Teeth

by Owen, Kelli

  Connor held out a box of Kleenex, and let her cry for a couple minutes. There was no point pushing her if she wasn’t ready. When she was ready, she took several tissues, wiped her face and blew her nose. A heavy sigh was her way of saying she was ready to continue.

  He put the box down next to her and reached over to his desk. He grabbed the file, flipping through it for the pictures. Shiny silver stick. But Connor had another idea as well.

  “You said you were watching the story about him?”

  “Yeah…” Her red-rimmed eyes looked at him with concern.

  “Did either of you recognize any of the names of the other victims?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not that I remember. I mean, she didn’t say anything, so I don’t think so. She would have said something if she knew one of them.” The girl looked at the file in his hand with concern. “Why? Did they know each other?”

  “Not so far. No.” He shrugged and pulled two small photos out of the file. Alicia pulled back with a look of horror and he realized she thought they were crime scene photos. “No no, hon. Nothing horrible. Just… here.” He turned the pictures toward her. “Did his weapon look anything like either of these?”

  The left photo was a picture of an orbitoclast, which he’d had to look up when the coroner first mentioned it. It was a surgical instrument, which had been designed and used for transorbital lobotomies before the procedure’s popularity waned in the late 1950s. It was a solid piece of metal, thinner than a pencil and approximately ten inches long. It started as a sharp spike, and then tapered into a shaft ending with a handle shaped a bit like a pull-cord grip. They were no longer sold or used by the medical profession, but antique dealers and eBay had several on the market. And both Connor and the coroner, Rogers, thought it possible he was using this as some sort of twisted fantasy weapon.

  The picture on the right showed a standard, run-of-the-mill ice pick available at any department store or hardware counter. A weapon of convenience Connor felt came without any connotations of fantasy or otherwise. The example in the photo was eight inches long—half the length was a wooden handle with the pick itself coming from the center of it.

  She flinched. “That. I think.” She pointed to the photo on the right. “He was holding it, so I couldn’t really see the handle, but I could see the end of it. I could see it had a handle. A dark, dirty handle…” Her complexion washed out to a pale sickly tone.

  Connor thought she might throw up right there on his shoes.

  She gasped as she looked down. “Was that blood on the handle?”

  “Oh miss, don’t. Don’t get upset like that. It was dark. It could have been dirt, or the design in the wood stain. You can’t assume it was blood. That will just upset you. Please. Don’t.” He put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. “But you’re sure there was a handle.”

  She nodded without looking up at him.

  “Was there anything else, anything at all? His shoes? Was he wearing a uniform? Anything.”

  She shook her head, but suddenly lifted it and looked Connor in the eye. “Wait. He had a phone. It was really small, I remember that. He was texting someone right before he attacked and I remember thinking his phone was really little, not like mine.” She pulled out her phone and held it up for him to see. She had the newest iPhone model, which so many people complained was too big.

  “Okay, okay. That’s good.” Connor wrote down the information on the inside of the file folder. He knew he couldn’t track the man on that alone. It wasn’t enough to even begin a search. But he could use it once they caught him—to tie him to this case. This witness. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.” Her tears started again, as she grimaced and tried to keep her sobs to herself. “It just… it happened so fast. I wasn’t paying attention to him. Just some random boring-looking guy walking, and then I was running.”

  “It’s okay. You did really well. And if you remember anything, you can call us. I’ll get an officer to take you home.” He stood and cocked his head at some disturbance in the front lobby. He suddenly wondered if she’d prefer to avoid the apartment until the crew had cleaned up the sidewalk. “Or is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”

  The return of gentle sobs and more tears had reduced her to head nods and he put a hand on her shoulder to acknowledge it. “Alright, hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.” He gently put the box of tissues in her lap before heading out to the lobby.

  Connor walked out into the hallway with concern and curiosity mixed into his expression of annoyance. “What the—” He turned the corner by the holding cell and froze. “Oh shit.”

  A dozen or so citizens had taken it upon themselves to come into the lobby and harass the desk sergeant or anyone who would listen. Connor noticed they were all women, ranging from their late twenties to late forties, and then he recognized two of them.

  Oh hell, the fucking PTA is here?

  They spoke over each other in their agitated state and Connor could only catch snippets of their complaints.

  “You’re protecting the vampires.”

  “Why aren’t you trying harder to catch this guy?”

  “If he was killing vampires, there would be riots and you’d be forced to find him.”

  “You’re feeding our children to them. To those monsters!”

  Connor cocked his head at the last comment’s owner. He couldn’t remember her name, but knew she was the mother of one of Tamara’s classmates—and not someone he ever would have pinned for being a bigot, with her big smile and overly gracious attitude at every bake sale and student event.

  “We’re not food. Our babies are not food. Why aren’t you out there trying to stop this?”

  Wow. Three times we’ve told the public it’s not a lamian, but they continue to believe what they want. He gave the desk sergeant a look of pity. The man threw back a desperate expression, a plea for help, but Connor wasn’t about to engage with this group.

