Discovery of Death

by A. P. Fuchs

  Tired, the young man’s eyes aching for sleep, he wasn’t sure if sleep would even come. Not here. Not like this. He was back downstairs. Despite the gloom of the underground tomb feeling like home, a part of him recognized this wasn’t a place for sleep, at least not the kind that was temporary.

  He stood, and instinctively raised his arms to stretch. Instead, his muscles didn’t budge as they were already loose and teeming with life.

  The dark took on a new shape, one where each shadow grew darker, black as pitch, the surrounding areas growing to a rich gray. Suddenly, all became clear and he could see his surroundings perfectly.

  The coffin across from him was made of stone, rich and ornate carvings decorating its lid and sides. They were pictures of men and women in robes, all with long flowing hair, each person entangled in passionate embraces. However, where he expected their lips to meet in a kiss, instead the heads were nestled in the crook of the other’s neck, as if seeking intimacy there instead.

  He drew close to the coffin and touched its lid. Its stone should be cold, he felt, but was instead luke warm to the touch, borderline without any temperature at all.

  Other coffins lined the room, one on each side along with the one in the middle: five total. All were as beautiful as the one before him, all bearing similar markings as the one he had his fingers upon now.

  He pulled his hand away and started to walk around the coffin in the center of the room, searching for a name.

  There was none.

  He took a deep breath and looked at his hands. They stood out bright and gray against the monochrome of his vision.

  “I am dead,” he said, though not of his own will. It was more a blurting out of a thought than anything else.

  The coffin lid in front of him moved, stone grinding on stone as it slid along the box it covered.

  “Dead, but very much alive,” a female voice said from within the wooden box inside.

  The lid continued to move of its own accord, as if automated, until it slid completely to one side and lowered itself to the ground, light as a feather.

  The young man stumbled back a step, his muscles bursting with even more energy than they were before.

  From inside the inky blackness of the coffin, dark and partly rotted wooden lids flipped open. A female arose, standing straight up and away from him. She wore a long, form-fitting black dress with lace around the cuffs of her sleeves. Her long, smooth black hair hung past her backside. When she glanced at him over her shoulder, she offered a sweet smile with bright red lips.

  She turned on the spot without shuffling her feet, and brought her hands up across her breast in an X.

  “Welcome home, my son,” she said.

  The young man’s mind froze and falling red petals rained in front of his vision once again.

  In an instant, the woman was in front of him. “Do not be frightened. Mommy’s here.” She glanced up, then met his eyes again. “Oh, how I’ve waited for this day. We had to wait until you were ready, you see. We had to wait until—” She stopped speaking, probably catching his wide-eyed questioning gaze. “Are you frightened?”

  Oddly enough, he wasn’t. He knew his heart should be thundering in his chest, but instead there was . . . nothing . . . only this sense of confusion, jumbled thoughts and incoherent questions.

  But he nodded anyway.

  “Now, now,” she said, “don’t lie to your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Oh Zach, I’m sorry. You obviously took the change hard.”

  He wanted to speak, to ask what she was talking about, but the words wouldn’t form.

  “This happened to your brother as well,” the woman said. A moment later, she appeared on the other side of the coffin, as if intentionally giving him some distance. “Some retain their memory of life once transformed, others don’t. Rather, we all do in the end, but sometimes not right away. It seems you don’t remember anything, do you?”

  “I-I woke up . . . in the dark. I got out of the, um, coffin and went outside. But” —the searing memory and phantom pains of catching on fire forced him to clench his fists— “but . . . the heat. So hot.”

  “The sun,” she said. “You cannot live in the sun any longer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, in time.” She appeared right in front of him again. Her speed—how did she do that? It was only now he really took notice. This woman could do things that—His vision went dark for a moment, then when it cleared, he found himself laying on the floor, the woman at his side.

  “You need to rest, Zach,” she said.

  Zach? “Who’s—”

  “You are.”

  “Zach?”

  She nodded. “Mommy will make everything all right.”

  4

  Rose endured the school day like any other, wandering from class to class until finally the bell rang at three.

  The walk to the bus stop took incredibly long, each step strained with the phantom sensations of Zach’s hand in hers, the two spending as much time together as possible—even on the bus—until they’d get off at separate stops.

  She knew she wasn’t supposed to feel this way, at least in terms of missing him so much.

  There was puppy love and then there was the real thing. Her father always told her that until you were an adult, puppy love was all you would experience even if you felt otherwise. She didn’t know how true it was and couldn’t help but wonder if he had had his heart broken long ago and was doing his best to guard hers instead. Yet this was the real thing, she knew. It had to be.

  Rose had crushes before. She knew what it was like to get her stomach all up in a knot over a guy. She knew the thrill of talking to them, holding hands, kissing. But with Zach, all the stuff that had gone on before didn’t compare. It was like comparing dreams to reality, and with Zach, it was real. It was like her heart had been closed her whole life, its only ability to merely care for her friends and family, even guys she gushed about in the past. Zach, though, seemed to crack her heart open and get inside it in a way no one else had. With Zach came visions of the future: dating through college, marriage proposal, a wedding, an unforgettable honeymoon, children.

