by Declan Finn
Officer Donald “Duck” Tolbert of the NYPD stood in his full uniform. He was a tall, light-skinned officer of Jamaican heritage, two generations back. “Hey, Marco. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”
Marco waved him in, closing the door behind him. “Not yet. What's up?”
Tolbert stepped into the hallway, moving for the living room without spoken invitation, and took the area in with a sweep of his eyes. They lingered a moment on Amanda. “You must be the girlfriend, Ms. Amanda Colt.”
“No. I am not anyone’s girlfriend.”
The cop looked at the doctor, who smiled and shrugged.
“So, I'm a little preemptive,” the MD said. “I still don't understand why not.”
“Maybe there's no chemistry,” Tolbert joked.
“If they want chemistry, I can work on home explosives,” Robert answered with a smile. “No offense, Don, but it's Christmas, Theresa should be home soon, and I want to know what you want so I can get rid of you as soon as possible.”
“I just wanted you to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. There have been five murders tonight alone.” He glanced to Marco. “Chat with your friends about what crimes they try to stop.”
Marco’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean murders? I thought there were only attacks. As in assault, mugging, that sort of thing.”
“Those are the ones who make it to the ER,” Tolbert answered. “The others just go to the morgue. The homicide rate in this area of Brooklyn has nearly tripled. It hasn't made it out to the rest of the world just yet, mainly because it's just us, not the rest of the city. But we can’t keep this under wraps much longer. You know how the much the media lusts for blood.”
“Serial killer?”
“That's the theory.” He smiled. “Couldn't exactly be vampires, now could it?”
Amanda edged to the front of the chair, acting as natural as possible. “What makes you say that?”
“A lot of the attacks go right for major arteries, hence the nickname for the guy. We've been calling him the Prince of Darkness back at the station, since all of the attacks take place between sundown and sunrise. Just, don't tell anyone in the media. Or anyone at all, for that matter. Trying to stave off the press as long as we can.”
“I meant,” Amanda said, “why not vampires?”
Tolbert blinked, studying her a moment, trying to consider if her accent meant there was a language barrier he hadn’t accounted for.
“Aside from the fact that vampires don't exist?”
She nodded. “Exactly. Why one person?”
The light dawned on Tolbert's face, and he grinned. “Ah. You mean why not a group of attackers? Because there's no reason to think otherwise. There have been no multiple attacks at the same time. There isn't any posing of the body for a gang or cult thing. This means we're dealing with one productive serial killer. If the body count keeps going up, the media gets a hold of it, and then we're all screwed.”
Marco cut in. “I'm surprised they haven't already.”
“That's because most of the bodies are people we don't like. There have only been one or two civilians caught in the crossfire. Your gang wannabes don't count as civilians. They want to be in the line of fire, let them. It can be on their own head.”
“So,” Amanda concluded, her voice as always an almost friendly purr, “your good news this Christmas is that you’re lacking large body counts of people who matter?”
“Pretty much,” the cop agreed. “Though I'd rather we stop this fellow before he runs out of criminals and goes after more people who do matter.“
“This I understand.”
Marco nodded. “Ditto.”
Robert sighed. It was late, he just finished his shift, and the Italian dinner in the kitchen smelled great. “Anything else, Don?”
The large officer nodded. “Yeah. Tell the gang leaders Frick and Frack to make sure their guys go in pairs. This psycho has taken out at least one veteran, and I don't mean some tank driver or machinist. I mean a real-live 'I reupped five times because I kill people for fun' marine. There were no defensive wounds on any of the bodies—”
“And since it's impossible for all of them to have known their killer, ” Marco finished, “you assume that it means he's really, really good at this.”
“Precision cuts,” Amanda added, “as well as blitz attack. Do you think your killer is trained?”
“I’d bet on it,” Tolbert replied. He sighed, then shrugged. “I just came by for the friendly warning. You all keep safe, you hear?”
Robert Catalano nodded. “Quack quack, Donald.”
After Donald Tolbert left, Robert turned to his son and their guest. “Well, that was nice and lighthearted.”
Amanda looked at Marco. “I know where you get your sarcasm from.”
* * * *
At one in the morning, Christmas Day, Robert Catalano looked at his watch, yawned, and rose from the dining room table. “No offense, but I'm going to join your mother. Have fun, and stay as long as you’d like. Try not to wake us, though.”
Marco leaned back in the dining room chair. “We'll try not to.”
“Don’t worry,” Amanda said politely, “I am generally not a screamer.”
Both men looked at her askance. She looked from one to the other, blinked, and thought of another way to say it. “I am generally quiet? I do not raise my voice.”
“That's better,” Marco said with a laugh.
“Says you,” Robert answered.
His father wandered off. Marco looked around the corner, and waited for the sound of footsteps to fade. He turned back to Amanda and said, “So, what was the question about vampires before? You think that friends of yours might be in the neighborhood?”
Amanda shook her head. “Nyet, I doubt it. Most vampires try not to kill like this. We do not need much blood to stay alive. Attacks like this would draw attention, and would require multiple vampires. But coordination like this would be highly unusual.”
