by David Paul
“So what is your big interest in Rawley? Have you been watching too much CSI or Dexter?” The cop asked.
The detective was doing a little bit of his own prodding in an attempt to shake up David. A good detective can read the one false move that will lead him closer to catching his man. Unfortunately for Detangelo, a vampire doesn’t fold under pressure or frighten easily. They spend there entire existence scaring others and aren’t prone to fear or panic. David ignores Detangelo’s question and asks another.
“Did you at least talk to Rawley?” The vampire asked.
“You didn’t answer me, Mr. Marciano,” the cop said.
Jack finishes his whiskey with barely melted ice still left in the glass.
“First, let me pour you another.” At first, Detangelo motions to David to decline the second drink, but Jack easily gives in. David slowly stands up and refills Jack’s glass. The vampire also offered him a Cuban cigar, which he graciously accepted. “What’s my interest in Xavier Rawley?” David asked. “Let’s just say that I am a concerned citizen.”
David smiles and lights the cop’s Cohiba with a wooden match that he struck off of the bottom of the reading table.
“C’mon, kid, you have to give me more than that,” the cop said. The detective grins and wisps of pungent cigar smoke swirl in the air. Detangelo takes a healthy sip of Irish whiskey.
David is tired of playing around. The amusement of the conversation has worn off. Only the faintest red glimmer in the vampire’s eyes flashed briefly. David looks Jack square in the eyes, and soon, the detective has a blank look on his face and finds himself charmed. An elder vampire’s charm can be used like a truth serum. Under the vampire’s influence, the cop will open up like a gossip magazine.
“Detective, what else do you have on the case and Rawley? Have you brought him in yet for questioning?”
‘Well, we rushed the autopsy. The killer used a sharp thin blade approximately eight inches long to make all of his cuts. The breastplate was perfectly removed to expose the heart. There were slight traces of silver around the edges of the missing breastplate, and this indicated that the blade in question was made of silver. As soon as we identified the toxin in her bloodstream, then it was police work 101.
We traced the substance back to The Black Talon, and I spoke with the owner Axel. He was a freaky looking bastard that was hard to look at with all that shit pierced through his face. Although physically repulsive, he cooperated and gave us Rawley’s name. I didn’t have enough on Rawley to get a warrant, but I decided to watch him on my own time. That led me to you when I followed the both of you around.
After a few of the delicate details of the murder leaked to the press, the mayor started pushing the Chief for suspects. After that, we got the search warrant for Rawley’s place pretty quickly. We found none of the demonroot on his properties or inside of his automobile.
There were no traces of any useable DNA evidence. There wasn’t one thing that even hinted to Rawley’s involvement in the killing, besides his oddball purchase. We did manage to find a wealth of books on the occult and paranormal activities. Other than that, the warrant was a waste of time.
His high-powered attorney threatened a monstrous lawsuit against the city for defamation of character and accused the force of harassment. The Mayor backed off to avoid a political nightmare happening so close to re-election time.
You became the number-two suspect on my list because you linked yourself to Rawley when you tailed him. I had you in my book as an accomplice or the brains of the operation. That is why I’m here totally enjoying a whiskey and this fine cigar.’
“In other words…you got nothing,” the vampire said.
He snaps Detangelo out of his trance. David realized that the detective had only stumbled upon him by dumb luck, and he was grasping at straws. Detangelo has no idea what has happened.
“So what do you got on me?” The vampire asked.
Detangelo takes out a leather-bound notepad from his shirt pocket. Apparently, the cop already did his homework on David.
‘Let’s see…David Marciano…August 20th 1970…born in Milan, Italy. It is a little hard to buy that you are almost forty, but it is not impossible. You moved here when you inherited this house four years ago. Your last known address is Paris, but you show no accent at all.
Your prior whereabouts from after your birth to your last known address in Paris is completely unknown. It seems odd that someone of your wealth would have such a minimum paper trail, but that doesn’t necessarily make you a criminal.
The funeral home you own was purchased turnkey style with cash. Four years in this state, and you have no arrests, speeding tickets, parking tickets, or violations of any sort. You have no political affiliations or ties with the Chamber of Commerce. All of your taxes are paid on time. On paper, you are a model citizen, David. Almost too model, and that makes me wonder.
You are a complete ghost for give or take thirty years, and then you leave Paris for a life in Rhode Island? Is Paris that boring? Don’t let me forget about the multi-billion dollar inheritance split up between cash, property, jewelry, priceless artwork, and stocks.
If that isn’t enough, you have absolutely no record of a fingerprint on file in either Europe or the United States. A goddamn anonymous terrorist has more of a history than you. You can’t forget about the oil fields that you own. Maybe you are a terrorist after all.’
Detangelo chuckles and puts away a third of his drink with one sip.
“All the terrorists hang out in magic shops,” David said.
The vampire joked along with the detective.
“You have to admit that is a tad bit strange,” the Lieutenant said.
The cop challenged David to respond.
