ghost of a person he autopsied was in his office, telling him who the killer was."
Mully pulled his rental Chevy to the front entrance of the Melon-Cameron Zoological Park. He got out, flashed his badge to the first Deputy he saw and proceeded to the lion cage. Mully saw the man who had to be Bob Tarver. He was big. Healthy big. Like a southern grown Hercules in a cowboy hat. He wore a pleasant smile easily, suggesting his good nature. Mully liked him immediately. Bob looked in his direction and waved as he walked toward him, meeting him halfway.
"Agent Mully, Bob Tarver. Call me Bob. Good to know ya." Bob shook Mully's hand with a firm, strong grip. Mully thought that if he had a mind to, Bob could just tear his arm right off, albeit much to his dismay.
"Nice to meet you, Sheriff... Bob. I hate to meet new people in bad situations." Mully said.
"Good situations are a might scarce in our line of work, I'm afraid." Bob said. Mully silently agreed with Bob's insightfullness. He had met very few people, close friends included, under pleasant circumstances. Normal life seemed to either elude him or have no interest in him at all.
"Say, that’s a nice car." Bob said looking past Mully to the front entrance.
"Oh, thanks. It’s a rental."
"I thought Chevy was an American car." Bob smiled, as Mully winced at the truly bad pun.
"Where is this lion?" Mully asked shaking his head. Bob glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumb at the mangled cage behind him.
"This way. Damnedest thing I ever seen."
Mully followed Bob to the cage. The metal bars that kept the lions from mauling the frequent guests to the park lay bent, bow-like in the grass just off the path. They were piled, not so neatly, to the side of the cage. The concrete slab stood two foot high off the visitor’s path. Blood trickling down its rough sides under the light drizzle of rain. Mully switched to investigator mode almost immediately. His friends referred to him as "Mullied" when he got this way. He crossed the police line tape and knelt down near the trickles. One, the closest to the new cage entrance, was a dark trickle. Old blood. He motioned to Bob to bring his camera. Mully pulled his tape recorder and pressed record.
"Facing the cage from POE (point of entrance) the left flow of blood," Mully pointed with his pen, "is probably from the raw meat the animal was fed earlier today. This other is fresh blood from the animal. Muddy, shoeless footprints lead from the POE to the body of the animal." Mully stood as Bob snapped a picture and stepped into the cage, careful not to disturb the tracks made by the perp. Mully prodded the animal with his pen, its flesh was stiff and unyielding.
"Rigor Mortis has set in, putting the time of death at about nineteen and twenty hundred hours, July fifteenth, two-thousand three. Matted fur on the aortal side of the neck suggests the location of the wound cavity. The animal appears to be mostly drained of blood; very little spillage remains around the carcass."
Mully scanned the area around the lion's body. A single bloody handprint decorated the floor about five feet away. Bob snapped photos of the lion and the handprint when Mully gestured at them.
"A handprint, likely from the suspect, lies four to five feet from the body." Mully took a small flashlight and magnifying glass from some unseen pocket and examined the handprint. To his surprise, there appeared to be a partial fingerprint preserved in the sticky, dark liquid. From another pocket, he fished out an index card and a small, wide roll of transparent tape. With the tape, he lifted the partial fingerprint and affixed it to the lineless index card.
"Right index print sample acquired from the handprint. Blood presumed to be from the animal, has been taken for lab analysis." Mully pressed stop on his recorder and produced a small vial and a swab from another pocket. He took a sample of the blood and sealed the contents tightly in the little glass tube.
"You gotta little lab in there too?" Bob said pointing to items Mully had taken from his coat.
"No. It's in my other jacket." Bob laughed, clapping Mully on the back.
"Where's the witness?" Mully asked.
"She's in the Grounds Keeper's office... I have to warn you, she's a little hysterical over all this." Bob took his hat off and scratched his head. "Her name is Nancy Kinderman."
Bob opened the office door. Nancy Kinderman sat hunched over, with her head in her hands. She was shaking visibly and noticeably pale. She looked up when Mully and Bob entered the room. Her dark hair and clothing were rain soaked.
"Miss. Kinderman, I'm Special Agent Mully with the FBI and this is Sheriff Bob Tarver." Mully said making the introductions.
"I know Mr. Tarver... I voted for him. I thought he was cute in his campaign poster." She smiled, but only slightly. Bob got a smug look on his face and elbowed Mully a couple times.
"Miss Kinderman, could you tell me what happened?" Mully asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down. He took out his tape recorder and set it carefully on the table.
"Well, I was making the rounds. I had just left Jasper's cage... That's the lion that was... you know..."
"Yes. Go on." Mully said, adjusting his tape recorder on the table.
"I had just fed Jasper when he started moving around real nervous... like he heard something, maybe. I looked but didn't see anything. I thought the lightning had him worked up. So, I went on about my business. When I got to the office here, I heard a sound. A kind of metal tearing sound, like when they put the Jaws of Life on the cars in that TV show. I ducked behind the office and looked back at the cage."
Nancy's eyes were wide now. She was forcing back sobs. Bob handed her a handkerchief.
"Thank you." Nancy blotted her eyes and regained her composure somewhat. "I saw a man. His eyes had a terrible, reddish glow to them. I was so damn scared. He looked like..."
