“No,” I lie. I not only found him, but I also fought him off, bashed his head in, stabbed him in the heart, and then somehow summoned my new friends to come protect me and rip your son’s head clean off his body. “But I think he might be connected to a case I’m working on and wondered if you had a few minutes to answer some questions.”
“Yes,” she says, and steps back, opening the door. My heart aches for this poor woman, and I hate how I can never tell her what happened. Even if she did believe me, I can’t imagine what it would do to her to know her son was murdered, turned into a vampire, and then became a murderer himself. “Come in.”
We move inside and she motions to a couch in the living room. I pull a notebook and pen from my bag and take a seat.
“I read over the report,” I start, “but was hoping you could give me your recollections of the last time you saw him again.”
She takes a deep breath and nods, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from coming. Fuck, I hate this.
“It was Wednesday afternoon. I came home from work for lunch and he was here. I made him and myself a sandwich and sat with him while we ate. He mentioned going out with friends that night, and not to wait up for him. When he didn’t come home, I assumed he had stayed the night with Rebecca.”
“Who’s Rebecca?”
“An old girlfriend. They had a bit of a Ross-and-Rachel situation going on, and he ran into her earlier that week. I called on my way to work, not expecting an answer since it was early. But by ten o’clock…I knew something was wrong. He’s a good kid. He checks in, especially when he’s home from school like this.” She breaks down, and I give her a few minutes to collect herself before pressing on.
“Did you talk to Rebecca?”
“Yes, and she never saw him that night. They were supposed to meet for drinks, but he never showed.”
“What about the friends he went out with?”
“They were at the same bar with Rebecca. He…he never made it.”
“Do you mind if I had a look in his room?”
Mrs. Porter wipes away her tears. “No, I don’t mind if you think it’ll help.” She leads me down the hall into his room. “I haven’t touched anything. It makes me feel like he’ll come home this way.” She stands in the threshold, unable to step foot into her son’s room. “I just want my baby back.”
I can’t get him back, but I can stop the undead asshole who turned him. Going into work-mode, I look around the room. The bed is unmade and clothes lie in a heap on the floor. An open suitcase is in front of the dresser, with clothes and shoes spilling out. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
And then I notice the folded piece of red paper that’s fallen between the nightstand and the bed. Carefully, I pull it out and unfold it. The word “Delirium” is at the top, in bold letters. It’s a flyer for the bar, advertising “half-off hump-day drinks.”
I’ve never been to Delirium, but it’s a bit notorious with the law. Gothic-themed, dark, and hosting interesting party nights, the place has been of concern to us as cops because it’s rumored people go there to buy drugs and hook up in the private rooms in the back. It’s been looked into a time or two before, but nothing has come out of it.
The owners—three brothers from Russia—pay their rent and utilities on time, keep everything up to code, and have all the proper licenses to run the place. They’ve never given anyone any trouble, and pay their employees nearly double the standard rate.
I take a photo of the flyer, look around for a few more minutes, then head out to leave. I get Rebecca’s number from Mrs. Porter, trying as hard as I can not to externalize the guilt I’m feeling for lying to her, and call Rebecca as soon as I’m in my car.
She’s at work but can talk, which is good news. It’s also good news that she works at a coffee shop. I’m feeling that lack of sleep again, which doesn’t make sense now that I think about it. There have been many nights where I was up late working, or binging something on Netflix, staying up three or four episodes past my bedtime. It sucks, but I drink coffee, get my shit together, and I’m okay.
Right now, I feel like I’m coming down with something and it zapped all my energy. I inhale deeply, taking in a lungful of crisp air, and mentally shake myself. I have to stay on my game.
The Starbucks where Rebecca works is twenty minutes away. The early morning rush has come and gone, and I get in line behind the two people in front of me. I order a white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and ask the barista to get Rebecca.
She’s the manager and is in the back. I take a seat by the counter and wait for both my coffee and Rebecca. My coffee comes first.
I log onto Delirium’s Facebook page, looking through photos and lists of people who’ve checked into the location. I mentally roll my eyes at every single one of them. Just go ahead and make it easy to be stalked, why don’t you? It’s almost as bad as posting you’re going on vacation and leaving behind an empty house.
“Detective Bisset?”
I look up, finding a timid-looking young woman standing near the table. Her hair is dark black streaked with red, pulled back into a perfect French braid. Her ears are full of piercings and her hazel eyes are lined in heavy black pencil.
“Yes, please have a seat, Rebecca,” I say, eyes going to her name tag. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Of course. Did you find…”
“No,” I once again lie. “I’m working on a lead and have just a few questions.”
She takes a seat, holding her arms in close to her body. She’s nervous, which isn’t unusual. People who are completely innocent with nothing to hide still get nervous when talking to cops. With all the shit we’ve been given on social media lately, I can’t say I blame them.
“Bryan’s mother told me he was supposed to meet you Wednesday night at a bar.”
“Yeah. We were going to The Grasshopper. He was supposed to meet me there around eleven.”
“Did you talk to him beforehand?”
She nods and spins a ring around on her finger. “We’d texted throughout the day. The last text I got from him was about seven. I was working here until we closed and didn’t get to check my phone right away. He said he might be late.”
“Did you text him back?”
“Yeah. A few times. Then I called him and when he didn’t answer, I got kinda mad and thought he was brushing me off again. He does that a lot, which is why we keep breaking up.”
I nod, trying to analyze her. “Have you heard of a bar called Delirium?”
“The vampire bar? Yeah. Everyone’s heard of it.”
“Do you think Bryan would go to it?”
“It’s not really his thing, if you know what I mean.”
I set my coffee down. “Enlighten me.”
“I’ve never been, but I’ve heard people go there to, you know…have sex with vampires.”
“Vampires?”
“People dressed up as vampires. One of my friends likes to go there and—oh, uh, I forget.”
“Look,” I say, and lean forward. “As long as your friend isn’t selling organs on the black market, I don’t care what sort of freaky things he or she is into.”
Rebecca nods. “She said if you pay extra, they’ll bite you. Until you bleed.” If I’d spoken to her last week, I’d brush off the paid vampire sex as a fetish thing. But now that I’ve seen vampires with my own two eyes…
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t get it, but, I mean, some people are into that, and the whole vampire thing is taken seriously at Delirium.” Letting out a shuddering breath, she looks back into my eyes. “Was Bryan there?”
“I found a bar flyer in his room. I’m considering all options right now.” I pull a card from my pocket. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“I will.” She takes my business card, and tears fill her eyes. “Please find him.”
It’s like part of me dies at that moment, and the reality of living a double life hits me like a wooden stake to the heart. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I learned that demons and magic exist.
And I hate it already.
9