by Jackie Ivie
She’d made it. She was safe. Secure.
And absolutely miserable.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His life wasn’t just shitty. He felt like shit. Probably looked it, too.
He hadn’t done much after Adelaide left him. Thought over his words. He was a fourth generation cop. She was a murderer. He’d had to arrest her. What else could he have done?
The ceiling didn’t have answers. He’d pulled on his exercise pants and reclined atop what was left of his bed. The mattress cradled him. It was bent by the broken bed frame beneath it. Mitch had used the time to simply exist. Alternately concentrate, and then intone. He was hoping to find fudoshin. It had been useless. Her presence assaulted him from everywhere. Her scent lingered. Her face haunted. Her eyes were ever before him. And that amazing body of hers? Crap. The craving had started up again. But this time it had companions. His gut was sore, like he’d taken a blow. His throat had a huge knot in it. And his chest had either an elephant-sized boulder atop it, or he was wedged between a massive vice getting screwed into flatness. It was hell to breathe.
The bathroom mirror should be showing red eyes. Dark circles would be complementing them, likely matching the three days’ growth of beard on his cheeks and chin. He swigged a bit of mouthwash and gargled. Spit it out. Narrowed his eyes to regard the dark blob facing him. Nothing was distinct. Not even his outline.
Vampires don’t have a reflection, Mitch.
The thought got stifled the instant it occurred. He wasn’t a vampire. She hadn’t been one, either. There had to be another cause. All he had to do was investigate. Gather facts. Evaluate them. Deduce. Besides, he might not be able to see his image, but he could see everything else. With perfect clarity. He hadn’t even turned on the lights.
He didn’t need artificial light, which was a benefit, since he still couldn’t handle sunlight. It shouldn’t have been a problem, however. Every blind in the place was pulled tight. The skylights shuttered. But he hadn’t counted on the bombardment of light that had streamed through his broken window, sending him into the hall like a shot fired from a gun.
Wait a minute, Mitch. Didn’t sunlight kill vampires?
Well. That was one point in his favor. The light was excruciating, like being way too close to a fire and forgetting to blink, but he was still here. Nothing was burnt to ash. He wasn’t red. No blistering had happened to his skin. Nothing drastic at all.
Mitch padded down his hall on bare feet. Shifted the waistband of the pants where they rode low on his hips. Absently scratched his groin. He should have donned boxers, but he hadn’t cared enough to open a drawer and pull out a pair. He was usually habitual. So much so, a clock could be set to his routine. This morning, he was barely functioning. He felt like a stranger in a strange house. Surrounded by strange objects that loomed out of the gloom at him.
His senses were still operating at an intense level. It was barely six o’clock, and he didn’t have a near neighbor, but he could hear a coffee pot click on somewhere in the complex and start brewing. A few seconds later an alarm clock went off. The idiot growled something profane, and hit the snooze button.
Lucky bastard.
At least the guy’s life was normal.
Mitch stopped at the end of his hall. Blinked in surprise at the mess in his kitchen that greeted him.
Wow.
He hadn’t cleaned up after his supper fiasco?
Mitch looked over the array of pans and half-started dishes dispassionately. He didn’t feel like cleaning it up now, either. That was more weirdness. He liked his life orderly. Uncluttered. Clean. He finally shrugged. Decided to ignore it. The maid could handle it. He needed to get moving. They wanted him back at the station in two hours. He had an old sedan he could take but doubted he could drive. He’d have to call the cab again.
He lifted dishes out of the sink. Set them on the floor, out of his way, in a haphazard pile. Poured a carafe of water. Watched a haze appear. It misted the air above the running water. A rainbow accompanied his move to pour the water into his coffee maker while he could almost make out each drop by sound. He settled the carafe on the warming base.
He’d never heard of vampires possessing super powers.
Stop it, Mitch. Focus.
She was not a vampire. They didn’t exist. Period.
Mitch pulled down the bag of ground coffee beans. Unclipped the top. Unrolled the bag. Brought it to his nose. Inhaled. And nearly retched.
Ugh.
Coffee had never smelled so horrid. He quickly rolled the bag closed. Clipped it shut again. Tossed it aside. Maybe he’d should try and cook something. He opened the fridge. Looked over the array of fresh meat through the cellophane wrappers. And actually started salivating. Mitch slammed the door shut, and listened as several items that had been in the door went flying with a lot of noise.
He didn’t dare reopen the fridge to check. He was trying to control his reaction to the sight of all that fresh meat. Each cut sat in a pool of blood. He was failing. He was actually shaking.
Vampires drink blood, Mitch.
Oh, no. No. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation. And there was no way he could face another day like yesterday. Not in this condition. He needed to call in sick.
Damn everything.
His new cell phone was on his night stand. Mitch looked down the hall in that direction, squinting against the band of light shining from beneath his master bedroom door. He shrugged and shuffled into his living room. He had a land-line phone. That would work.
He called the automated line first, and when he’d finished with that call, punched out the captain’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Captain Thomas here.”
“This is Hartnett. I just called in sick.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Stomach ailment.”
