Darkness Calls

by Caridad Piñeiro

  He observed the change every dusk from his perch high atop the city. The lights drifted on in the nearby office buildings and down on the street below. Across the way, Queens snapped on its colors—the large red Pepsi and Silvercup Studio signs along the water and the erratic string of lamps from the bridge and the Roosevelt Island tramway. Running lights from tourist cruise ships and small party boats reflected off the dark waters of the East River. Even with daylight fading, New York was alive and thriving, like Ryder had once been so long ago.

  Walking away from the edge of the terrace, he sat down at the marble-topped wrought-iron table that had, at one time, graced the patio of his Louisiana home. He salvaged it and some other things from an estate sale after the death of his wife. Thinking him a casualty of war, the army had advised his wife that he was likely one of the unidentified dead, and she had remarried. She’d had children with her second husband, who took over the running of Ryder’s small rice plantation. Upon the death of his wife, her children had rid themselves of the property that had become a hindrance to their lifestyles. They preferred the hubbub of New Orleans to life on a quiet plantation.

  For a time, he had considered buying back the home that had once been his and returning to his life as a physician and plantation owner. But living with those ghosts was too difficult a burden to bear. And his companion, the second Danvers to serve him, had moved his family out West, so Ryder had gone with him. And then his companion died like so many others….

  Those ghosts had chased him throughout his existence as people and places changed around him. He had shut himself off as best he could, trusting only his companion. It had helped temper the pain that associations with humanity ultimately brought.

  Ryder had finally settled in Manhattan, following one of his companions after he was offered a position at a prestigious hospital. The change had been good for him. Until that servant had passed away and then Melissa’s father had gone, way before his time should have been up. He and his wife had perished in an automobile accident. And now Ryder had Melissa to worry about, he conceded, for despite all his efforts not to become involved, it was difficult not to care about the young woman who was the great-great-great granddaughter of William, the lifelong friend who had become Ryder’s first companion.

  Like Ryder, William Danvers had been a battlefield physician in a war that, unfortunately, provided them with too many patients on which to ply their skills.

  William had stumbled across Ryder and the remainder of his unit in a small copse just beyond the edge of a battlefield. Ryder and his men had been attacked by a band of marauders who had turned out to be vampires eager to take advantage of the war. Demons who were unfortunately no less brutal than their human counterparts—raiders and soldiers alike who killed without remorse under the righteous banners of both North and South.

  Ryder had been the only one left alive of his entire group, and his friend had tended him, helping him battle the fevers and physical injuries inflicted during the attack. At first, neither man suspected what had happened. Then it became apparent that Ryder was no longer a normal man, especially when his thirst for blood nearly drove him to kill.

  Ryder had despaired of his condition, of the thirst only one thing seemed to satisfy. If not for his steadfast friend, he might have taken his own life, but Danvers convinced him that there had to be a reason for his transformation. A greater purpose to explain what had happened.

  Ryder flipped open the file obtained through some of his lawyer’s less respectable connections. He stared at the glossy black-and-white photo of Diana, wondering if she—and this case—were maybe his greater purpose.

  He picked up his glass of merlot, took a sip and savored the wine’s hearty, earthy flavor. Contrary to vampire myth and legend, he’d found he could enjoy food and liquids other than blood, although he indulged in such things only as a way of maintaining a semblance of normalcy. They gave him no sustenance.

  With a hearty earthiness of its own, blood provided him with his life force and energy. But unlike the murderous demons who had ravaged him a hundred and thirty-six years ago, Ryder refused to feed on the living. He took his strength from the occasional helping of beef blood purchased from the local butcher and the blood-bank bags Melissa brought from the hospital.

  Like each Danvers before her, Melissa was sworn to uphold a secret and bear a burden some would find frightening. Indeed, one he was certain she had found shocking.

  He still remembered the dismal winter afternoon when he had stood beside Melissa as they had buried both her mother and father. He had wanted to give her time to grieve, but hadn’t been able to do so. The family lawyer had arrived only moments after the graveside ceremony, bearing a letter that had been passed to every first-born Danvers since William had assumed his role more than a century before. Melissa was made of strong stuff and had shouldered her responsibilities with grace. She was a woman of honor and loyalty. She was the only one who shared his secret.

  But maybe soon, Diana Reyes would be entrusted with his secret, as well.

  He traced the lines of Diana’s face in the photo, imagining the warmth and texture of her skin instead of the slick, cold gloss of the paper. He wondered again whether he was deluding himself into thinking that Diana bore some similarity to the woman of his dreams. Was there more to Diana than the plainly stated facts in her file?

  Valedictorian of her high school class in Miami, she had attended the University of Miami on a scholarship and continued there to earn her master’s in psychology. Instead of using that degree as a springboard for a career in the mental health sector, she’d joined the FBI.