"Like what?" Mully urged her.
"A predator. I've seen the same look in some of the animals here." Nancy had finally gotten hold of herself, "Then he moved. He moved so fast that I could barely see him. Jasper screamed. I will never forget the sound that poor animal made. It was pure terror."
"Did you see the man leave?" Bob asked, sitting down and somewhat disturbed at the young woman's description.
"Yes. A few moments later, he came back out... covered in Jasper’s blood. That's when I noticed the owl. A Screech owl, I think. He just stood there. Talking to it. I must have blacked out then, because the next thing I know he's gone. That's when I called the Sheriff’s office."
"Thank you." Mully said, "You go on home now. We'll leave some men to watch after things until tomorrow." Nancy shook her head in agreement and got up to leave.
"Be careful," she said to them as she left.
"What now?" Bob asked the puzzled looking FBI man.
"Well, we need to get the animal to the lab. I need to cast the wound. Have your men finish up here and transport the animal to the station." Mully came out of his trance like 'investigator mode'. "Care to join me, Bob?"
"Don't mind if I do."
The DeVille Falls Sheriff Department was a medium sized building and like most other buildings around town, was antebellum. It had an old, musty smell like perpetual mildew. The holding area was big. Bigger than most other town's Department building. Recently redesigned and updated with the latest materials and with the addition of the new crime lab technology, DeVille Falls could accommodate almost any situation.
Mully held up the rough, plaster cast of the lion's wound cavity. It, the casting, had the shape of the upper and lower teeth of a person, like a dental casting. The exception was, of course, the nearly two inch canines jutting from the upper set of teeth.
"I'm not a man prone to conjecture, Agent Mully, so I need you to tell me that's a cast of vampire teeth in your hand, because I don't think I could come to that conclusion myself."
Bob said, drumming his fingers on his desk. Mully admired his well-crafted contradiction, though the world 'conjecture' sounded strange when spoken in Bob's heavy southern drawl.
"Well, Bob, it certainly does appear to be what you can't conclude and the presence of human saliva in the wound doesn't seem to belay that fact any further." Mully handed the casting to Bob, who turned it around a few times, shivered and handed it back. "I'm not sure what we can conclude officially. The FBI doesn't really have a standardized way to document vampire attacks."
"Well, they will just have to come up with something then won't they?" Bob was more than a little set back by this discovery. "Could it be that someone was doing this as a joke or something?"
"I don't think so. The strength it would take to wrestle a lion to submission would be incredible. Not to mention what it would take to rip the bars off the cage that way."
A deputy walked in to the room and eyed the casting nervously. "Can I help you?" Mully asked.
"I thin... I mean, your finger print got a hit on the computer." He said. "It's Alan Nash. But Alan is dead... I saw the body... It couldn't be Al...."
"Ok, young man, we're still working on the case. Let’s not jump to any conclusions." Mully said, putting the cast into a small evidence bag. The young Deputy turned and left the room and Bob let out a small whistle, barely one beat behind his Deputy.
"I think I’d have been better off not hearing that." Bob Tarver said. "How could it be Alan?" Bob asked with a touch of hysteria in his voice.
"Bob. I have a tape I'd like you to watch. It's the security tape from the morgue. It has some interesting images on it." A puffy, redness filled Bob's eyes giving him the appearance of being on the verge of tears. Mully nodded sympathetically. "But we should get some rest first. It's almost five thirty in the morning. I sometimes forget other people would sleep on occasion."
"I guess I really haven’t thought much about sleep lately. Alan was a good friend of mine. We played softball together; he and his wife were there for me when my wife Stella died. I haven’t even had the heart to face Jennifer yet…" For the first time, Mully noticed just how sad Bob was over Alan’s death and he admired him for his strength.
"You know, normally you would be considered to close to this case to be part of the investigation."
"Yeah, I know but you need me…" Bob said moving his cupped hands back and forth in front of him,
"…to interface with the people."
"Really? Why is that?"
"Nobody else likes ya."
Mully smiled. Bob was obviously concerned about the death of his friend but his humor stayed him; helped him focus.
"I’ve got just a few more items to finish up here, then I’ll turn in as well."
"You sir, are a machine." Bob said, forcing his tired body to stand.
"I was hoping to start around nine-thirty in the morning."
"Wow. Almost four hours of blissful sleep! Man, maybe I'll even get to miss breakfast! Of course that'll be good cause it'll help me stick to my diet...." Bob forced his belly to protrude as he slapped it with his hands.
"I'll see you at noon tomorrow, unless something comes up sooner." Mully conceded. Bob smiled his big pleasant smile of mock victory, saluted and said...
"Good night." Bob turned on his heel and left before Mully changed his mind. Mully smiled again.
"I guess I could use some rest too." Mully said to the empty room.
"I couldn't agree more," Bob said poking his head into the room.
"Good God man!" Mully jumped up, startled.
Four
Mara's glowing, semi-transparent body hovered above the dust-covered bed that held the sleeping figure of Alan Nash. Harsh and deadly morning sun pressed against the boarded windows, aching to touch Alan with its light. She would keep him safe, teach him. They would be together forever. She glided slowly around admiring his naked form.