“What I really find strange,” David said, “is how a man can buy a half pound of demonroot and kill an innocent girl, yet you turn up nothing on him.”
David makes a valid point with a rude segue.
“You are right, David,” the cop admitted. Detangelo has a humbled look about him. “We must have missed something.”
“Tell me if I missed something about you, Lieutenant. Since we are playing Sherlock Holmes with each other, let me tell you what I think about you.”
David looks the cop up and down.
“What do you know about me, David?” The detective asked.
That cheap gold chain around your neck has your wedding ring on it along with a small cross and an Italian horn. All of the items that hold the most sentimental value to you are hanging from your neck.
You joined the force to make a difference in this world.
You neglected your wife and your kids. You put your work and your insecurities first, before your family and your sanity. One day you came home and found that your wife was fucking someone else, and you knew it was your own fault for neglecting her for so long. She divorced you, and you dove to the bottom of a bottle of shitty Irish whiskey without ever coming up for air.
After she left, you realized that you threw away your whole life to work on a crooked police force run by politicians. That was a foolish tradeoff. Sadly, your precious work is all you have left to do besides drinking booze and smoking Marlboro Reds. Now you are about five years away from a decent pension, but you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself if you ever retired from the force.
You spend your days hoping for a redemption that will never come in this lifetime. You live your life in retrospect because your past holds the fondest of all of your memories. If your foresight could have been as clear as your hindsight, then you would still have Tess in your life.
The occasional quickie from a widowed officer’s wife is your only source of intimacy with a woman. Even that infrequent pleasure brings you guilt and shame. Sadly, all of the no-strings affection in the world is no substitute for your lost wife. Your worst fear is that you know you will die alone.’
David rips apart Detangelo’s entire life. The detective is visibly shaken as if he ha
d seen a ghost. The hardened detective is rattled, and he can’t even pretend that what David said is false. The detective is emotionally vulnerable. Between the vampire’s mind scramble and the shock of David’s observations, the detective is slightly undone.
“How do you know so much about me?” He asked.
“I know lots of things, Jack,” David said.
The vampire’s black eyes are intense. David burns a stare right through Detangelo.
“I see right through you,” the vampire said, “and the delicate facade of your sanity. I’ve watched a tainted world become stripped of all of its humanity. I’ve lived a nightmare outside of my own dreams, and I’ve heard a symphony of endless screams. I’ve looked the devil in the eye without turning away my gaze, and I bear the mark of the beast that forever prolongs my dark days.”
The detective instantly feels the hairs on his back stand at attention, and his eye twitches slowly, yet inexplicably. Detangelo sees centuries of dark wisdom glaring off of the vampire’s lifeless eyes. David molested his thoughts. An extraordinary perception along with a total mind invasion produced David’s analysis of the Lieutenant. Once a vampire cracks into the mind, he can see your inner fears, hopes, desires, and doubts. He can see everything in the bowels your soul.
David let the detective remember everything that he just said, but erased the fact that it was he who had said it from the cop’s mind. This was a haunting little torture for Detangelo to carry with him. The detective is totally disturbed, but doesn’t remember why. He has the feeling of being emotionally violated and vulnerable, yet cannot recall how it happened. He shakes his head, and Detangelo does a good job regaining his composure. The cop narrowly avoided a nervous breakdown. He’ll feel out of sorts for quite some time.
“When you do find something, can you please let me know?” The vampire asked. The detective took the hint that David was being sarcastic and was asking him to leave.
“Stay away from Rawley,” the cop said. The detective spoke with a false sense of bravado. He was obviously still a bit shaken up from the recent mind-fuck. “I don’t want him to think he’s still being tailed. Eventually, he’ll make a mistake, and we’ll be watching.”
“I hope so, Jack, so innocent girls will stop being killed, and my dinner plans won’t get ruined.”
David stood up and motioned for the policeman to leave.
“Watch yourself, David,” the detective said, “because I’m not totally convinced that you are some kind of a saint. Ironically, you have a pretty large library of books on the occult and weird shit like that.” Detangelo let’s David know that he doesn’t trust him fully. “Does this demonology book on the shelf over here look like Doctor Seuss?” The cop asked sarcastically. “That’s a strange coincidence that the two main suspects in a case involving devil worship have a library full of books on the subject.”
“Well,” David said, “I hope that another suspect doesn’t have a library full of history, art, and literature books too because I’d be linked to him as well.”
David pointed out his grand, yet varied collection of published works.
The vampire’s library is extensive, but books on the occult are in the minority in comparison to his other volumes. Conversely, there were enough books on the topic, which substantiated the detective’s observation. The two full bookcases of dark knowledge were in plain view in relation to where they were seated in the room. An open copy of Demons, Devils, and Dark Deities sits book-marked on the reading table.
“Thanks for the drink,” the detective said.
Detangelo nervously gulps the remainder of his whiskey and clamps his teeth down on his Cohiba.
“My pleasure,” David said. The vampire walked Detangelo to the door.
“Be a good boy,” the cop said.
