Endless Abduction

by Gloria Martin

  And then, on a grey day in October, as the heavy winter darkness crept across the city, there was a break.

  A message flashed across the screen of Inga’s phone. She was cooking dinner when it came. She wiped her hands and picked it up, staring at the screen intently. “We got something.” The message was followed by more in rapid succession. “Body down by City Hall.” And then, “COME,” accompanied by a photograph: A woman sprawled on the pavement, her golden hair fanning out around her like a halo. Inga turned off the stove and pulled on her coat without hesitation. As she stepped out into the street, she buttoned the white wool coat and threw a red scarf around her neck as she strode towards the city center. A cold mist lingered in the streets, blurring the features of the cityscape and chilling her to the bone as she walked. It was eerily quiet. As she approached City Hall the blue and red lights of the police shone through the fog, glimmering faintly and fracturing in the thick air, making the night sky appear as if it were on fire.

  “Inga,” Detective Turan called out to her, striding across the street and seizing her hand. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said gruffly. “She’s over there.” He jerked his head toward the alley that ran behind City Hall.

  Inga nodded silently and followed behind him, steeling herself. It would be her first true crime scene. It was hard to believe that she was even being allowed here, among the uniformed officers and the forensics team in their protective suits. Detective Turan gave her the privilege of crossing the police tape, lifting it above her head, beckoning for her to follow him. He led her to the body.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  Inga steeled herself, and then looked down at the body. It was a young woman just about her age. She was dressed in a winter coat, but her hat had fallen off, and her blonde hair was splayed across the pavement. At first, Inga thought she could be sleeping, so peaceful was her face, eyes closed and lips parted ever-so-slightly. She could see no outward signs of damage, but as she leant closer over the woman’s face, she recognized the scent of blood. There, the collar of her pink coat was stained with a dash of crimson. Inga knelt beside her and saw clearly two very small puncture wounds on the side of the woman’s neck. She looked quickly up at Detective Turan, her heart suddenly pounding.

  He nodded, “That’s what I thought. Just the same as the Jane Doe, right?”

  Inga nodded. “It could be, but…It’s a bit hard to say for sure here,” she said. But inside, she was certain. It was exactly the same as her mystery woman. But did that mean that this was another murder by a serial killer? Or did it indicate something else? A sinister thought crept into Inga’s consciousness. In an instant she recalled the feeling of slightly-too-sharp teeth on her lip.

  “I’m curious, Inga, what do you think the weapon was?” the detective was pacing slowly beside the body now, his eyes flitting around the scene.

  “Well, again, it’s hard to say, but if I had to guess, since it doesn’t look like there was much of a struggle, maybe some kind of drug delivered by needle?” She stared hard at the detective, trying to determine whether he had sensed her momentary hesitation.

  “Perhaps,” he muttered, “but what if it was something else? Take a good look, and then come and find me by the road. This bears further discussion. He gave her a piercing look, and stepped swiftly from the scene, leaving Inga alone in the hazy lights.

  She looked down again, studying the woman’s face. Perhaps it was her own strange narcissism, but Inga couldn’t help but feel that the woman resembled herself, though she supposed it wouldn’t be difficult to find such a stereotypically Swedish woman in Uppsala. Still, it was a little eerie. Then there were the puncture wounds on the woman’s neck. Though they were fresh, it was clear that they were the same size and shape as the woman from the morgue. Inga almost laughed aloud as she found herself entertaining the absurd idea that vampires were real, and maybe, just maybe, this woman had fallen victim to one. And could that one be the woman from the morgue who had so mysteriously risen from the dead? Inga’s head spun as thoughts chased each other through her mind in a dizzying race to absurdity. She stepped back from the corpse and then spun on her heel, leaving the gruesome scene behind as she sought out Detective Turan from the small crowd of law enforcement milling about. When she found him, he simply nodded and led her in silence away from the scene to a small bar with only a few seats and no other customers.

