by C. N. Owens
“I would say lots of paranormal anomalies took place here,” Nate says.
The sky is a blaze of orange complemented by a cool, gentle breeze, which offers a subtle hint of the chilly night to come. The late-afternoon sun hangs above the trees casting ominous shadows. All the other personnel seems to be standing stock-still as though immortalized in a timeless portrait, staring into the median, unsure how to process the atrocity that took place there.
“I’m glad you’re here to help with this,” Nate says.
“I’m not.” I swallow hard, looking across the field of mangled, dismembered bodies. There are maybe twenty of them, but with all the severed limbs scattered about, it’s hard to know for sure. Bits of flesh pepper the bloodstained grass like confetti. “Why am I here?”
“You have more experience with the undead than anyone I know. This isn’t a job for a coroner.”
“I guess there’s some truth to that, but I still wish I weren’t here.” I let out a long sigh, mostly an attempt to fight off the onset of nausea. “Well, let’s go take a look before they begin to stink… or something worse.”
“Something worse?” Nate asks, sounding like a young boy listening to his father tell a ghost story.
“Oh, there’s always worse; you know that.”
Nate’s expression sobers for a moment, and then he nods, following at my heels.
As we walk closer to the scene, the true scope of the slaughter becomes more and more obvious. Body parts litter the ground as though many of the victims exploded, their blood staining the grass and soil black.
A body not five feet away, limbless except for its upper arms, begins to move and struggle where it lies facedown in the grass. Nate already has his gun drawn and trained on the victim. I wave for EMTs to help, and take a step back so they can work. They stop before the body, trying to figure out how to help him.
“He’s pretty much dead, sir. What do you expect us to do?”
“Everything you can. This is our only witness. Roll him over before he suffocates.” They look at me for a moment, a silent gesture letting me know that I’m going to have to force them. “What are you waiting for? This is your fucking job!”
The taller man on the right takes a breath and pulls out a neck brace and begins to collar the victim. Once he is done, I ready myself for the worst as they roll the body over.
“Watch for his mouth. We don’t know what attacked him.”
They nod and gingerly roll him onto the board.
The man is stark pale but still clinging to life. His eyes are clear and fresh blood rolls from his mouth. His expression exemplifies a look of pure horror, and with a gurgling cough, he expires before our eyes.
The EMT sits up and wipes the sweat from his brow using his forearm. He looks to me and shakes his head. I knew the guy didn’t have much of a chance anyway.
The rest of the bodies are motionless and dead. All of them have suffered grievous injuries as though done in a feverish rage. The wounds are jagged, perhaps made by teeth; other places look to have been torn apart. This doesn’t make sense, however, unless they were attacked by a monster with a very large mouth. On the last few corpses, it appears something devoured the organs, and some of them bear what looks like deep claw marks.
“What’s your opinion?”
I almost forgot Nate was standing behind me. “This is far beyond anything I know. Either a very large animal did this, or something much worse. If it’s the latter, the world is about to change for the lives of mortals.”
“What about a grizzly bear?”
“In Virginia? Come on, man; you aren’t thinking straight.”
“What about several grizzly bears?”
“Perhaps twenty of ‘em, with the hunting skills to herd all these people into this median by chasing them from their homes or stopping a bus and coaxing them out. Bears with the skills to corner people so they don’t run away. Think of how probable that is.”
Nate nods and bites his bottom lip. “What about a werewolf?”
“Negative, werewolves died off a long time ago.” I think for a moment, wanting to say more, but I hesitate, not wanting to involve Nate and his family in this. “And even if it was, I doubt we would see one attack in broad daylight. No, this is a real mystery. I know someone who might have some insight, though.”
“That might be just what we need,” Nate mumbles. He looks at his phone, his razor-shaven head wrinkling as he squints at the small screen.
“We’ll have a few hours to wait, but if you want to talk to her, as a consultant perhaps, I can introduce you two.”
“So she’s a vampire?”
I pull my collar down and smirk.
“It looks like you lost your last fight.”
“Yes, I did. She has… skills.”
“I’ve never talked to a vampire before.”
“You may have and didn’t know it. She’s a sweetheart, but I’ll still need to warm her up to the idea. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
Chapter 5
Trent
The sun has almost set by the time I pull up in front of Cassie’s house, having taken care of some errands first to kill some time. Andrea is coming out of the kitchen, still wearing the small pair of shorts and pink tank top from earlier.
“I hope you’re going to wash the Porsche before you put it away,” she says, heading upstairs.
“You helping?”
She hisses at my response. I follow her upstairs and into their bedroom. As I enter, Cassie is leaning over the bathroom sink, and she pulls her shirt closed when she sees me.
“I didn’t know vampires brushed their teeth,” I say as I enter the bathroom.
This one is much more modern, using the same materials as the kitchen: white cabinets, a gray marble counter, and white porcelain sinks. There’s a glass-walled shower big enough for several people that takes up the back third of the rectangular room.
“I like minty fresh breath.” She gives me a cute foamy smile in the mirror.