  Connor shook his head and looked around the lobby, settling on two large uniformed officers. “For fuck’s sake, guys. I’ve got a witness back here who is already in tears and you’ve let this in the front door? Get these people out of here.”

  — THIRTY —

  Madison had been picking at her bandaged fingertips all day, but not because she was nervous about her teeth anymore—not since Tamara’s visit on Monday. The two of them had gone to the meeting at the Lamplight Foundation, and Madison had been blown away by the eclectic group and had barely scratched the surface of knowledge lining the walls inside. Afterward, they’d stopped at Dairy Queen for a Blizzard and a pep talk about bravery.

  Tamara reminded her of all the times Madison’s parents had expressed tolerance and fought for the rights of the lamians. She asked about her dad’s side having the gene with, “Isn’t there an aunt or someone? No one seemed upset by it.” She was right. Madison’s parents knew it was in the bloodline. Tamara convinced her they wouldn’t, couldn’t, react the way Madison feared. By the time the girls drank the last bit of their melted Blizzards, Madison was ready to walk in the door and tell her parents.

  Her mother had been so relieved to find out Madison wasn’t going through some anorexic fad, she’d started crying and immediately suggested ice cream to celebrate. Madison laughed and told her she and Tamara had already splurged. Her parents raised their eyebrows at Tamara’s name and nodded in approval, her father declaring, “Good, we missed that girl.”

  The rest of the evening had been Madison bonding with parents she had somehow believed would disown her. She hadn’t realized how pulled back from them and distant she’d become in the last few weeks until she found out her dad had gotten a raise they’d celebrated, with her at the table in the restaurant with them, and she hadn’t even registered why they were there. But her secret was out and she was b
ack, part of the family again. A family she had always known to be very loving, if not slightly shy—which always made her wonder where she got the outgoing gene from.

  Probably the same relative who gave me the teeth.

  Her parents were delighted to hear about the group meetings on Mondays and offered to go with her, suggesting they sit with Tamara’s mom separately if the girls wanted to be away from their parents. They discussed the doctor appointments that would need to happen, and shared stories of people they knew who had gone through this and what they thought they could expect.

  Madison’s mother excitedly started looking for lamian-based cooking shows. “I was getting really bored with spaghetti and chicken anyway.” And in the end, Madison went to bed feeling better about everything. Her life was back to the way it had been.

  Except for Brenna.

  Brenna would never accept this. But throughout the day, as she picked at her bandages, Madison had come to the conclusion she’d be better off without Brenna. She had always been closer to Tamara, and other than Amber, Brenna also had Tristan—the two of them needed no one else in their lives. She didn’t know how to disclose the secret to the judgmental girl with a bigger social media following than the local celebrities on the news.

  Madison told Tamara she planned to whisper it to Brenna during Chemistry, since it was the only class they had together and Madison could easily avoid Brenna for the rest of the day afterward. Madison thought it would be quieter to do it during a class where there was a teacher and a room full of students, and Brenna would be less likely to cause a scene, if only for her own self-preservation.

  But Madison had chickened out.

  After Chemistry class, Tamara was waiting by Madison’s locker believing the deed done. A confused Amber stood next to her, looking between the outcast and the two coming down the hall. The panic washing across Madison’s face did not go unnoticed by Brenna, as they walked together toward the locker.

  “What’s this? Flirting with the enemy?” Brenna sped up, getting to the locker before Madison and flopping her back against the metal door with a loud ding. “What’s up, Fanger? Think you’re going to wiggle your way back in?”

  Tamara looked from Brenna to Madison, and Madison shrugged apologetically.

  “You know no one wants you around, right? Not now. Not now that we know what you are, why would we bother? Not a human, not an animal. What are you?”

  Tamara said nothing and let Brenna dribble her hate speech. Several other students stopped in the hallway to whisper and point at the drama.

  “You probably know the fanger killing people, don’t you? My mom says the cops will never catch him because they’re protecting him. Protecting all of you because you’re fucking minorities and if they don’t then you’ll riot like they did down in New Orleans.” Brenna cocked her head for a minute. “Oh hey, the cops… and here’s the cop kid… I suppose your father’s leading the rally to let this bullshit happen.” Brenna reached forward to poke at Tamara, but Tamara blocked her and swatted Brenna’s hand out of the way.

  “Who in your life hates you so much that you have to act like this to others?” Tamara’s voice was so obviously condescending, Madison thought she’d burst out laughing, but she feared Brenna would snap and the girl’s temper would rear its ugly head.

  “What did you say?” Brenna narrowed her eyes at Tamara.

  “You. All this hate you have for everyone who’s not exactly like you, or at least trying to be you, or worship you. Where’s that coming from? Mommy doesn’t show you enough attention?”