"Welcome home, my Alan. I've missed you so." Her form became solid as she brushed her pigment free hand across his chest. "I won't lose you again."
Mara quietly pulled open a heavy trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged around inside for a moment. She lifted a suit out and inspected it for damage. Satisfied, she carefully laid it on a nearby chair.
"I knew you would come back to me my Alan. I knew it. Were it not for the love I have for you, I would have passed into the next world. Started a new life. Forgotten you." Mara shook her head, as if it would make her thought's go away.
Alan stirred in his sleep and Mara was there, her ghostly pale face near his, close enough, she could have felt his breath had she skin or Alan breath. It didn't matter. She was with him again and that was good enough. Now was no time for her to become distracted. Others of Alan's kind would come looking for him, to destroy him. He was an abomination to them, the Circle of Night, created outside of their law. Their society was strict in the strongest sense of the word and their word was absolute. The villainous creature Mara had enlisted to change Alan was outcast from them. Called simply the Villain, his name had been lost many hundreds of years ago. The Villain was very old, perhaps the oldest of their kind. He had had the benefit of time to discover his abilities and grow powerful, but that same time had pushed his mind to oblivion. Mara discovered him sitting on the floor in her kitchen one night. She appeared to him and he simply began talking. For hours he rambled on about things Mara would never understand, places she could never imagine. He seemed to regard her as his imaginary friend. Lonely and insane, it had been easy to convince him to make Alan. She learned much about the ways and capabilities of the vampire in the Villain's rants. She would teach Alan. In a matter of weeks, Alan would learn from several hundred years of experience. Alan would be powerful enough to defend himself. If the Villain in his insanity could survive, fending off attacks from the Circle, so could Alan. Nevertheless, until he was ready, she had to hide him. She could confuse their senses easily enough to prevent them tracking him here, but she would be of little use should they discover him. Her effect on the physical world was limited to levitating objects, like she had done with the suit, knocking pictures and the like around and making bumping and moaning noises. Suitable to run off mortals and keep the house’s reputation of being haunted. However, vampires or other nightlife would be a different matter. They did not spook easily.
When the cool night began to fall, Mara was at Alan's bedside... waiting. Alan's eyes began to flutter as consciousness returned to him. He sat up slightly and seeing Mara let himself collapse back into the big, feather-stuffed bed. Small eddies of dust swirled around his nude form.
"I thought… hoped, it was all a dream." Alan said, with finality in his voice.
"No." Mara said plainly, her eyes full of adoration. "It's all very real."
"Who are you?" Alan asked, standing and dressing in the suit Mara had placed on the chair.
"I'm your wife."
"My wife?" Alan made a half-hearted, unconvinced, little laugh, "My wife-- I don't have a wife." He said it because he couldn't remember, but he wasn't convinced that it was true.
"But you do, Alan. I am your wife. We were married March the third, seventeen fifty-four." Mara glided closer to Alan.
"The year seventeen fifty-four?" Alan asked, "You do realize that I wasn't even born, don't you? This is crazy."
"Alan, of course I don't mean you are the same man. You were reborn, reincarnated." She explained.
"Ok. Let's just think about this. Let's assume for a minute that I believe in reincarnation. It’s not possible that I'm even the same person you remember. I have a whole different set of experiences-- a whole different life." Alan stared blankly for a moment.
"One that you don't remember." Mara stated. Alan exhaled hard. His brow wrinkled as he tried to recall-- something... anything other than the events of last night.
"Why can't I remember anything?"
"Your brain, your living brain, is dead. I wished for the longest time that I could have forgotten my life, but it’s those memories, that purpose, keeping me here."
Alan sat down in the chair his suit had been on, and with his elbows on his knees, he rested his forehead in his palms. He couldn't remember anything.
"Alan," Mara said, becoming solid, "Alan, we were very happy... we can be again." Alan rubbed his temples as Mara's words buzzed just outside of his ears.
"I can help you," she said, desperate to earn his trust. "I know what you have become. You can do incredible things with your new abilities. I can show you..."
"What have I become?"
"Alan..."
"What have I become!" Alan exploded in anger, his eyes glowing a wicked red.
"A vampire." Mara told him, unafraid of the outburst that would have caused a mortal to faint dead away.
Alan calmed a little. He turned to a large mirror affixed to a dresser in the room.
"How do you explain that?" He gestured loosely at this reflection.
"Your not invisible, Alan. The fact that vampires don't have reflections is a myth."
"I'm not a vampire... I can't be..." Alan remembered how easily he had torn the bars from the lion cage and what he had done to the lion...
Alan sat back down and sighed heavily as the truth soaked in. Mara moved next to him and placed her now solid hand on his shoulder.
"Alan, you have to accept your situation... There's no going back."
"I want to know who it was. Who did this to me?"
Mara started to speak and then stopped. She looked away from him.
"Mara. Who did this to me?"
"I don't know his name. Nobody does." Mara said, nearly whispering. "He doesn't stay in one place for very long. He's very powerful, Alan. You would be no match for him. I can help you prepare for him."
"Alright. I'll stay here, but just until I'm ready, then I WILL find and kill him for what he's done."
