The Ripper of Blossom Valley

by S D Christopher

  Then, stuff got scary. About eight "treatments" later, as we were calling them, for no discernible reason, Fudge didn't recover as quickly as he had been. We weren't in contact longer than usual, but he was nearly comatose for a whole day. I was so upset, I didn't want to feed off of him ever again. I was determined not to. But sure enough, a month later, when I was at my lowest point since getting sick, I had a moment of weakness. Sure, my body was weak, but I'm talking about my will. It was the worst decision of my life.

  "Doll, I'm tellin' ya, I'm fine."

  "Yeah, now. How about in 20 minutes when you're lying there in a coma?"

  "Ugh, you're so dramatic. I probably had the flu or something. It was a one-off, an anomaly. You guys are all about throwing out the edge cases, or whatever the shit they're called, right?"

  "...The outliers...yeah...this is different."

  "Sweetheart, how is it different? We’ve done this almost a dozen times now. You can't let one bad experience bring this good thing down. I'm making you better, I can tell. You're lasting a little longer each time. I think it's healing you."

  He's not wrong, but... "It's different because another outlier might leave you dead, baby. One bad experience is a warning. Two is bad karma, not learning from our mistakes."

  Fudge looks legitimately confused. "But you don't believe in karma."

  "Irrelevant! I don't care if it's healing me or not, it's obviously taking its toll on you. I can't lose you, Fudge, any more than you can lose me." The argument is exhausting, so I slump into a chair.

  This is when he shines, when he's truly selfless. He walks over to me, slowly, takes my hand in his. "Babe, I would gladly give my life for yours. I'm an old fart anyway. That's what love is all about, isn't it?"

  "I know...but I can't take your life for mine. It's not the same as jumping in front of a bullet for me. And if I lived, but you didn't...who would help me raise our imaginary children?" I ask, tears streaming down my face.

  I don't bring the topic up often, because I know he hates it when I do. But when can I be honest with him if not when I'm close to my death bed? Unlike most times I mention our cute little misconceptions, Fudge just gives me a great big bear hug, gently weeping. I was honestly wondering if he'd had his tear ducts surgically removed before we met. He picks me up, places me gently on the bed, and lies beside me. And then, it just... happens. Or, more accurately, I let it happen.

  I was wiped out, my resistance worn down, or maybe subconsciously, thinking about children again made me want to do it. Here, lying beside me, was my ticket to just a few more weeks of normalcy, of being able to keep food down, of being able to roll out of bed at all. So I fed, my only concern being limiting how long I drained him. But it didn't take long at all to realize something was wrong. No sooner did I start to rebound did I sit up and process my terrible mistake.

  When the ambulance arrived, I remembered Fudge's insistence that I not tell another soul about what we've been doing. So shamefully, I lied, telling them I found him this way when he wouldn't respond to my calls from the kitchen. I told them I wondered if it was a heart attack or a stroke.

  At the hospital, the doctor told me he'd slipped into a coma, due to a heart attack, followed by reduced blood flow to the brain. She said it wasn’t surprising, given his history of hypertension. To say I freaked out would be an understatement, but I never let slip how it actually happened.

  I went on short-term disability from work, which wasn't a question given my illness. They asked how I was, and if I needed anything else. Even though I felt fine, I had to sit by his side through this, be there when he woke up. I wasn't even sure he would wake up, but I was determined to be there if he did.

  Visitors came and went. His new partner was very kind. I don't think Fudge even told me that he’s black. That's one of the things I love about him: he doesn't judge by skin color. If he did, this nerdy Japanese girl might not have even had a chance with him. His grandmother even flew in from Florida, but she was so frail and absent-minded, she couldn't stay long. I'm pretty sure she thought I was his nurse.

  After a few grueling weeks, my prayers were answered, and Fudge opened his eyes. One of the first things he said was that I didn't believe in prayer. I told him to shut his pie hole and kiss me.

  Then, I told him we were done with this. Surprisingly, he didn't even put up a fight. "I know it sounds selfish, but even if I did give my life for you, how much time would it buy you? A few months? We'll find another way." There was no other way, and we both knew it. Or so I thought, until he told me that I wasn't the only one with a trick up my sleeve.