The detective warned David just before he jumped into his Crown Victoria.
“I’ll be a good boy, Jack, but my lawyer won’t be as nice if I keep getting harassed.”
David closed the door.
“I hate rich douche-bags,” Detangelo mumbled under his breath.
He started up the cruiser and left the property.
David knew that the police had absolutely nothing on him. Even if they did have any evidence linking him to anything criminal, he would never be arrested after the vampire mind-manipulated whoever came his way. Nevertheless, a low profile was the preferred manner of conducting his business. Fiona came down when she heard the door close shut.
“What was that all about?” Fiona asked.
“It was nothing, my love.” David assured her that the visit was meaningless. “A cop saw me follow Rawley and tried to rattle me. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Fiona gives a relieved look. “I need to talk to Rawley,” the vampire said. “If I find out he’s guilty of these crimes, then his blood is mine, and his wicked life is over.”
“Do you really think this Rawley guy is the killer?” She asked.
“I’m not sure because it doesn’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?” Fiona asked.
“Fiona,” he said, “evil sticks out like a sore thumb to me.” The vampire thinks for a moment. “Rawley doesn’t have a shred of evil in his heart. We are definitely missing something here.” Fiona doesn’t know what to make of it. “I need to speak to Rawley, and I will speak to him tonight. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Alright, let’s do this.” Fiona is thrilled to be a part of the game. The two of them jump into David’s black Mercedes and race off into the night.
David suspects that he is being tailed, and he keeps an eye out for it in his rear-view mirror. The cop’s visit tipped off the vampire. He drives erratically in an attempt to draw out the tail. The vampire swaps lanes to get around a slowpoke in the high-speed lane. With a flick of the wrist, he makes a quick lateral move back to his original lane. He hammers the accelerator. Fiona is pinned back in her seat.
Anyone attempting to keep pace with him would most likely be the police. The roadways are pretty clear for the most part because a huge torrential rainstorm is in the forecast. As clear as day, an unmarked gray Dodge Charger struggles to keep up with David’s Mercedes. The police made a juvenile attempt at surveillance.
“I guess we just found our tail.” Fiona turns around and looks out the tinted back window to see what David was talking about. She sees the Charger maneuver around the slowpoke and pick up speed.
“What are you going to do?” She asked.
“I’m going to absolutely dust him,” David said. He steps on the accelerator pedal and lets the black AMG’s motor roar to life. The vampire’s decision to turbo-charge the black Benz has paid off. The modification transformed his Mercedes from rocket-ship fast to time-machine fast. The acceleration is explosive and almost frightening. “We cannot have the police following us to Rawley’s.”
The vampire is in luck. The sky opens up, and a blurring downpour explodes into the atmosphere, hindering visibility severely.
Fiona clicks on her seat belt as David screams through a red light at almost triple the speed limit. David isn’t worried about Fiona’s safety because his reflexes are at least ten times faster than the best race car driver in the world, and his Mercedes is built to perform. David kills his lights and races at a dangerous pace. Having the ability to see at night is a huge advantage for the vampire. Having a five-hundred and fifty horsepower advantage over the Charger didn’t hurt either. The Dodge Charger’s headlights become smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror.
The headlights disappear.
“Have a nice night, officer,” the vampire said. David smiles and turns on his lights. Fiona smirks.
“That was smooth, babe,” Fiona said.
“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “We are almost at Rawley’s place. I’m going to get inside and find out once and for all about this man.”
“What do you want me to do?” Fiona asked.
“Stay in the car and relax. I’m not going to park right near his property. I’m act
ually going to be about two miles from his house in the movie theater parking lot,” David said. A nice public place is perfect. “If anyone asks about my whereabouts, I’m inside checking out show times.”
“That sounds good to me, babe.”
Fiona agrees with his quickly formulated alibi.
“Open your window for me.” Fiona drops her window, and David dissipates into a heavy mist and exits the car riding on the wind. David races toward Rawley’s place, and he is easily there in several minutes.
This is his house in the suburbs, far from the noise of the city. An unmarked police cruiser sits at the end of Rawley’s street. They are still watching him despite his lawyer’s threats. Rawley appears to be home because several lights are on throughout the residence.
David is a floating mist, and he heads to the back door. The vampire is blending in with the rest of the rain and fog. The raindrops hammer off of the roof on Rawley’s back porch like machine-gun fire. He rings the doorbell, and Rawley answers the door very quickly with a black pistol in his hand. He opens up the door, and no one is there.
The suspect has a deceiving build. If you look at him quickly, he appears to be tall and thin, but upon further inspection it can be seen that Rawley is rather well built. The porch light glares off of his bald head. Rawley looks around and is unable to see anyone in sight, and he closes the door with force. David rings the doorbell again, and the door immediately flies open. David is floating in a pale mist above the doorway. Rawley steps out of the house to inspect the surrounding area, and David appears in human form directly behind him. Rawley snoops around trying to figure out who keeps ringing the bell.