"We'll start tomorrow. Tonight you must hunt. Your hunger must learn to control your hunger. It can drive you to madness."
"How? What do I do?"
"I will send the owl with you. She will lead you to food and then back here. Be careful."
"What do I do?" Alan paced around apprehensively.
"It will come to you."
Alan followed the owl more on instinct than sight. He could feel the animal's heartbeat as it glided a hundred feet above him. Alan moved with supernatural speed, his hair blew back as if he was in a fast, convertible sports car. His skin tingled, not just from the wind or the exhilaration of speed, but from the life, he sensed around himself. He could feel the residents of DeVille Falls in their homes, their cars, restaurants and bars. No one could hide from him.
The owl swooped down low and came to perch on a thick branch overlooking a park. At first Alan didn't understand, the bird was just sitting there, looking at him. Then he noticed a bum, covered with a newspaper blanket, sleeping on a park bench. Alan focused his attention on the labored breathing of the unsuspecting homeless man. Maybe it would be a favor if I killed the poor bastard, Alan thought and regretted. The first signs of the hunger Mara warned him about were building in him. It took all his will power and compassion to keep from acting out the violent scene he could so easily picture. The owl whoed insistently and Alan waved his hand in it's direction causing it to ruffle its feathers nervously.
Then, from the corner of his subconscious, Alan sensed another mortal present. He crouched to avoid detection as he watched for the other to emerge from the thick foliage. On cue, the man, tall and slender in a long, dark trench coat, stepped into the clearing around a small swing set about thirty yards from the bum. The man looked cautiously one way and then the other, never losing sight of the bum. Alan felt the man's heart begin to race in excitement. This man, not unlike Alan, had come here to kill this unsuspecting old homeless man, but for very different reasons. He withdrew a gleaming knife from his coat and started in a run for the old man. Somewhere in Alan's mind, he knew he was not an evil man, if he did nothing, there would be no justice for the poor old bum. Alan's rage took over. He ran, quickly toward the killer and in a blur he was on him. The force of impact jarred the man as if a truck had hit him. Bones broke. The knife fell from the man's hand, sticking in the loose sand around the swings as Alan pinned the helpless killer to the ground. Alan's face was a horrible visage, toothy and savage.
"Oh God, please, No!" The killer pleaded his eyes wide as he struggled against Alan's impossibly strong grip. In a clouded portion of his mind, Alan recognized the killer. He couldn't remember the details, but he was sure he saw this man on some kind of police or federal wanted poster.
"Hell has found you." Alan tore out the throat and drank the blood that pumped out. The man twitched the last of his life away, anguish and fear locked on his face. Alan stood over his victim, blood dripping from his chin and covering his chest.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Came the haggard voice of the bum behind Alan.
The red glow in Alan's eyes made the old bum shiver. He could not move as Alan advanced, slowly. Suddenly, Alan realized what he was about to do. The glow faded from his eyes and he saw the bum, his vision unclouded.
"T-thank you." The bum said, voice shaking. Then, Alan was gone, in a blur, running.
The new blood pulsed through Alan's body. His senses heightened beyond anything he had ever imagined. Torrents of input flooded Alan's mind, making him dizzy. Scenery whipped by as Alan ran, testing out his newfound speed. Mara's house zoomed into view. Alan stopped noiselessly on the porch. Moments later the owl landed on the steps making angry noises.
"What's the matter? Am I too fast for ya?"
Alan bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom, looking around. Mara sat quietly on the bed.
"Mara, I think I remembered something from my life! I think I was a police officer or something. I saved that man, that bum and it just felt right.
"Show me everything."
Five
"Oswald J. Hale Jr." Mully read off the facsimile, "Wanted in Ohio, Louisiana and Maine for the murder of three women and two men and numerous children. Wanted in connection with the disappearance of two children in Florida. Drug distribution, attempted murder. Looks like he's been on the FBI most wanted list since 1999."
"Too bad he had his throat ripped out, huh?" Bob said, jerking his thumb towards the Drawer Room.
"I read about the Ohio case. Slippery fellow. Real clean. Didn't leave a lot of evidence to work with."
"I've been thinking," Bob said finally, changing the subject, "Maybe the reason you didn't find any evidence at the Alan Nash scene is because he was attacked by a vampire. The sunlight would have destroyed any trace evidence you would have expected. If you can believe all the stories, that is."
"Well, that certainly would explain a few things. I still have no idea how I would report such an outrageous story." Mully said. "Is the bum still here?"
"Yep. We got some food into him and we're gonna drop him off at the shelter in Boston tomorrow."
"I'd like to talk with him again."
"Ok. We got him put up in one of the cells in the holding area. He gives a real 'Andy Griffith' feel to the place."
"You mean as opposed to your Deputies?"
"Oh! Oh, that's funny. Is there a class you people take for that? Forensic Wit 101, maybe?"
The old bum, Jimmy Kimmer, called Duffy by the locals, lay quietly on the most comfortable bed he had slept on in a long time. It was warm and soft and it hardly mattered that it was against the wall of a jail cell.
"At least its dry," he would say.
Mully pulled the unlocked cell door open and took a seat in the only chair. Bob stood, towering, just outside. Mully put his hand on Duffy's shoulder and roused him from his semi-drunken sleep.