“Mitchell...”
Uh oh. She was using her ‘mom voice.’ She rarely exhibited that much emotion. Mitch smiled half-heartedly. “I think it was something I ate. Maybe that steak.”
“You need anything?”
“Uh. Negative. I’ll be in later.”
“Thanks for the call.”
She hung up without saying ‘good-bye’. Mitch regarded the waterless fountain in the corner across from him for a moment. And then he moved. He needed answers, and he wasn’t getting them sitting on his ass. He had a laptop stowed on the upper shelf of his coat closet. He had the unit open and atop his table moments later. The ON switch broke when he pressed it. Mitch stared at the two pieces that ensued. He really needed to get a handle on his strength here. And then he had to wait for the stupid computer to engage. That took much longer than normal. Or he was losing a true grasp of time, too. Mitch shoved away from the unit before he broke something else. Started pacing. And finally, the damn thing was ready!
He started searching.
Adelaide Moira Baxter.
A plethora of sites filled the screen. Mitch went back to the search bar and added something. Her birth date. Or what he remembered from the partial date he’d let her tell him.
January 20, 1890.
He got a hit. Clicked on it. There had been an Adelaide Baxter born in 1893. London, England. She’d been aboard the Lusitania. She was listed as one of the victims. Mitch clicked on the ship’s name. Started reading. An advertisement popped onto the screen directly in his way. He almost clicked on it inadvertently.
‘You have questions? We have answers. Free consultation.’
The last thing he needed was a bogus psychic giving him a reading. Mitch clicked to close the ad and then scanned the history of the Lusitania. It had been a luxury liner. A German submarine had fired a torpedo at it. Germany was at war. There had been warning signs posted in New York about the possibility of disaster for any passengers...
The advertisement invaded his screen again.
‘Don’t delay. Get the answers to what you are searching for. FREE!’
Mitch click
ed the advert closed again and opened another window. This time he went searching for vampires. That was stupid. The word brought up all kinds of sites. Vampire movies. Books. Chat groups. Physical groups that met in person. There was even a gathering in Denver he could join. Mitch hissed and snagged his tongue on something in his mouth that sliced him. He ran his tongue along his upper teeth with a hesitant gesture.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit!
His heart seized up painfully as it tried to find room in his chest cavity. His canines were longer than normal. And pretty damned sharp. Blood filled his mouth. It sent a shiver of something lustful through him. That grappled with the soreness in his belly and then snaked down and around his balls. And then the stupid ad appeared on his screen again, blocking his view.
‘We have the answers you are looking for! Guaranteed!’
Mitch clicked on it angrily. He then got a series of random numbers and letters he had to enter to prove he wasn’t a bot. He rifled them into the square, making the keys clack in the keyboard. Pressed enter. And then the entire screen went black.
What the hell?
And then some letters started appearing as if someone typed them out for him.
‘Now, answer your door.’
His doorbell rang in perfect accompaniment to the words. Mitch was on his feet and approaching it before he thought it through. If this was a joke, he was taking it out on someone’s ass. He slid the chain off. Turned the bolt. And yanked the door open. And then just gaped.
Because the grim reaper stood there.
Mitch was six foot three. He felt tiny. He was facing the neck closure of a cloak. He stumbled back a step. Caught the move before he fell. He hadn’t been scared since four boys had chased him in third grade, wanting to pound his face into the playground surface. That’s what had started his martial arts training. The sickening feeling he got right now resembled that fear. But it was far worse.
Mitch looked up. The hood was being worn too far forward to make out a face. And then the apparition spoke. His voice sent bass sounds reverberating through the hall and into Mitch’s unit behind him. Something in the kitchen fell with a clatter.
“Mitchell Hartnett?”
Mitch swallowed. Tried to sound more assertive than he felt. It failed. He resembled that eight-year-old who’d been running from a beating. “Um. Yeah?”
“May I come in?”
The grim reaper was asking to come in?
Asking?
And then it hit him. Mitchell Hartnett really was going insane. Or he was already there. He’d dealt with druggies on a bad trip. Listened to psychos suffering all kinds of delusions. Had to handle one guy on PCP once, who’d already broken one cop’s jaw before Mitch had him subdued and cuffed. This was different. Because it was happening to him.
Mitch turned sideways and gestured for the grim reaper to enter. And then he stepped back to avoid touching his visitor. The guy wasn’t just tall. He was pretty damn broad, too.
Great.
Just great.
He didn’t just have to go insane. He had to go a real bat-shit kind of crazy.
Mitch watched the grim reaper reach the center of his living room, taking up a lot of space. With a lot of black. The guy’s head barely missed grazing one of the beams that intersected the vaulted ceiling. Mitch shut the door with a lot more care than he’d shown all morning. And then he leaned against it and waited.
For whatever fate was about to deal.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You are probably wondering who I am and why I am here.”
The man spoke in a conversationalist tone. He didn’t turn around. Both gave Mitch an odd sense of security. And helped alleviate the fear.
“Um. You’re the grim reaper. And you’ve come to escort me to the grave.” he answered.