“What happened?” I ask and rub a deep-purple bruise on her upper arm.
“You think that’s bad?” She lifts the back of her shirt, exposing a massive bruise near her shoulders and a glimpse of her firm breasts in the mirror.
“Damn, you okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Happens while I sleep. It will be gone soon enough.” She pulls her shirt back together quickly.
“Hypostasis,” I mumble.
“Is that what it’s called?”
“I’ve seen it before on corpses… sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She buttons a few more buttons on her shirt but leaves the swell of her cleavage exposed.
“We need to talk,” I say, pushing the door shut and sitting on the toilet.
“What’s wrong?” She walks to me, stopping close enough for me to feel the coldness radiating off her skin and smell the rose oil that she wears in all the right places. As if her charms alone weren’t enough to dominate the senses.
I reach for her shirt and part the undone bottom half. With a finger, I pull down the waistband of her yoga pants just a little and run my finger across one of her visible scars—a ragged finger-long whitish-pink line of thickened skin.
“It was real.” I sigh and let her pants return to her waist with a gentle snap. “I had a dream about it last night.”
She pulls her shirt apart at the top, revealing many more scars, faint jagged lines randomly marking the tops of her breasts.
“Injuries that you receive as a mortal, endure as scars when you become a vampire. My father did it, right before my maker found me. Ten to kill the girl, two to kill the incest-made child within.” She buttons a few more buttons on her shirt.
“Wow, Cassie. After all this time, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I spent my mortal life in Genoa, Italy, one of the towns hardest hit by the plague.”
“Plague?”
“The Bla
ck Death. I’ve been around for a long time, Trent.” She smiles. “If I hadn’t been found by Raoul, I would have been dead, anyway.”
“Wow,” I say, having trouble processing how old she is.
“It wasn’t my intention to share that memory with you. I suppose I got caught up in the moment and grew careless.” She runs her fingers through my hair and scratches my scalp with her long sharp fingernails. “Will you forgive me?”
“Even if I was mad at you, I couldn’t stay that way for long,” I respond, losing myself in her green eyes as she looks down at me.
“What’s the plan for tonight?”
The door opens a little. “Our show comes on at nine,” Andrea says, and disappears again, making it obvious that she was listening to us.
“A vampire, and that’s all you have to do?”
“Did you expect it to be glamorous all the time? Like a shadowed predator, standing on the edge of a skyscraper, cloak flapping in the wind?” She laughs. “Time is a prison for immortals.”
“Cassie, I need your help tonight.”
“I can’t. I already have plans.”
I laugh. “Wait, what about all that time is a prison bullshit you just said?”
“This is different,” Cassie says with a sigh.
“I won’t need much time, I just need you to fluff a detective, convince him to back off this case with Leila and Raoul. He’s an old friend, and I don’t want to see anything happen to him.”
“Trust me, Trent. I really have to go out. You know I’d love to help you, but someone couldn’t keep his hands off my ass last night,” she says as she gives me an affectionate poke. “I need more than what you and Andrea can give me.”
“I was enjoying myself, sorry!” I say with a laugh.
“So was I.” She leans down and gives me a peck on the lips before walking out of the bathroom. “I won’t be long. Just make sure you get to the hospital soon.”
“She’s an alpha, isn’t she? Is that why this is all so hush-hush? If so, tell me now so I can leave.”
“That’s exactly why I’m saying nothing. You know you are the only person who can help her.”
“How?”
She shakes her head at me and draws her lips out to thin narrow lines. “Trent, this could be your one shot. You know what will happen if Bento gets to her.”
“You know what could also happen.”
“Yes, and that’s why we are here. I’m happy we found her.”
“This is risky either way.”
“Would you rather she die?”
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
“You know you don’t mean that,” Cassie says.
“I guess. Go out, get your fill. Need an escort?”
“I can handle myself. Just get to the hospital.”
Despite Cassie’s protests, I decide to spring for a pizza. Andrea is thrilled—it’s obviously a rare treat for her—but it results in Cassie taking off, throwing on a pair of dark blue jeans and a lacy green tank top before rushing out the door, too disturbed by the thought of a stranger coming to her house.
An hour or so later, dinner is done. My phone rings and I walk out of Cassie’s room, leaving Andrea behind, engrossed in a hyped-up zombie drama.
“Hey, where are you?” Nate asks. I can hear the drone of traffic in the background.
“She couldn’t make it tonight, but she’ll talk to you.”
“No worries. This case is going to drag on for months anyway; I have that feeling.”
“How’s that little firecracker I found?” I ask.
“You mean Leila?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s off the ventilator and talking. Otherwise, she has broken ribs, a broken wrist, hundreds of stitches. Her fingernails fell off for some reason, but her fingertips seemed to have opened up from the inside out as if something pushed out of them. Someone also cut one of her fingers off with heavy shears of some sort, a clean cut right through the bone… just lopped it right off. Can you believe that?”
“Sadly, I can.”
“Man, I never imagined I would get a sex-trafficking case.”