"Mister Kimmer," Mully started, pulling out his tape recorder and pressed record.
"Call me Duffy, son. Everybody else does." Duffy said, rubbing his eyes. Mully eyed him with a sideways glance.
"Mister Kimmer, I need you to tell me again what you saw last night."
"Well, its like I said before, this young feller in a suit came out of no where and killed that bald guy with the knife. I thought he was gonna kill me too, at first. I said thank you and he left. Real quick, too. I must have still been drunk, cause it looked like he just disappeared."
"Do you have any idea why Hale, um, the bald guy, would want to kill you?"
"I dunno. I was sleeping." Mully sighed and turned off his tape recorder.
Mully and Bob left Duffy to his rest and headed for the lounge. Bob headed for the snack machine as Mully took a seat at a round, veneer covered table.
"Do you recognize this?" Mully pulled a small bag containing the matchbook he found at the Nash scene and tossed it on the table. Bob sat down taking a huge bite from his vending machine aged honeybun.
"Yeah. There's a new age type nightclub downtown called 'Club Afterlife'."
"Club Afterlife. Are you serious?"
"Yep. A woman named Carlin Winthrop runs it. Real popular with the kids as I understand." Bob took another bite from his sugar-glazed bread treat.
"Ever have any problems with the patrons? Drunk and disorderly, fighting and the like?"
"No. Not since I've been sheriff and that's been, oh, ten years now." Bob finished off his snack, crumpling the wrapper in his big fist.
"Very sophisticated clients. Rich crowd?"
"Pretty much. Never been there myself, though."
"I think I need to go by there. Maybe somebody there knows something."
Six
Club Afterlife situated itself in the middle of historic downtown DeVille Falls. The was club built, to the horror of the local Historical Society, inside the one of the oldest buildings in DeVille Falls, is the epitome for the finest in high-energy dance music in town. You could hear music several blocks away, three nights a week, from the first signs of dusk to just before dawn. Owned by Carlin Winthrop, the last living member of the very wealthy Winthrop family, Club Afterlife was quite popular with the local nightlife. Nightlife who fancied themselves to be supernatural creatures of the night, vampires in particular. Only a small percentage of patrons were actually anything but strange normal folks, but it was to that small few Carlin Winthrop catered to. That small few who ran the town of DeVille Falls from the shadows. The Order of Night, of which Carlin was a member, controlled nearly every aspect of finance, government, tourism and enterprise in DeVille Falls. The Circle had its minions, both human and otherwise, and like most secret societies, it was virtually unheard of outside of its ranks. The Circle dealt with traitors harshly. Its highest level members were only the oldest and most powerful vampires. Save one. Malcolm Tallowhand. Tallowhand was indeed a powerful vampire, but by far not the oldest at a young two centuries of age. His edge lay in the fact that he was a mage of extraordinary ability. His expertise was in the creation and manipulation of fire. Fire was the ultimate bane of all undead, so, naturally, they reluctantly chose Tallowhand as their leader. Reluctantly by all but Carlin. She served as Tallowhand's right hand. Her unique ability to resist limited exposure to sunlight has made her an invaluable asset to the Circle. She conducted the daily business tedium of paying bills and the like. The town's folk considered her the wealthiest individual in DeVille Falls, Ma, if not a little eccentric. Her name appeared as either owner or partner on the entire Circle’s holdings, putting her in direct control of many businesses and holdings in DeVille Falls, which, overall, was a lot. With millions of dollars in property and business holdings, few things were out of Ms. Winthrop’s reach. This frustrated the Historical Society to no end. No argument or plea was enough to get Club Afterlife closed and the building restored to its rightful place on the tour roster. On most days, the repetition of her daily tasks bored her, but she relished her encounters with the ‘Hysterical’ Society, as she liked to call them. They fancied passing petty threats like, ‘It would be a shame if that place burned down,’ or, ‘Maybe we should write the Congressman. I bet he could get that dive shut down.’ Carlin would only smile and remind them that not only was the Congressman a member of HER country club, so were they. ‘It’d be a shame if my records burned and you were asked to leave.’ She said to them, once. Control a rich persons click; control that rich person, was her motto. Carlin supposed she could have the Circle influence the Historical Foundation. But why destroy such an entertaining rivalry?
Carlin stood out front of Club Afterlife a good two hours before opening. She liked to be there early so the bartenders could get the place ready for the night’s activities. It was a cloudy evening, but even so, Carlin wore her thick, black, hooded robe to keep the damaging sunlight off her pale skin. She could withstand direct exposure for a limited time without dying, but it was still painful and she avoided it unless absolutely necessary. It was more than her kin, who literally exploded after a few seconds of even reflected sunlight. Carlin put the key to the lock, when she sensed someone approaching behind her. Someone unfamiliar. She turned, slowly as that was her way, and faced the stranger. His gray dusted and short black hair matched his well-groomed beard. His smart suit and horn-rimmed glasses gave him that intelligent, college professor look. The stranger extended his hand in the customary manner.
"My name is Special Agent Mully," Mully said, shaking her hand. Carlin, as most vampires could, willed her hand to be warm.
"Should I call you Mr. Special or Mr. Mully?" She asked, with a sly little smile.
