God, I sound crazy.
“I want you taking the lead on these murders,” he says, and opens a laptop. “Word has gotten out on social media about a victim whose blood was drained from ‘strange bite marks,’ and now we have a swarm of people crying vampire.” He rolls his eyes. “We need to shut this down.”
They’re right. “Yes, the sooner the better. Was the post taken down?”
“It was as soon as I became aware of it, but not before screen shots were taken and shared.”
“Oh, of course.”
“And let’s try and keep this as discrete as we can. The brutality of the murder has people in enough of a panic. If word gets out there was a similar murder the day before, they’re going to be crying serial killer before we can confirm it.”
It’s not just one serial killer, and it’s much worse. I look at my boss, a respected man of the law with years of war combat under his belt, and wonder what he’d do if I told him the absolute truth.
Laugh and think I’m joking, most likely. Then send me for a mental health evaluation when I keep a straight face. And then it hits me that even when I do find the master vamp and shove a wooden stake through its non-beating heart, I’ll still have an unsolved case.
“Right,” I agree. “We can’t have that. I’ll get right on it.”
“I know you will.” He dismisses me with a curt nod and I do my best to keep my cool as I walk away, going back to my desk and sitting heavily in my chair. A new headache forms on top of the one I already have. Allowing myself ten seconds, I put my head in my hands and close my eyes, taking a slow, deep breath.
This isn’t a normal case, and I can’t go about it the normal way, even though my norm is pretty damn effective at solving crimes. I already know the motive: the baby vamps are hungry and need to eat.
I pull up a Word doc on my computer. Finding it neater, I usually take digital notes. But for this, I don’t want any sort of electronic fingerprint left behind. I pull an old notebook from my desk drawer, flip halfway through until I find a blank page, and start writing out notes. I don’t have much to go on and won’t be able to talk to the gargoyles until tonight when they wake up.
I start with what I do know: the victims. Finding similarities is something normal, and something I task out for the time being. We know who they are. But what we don’t know is who the vampires are. Were. They might be responsible for the murders, but they’re victims, too. Something killed them. Turned them.
Thinking back to last night, I recall the vampires. It was dark and I was certain I was going to die. My memories of them are fuzzy, and I close my eyes to try and recall their faces.
Red eyes.
Fangs.
The stench of sulfur.
I rub my temples. Come on, Ace…there has to be something.
Brown hair. Not one was more than a few inches taller than my five-foot-six-inch frame. They all appeared to be in their early twenties. I log onto the computer and pull up missing persons reports, and search for men aged eighteen to twenty-five, under six feet, and with brunette hair. A handful come up, and I flip through the reports until I see a familiar face.
Bryan Porter. Reported missing by his mother two weeks ago.
My chest tightens. I hit him over the head with a rock and then plunged a knife through his heart. Hasan ripped his head off and I felt relief.
I wish I could think of them as faceless monsters, but the baby vampires are just as much victims as the bodies we found yesterday. I close my eyes in a long blink and look away for a moment before reading the rest of the report. He went missing after coming home from college over spring break. He’s twenty-three and working on getting his master’s degree in social work. His mother reported seeing him the afternoon before and didn’t think much when he didn’t come home one night since he was going out with friends and often stayed with a “lady friend” after a night out at the bar.
She called him the next morning to tell him she had leftovers in the fridge and went to work. When she still hadn’t heard from him throughout the day, she began to worry and called the police. It was too early to file an official report, and she was brushed off until the “right” amount of time passed.
A ball of dread starts to form in my stomach. I’ve told mothers about their murdered children before. I’ve informed parents their precious child has carried out horrific crimes. Yeah, it’s hard, and yes, it gets to me. But I compartmentalize. It’s part of the job.
But this…how the hell do I handle this? Mandy Porter will forever hold onto hope her son will come home. Which, again, isn’t different than a good number of other family members who filed the rest of these missing persons reports, but I know what happened to Bryan. And I can never tell her.
I go through the rest of the missing persons files, trying to ID another vampire. I find another who’s a possibility—he’s been missing for nearly a month—and try to make connections between the rest of the missing men. I print out files that could be of interest and arrange them on my desk in order of when they were reported missing.
I look them over, sighing. Brunette hair and being of average height might just be a coincidence and I’m wasting my time.
Speaking of time…I add up the remaining hours until sunset. I could sit and fire questions at the gargoyles all day about the curse, how I’m connected, why did whoever cursed them choose gargoyles over turning them into frogs…but I need to stay focused on the vampires, starting with Bryan.
“You think he’s gonna be next?” Officer Beasley’s voice almost startles me. I get jumpy when I’m tired.
“What?” I look up, blinking from the bright sunlight streaming in from the windows behind him.
“Those reported missing. You think they’re gonna be the next victims?”
In some sense or another. “Maybe. Want to cover all bases.”
“Right. Good thinking.” He smiles. “I’m headed to get myself a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?”
“Thanks, but I’m already on cup number two. I probably shouldn’t have any more.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it’s early for two cups.” He hesitates, waiting for me to say something else. I’m not the most social person, but I try, and I’m usually good at it. Being able to read people and acting in accordance to how they expect me to act is a talent that comes in handy in my line of work.
But right now, I don’t have time for this. Vampires are out there, murdering innocent people. Beyond that, an older vampire is taking people off the streets and turning them into killers.
Officer Beasley mutters an awkward goodbye, and I go back to work. An hour later, I’ve still got nothing. Since I’m waiting on the full lab and toxicology report to come back on our most recent victim, I grab Bryan’s report and get in my car, driving half an hour away to Mrs. Porter’s house.
My heart is in my throat as I walk up the porch steps. I’ve done this before and never felt nervous. I’ve never flat-out lied like this before. I’ve kept the truth, stretched a few details before, but it was all for the sake of the case.
I ring the bell and step back. A minute passes and I think no one is home. I turn to leave, and then hear the lock click back.
“Can I help you?” someone inside says, opening the door only two inches.
I hold up my badge. “I’m Detective Bisset. Are you—”
“Is this about Bryan?” The door swings open and who I’m guessing is Mrs. Porter steps out. “Did you find him?” Her eyes fill with tears.