  A surprising decision, but as he flipped through the remaining papers in her file and psychological evaluation, the explanation came all too readily and all too sadly. At nineteen, Diana’s father—a Miami-Dade police officer—had been gunned down during a drive-by shooting. Diana had been there to witness it and had herself been injured.

  He recalled the picture on her desk, that of Diana with her family, all of them smiling and happy. As he continued flipping through the file, it was clear that her father’s death had profoundly changed her.

  The history in her psych profile went to great lengths to explain the year after her father’s death. Her grades in college had slipped to abysmal levels and certain parts of her life had spun out of control. The evaluator had painstakingly detailed what had driven Diana to those depths and how she had managed to tame the demons. But the evaluator also noted that Diana was at risk of allowing those emotions to control her again.

  He empathized with her. Of all people, he knew what it was like to present a human face to the world, but have a barely leashed animal inside, waiting to erupt. He wondered just what it would take to bring out that part of her. To let her give in and vent all her anger and frustration. Only by doing that would she ever truly be free.

  And yet, he worried she would do so at the wrong time. Still, it seemed from her file that she might be able to take care of herself should her emotions lead her to physical confrontation. She had started martial arts training at a young age, probably because of her small size. Her last physical exam put her at five feet three inches and one hundred and ten pounds, but she seemed much more fragile to Ryder.

  And her undercover work put her at risk. Was it some unfulfilled death wish maybe? he wondered, thinking this piece of the puzzle made her all the more interesting. Not that he hadn’t been fascinated before opening her file, he thought, taking another long sip of his wine.

  From the moment in the alley when they’d stood only feet apart, he’d been intrigued. After all, she was a beautiful young woman in a difficult and dangerous position. A fearless and determined one, he recalled. Combined with what he’d seen of her since last night, it made him want to explore and savor her, find out what drove her to do what she did. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time, about anyone or anything.

  But he’d almost blown his secret and now was inextricably involved in an investiga
tion that might put him at risk. He was increasing that possibility by becoming too friendly with Diana, as he had during dinner and after, when he’d slipped about being a physician.

  He reminded himself that he had to deal with her professionally, and only professionally. That he could not let his personal interest interject itself into their relationship. But even as he closed her file, he paused for another long look at her photo, and silently acknowledged how hard a task that might be.

  Chapter 8

  Diana didn’t arrive at home until close to two in the morning. She’d logged in the tapes and made the necessary arrangements to view them in the morning. She had a slew of calls from the other agents. She made notes and set up a general meeting to go over everything old and new and refine the plans for the stakeout at the club.

  Her brother was still up when she came in, busy working on another computer program. He looked up at her distractedly and gave her a smile. “Hola, hermanita. Catch any big, bad criminals today?”

  She smiled, walked behind him and affectionately ruffled his hair. “Not a one,” she said as she looked over his shoulder at the screen and saw nothing but meaningless computer code. “New program?”

  He nodded, tapped out a few more words on the keyboard and then said, “Watch.”

  She did, and after a few more commands, the opening screen of a game came up. An FBI-agent game where the users had to work their way through a series of screens to solve a crime. Of course, along the way, there were a number of criminals to be destroyed and aptitude tests to be completed. “Pretty cool. I guess this is for you and not the company?”

  Sebastian nodded and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hence why I’m working on it now. Come the morning, it’s back to the grind. What about you?”

  “At seven I’m back at my desk. I have a lot to get ready,” she replied, gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Buenas noches, Sebastian.”

  He reached up, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I won’t be awake so let me say it now. Be careful.”

  She bent and gave him a hug that he returned as best he could from his sitting position. “I will, hermanito. See you tomorrow night. Maybe.”

  She entered her bedroom and disrobed carelessly, tossing her suit onto a chair that already had a pile of clothes from the past few days. She hadn’t had the energy to put anything away. Setting the alarm, she gave herself extra time to get ready in the morning. She would have to pack clothes for her undercover assignment since she might not have time to return home before heading out to Ryder’s club. Things were heating up, and she needed to put in whatever time she could at her office. That might mean spending the night there while they reviewed the materials and tried to get a break in the case.

  As she slipped into bed, exhaustion quickly took over, pulling her into a deep sleep that was uninterrupted until the loud electronic beeping of the alarm the next morning.

  She rolled out of bed and showered, staying under the heat of the water for some time, letting it relax her. When she exited, steam lingered in the bathroom and condensation had clouded the mirror over the sink. She wiped it down with her towel and peered into it, pleased to see that the bruise along the side of her face was getting better. There was still one section that was a little more purple than the other, which was turning yellowish. She moved her jaw up and down, found there was only a little twinge and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

  Quickly finishing the rest of her morning ablutions, she turned her attentions to her closet. A dozen suits hung there in addition to the two or three piled on her chair. Toward the back of the closet was a black silk suit she rarely wore to the office. David called it her “babe suit” because there was something about the way the silk clung to her that made it very feminine and very flattering.