“Why? Vampires don't run in packs?”
“They can, but they are rarely so coordinated. There are vampires who stay in groups, but vampires who are, let’s say, incontinent. They do not play well together. Serial killer would be more likely. Always more likely. Also, vampires who could coordinate like this, they would not act so blatantly, unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless there were so many of them, they needed to feast. Often.”
Marco frowned. “That would be bad.”
“It would.”
“Heh. Remind me to start carrying my rosary more often.”
Amanda nodded. “Indeed. That would be wise.”
“You know me.”
“True,” she agreed, raising a partially-finished glass of wine, “I do know you. I am glad to.”
Marco grabbed his own glass and tapped it against hers. “Same here, Ms. Amanda Colt. Same here.” They sipped the wine, and his little smile turned on at her intensely. “Well, there's one line that's obviously not true.”
“What?”
“As Dracula has said in numerous films: 'I do not drink…wine.'”
She smiled. “Of course I drink wine. Otherwise, it would be rude…And where would I get most of my blood?”
Marco stared at her, trying to process the link between wine and blood. Then he nearly coughed up a lung. “You get your blood from the cup at Mass? You go to Church so they can turn wine into the blood of God for daily dosing?”
She smiled, but didn’t answer his question. “By the way, do you want your Christmas present now or later?”
“Now could be good.”
“Wait here.”
She blinked out of existence. He blinked, wondering what happened with her. Obviously, she's very fast.
Time to be fast, too.
Marco turned around, then moved for his room. There was one shelf of his closet that had smaller items of importance to him: a knife, a dress shirt covered in blood, and Amanda's gift.
He had considered long and hard what to get her. Fred Saberhagen novels—swords and vampires—were nice, but she probably had all of them in first editions and autographed to her personally. History was out of the question, she had lived it. So there was only one thing he could get for a vampire who had to be over eighty years old.
He walked into the dining room as she reappeared in her chair. “Something for you,” he said. “Now that I know how often you go to mass, this might be of interest.”
“And for you.”
She took the small package, while he took one only slightly larger.
She unwrapped a golden crucifix, three inches long, beautifully decorated along the sides.
“It's lovely.”
He gave a little dismissive wave. “Eh, well, I's nowhere near as beautiful as you are.” He said it casually, simple and straight forward–it was not a compliment, just a simple statement of fact.
“And gold?”
“You're a creature of legend and myth. That left out silver and cold iron.”
“Your turn,” she said, motioning at the gift in his hands.
Her gift to him was a rosary that ended in a golden Celtic crucifix. Marco studied the piece.
“Marble cubes instead of beads. With brass connections? Neat.”
“They're made of Connemara marble from Ireland.” Amanda clutched the cross to her chest. “Thank you.”
He kissed the cross on the rosary, and held it up to her as thought saluting her. “You too.”
Marco sipped again, studying Amanda over the rim of the glass, and then looked through the glass, which distorted her.
How much of what she had told him was the truth? How much of her thoughts on the attacks in Brooklyn was theory, and how much was fact, and how much of it was misleading? How much did she know, what did she suspect, and what was she not telling him?
Of course, a line of thought like that led to another, obvious question that he hadn't given much thought to before. After months of knowing this vampire, how well did he know her?
About as well as she knows me. Very little.
Chapter Eight: Old Friends
January 1st
The week after New Year's was always what Marco called “fun,” a sarcastic way of saying “Shoot me now, these people should be allowed to die for the greater glory of the gene pool.”
Gomers, short for Get Out of My Emergency Room, were the bane of most hospitals. They were generally accepted as people who should have been deemed too dumb to live by the general universe. New Year's Eve into New Year's Day was generally a time for gomers by the bushel. Drunks, druggies, nutcases--all of whom seem to have earned a driver's license out of a Cracker Jack box--arrived in the ER almost en mass. This is why Marco was dragged into the picture early in the morning on New Year’s Day.
When one particular gomer came in with wounds fitting the general method of the theorized serial killer, Marco was the one to note something odd. The wounds on the arms were similar, but a little off. It was as though someone had clamped down on the arm with a hand. The marks would be similar, but a thumb impression didn't look like the marks from the other fingers.
Maybe it was because of Amanda being a vampire, or because Amanda suggested swabbing. Maybe it was the cleanliness of the outside of the forearm, maybe it was an intuitive leap, but the first thing Marco did was grab a swab and wipe down the cut on the outside of the arm, away from the bite marks.
The reason he gave his colleagues was simple. “They're bite marks,” he told his father when questioned, “so the incisors would dig into the major veins on the inside of the arm. The outside of the arm was still bitten, and still bled, but it's cleaner than the other side. Why? Because he licked it clean. We've got saliva.”
Robert Catalano rolled his eyes. “Great. It's good to the last drop. This son of a bitch thinks he's a damned vampire.”
“Exactly.”
The swab of the wound was taken to the lab and plated as if it would grow an everyday organism.
* * * *
Marco stepped outside of the clinic, and breathed in the crisp winter air. The sounds of the evening were merry, and the driving hazardous, but what the heck, it was home. The wonderful world of Brooklyn.