  But there was more to it than that as well. No matter what she said to him, he complimented her every feeling, every statement, even every thought. It was so idyllic—even cliché—that for a while she fought it. Girls dreamed of the fairytale, sure. They all did. But for it to actually come true? To actually find a guy who made her melt every time he was near, whose every word was like heavenly music, whose very look made her want to kiss him—no, this wasn’t puppy love.

  Puppy love didn’t come with heartache, not the kind that made you want to die because the other person wasn’t around anymore. Not the kind that turned the person of your dreams into someone of nightmares because they hurt you so bad. Not the kind that became part of every thought, word and deed since they were gone.

  The bus pulled up to the stop and Rose got on with the others waiting. It was nearly full, but she managed to find a seat near the back next to a chubby guy in a red golf shirt. He gave her a thoughtful look; she smiled back in kind then looked the other way.

  Even when the bus was full she and Zach would find a way to be together, whether it was him standing right next to where she sat or her sitting on his lap despite everyone else’s squinty-eyed looks.

  The memory made her smile, then made her heart burn with longing.

  She wished she could get over it. Wished she could move on enough to not obsess over his vanishing act every two seconds.

  Rose blinked away the tears and hugged her backpack tight.

  Hopefully the ride home wouldn’t take too long.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  When Rose headed up her driveway, she stopped when she saw Parker sitting on her front steps. He wore a pale blue T-shirt, jeans, his long, rich black hair contrasting against them. She headed up the rest of the driveway and toward the front door.


  “Hey,” she said.

  “Rose,” he said with a nod of the head as if tipping an invisible hat. “How goes it?”

  “It goes.”

  “Yeah?” He stood and dusted off the backside of his jeans. “That’s cool.”

  “Didn’t see you in school today,” she said as she fished out her house key.

  “Well, you know me. Late nights and all. I dig the whole sleep thing.”

  “You’re going to sleep your way to being held back a year if you don’t get your act together.”

  “Me? Nah, I’m covered.” He came up right behind her. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He took the hint, took a step back and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Listen, there’s this thing tonight. A party. Want in?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What, you’re getting all boring on me now?”

  “It’s not that, it’s just—” She stuck the key in the lock, turned it.

  “Just what?”

  “Just don’t feel like going out tonight.”

  “Oh, come on, man. You’ve been like a slug in the mud for a few months now. You okay?”

  No, I’m not, but thanks for asking. “I’m fine. Just been really bogged down as of late. Schoolwork. You know the drill.”

  “So says the smartest girl I know.”

  “Besides, if I did come out, I know you too well and you’ll make us stay out late. I’ll go to school totally bagged tomorrow, you won’t go at all, and I’ll have contributed to your—what’s the word?—delinquency?”

  “Well, fancy pants” —he gave her a wink— “how about I give you a ring later and we’ll see how you’re doing?”

  She shook her head. “You know, I just want to stay in tonight.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure it will be. Besides, where’s it at?”

  “Park down the road.”

  “McIvor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know they got guys who walk that place at night, looking for guys like you causing trouble.”

  “Yeah, and one of ’em Tucker’s brother and, actually—” He cupped his hand around his mouth and came in close. With a fake scream hidden in a whisper, he said, “He’s coming to the party.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “You’re hot.”

  She shot him a look.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Him giving her compliments was nothing new. If anything, their playful and sometimes flirtatious banter made their friendship lively and fun. She just wasn’t in the mood for it today. Besides—and especially now—goofing off with Parker would betray Zach. Zach had been cool with Parker, but never liked how evident Parker swooned over her. She always assured him everything was fine and he had nothing to worry about.

  “No worries. So, call later?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “So, call later?”

  “I said not tonight.”

  He backed down the steps and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right, so I’ll call you later.”

  “I’m not answering,” she sang as she started into the house.

  “Talk to you later, Rose.”

  “Bye.”

  Parker headed down the driveway.

  Rose got into the house and closed the door behind her. He won’t let me hear the end of it. He’ll call and call and call and call . . . “Guess I’m going out tonight.” So don’t want to.

  5

  Marcus Jordan pulled his black SUV up to his house on Valor Road. And even though it technically wasn’t just his house, but belonged to both him and his wife, Shelly, he still thought of it as such because it was him who introduced Shelly to it not long after they were married.

  It was their home, one separate from the one they shared with their daughter Rose. Years as a bachelor with little living expenses and working as a rookie real estate agent afforded him this place in addition to the one he had on the other side of the city, the house that Rose grew up in. His daughter didn’t know about this place, and had no reason to guess of its existence. It was all a matter of schedule and getting his story straight, and with years of practice, him and Shelly had their speeches and routines down cold: work 9-2:30 or 3 p.m. selling houses; 3:30 until 5 or 6 at the second house; then “home” after that, only to return to this place most nights well after Rose had gone to bed. Before Rose was old enough to stay home alone, he and Shelly would alternate nights so one of them was home with her in case they were needed.