"Agent Mully," Mully said, regretting the slight mis-wording on his introduction.
"Oh, ok then." She said, still smiling. She was surprised at herself that she found this human attractive. ‘Get a hold on yourself, Carlin. You’re not a schoolgirl.’ She disciplined herself. She turned and unlocked the door to the club. "How can I help you Agent Mully?"
"I’m investigating the murder of a DeVille Falls resident named Alan Nash. Ever heard of him?" Mully asked, taking out his tape recorder and pressing play.
"No, the name doesn’t ring a bell." She said. "You think maybe he was here before? I know all the regulars and I’m here every night and I don’t remember an Alan Nash." She turned and caught the look in Mully’s eyes. She couldn’t help but feel that his piercing analytical observation gleaned everything from her with that single focused look. She, a person who hasn’t been nervous about anything in a three hundred and twenty years, was worried. She felt apprehensive, as if caught in a lie. What was worse, she knew he knew it.
"This matchbook was found at the scene," he said in a cool even manner, pulling the matchbook from his pocket. He handed it to her. "It has you establishment’s logo on the cover." He watched her for a moment more and continued, " I think you’re right that he wasn’t here, but his murderer was."
Carlin, as unnecessary as it was, was shaken at the certainty and confidence in his voice. One word from her and the Order could have him pulled back to Boston before nightfall or if necessary, something more drastic.
"What makes you say that?"
"The matchbook was found in the suspects car."
"Really? Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. You have a card or something?"
"Yes, here you are." Mully fished out a business card and handed it to her. "Thank you, mam."
As he walked down the block back to his car, Carlin was thankful he was only human. He would be a truly fearsome vampire.
"Hey Miss Winthrop," Leon, one of her bartenders said walking up with a cigarette hanging in his mouth.
"Hi, Leon."
"Something the matter, Miss Winthrop?" He asked, rolling the cherry end of the cigarette between his thumb and fore finger, knocking the burning embers to the ground and stepping on them. He put the remaining half in his shirt pocket… for later.
"No Leon. I’m just tired," she lied. "Just tired." Her thoughts lingered on the intense FBI Agent Mully. They would cross paths again. She would make sure of it.
Seven
Alan Nash listened, more than a little confused, while Mara explained something that involved more concentration than he believed he could contain in his head. Her luminescence cast a cold blue hue on the dark basement walls.
"You have to focus, Alan." She said, as he grimaced with all his might, squeezing and squinting like he just ate a lemon and chased it with a sour beer. She continued; "Imagine it happening and it will."
Alan stopped and took a breath, "You sound like a infomercial."
"I don’t know what that is, but you have to relax. Let it come naturally."
"Are you sure vampires can move things with their minds?" Alan asked. "I’ve never heard about that kind of thing before."
"You’ll find that vampire kind are very good at deception. Besides, the one who sired you possessed incredible power. You should have inherited some of it and be able to learn it all. Now, try again."
Alan looked at the large cinder block on the floor. He was frustrated. This was a damn sight harder than he anticipated. The things that came naturally in his new state of being, the speed, the strength, the senses, tricked him into a false sense of competence. He shook his head hopelessly. He wanted to just pick the damn thing up and fling it at the wall as hard as his new strength would allow. Then, as what he wanted to happen flowed into his imagination, it happened. Eddies of dust curled up behind the block as it slid with incredible force into the wall, shattering into large chunks. Alan stared in disbelief, open-mouthed.
"Woo!" he yelled. "Man, did you see that?"
"I told you. Your control needs work, but really very good for your first try."
"Wow, that felt amazing."
From that point, Alan was the perfect student. Whenever doubt would poke at his confidence, he reminded himself of how impossible that moment seemed.
Alan spent hours practicing his new abilities. He had no real need for sleep, so practice was how he passed the time. Mara had learned a lot from the one called the Villain. Some of the things she showed him took several tries but, in the end, he learned… even if he wasn’t very good at them. Not only could he move things with his mind, he also learned how to cloud the vision of mortals, allowing him to pass unseen among them or to control their actions. And most importantly, he learned to hunt. He was proficient and could easily provide for the hunger that burned in him. He justified the taking of human life, by feeding on only the most despicable dregs of society. Killers mostly. Cliché? Perhaps, but he needed a to justify it, lest he lose his humanity entirely. He tried feeding on animals; their blood would not sustain him. He could live, for a short time, but he got closer and closer to true death the longer he went without human blood until the pain would grow unbearable. The need for human blood was unavoidable.
Alan pressed on, his need for revenge fueling his desire to learn all he could. Then, one a cool night he saw her. A face as familiar to him as his own. Her beautiful smooth skin, full lips, blonde hair and shapely body stirred his memory. Her name slyly evaded his floundering memory. ‘Why can’t I remember her name?’ he thought shaking his head. He slipped into his de-solid form and moved closer to the familiar stranger. Her smell was intoxicating. He reached out to touch her with a faint hand. A tear rolled down her face and she began looking around expectantly.
"Alan?"
Alan was startled. It wasn’t possible for a human to perceive him in this form. A normal human, that is. His memory struggled. He somehow knew she possessed a higher perception than most others.