  After a moment or so of hesitation, she grabbed the black suit. She laid it on the bed and returned to the closet to select a number of outfits for the next few days. She wasn’t sure how much time she would have and wanted some clothes in her office, ready to be worn. If she needed to, she could shower at one of the locker rooms in their building.

  She came across her favorite pair of leather pants, in a dark olive green that worked well with her complexion. She paired it with a black knit tank top. Then she grabbed a few other tops and another pair of leather pants, black this time, for the stakeouts.

  She slipped on bikini panties and a bra in a matching leopard-skin print. They were something she only wore to the office occasionally, usually when she was feeling down about the state of her life and needed a pick-me-up.

  Today she was already wired despite having only four hours of sleep. It was as if she sensed that today they might have a better idea of who was behind the murders. After Ryder came by…

  She stopped there. She didn’t want to go down that path. He just happened to be one item on today’s agenda. An item she would deal with first thing. She had not yet stricken him from the suspect list, especially with last night’s slip.

  Item number one on her desk would be checking out his story to see if he was registered anywhere as a physician. That might give her a clue as to who and what he really was.

  As Diana dressed and put on the bare minimum of makeup, she mentally prepared for the briefing with the other agents and NYPD personnel working the case. She was the special agent in charge on the case and needed to instill confidence in those working with her. Create trust in her capabilities. As a woman in a very male bastion, that was sometimes difficult to do. As a Latina, subject to comments about being a “quota,” it was even harder.

  She grabbed her bag and her briefcase on her way out to the living room, where her brother was still busy at the computer. “At it from last night?” she asked as she walked toward the front door.

  “Nah. Got up when I heard your alarm go off,” he said, focused on the screen.

  “I won’t be home until late, if at all, so don’t worry about me,” she said, and, at that, he finally turned to look at her.

  He gave a low whistle and motioned to her. “Dressed to kill today, are we? Is there someone we want to impress?”

  She shot him an exasperated look and flipped him the finger on her way out the door.

  The morning meeting went smoothly, as did most of what she had planned for the day.

  Everything except Ryder. She had been unable to turn up a thing to either confirm or deny last night’s statement. Her specialist had indicated there were gaps in the computerized records and so the absence of his name on the lists of registered physicians might not be irregular. Also, if he had been retired from the practice of medicine for some time, his record might have been expunged.

  It didn’t make her a happy camper. She preferred more information about her contacts. Ryder could be their prime suspect, although her gut told her otherwise. She could waste time trying to dig deeper and force him to submit to DNA testing, but this was one time she had to go with her instincts and hope they weren’t wrong.

  He arrived at four as promised, giving her some sense of relief. She walked him to an interrogation room. On a table was a pile of papers that reflected all the suspects who matched key parts of her profile and were currently free and might be in the area. She led him there and asked him if anyone looked familiar.

  He glanced at the stack of papers in disbelief and placed his hand on them as if measuring the height of the pile. “Rather large, wouldn’t you say?”

  She shrugged. “We live in a sick world with a lot of sick people.”

  “A rather pessimistic view.”

  “I’ve seen too much—”

  “Too soon,” he finished and looked her over. “You’re all of what? Thirty?”

  “Why, Mr. Latimer,” she said, affecting a Southern accent and laying a hand over her heart. “A gentleman shouldn’t ask a lady a thing like that.”

  “I guess you just crossed that magic line or else—”

  “I’m twenty-eight going on ninety sometimes. Life has a way of doin
g that,” she replied more seriously, and motioned to the stack of papers. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?”

  “Only if you’re on your way to Starbucks,” he said with a smile.

  She shook her head. “Nope. Only the mud from the pantry. Still game?” When he assented, she walked out and down the hall to where someone had luckily just begun brewing a pot of coffee.

  She returned to find Ryder elegantly slouched in the hard plastic chair. He had gone through very few of the photos, judging from the pile that lay by his right hand, and he appeared to be reading the mug sheets as he went along.

  Diana placed the coffee in front of him, but away from the papers. “Interesting?”

  “I thought I’d seen a lot, but these first few are enough to make you lose your hope in humanity,” he said, and seemed surprised by the statement, as if he had thought he had lost hope a long time ago.

  “Especially when you realize these guys are loose again.”

  Ryder grimaced. “I’d want them dead if they did this to me or mine.”

  “In time they’ll get theirs.” She firmly believed in that. It was the one belief that kept her from crossing the line. Not that she hadn’t been tempted in her short career as an agent. But she wouldn’t give into that desire because it meant losing the piece of herself that made her different from the criminals she chased—her humanity. Something that, as Ryder had noted, seemed to be a rare commodity.

  “Try not to pay attention to that and just look at the pictures. Concentrate on them. Give them more or less hair. Beards. Maybe one will remind you of a regular, an employee or someone you had trouble with.”

  Ryder nodded. “Have you gone through these?”

  She motioned to David, who stood in the doorway, with the hand that held her cup of coffee. “We did it this morning and now we’re going to go through the tapes you gave us. Maybe something will click.”