  Marcus stepped out of the vehicle, went up to the front door, grabbed the junk mail from the box, then entered the six-digit security code on the keypad above the door handle. He went in, dumped the mail on the lacquered oak bench by the door, then proceeded to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Shelly should be along shortly and they’d have the “Minutes,” as he liked to call them, when one would update the other on the previous night’s take.

  Once the coffee brewed and a cup was poured, Marcus leaned against the countertop and mentally separated himself from his day as a real estate agent to the man he truly was underneath: a vampire slayer.

  The cut on his jaw still stung when he opened his mouth wide enough. That rotten punk from last night had gotten a clean shot in with those sharp nails of his before a stake was driven through the young man’s heart.

  He took another sip, then glanced toward the front door when he heard it open.

  His wife clapped twice upon entering, a signal that it was indeed her and not someone who had found out about their secret home.

  She entered the kitchen, gave him a kiss on the cheek. She accidentally kissed his cut and he pulled back with a wince.

  “Rough night?” she asked, taking his coffee from his hand. He almost didn’t notice as he was too lost in her rich brown eyes to pay attention to much else. Even after all these years of being together, Shelly was still his princess and had him wrapped around her little finger. She knew it, too, and sometimes used that soft pouty face she made to get what she wanted.

  “Hm?” he said.

  She took a sip of his coffee and brushed her auburn hair away from her eyes. “I said, rough night?”

  He touched the cut on his face. “Oh this. Yeah, I suppose. Little bloodsucker was quick, quicker than usual. Probably because he was younger when he turned.”

  “And is he—”

  “Yes, done. There were also three others. Two had been together, wandering the Forks, searching for late-night strollers. The third was in the Exchange, probably preying on the homeless.”

  “Cop out.”

  “Maybe, but I was only able to take him down. Don’t know if he infected anybody or killed them altogether. He had fresh blood around his mouth and the front of his shirt was soaked, so I suspect he had bitten at least one person. Maybe more.”

  “Seems each one we take down only brings forth others.”

  He took his coffee back, raised the mug high as if in a toast. “Ah, but if we didn’t catch them, they’d be everywhere by now. The city would have been overrun a long time ago.” He brought the mug to his lips and took a long, hot sip. The cup was now empty. “Care for more?”

  “I’ll get my own,” she said with a smile, then went to the cupboard and got her own mug. As she prepped her cup, she said, “I’ll take tonight. Alone.”

  “I thought we’d be going together?”

  “That was the plan, but I’m worried about Rose. She’s taking Zach’s disappearance really hard.”

  “Ah, she’ll get over it.” He got to work making another cup of coffee for himself.

  “Maybe one day, but right now he’s all she thinks about.”

  “Puppy love. She’ll be fine.” He added a shot of sugar to his coffee. “Besides, how do you know he’s all she thinks about? Has she said anything?”

  Shelly shook her head. “No, but she doesn’t need to. I can see it in her eyes. Half the time she’s a million miles away.”

  “Hm,” he said, and tapped the edge of h
is spoon on the mug’s rim. “Want me to talk to her?”

  “Maybe, but right now I think it’d be best to just give her some room and let her do whatever she wants to make herself happy. Safety in consideration, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “It also means we should wait on telling her.”

  “About us?”

  She nodded and brought her mug to her lips.

  “Agreed.” It had seemed Rose was at the perfect age to be told about her special heritage, was old enough to handle the truth.

  The vampire community also seemed to have a code about age. They seemed to slaughter children and drain them of so much blood that turning wasn’t possible. Those about thirteen or fourteen and up seemed to be the ones they didn’t drain completely. Part of it, Marcus suspected, was teenagers were old enough to make sense of the power they’d inherit and, with guidance, be able to control it much more quickly. Kids and their impulses . . . how many would long for their families and make a spectacle of themselves, flying about the city, climbing up walls, moving at superspeed—it was too much of a risk for the vampires. Right now, their survival depended on their secrecy and operating in the shadows.

  In a way, sadly, the slayers were part of the problem despite so desperately trying to be the solution. With the frequency of vampire feedings or turnings, many people went missing as a result. Fortunately, the slayers had people in the hospitals, morgues, government, media, and emergency services. With the right cover story or direct handling of the body, much of what went on never reached the public ear.

  Likewise, the undead had certain people in their employ to help provide blood for them, recently deceased corpses, and those with the ability to fudge the details of certain “discrepancies” when it came to the dead.

  If it was needed, relatives of the deceased were bought off for their silence. However, the undead, like the slayers, had to be careful with who they dealt with.

  If the vampires knew one thing all too well, it was that almost anyone could be a slayer. Not that slayers were common, but having been the protectors of the city since its inception, the slayers were able to have at least one of their team in every major industry, never mind freelancers on the side. Everyone from a mom in the playground all the way to a police officer could be deadly.