‘Why can’t I remember her name?"
The lovely young woman shook her head and wiped her eyes.
"You’re crazy." She whispered to herself. Alan’s unbeating heart sank, as she walked on. He followed her to a nearby restaurant called, ‘Fancy Ann’s’. She went inside and, seeing her party, walked to their table. She hugged young man and woman in turn. The other young woman favored her somewhat… a relative, maybe.
Alan had to know who she was. He slipped, unseen, through the restaurant walls stopping at their table.
"How have you been," asked the young man.
"I’ve been coping, Danny. Just coping." She said.
"Katie and I have been worried. You sure you’re ok? You look like you’ve been crying."
"Here," said Katie, handing her a handkerchief. "Danny’s right. I really wish you’d stay with us for a little while."
Alan was frustrated. ‘Just say her damn name, somebody!’
"Jennifer." The couple spoke in unison. They looked at each other, confused and a little embarrassed.
Alan smiled. ‘That’s handy.’
Jennifer looked at the two of them as if they emptied their water glasses on each other.
"What?"
Jennifer. The name struck a chord in him, though he still couldn’t make a connection with anything tangible.
A waiter brought them menus, which accepted and they opened.
"Are you ready now, or do you need a few minutes," the waiter asked in a squeaky voice. He was young, eighteen at the most and probably a student at DeVille Falls University, Alan thought.
"No, we need a few," Danny told him. "Could you bring us some house bread?" The mousy waiter shook his head in the standard ‘yes’ fashion and headed for the kitchen.Alan watched as Jennifer absently looked over her menu, surmising that she probably wasn’t reading it.
"Jennifer, we miss Alan too." Katie said, stroking Jennifer’s hair. Jennifer lost her control. Her lip quivered and she cried in a light almost quiet sob.
Alan started at his name. Was this a coincidence? The familiarity he felt with her made that next to impossible. He felt a definite connection existed between he and Jennifer. He had to find out more about her.
"I think I’m gonna go." Jennifer said, standing. "I’m sorry. I just need to be alone for a while."
"Jennifer, you’re always alone lately."
"I know, Katie. I just need more time. I loved him so much."
"Call me, Jennifer. I’m so worried about you." Jennifer leaned down and hugged Katie. "You’ve been so great. I’ll call you later. If you see mom, give her my love."
"I will."
"Bye, Danny."
"See ya, Jennie. You sure you don’t wanna stay and eat? The foods real good here."
"I know," she said sadly, "Alan used to bring me here."
"I’m sorry," Danny said.
"It’s ok, Danny. I’m just gonna go. I’ll se you guys later."
Jennifer left the restaurant. Out front, she dialed the number to the DeVille Falls Taxi Company on her cellphone.
"Um, yes, I need a cab in front of Fancy Ann’s, please." She put the phone back in her purse and waited. Alan watched her standing there. Everything she did, all of her mannerisms were familiar to him. He realized, quite suddenly, that he was in love with this beautiful young woman. He had always been in love with her.
The green and white cab pulled to the curb in front of Fancy Ann’s. Jennifer opened the door and slid inside. She smiled when she recognized the driver.
"Hey, Tom. Home please."
"Sure ‘ting, Miss Nash." He said.
Alan followed the cab easily with his enhanced speed. They passed an insurance building on their way out of town. Alan shuddered as the remnant of a nightmare memory returned at the sight of Brandt-Collins Life and Causality. He hurried past and let the cab catch up to him. A few miles out, Jennifer’s cab turned down a road into a small suburb and after a few moments, it turned into the driveway of a little middle-classed house. A black four-door sedan sat parked in the drive. Jennifer handed the cab driver some money.
"Good night, Gabby."
"Good night, Miss Nash." He said. "Say, why do yous take a cab wit a perfectly good car sittin’ right there?"
"That’s Alan’s car. Was. It was Alan’s car."
"Oh. I’m sorry. Hey, the next rides on me, m’kay?"
"Sure, Gabby. Thanks." She said. Ms. Johns, her nosey neighbor, fingered open a small crack in the Venetian blinds behind which she stood her vigil. A memory came rushing back to Alan. He went to her house once to chase a small garden snake from under her sink. When he got there, she was standing on a tall chair, armed with a well-used straw broom. Behind her, at ‘the window’, a small desk was set up. On it sat a pair of high quality binoculars, a parabolic ear and a cellphone/cordless phone scanner. She and Alan would sometimes fake arguments just to see how long it would take to make the rounds in the neighborhood.
Jennifer waved, smiling as Gabby pulled out of the driveway. Alan passed through the thin wall of the house as she unlocked the door and entered in the conventional manner. She put her purse and keys on a small table next to the doorway. She kissed two fingers lightly and touched them to a photo hanging on the wall in the foyer. Alan looked closer at the glossy flat image and saw himself. In shock, he moved further down the wall, looking at more photos. A history of their time together, preserved in time, framed in wood and glass. His memory came flooding back.