  “I like it here,” the detective said, after they had taken their seats at a small table. The interior of the bar was almost as dark as the outside, lit almost exclusively by candle light. It was cozy and quiet. Inga unbuttoned her coat. He ordered two scotches.

  “It’s nice…” Inga replied, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Why had he brought her here? To talk about the murder over drinks? She shrugged internally, and vowed to herself to leave the word vampire unspoken.

  “Do you believe in vampires?” the Detective asked with the air of one asking for directions to the bus stop. He sipped his scotch, holding his gaze on the beautiful woman across from him, watching her every reaction.

  Inga let out a hearty chuckle, which soon faded to a nervous giggle and away into the silence of the bar. “Wait, are you serious?” she asked, looking strangely at the detective.

  “Deadly serious.”

  Inga wondered for an instant if the detective was punning on purpose. “I, uh…” she hesitated, and in her mind’s eye she was transported to the moment of the mystery woman’s biting kiss. “N-no, I mean not in the literal sense, I guess?” She looked quickly at Detective Turan, attempting to gauge whether her answer would satisfy him or not. He sipped his scotch again and appeared thoughtful. For once his eyes were steady as he gazed at her across the table. There was something in his expression that made Inga uneasy.

  “I believe in them,” he finally said, setting down his glass and pressing his fingertips together. “You stay in this game long enough, and you see things,” he added.

  Inga swallowed. The detective’s words had made her hair stand on end. “But, I mean, you’re talking about people who think they’re vampires, right?” she asked, almost hopefully.

  “No,” the detective replied, reaching into his coat and pulling out a thick envelope. He laid in on the table for a moment, before opening it and pulling out a few bundles of paper—copies of old newspaper articles and original clippings by the looks of it. On the surface of the table he carefully laid out five obituaries. “Do you recognize any of these women?”

  Inga bent forward and inspected the images. She understood now, this was a line up and she was meant to finger the perpetrator. She pointed at one. “This looks just like the Jane Doe from the morgue.”

  Detective Turan nodded and sat back in his chair, looking discretely thoughtful. “You see, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with this particular Jane Doe.” As if in response to the questioning gaze that Inga now fixed on him, he elaborated, “If you notice, the death date on the one you pointed out was 1938.”

  “1938, but how is that…But it’s obviously her, or…?” Inga was startled. She hadn’t expected this at all, particularly from someone as seemingly grounded as her mentor detective.

  “Exactly,” said the detective. “It’s her, or a relative that looks almost exactly like her, correct?”

  Inga nodded numbly, lost for words as she looked from the table to the detective. She took a gulp of scotch in an attempt to lull her pounding heart into a relative calm. Strangely, this new and horrible information didn’t deter her interest. She found the concept of a supernatural being almost more enticing somehow, and yet…how could it be?

  “So you mean that you think that our Jane Doe is killing people?”

  Detective Turan nodded. “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  “But no one’s seen her—I mean there’s nothing on the cameras?” she reasoned, wondering if she sounded a little too desperate to disprove his theory.

  “Well if you go by traditional lore, she would
n’t show up on cameras—mirrors and all that. As for the rest…Rumor has it seduction and vampirism go hand and hand. It would surprise me if someone had seen her, and just…conveniently omitted the information.”

  Inga felt a chill run down her spine, and a cold sweat came over her. Was he calling her out? Did he someone know what she had done? Panic swelled inside of her chest for an instant, and then subsided with another sip of scotch. “It’s possible, I guess?” she ventured, savoring the warmth of the drink. “It just seems so…”

  “…far-fetched. Yes, I’m aware,” Detective Turan responded, sounding someone impatient now. He had finished his drink. “Well anyway, I’m sorry to have dragged you out for all this…I just thought, as Professor Janson’s star pupil and all, you might be interested in the stranger side of the law.” He chuckled, a rough laugh that sounded more like a growl.

  “No, no, I should be thanking you,” Inga replied, forcing a tone of gratitude into her voice so that she would not betray the fact that her legs were shaking.