  When he told me his own secret, I was skeptical at first. How could I not be, as a scientist? But he reminded me of my own unexplained ability. He didn't believe it himself at first, thought it was just good instincts, observational skills, the ability to read people, all things he had learned or crafted through his work. Once he proved to me what he could do, my skepticism gave way to anger. How could he not tell me? Especially when I trusted him with my own secret? I didn’t visit him in the hospital for a few days, and considered the strength of our long-term prospects together.

  Once I recognized that I was going through all the stages of grief (denial, anger...), and realized how reliant upon him I’d become since the cancer took hold, I fast forwarded to acceptance, and asked him how he thought this could help us, how it could help me. He broke this news to me gently. "Well, babydoll...some of my so-called hunches are actually just my ability to pinpoint people when they're going through something traumatic. It's a kind of radar that gives me a head start on the bad guys."

  At first, I didn't understand. "So, when your spider sense tingles, you bring me to the bad guys?"

  "No...my hit rate for getting there before they've fled is actually pretty low overall. We’d rarely make it there in time for that." He waits for me to figure it out, and it's brilliant on his part. He won't suggest it himself. He wants me to say it. What a big fat jerk.

  "Are you implying that I feed off of someone who's just been attacked?!?! Are you insane?!?! You didn't actually think I'd agree to this. Is that what you think of me, that I'd prey on a victim, someone who's just been through hell already? Why would you think I'd be all gung ho to make their day worse?"

  "I'm sorry...I haven't exactly thought the whole thing through yet. I just thought that maybe it wouldn't do any additional harm if you held their hand and comforted them while we're waiting for an ambulance and I'm taking a statement."

  I honestly don't know what to say. "Comfort them? By stealing their energy?"

  He's treading very lightly now. "I'm thinking, maybe…if you only do it once to someone, it's no big deal, no lasting effects. With me, it's only because we kept going back to the fuckin' well too many times."

  It's a darn interesting hypothesis, but no, I'm not gonna let him talk me into this. It's wrong! "It's like you said, we'll find another way. I don't want this on my conscience. It's bad enough what I did to you, and you were a volunteer. I don't think I can do that to someone who's not a willing participant."

  Fudge hangs his head. He's so used to convincing me to see things as he does. Now, he just looks kinda sad, there in his hospital bed, out of ideas. I hold his hand, careful not to focus on it, and we sit silently until he falls asleep, still fatigued from his ordeal with this soul-sucking vamp. I win this round. Once I'm certain he's asleep, I ponder our future, and if we even have one. I mutter, more to myself than to him, "Frank Foley, if we don't think of something else, I'm as good as dead."

  Chapter 15

  Frank

  "How are you doing today, sir?"

  How am I doing? Well, let’s see. I've got five dead women, no suspects besides me and my dying girlfriend who’s pretty much pissed at me all the time now, two Feds up my ass, a partner who's probably boning one of them, an idiot supervisor, and a stalker. Other than that, I'm fuckin' peachy. "Fine, thanks."

  I drop a dollar at Mr. Nosey Body's newsstand, grab my coffee,
and sit on a park bench. How the fuck did I get to this point? I thought I had everything under control. Sure, I made mistakes when I was younger. I chased ghosts and shadows, and I paid for it in more ways than one. But I closed that chapter of my life, a long time ago. There’s a truce, an unwritten agreement. I leave them alone, and they don’t kill anyone else close to me.

  If I’d only left certain shit alone, I wouldn’t be so compromised, wouldn’t have made so many fuckin’ enemies along the way. It should be me sitting in that nice office with all the fuckin' flags, but instead, it goes to the guy who kept his head down, kissed a lot of ass, and knew how to play the game.

  Fuck it, if that's what the job's all about, he can have it. I'll take being in the field over bullshit politics any day. At least I get to breathe all this fresh air. That's gotta be better than sitting in a stuffy office day in and day out. If he would just leave me the fuck alone and let me do my job without the constant barrage of stupid fuckin' questions, I'd be happy.