‘Jennifer is my wife.’ Alan watched as she walked to the bedroom. She undressed. Alan’s heart sank when he saw the long pink scars on her wrists. She went into the adjoining bathroom and sat on the edge of the sky blue bathtub. She always hated that bathtub. Wispy steam floated from the torrent spilling from the faucet, clinging wetly to everything. Jennifer always liked the water hotter than he did. The steam somehow slowed as it passed through Alan’s intangible form. He saw his shadowy reflection in the mirror as the steam drifted through him like dirt sinking in water. A sudden, startled scream let him know that Jennifer saw him too.
"A-A-Alan?" She asked, reaching out for him. Alan backed out of the steam and into the bedroom. Jennifer emerged from the steamy, fog-filled bathroom wrapped hastily in a towel.
"Alan!" she called loudly.
He ran through the walls and from the house. A strange kind of panic nipped at his calm. It’d been so long. He couldn’t just appear and walk back in her life. He heard Jennifer’s heart racing. Reluctantly, Alan left the little house. Their little house.
Eight
Malcolm Tallowhand looked like a vampire and, unlike his kin, made no effort to conceal what he was. Pale, gaunt and slightly balding, he looked physically weak. But his eyes betrayed a hidden strength and superiority that brought chills to, well… everyone. This and other attributes helped him gain leadership of the Circle of Night.
The Circle of Night’s thirteen members convened twice a month in an abandoned nuclear power plant, thirty-five miles outside the city limits of DeVille Falls, to discuss whatever business needed their attention. An obscure little dirt road off highway 133 south lead to the plant. Choked with foliage, travel on the bumpy little path was nearly impossible. Fortunately, the Circle had other means of travel. From something as mundane as helicopters, to just leaping into the air and flying on one’s own will. Tallowhand favored teleportation. Clean, fast and most importantly, unsettling. He delighted in the effect it had on his victims and fellow Circle members alike. One never knew when Tallowhand would just show up.
One hundred ninety three feet below the ground in a musty smelling, dimly lit concrete room there sat a dinosaur of a desk. Thirteen chairs, six on each side and one at the head, lined up perfectly to each other. The members of the Circle filed in and took their customary seats as business commenced. Malcolm stood to address the eleven men and one woman gathered before him.
"Welcome. Shall we begin?" Malcolm said in his chilly voice. His voice, like his eyes, commanded attention.
"My pharmaceutical company in Washington as completed research on that new cancer therapy we discussed last week." Trenton Cannondale, the only human, said. He was a normal man, true but with one exceptional trait; he was physically immortal. A thick scar made by a musket ball marked his forehead. Just a private in the Civil War, he had the distinction of dying to the marksmanship of General Ulysses S. Grant. "So far, the only side effect is painful urination."
"We’ll keep it out of the public for fifty years or so. The population is at a good balance just now." Malcolm wasn’t sure he trusted Cannondale completely. He never seemed to rattle. Cannondale demonstrated a brilliance and cunning uncommon to the rest of the herd. For over two hundred years, he carefully built his fortune into an empire of businesses all across the United States. He was easily the most powerful human alive… and would be for sometime. Cannondale, however, remained true to the Circle, though Malcolm surmised it to be for personal gain.
"What about Alan Nash?" Carlin Winthrop asked. "And the Villain."
"It’s clear they must be destroyed. The Villain defies us by making bastard outcasts."
"The Villain is quite powerful and has evaded us for some twenty years now." Cannondale said. "Perhaps we can find something he cares about in order to draw him into the open."
"He’s totally insane. I doubt he cares about anything." Carlin said.
"What about this Nash? Maybe we can use him to destroy the Villain." Cannondale rubbed his temple.
"Revenge is a strong, common thread among vampire kind. Perhaps this Nash wants some sort of revenge against him."
"It’s possible." Carlin said. "He would be no match for the Villain…" Carlin personally witness the Villain kill three of the Circle’s best assassins. Easily. When she described the lengths to which the Villain went through in destroying them, Malcolm said simply, "Unnecessary."
"Send Millinghaust." Malcolm said. "Let’s see how strong Nash really is…"
"Do you think this fledgling is actually capable of facing Millinghaust?" she asked.
"Were he sired by any other… no, I don’t think so. But the Villain is over fifteen hundred years old. It would be impossible for Nash not to have inherited substantial power, though I doubt he has learned to use it in so little time."
"What about this Agent Mully?" Cannondale asked. Carlin did her best to hide her surprise. ‘How did he know?’ "He was at the Club yesterday asking questions."
"I wouldn’t worry about him." Malcolm said studying Carlin, looking for reactions.
"He could cause problems… draw unnecessary attention to DeVille Falls." She said weathering Malcolm’s unspoken accusations.
"True. The FBI is a substantial government agency over which we exert little control. Meet with him. Find out what he knows." He said, satisfied with the level of discomfort he was causing in her. ‘Why,’ he wondered ‘would Cannondale want Carlin to look bad?’ He was interested to see where this was going. Maybe he fancied climbing through the ranks at her expense. ‘The ambitions of others killed Caesar.’ No, Malcolm definitely did not trust Trenton Cannondale.
Nine
The tinny echo of dripping water bounced around inside the damp metal culvert. The Villain didn’t require much from a home, just that it kept the sunlight off his back. In twenty-five hundred years, he distilled the fundamentals from all the extravagance down to what he required most out of a home: which was, simply, a place to be.
Many years ago, the Villain had a name.
...more to come