The figure cocked his head to one side before he answered. “Close.”
“How much time do I have?”
“Well...that depends on you, young man.”
The man still didn’t turn around.
“Can I offer you something to eat? Drink? Or...does the grim reaper even need those?”
“I am not the grim reaper, Detective Hartnett. My name is Akron Profit. And I’m here because my second-in-command has a very soft heart, especially when dealing with a female associate. It’s his Achilles Heel, if you will. And it endears him to me greatly.”
“Um. Okay,” Mitch agreed, as if that introduction made sense.
“I should also inform you that I’m the leader of the Vampire Assassin League.”
Oh, brother.
More delusionary shit to deal with.
Mitch didn’t say anything. He regarded the guy’s back without giving away his thought process.
“If it helps your recall, I believe in your investigation, you are referring to my firm as a highly placed vigilante group.”
Excitement sent a buzz through Mitch’s veins. It almost dented the pressure sensation about his chest, but it didn’t do much to alleviate the soreness that had overtaken his lower torso. Mitch’s eyes widened slightly. He moved away from the door and took a couple of tentative steps toward his visitor. The guy chuckled again.
“Oh. I have your interest now, do I?”
“This Vampire Assassin League. Describe it.”
“We’re a covert group of assassins...who also happen to be vampires. We’ve existed for millennia, much longer than this forensic technology you, and your ilk, are so proud of nowadays. It won’t help you, although it is very entertaining to observe. We’re impossible to catch. Rarely even noticed.”
“Every crime leaves a trace.”
“Ah. I see we may have some philosophical discussions in our future.”
“What?”
“You’re correct, detective. Every action does leave a trace, but you forgot something. We are immortal beings. Any evidence gathered will be skewed, if it can be read at all. But first of all, you’ll need to define the word crime. That is a debatable concept.”
“No, it’s not,” Mitch argued.
“We don’t have time for this at the moment. Maybe later. If...”
He left the sentence unfinished. Mitch toyed with ignoring it, but curiosity won out.
“If...what?” he asked.
“If you prove worthy, of course.”
“Oh. Of course.” Mitch barely kept the sarcasm from his voice. He stopped short of rolling his eyes, too, but it was a close call.
“Perhaps you should consider my visit an employment interview, Mister Hartnett.”
“I already have a job.”
“Not anymore.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your...” The figure waved an arm, “domicile here...is about to be obliterated. I’m still trying to ascertain if you are going to be a victim of your own stupidity, or not.”
“Now, wait just a minute.”
The hooded figure raised his hand. “No. You wait. And listen. I’m going to ask you some questions. You answer truthfully. Can you do that much?”
The words were almost verbatim to Mitch’s words to Addie. That was spooky. “Yeah,” he finally replied.
“Do you love her?”
Mitch swallowed. The knot in his throat shifted painfully. “Um. Who?”
“We’re past that, Mitchell. You know I speak of Adelaide. Since meeting her, you’ve had all kinds of unbelievable things happen, haven’t you?”
“How...do you know that?”
“I’m a vampire, Detective Hartnett, and before you laugh, let me finish. I’ve existed for thousands of years. I can teleport. Telepathically communicate. Leverage all manner of control over the elements. But there is one thing I cannot control. A power that is beyond me. It’s beyond everything and everyone. Can you guess what it is?”
Mitch shook his head. Akron acted like he saw it.
“The supreme power in the universe is love.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I
am a powerful being. I have abilities beyond your comprehension at present. I didn’t list some of my powers to impress, but to educate. Because love is even greater. It has the ability to transcend time. Place. Space. It can even make a man who is set in his ways see beyond black and white and realize there are shades of gray, too. And a lot of color.”
“Uh...”
Mitch didn’t know what to answer, so he stopped.
“But love is a fickle thing. It doesn’t come to everyone. You have to be extremely lucky. And when it comes, sometimes it feels like a ton of bricks just hit, making it hard to even breathe. Does anything like that sound familiar to you?”
“Um...”
“A vampire knows what love is, Detective. And when it happens. It’s instantaneous. Finding the one being that is their mate gives them back all the emotions and sensations that undeath took away. It’s the mates I cannot fathom. Sometimes they are instantly hooked. Occasionally they are complete knot-heads. Like you. So. I will ask again. Do you love her?”
“I don’t know. Okay?”
Akron made a sound that might have been choked-back laughter. “Ah. Good.”
“Good? Are you for real? It’s absolute hell.”
This time the guy did laugh. “Better and better. About that job...”
“Let me think about it,” Mitch replied.
“I don’t think you understand, Detective Hartnett. You have moments of this existence left to you. There is a lot of natural gas building up in the vicinity. You left your oven on last night, but failed to engage the pilot light. The resultant gas vented into the condominium behind this one.”
“Oh. No way.”
“I believe all it will take right now...is a little spark. The explosion will be inescapable. Annihilate several of these units.” The man whirled. The cloak swirled around his frame before it settled. He looked a lot larger. And a hell of a lot more dangerous. “So. Detective. Is it your time to die, or not?”