Now what? he thought, considering his options. His father would spend the evening indoors, the rest of the evening an exercise in waiting to fall asleep. Step one would be to get home, you twit.
“Hello, Marco.”
Marco slid into a defensive stance and turned towards the sound of the voice. Amanda was there in a little winter ensemble. A white knit cap highlighted the gold locks pouring over her shoulder. A matching scarf encircled her graceful neck, the rest of her body hidden under a down coat. She looked so bundled up it was cute.
“I didn't know vampires needed to dress warm for the winter.”
“We don’t, but it helps save energy on internal temperature regulation.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
Amanda moved closer to him and put an arm around his waist. “Come. I will walk you home.”
Marco grinned and put an arm around her shoulders in return. “What's the matter? Have nothing else to do tonight?”
“Nope. You are lucky winner.”
He kissed her on the top of her cap. “Yup. So, why has your accent been thickening lately? You're dropping more articles. I know that 'the' and 'an' are not in the Russian language, but your use of them fluctuates.”
Amanda sighed. “I know. Accents and speech patterns tend to stick after certain age. I try, but it does not always work.” She gave him a little squeeze. “How was your evening?”
He laughed. “You're kidding, right? If this weren't winter break, I would have been halfway into insanity wondering what I'd do about the reading. As it is, a night in the ER like this makes me want to knock heads together.”
“I can understand that.”
“You've done hospital duty?”
“For one of my degrees.”
Marco rolled his eye and laughed. “Of course it was. Why would I think otherwise?”
“No idea,” she said, pronouncing it like i-di-a. “You should know better by now.”
“Probably,” he said casually. “You'll just have to hang around me until I get the hint.”
“Considering your intellect thus far, that should be soon.”
Marco kept looking straight ahead, and muttered, “I don't know. Sometimes I'm a slow learner.”
* * * *
Amanda settled in against him as they walked away from the clinic. He was so nice and warm.
His heartbeat suddenly increased. His heartbeat hadn't sped up this fast even when he learned she was a vampire.
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said, the tone contra-indicative.
She knew something was wrong.
No matter the heart rate. He isn’t smiling.
Amanda's eyes darted to the surrounding area. If she discounted the drivers–she could only see the back of their heads–then that left pedestrians. Assuming it wasn't someone that Marco spotted already passing by them, that left the couple heading towards them.
The man was standard frat boy jock. He may have had an intellectual scholarship somewhere, but she wouldn't place money on it.
The woman was short, busty, and cheerful. She was Filipino, to the best of Amanda's ability to guess, with a broad smile, and features that almost made her seem Eurasian. From the volume of her babble, Amanda could tell that the woman was a soprano, with hair such a dark shade of brown it was almost black.
Marco increased his pace, and Amanda easily kept up. It wasn't hard for her to figure out what he was doing—the faster he walked, the less time the other woman had to notice him.
However, the cheerleader-type glanced away from the man she was with, looking briefly ahead. Then her eyes locked onto Marco like laser-guided missiles. There was a second where all other activity on her face stopped, and even the cadence of her step fell off. The d
ark brown eyes then flicked to Amanda. The vampire smiled, gave her a little New York nod of “Sorry, we made eye contact, it won't happen again,” and looked away.
But Amanda could feel that the cheerleader kept staring.
Marco's pace only slowed while they passed the brunette. Amanda said nothing, but she was certainly going to ask about this encounter. Soon. Though she already suspected who the woman was.
“Marco,” the soprano voice called out.
Amanda felt him wince, and she did the same. If this was the encounter that Marco wanted to avoid, it must be for good reason. This could become unpleasant.
Amanda held him a little more firmly as she turned in mid-stride, taking him with her.
Marco knew enough to go with it, and not resist. He didn't even pretend that he had just spotted the cheerleader. He simply looked at her and said, “Lily.”
Marco said it with enough weight that Amanda thought he would announce Armageddon, and in much the same fashion.
Amanda didn't react, merely thinking to herself, I hate being right. Finally she smiled at Lily; she practically beamed. “Oh, Lily. Marco has told me so much about you,” she lied.
Lily blinked in surprise, a smile frozen on her face as though it were a default position for her mouth. “It's good to see you again, Marco. You're in better shape than high school.”
“This time last year, I believe,” Marco answered. “That's when we last saw each other.”
Lily glanced at Amanda. The vampire smiled, and took her free hand to place it on Marco's chest, fingers splayed in a friendly pat. She was trying for a mark of ownership.
Lily answered with a bright smile. “You're his new girlfriend?” she asked, the emphasis on new.
Amanda merely smiled at the girl. “I am girl. I am his friend.” She took the hand off his chest and offered it to Lily. “Amanda Colt.”
“Lily Sparks.”
Marco looked at the man Lily was with. “Hey Carlos,” he said, his voice flat. “How have you been? Hang out in the Village much, anymore?”
Frat boy looked nervous, and took a step back, trying to take Lily with him.
“I'll see you around, Marco,” Lily added, her voice having changed to something softer, with a certain hush to it.