  “I’ll walk you home,” the detective replied. He rose to his feet and led the way from the bar. Inga scrambled to follow him, pulling on her coat as they stepped out into the night air. The fog had thickened with the deepening of night. It was colder now.

  They walked quickly and silently together through the winding streets to the door of Inga’s apartment. She paused for a moment facing the door, fumbling for her key before turning to say ‘goodnight’ to the detective. Without warning, he pushed her hard against the door, bruising her shoulders as he leant forward and kissed her forcefully on the mouth. One hand held her wrists, and another gripped her hip impossibly tightly. She felt fear wash over her. Shock rendered her completely frozen—she couldn’t struggle. She wasn’t attracted to the detective. She didn’t want him—he was old enough to be her father, and smelt of smoke and booze. And yet, as he kissed her, bit her lip, tore off her scarf and ravaged her neck, she felt her body respond. For the second time in her life, fear, pain, and pleasure crashed together and created a feeling of frenzied ecstasy within her. He forced her around, gripping her hair, pushing his hips against her ass, making sure she could feel how hard he was as he deftly undid the buttons of her jeans and slipped a cold hand inside. Inga let out a moan in spite of herself as the sensation sent her senses buzzing. And then as soon as he had started, he stopped.

  “I suspected that you might be this kind of girl,” he murmured in her ear as he withdrew. She turned, looking at him with a strange combination of lust and disgust. “You’re one in a million,” he said, watching her attempts at regaining her composure with mild amusement. “A lot of people get off on pain. But fear…” he trailed off, smiling a wicked smile, “You’ll want to watch out for yourself…From what I hear, that’s just the kind of mate a vampire likes to make.” And he was gone, walking up the street, his gruff laughter echoing in the silence that remained.

  Inga struggled through her apartment door and bolted upstairs to her bed, where she collapsed in the dark, her heart pounding and her body hot with an intoxicating mixture of desire and fear. She could barely believe what had happened. The detective, who seemed to be in complete control, had lost it, or so it seemed. As Inga lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, her body cooled, and she reflected that though the passion of the moment had made her wanting, it was nothing compared to the effect that the mystery woman, or…vampire had had on her. And as she thought, another idea came to mind. What if Detective Turan had been testing her? Seeing if she was the kind of woman who might fall prey to the ministrations of a vicious killer? It was possible. It seemed as though he already knew so much. And yet even as she contemplated the possibilities, Inga simply couldn’t imagine herself coming clean to the detective. Even though he seemed to believe in the fantastical as much as she did now, there was a small feeling in the core of Inga’s chest that made her want to protect the mystery woman. Protect the mystery woman and sacrifice her career. It was crazy.

  Without knowing why, Inga rose from her bed and walked to the window. She parted the curtains and looked down to the street. The fog had grown impossibly thick now. The street lights diffused through the thick air, filling her vision with a mysterious golden haze. Inga squinted, and she knew in that moment that she wasn’t alone.

  A soft whisper caressed her ear and she started. ‘Inga…’ breathed the voice. There was no one beside her, but she could see now, emerging out of the fog, the figure of the woman for whom she had ached for weeks. ‘Come outside, darling…’ the whisper breathed again.

  Inga obeyed, walking as if in a trance, leaving the doors to her apartment open. When she reached the street, the woman was no longer there. A strange sense of loss seized her as she looked around.

  ‘Here…’ came the voice again. And Inga saw her, standing at the end of the street, her figure blurred by the nighttime mist. ‘Follow me…’

  Inga did as she was told, following the shadowy form of her obsession from a distance, barely conscious of where they were going. They walked for about 20 minutes, climbing a small hill and then she stopped. They were on cemetery hill. The city lights below glinted through the mist that enshrouded them. It was colder now. Inga felt the soft touch of the first snow on her cheek.

  “What do you want from me?” she called out to the woman.