  Brenna’s eyebrows went up and Madison braced for violence. Madison hadn’t actually seen Brenna do anything in years, but one third-grade recess ended with two boys crying and Brenna laughing through her own bloody nose. It left enough of a memory to be wary.

  Instead, Brenna spun at Madison—her bobbing curls framed her wide brown eyes shadowed with purple liner and a sudden core of indignation. “You’re just going to stand there and let her talk to me like that, Maddie?”

  Madison backed up a step, out of reach, and nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Madison lifted her lip and showed the new tooth growing into the empty socket, knowing she wouldn’t need to say anything after showing Brenna the reality.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. Really? So you’re one of them, too. Well good fucking riddance then. The two of you can skip off together and have a happy life. I sure as shit don’t want anything to do with you. Dirty vampires. Animals. Your kind should never have come out of hiding.”

  Tamara shook her head and stepped closer to Madison, nudging her and indicating she look behind Brenna.

  “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Brenna?” Tristan stepped closer and looked down at his girlfriend, the basketball player’s face showing as much disgust as his voice indicated. “These are your oldest friends.”

  “Not anymore.” Brenna held a hand up as if to shoo them away, and then wrapped her arm around his and smiled brightly at Amber.

  Tristan pulled free from her grasp. “Yeah, I think maybe we’re done. For good, this time.”

  “What? You can’t be serious.” Brenna looked up at him with genuine shock.

  “What if I have the gene? What if my teeth fall out?”

  “But you don’t. They won’t. You’re human. You’re perfectly human.” Brenna grabbed his hands and tried to pull them to her chest.

  Again, he wiggled free.

  “Yeah, I am. But you’re a bitch, Brenna, and I don’t need that in my life. I’ve got scholarships and college offers, and I don’t need to drag you and your hate with me when I get out of here.” Tristan turned and walked away, pushing through a small group of students who had gathered to watch. The crowd immediately began whispering as he moved beyond them.

  “Tristan!” Brenna called after him but he never slowed, never turned back.

  Amber’s eyes widened and she looked at the three of them. Without a word she backed up two steps and became part of the crowd of onlookers. She’d never been outspoken, she’d never been brave. Madison saw her actions and knew neither of those traits would change today.

  Across the hallway, leaning against a locker, a boy in a plain white tee and a pair of purposely-distressed jeans had watched the whole thing. “It’s okay, Brenna. I hate them all too.”

  “Fuck off, Blake.” Brenna spat at him and huffed. She stormed off, away from the sounds of Tamara and Madison snickering.

  — THIRTY-ONE —

  Henry screwed the lid onto the Mason jar and put it back in the fridge. There was enough left in the bottom to fill a Dixie cup. He needed to be frugal and hoard what little bit he had. He returned to his well-worn couch and sat down in front of the ten o’clock news.

  But it’s so good. He thought of the jar in the refrigerator.

  It was hard for Henry to control himself. He’d gone into the jar three times since dinner. Each time, he’d only allowed himself to lick off whatever coagulated chunks would stick to the butter knife he swirled through the depleting supply.

  I knew she’d taste better. I knew it was because she was a female.

  The half a jar worth he’d managed to salvage from the girl on the street wasn’t going to make it to midnight with his current state of need versus restraint. He needed more than a single jar. He wanted it more often now, and in larger quantities.

  And not always to eat. Henry smiled and put a hand on his upper thigh, applying pressure as he slid his fingers down, wrapped them around the underside of his leg, and pulled his hand back up firmly, as if teasing himself with the idea, seducing his own mind with possibilities. He shook the idea loose. There wasn’t enough blood to make it worth it. Henry needed to go hunting.

  Maybe I should still get a lamian. Just to see. What if female lamian is even better than just female?

  Henry s
at a little taller.

  What if male lamian was even better?

  His desire to become one of them had twisted into something new. He no longer cared if they accepted him. He had the teeth. He was as close as he could get to being one of them and they couldn’t take it away from him. He could identify as a lamian in today’s social climate and they’d have to accept him as such.

  At face value anyway. Not on his medical records. Not yet.

  There was no news about his murders tonight. Or at least nothing new had developed for them to share, which was good. It meant they weren’t any closer to catching him. But they were most likely looking harder than they had. He’d have to be more careful. Especially since the redhead from Monday had escaped. He knew they had talked to her. They must have by now. It’s been days. And she had seen him. Looked right at him and smiled. She could describe him.

  But she doesn’t know me. Can’t name me.

  It’s been four days and no one has come knocking.

  He felt safe enough, for the moment, and his mind wandered back to the blood he could still taste. He needed to hunt, but he needed to lay low.

  Maybe go over to Springfield, or down by the docks where the vagrants sleep. I wonder what they taste like.

  He pictured their filthy skin, and the dirt and grime and germs that would flow into the blood if he were to choose one of the water bums. He shuddered in disgust and swallowed down the idea of bile. No matter how desperate he became, he couldn’t stoop low enough to bother with the homeless.