“Seriously? That’s what this is?” My mind focuses and my thoughts shift, forgetting Cassie’s attempted murder so long ago and switching to the strange and dangerous young woman who wanted to kill me.
“That’s the way it’s sounding. She’s an import from Europe, no identity.”
“Holy shit,” I respond, in shock.
“Well, I’m going to spend some time with my family. I need a hug from my daughter.”
“Hug her for me, too.”
“Will do.”
The call ends. I walk back into the house and fix a tall drink, then sit on the couch, working hard to chase away the thoughts circling in my mind—irrational thoughts. Human trafficking, I think as I drain half my glass, wondering how someone like her could get caught up in this mess. It was only a matter of time before she was strong enough to fight her way out, and somewhere, among this massive shitstorm, I have to intervene and make it right. Mind made up, I grab the keys to the Porsche and head out for Norfolk.
Chapter 6
Leila
A gentle snow falls from a washed-out gray sky, already sticking in the chill of mid-December. Mom wouldn’t be happy if she walked in and found me dreaming out the window. Right now, I should be sitting with my brother doing my homework, but I can’t resist watching a fresh snow as it begins to fall, graceful yet chaotic, landing silently, covering the ground in a blanket of white, absent of color… just like me.
I push my clear-framed, thick-lensed glasses up on my nose. They bump against my snow-white bangs as I listen to make sure Mom isn’t coming. I smell bread baking, and I hear water running… dishes clinking together. I should be safe.
“Leila, get over here. Mom’s going to kill you!” My brother Gabriel hisses and pushes his black hair out of his big gray eyes. A long yellow pencil is clutched in his tiny left hand.
I look back at him and smile. “She wouldn’t do that; she loves me.”
***
Awakening from a good dream about my childhood, I hear a rhythmic beeping, and there is a disgusting smell in the air. The hospital room is dark, lit only by the lights from the hallway outside, flickering lazily as shadows pass by. I lift my head and inspect a large tube attached to the right side of my chest. In short cycles, the device comes alive with a soft purring sound, drawing a cloudy yellowish fluid through the transparent tube away from my body and down under the bed.
“It’s called a Pleur-evac; it’s pulling fluid out from around your lung,” a male voice says from the direction of the door. He sits in a chair, like a specter in the dim light coming through the row of windows behind him.
“Who are you?” I ask, pressing the button on the bed for the light and squinting, trying to focus with one eye. My heart leaps when I recognize that wavy black hair falling around his face and those eyes, like bits of amber. “I remember you.” I recall how he held my hand the whole time while rushing me to the hospital. I look at the clock. It’s almost 3:00 a.m., but the sight of my hero prods me awake like a shot of epinephrine.
“It’s so late,” I whisper through painful, swollen lips.
“I didn’t mean to bug you. I don’t sleep much anymore.” His accent is appealing, and his Cupid’s-bow lips and round face soften his expressions, making him look almost sad.
“You just startled me,” I say, wincing as I shift in bed, feeling the weight of the tube buried deep in my chest.
“Listen, I wanted to say sorry for getting rough with you. I—”
“Don’t worry about it. I wanted to kill you; I thought you were one of them.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“Are you a cop?” I ask, and try to wipe the hair out of my face with my bandaged hands, but give up when I can’t.
He goes silent. He wants to say something but seems to stop himself. �
�I’m a federal agent.” He stands and reaches into his pocket. I jump when he comes for me, but realize it was for nothing when he produces a hair tie, which he uses to smooth back and tie my hair into a ponytail. “I wanted to talk to you off the record; you know what that means, right?”
I nod, wanting to smile as I reach back and touch my hair.
He slides back into the chair, getting comfortable. “What can you tell me about the people that had you?” He looks hesitant. He doesn’t want to hear this, but for some reason, I think he is forcing himself to listen.
“Vlad and Tomas. Tomas is dead now, but I don’t know much about them other than that. I didn’t even know what state I was in until the night before you found me. They kept us blindfolded and drugged most of the time.”
“Us?” His voice remains soft, but I feel his rage. This man hides demons in the corners of his soul… He’s trying hard not to scare me.
“Yes,” I reply, “they keep us all in a home.”
He pulls out a tiny notepad and pencil and flips it to a blank page. “Not you anymore; you are completely safe. Who are Vlad and Tomas? I don’t know those names.”
“They were the ones that kept me. After everything happened, they took me from the motel and gave me to someone else.”
He stops scribbling notes and looks up. “What motel?”
I shrug. “They never told me where they were taking me.”
“Okay, why were you there?”
“Work.”
He pauses, and I think he might start throwing things when he hears the rest of the story. “Was your job sex?” he asks.
I nod, and my eyes go blurry with tears. I don’t want to know what he’s like when he’s angry. He sighs and leans forward again in the chair, letting his heavy boot slap the floor.
I raise the back of my bed, wincing as I push myself up, and almost recoil when he jumps from his chair and places a hand under my arm to help me.
“You sure you’re okay to be sitting up?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine.” I smile but it quickly fades.