  At least, I would be, if this damn case would go away already. If we don't find the son of a bitch who's killing these women, it's gonna haunt me for the rest of my short life. Every time I feel like we're onto something, it evaporates. As if that's not enough, Troy is definitely buddying up to her. Even though he tries to play it down while I'm around, it's obvious to me. It's my own fuckin' fault, really. If I wasn't so intimately involved in the events that ultimately lead to the deaths of these women, I wouldn't keep him at arm's length like I have been.

  I can't prove that they're shacking up, but what would it matter if I could? He's a big boy, can take care of himself. I just hope he's not letting her take advantage of him just so she can meddle in our case. Worse, I hope they don't find out what the fuck it is I've been up to, like someone else clearly has.

  I'm no closer today to finding out who sent me that goddamn letter than I was when it first showed up on my desk, but not for lack of trying. I’ve pretty much ruled out the demons in my past. I’ve done nothing to piss them off in years, and if I did, they wouldn’t be playing games like this with me. Maiko would be dead, and they know that would unburden me to go after them again. They have to know I’ve kept all my dirt on them in a safe place, and wouldn’t be afraid to use it if they upset the balance we’ve had going. Besides, if they did know what we were doing, cryptic blackmail letters wouldn’t be their style. They’d expose me, and I’d be out of a job, and in prison, pretty fuckin’ quick.

  I managed to review security camera video from the precinct, but the letter was dropped on the desk by our receptionist. Before that, it was in a pile of inbound mail. Hours before she grabbed the stack, a custodian dropped the damn thing on top. As I followed him backwards in time, I saw him pick it up off a bench in the lobby. Awhile before that, someone in a hoodie walked by and dropped it onto the bench, being very careful not to look up. About all I could gather from the footage is that based on the gait, it was a woman. Great, I've cut the list of suspects to half the fuckin' population of Earth.

  I immediately thought of the batshit crazy woman, Isabel Gutierrez. She showed up the same day as the letter, but my ample gut tells me she's too far gone to be that subtle. She even trusted me a little during the interview. Still, she knew the victim was stunned, and that the rapist didn’t kill her. Or maybe she doesn't know that for sure, I dunno. I never had the chance to talk to her in private, and that sure as shit wasn't gonna happen at the station. Regardless, if she suspected my involvement at all, she woulda clammed up as soon as she saw me. So, there it is. Every woman on Earth minus one. Progress.

  Okay, minus two, actually. Maiko is in this as deep as I am. If she wanted us to stop all this shit, she'd be very direct. It's one of the many qualities I love about her. As much as it would kill me to see her waste away, if push came to shove, I'd honor her wishes. At least, I think I would. I'm scared to let her go, and I ain't been scared of shit since Ma died.

  How did I get here, indeed? I trace it all back to a decision I made more out of selfishness than selflessness. The first time I tried to convince my little Japanese jewel to engage in immoral, unethical, and, yes, illegal behavior, I was laid up in a hospital bed, and couldn't put up much of a fight. But I was determined to try again, and by the time I recovered well enough to go back on the job, she had swung in the opposite direction, barely able to get out of bed.

  "Babe, are you sure? I can wait another day or two to get back to work. I'm sure they don't miss my chipper fuckin' face."

  She barely managed a weak smile. "No, Fudge, you should go. I'll be fine." I used to hate it when she called me that, thought she was mocking me, trying to shame me into a boring life free of profanity. But I eventually realized that she meant it to be endearing, and it just stuck. Now I just find it fuckin' adorable. But I still give her shit about it, cuz I love how fuckin' cute she is when she's all fired up.

  "You don't look fine. Sweetheart, if you're not gonna be around much longer, I wanna spend every damn hour with you."

  She put her palm to my cheek, slowly caressed it. "So noble, my sweet Fudge, and so pessimistic. I'll be around to worry you for a few more months, I promise. You'll have plenty of chances to hold my hair back while I hurl some of your wonderful dinners, and clean me up after I've lost control of my bowels."