  ‘I want you to join me,’ she replied, suddenly very close to Inga. She was smiling a cold, fanged smile, her black eyes unmoving as they held Inga’s gaze. Inga shivered, feeling crimson creep into her cheeks as she looked back into those dark eyes. They were like bottomless pools, perfectly still but for the elegant slither of a snake across the surface. ‘I can show you wonderful things, Inga…’

  “But I don’t even know your name,” she managed, her heart pounding in her throat.

  ‘Helena.’

  Inga swallowed. She wanted to resist, but it was if she were in the grip of some kind of insanity. She craved this woman, this creature. She wanted to follow her to the ends of the earth. When Helena reached out a hand and caressed her cheek, she leaned into it, savoring the coolness of her palm. “Helena...” she whispered, “I want to come with you, but how…?” How could she leave behind the dream that she had pursued for so long in favor of this wild unknown?

  ‘It’s easy,’ the woman replied, stroking her cheek gently, and leaning forward to kiss her neck tenderly.

  Inga let out a small moan and gripped Helena’s upper arm. Her mind wanted to resume her normal life as a student and a forensics expert to be, but her body and soul craved something more.

  “LET HER GO.” A rough voice rang loudly across the cemetery. Helena loosened her embrace, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she turned.

  ‘Why Detective Turan, what a pleasure it is,” she cooed, letting out a cold laugh.

  Inga turned to look at the detective, still clinging to Helena’s arm. So it had been a trap after all.

  ‘I always knew you were a voyeur.’

  “No, stop! Let her go!” the detective shouted again.

  Helena ignored him, pulling Inga close, pushing back her hair and sinking her fangs into the other woman’s sweet neck. She drank deeply, her eyes fixed on the man who stood watching, helpless. Inga moaned and writhed, blind with pleasure and pain. She could feel her life force being pulled away as she slumped against Helena, submitting completely to her thirst.

  When Inga awoke, she was lying in the cemetery. Snow was falling all around her, blanketing the ground. She scanned the landscape, adjusting to consciousness. The detective was gone. An incredible sensation flowed through her—an intense sense of power and boundless possibilities. She noticed that she didn’t feel cold anymore. She felt a wonderful warmth. As she awoke to the present, she found Helena lying next to her, looking over her with watchful eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she smiled, and slipped her hand into Inga’s hand, squeezing it as she arose, pulling the other woman behind her. She wrapped her close in her pale arms. “All this…”
she gestured to the landscape, now perfect white and sparkling quietly, “This whole world is ours.”

  Inga, overwhelmed with excitement, stood on her toes and pressed her lips to Helena’s. They kissed passionately for all the world to see on cemetery hill, as the snow fell all around them.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 29 of 40

  Mated to the Vampires

  Allison

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this Ali, you really don’t have to move,” my best friend Rylen pouted and gave me her big blue puppy eyes. I sighed and then went over to give her a big hug.

  “It’s time for a change, it’s something I have to do,” I said and she squeezed me tight before eventually letting go.

  “Alright…I’m coming to visit once you’re settled in okay?” she gave me a pointed look and I laughed.

  “Yes, I want you to come visit. Don’t worry, as soon as I get the guest room set up we’re getting you a ticket,” I told her and she nodded with a heavy sigh.

  “Okay…face time me every day and don’t forget to give Maddy a call too from time to time. He’ll miss you,” Maddy was Rylen’s brother and we had all been friends for a long time. Though Maddy and I had grown apart some when he moved out of the city for work.

  “I’ll keep in touch with everyone, don’t worry Ry. Now I really have to go before I miss my flight,” I told her and she sighed again.

  “Okay… Call me when you land,” she said after hugging me once more. I grabbed the handle of my carry on and then finally took my first steps towards a new life. I was moving to Old Town, Maine from Jersey City. Yeah it was a big change, but I wanted the change, I felt as if my sanity counted on it. Once I was settled on the plane I got comfortable in my seat and pretty much zoned everything out until the beautiful landscape of Maine was below me. I felt like a little kid with my nose pressed against the window.