  With her hand still on my face, I put my hand around her wrist. "That is so fuckin' hot."

  This made her laugh, at least, and me too, until a coughing fit stopped her in her tracks. She easily spotted my concern and waved me away. "Be gone, before you make me cough up a lung. I'll be fine here with my Pocky and anime."

  "You do realize how much of a stereotype you are right now."

  "I'll throw in some Tarantino to restore balance to the Force. Off with you." She waved me off, and I decided to let it go, get back to work, with the intention of continuing our conversation from the hospital later.

  Troy, who had only been my partner for a few months at that point, was one of the few people happy to see me back on the job. "My girl says you came to see me at the hospital. I appreciate that."

  "Of course, Frank. I wanted to make sure you'd be sticking around to teach me everything you know."

  "Heh, almost everything. I still need some job security."

  He smiled, but only for a moment. "So, now the bad news. Doyle wants you to stay at the precinct today. I've got a few leads to follow up on, gonna have to take Simpson with me for one more day."

  "Fuck Doyle," is what I wanted to say. But at that point, I was still trying to keep my disdain of him to a minimum around Troy. I wanted him to draw his own conclusions. "I didn't come back to sit at a desk. Let him try and stop me."

  As I walked by, he clapped me on the back. "It's good to have you back, Frank. Just let me drive this time." I grunted, and nodded, and we were on our way.

  Those were simpler times on the job. Troy and I were on the trail of some scumbag who accidentally killed an old man during a burglary. We didn't know it was accidental at the time, mind you, but the idiot didn't expect anyone to be home. Since he was an idiot. It didn't take long to find him, either.

  I don't know if I felt invigorated by another collar, or just from getting out there again, but I was ready to try again with Maiko that night. I knew it was an uphill battle, given that she's such a sweetheart and wouldn't hurt a fuckin' fly, but I've convinced her of things before that I didn't think possible. I figured if I could keep her out of the wedding chapel and off the baby train, this might not be so hard.

  When I got home, she was in much worse shape than when I had left in the morning. She'd managed to make it out of bed, but not to bathroom. I helped her up, washed her off, changed her clothes, and mopped up. Then I just held her for what seemed like hours, squeezing a little harder whenever she broke down and wept. It was all I could do to hold my own shit together. Not all nights were this bad, but there were some here and there. Even though it made me feel like a heel, I eventually mustered the courage.

  "Doll
, it breaks my heart to see you like this. Let me help you." All she could manage was a shake of her head. "Think of all the progress you've made with your research. Your human trials are right around the corner. All those people are gonna need you around to cure them, so you can get your Nobel Prize in Medicine."

  This made her titter. "Do you know how hard it is to win that?"

  "Easier than curing a disease, probably."

  "It's not really a cure. It's a sort of therapy. It just prolongs life."

  "And what's wrong with that, huh?" I looked down at her, raised her chin so I could look into those magnificent green eyes. "You're doing amazing work. Do you think Shannon could really lead your team?"

  "Sharon."

  "Whatever. They need you. All those people need you. I need you. I can do for you what you're doing for so many of them: extend your life, give you more time to continue a noble cause."

  She gave me a quick laugh through her sniffles. "So I can have more nights like this?"

  "There aren't many like this, you know that, especially if you do what I'm asking." I could see she was getting uncomfortable again. "I know, it goes against everything you believe in. But you also believe in helping people, and you can't do that once you're gone."

  Just then, I felt it. Someone in distress, a woman. It was strong, and she wasn't far away. I leapt into action. "Come on, we're goin' on a little road trip."

  In her weakened state, all she could manage was a feeble, "What? ...Now?" I grabbed my car keys and carried her outside. Not as strong I used to be, we lost precious minutes getting out of the house. She was too weak to walk on her own, so she was basically dead weight. Opening the car door was a bit tricky, but I managed to gently maneuver her into the passenger's seat and buckle her in.

  It took about five minutes to drive to the location, a yellow house on a quiet block off Almaden Expressway. I parked in front, to minimize how far I had to carry Maiko. "Stay here a minute."