Cursed fs-1

by S. J. Harper

  “You can come in now.”

  Alan doesn’t even wait for introductions. He begins in a barely comprehensible rush. “It’s not her fault. She’s been given no choice. She made a mistake, yes. But now she’s having to pay and pay and pay. That horrible man. Killing all of those people. Making her . . . all for what? Money. She was going crazy. She had to find a better way. And now . . .”

  Zack holds up his hand. “Slow down. Let’s start with who’s been killed.”

  “Charlotte Barakov, for one. That’s where it started. When Mother hired Davis Mager to get rid of her. It was crazy and stupid, not to mention wrong.” He shakes his head. “But what that man has forced her to do since . . .”

  Zack takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “So your mother hired Mager to kill the first Mrs. Barakov, then what? He blackmailed her?”

  Alan nods. “Yes. About a year after Mager got rid of Charlotte, he contacted Mother. His daughter was in need of a heart transplant. Only he didn’t want to wait for a voluntary donor. He blackmailed Mother into helping him identify the right person, then into doing the surgery. Naively, she thought that would be the end of it. But it got her in deeper. Gave Mager the idea that they could harvest organs and sell them on the black market. He had connections. At first they targeted the homeless.” He stops abruptly, his eyes darting between Zack and me.

  “And?” Zack encourages him to continue with a wave of his hand.

  But Alan’s eyes have settled on me. “You didn’t flinch when I mentioned Isabella was a vampire.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “No, I didn’t. You said at first they targeted the homeless. Are you telling us at some point Mager and your mother shifted their focus to vampires?”

  He nods. “She said she couldn’t live with what she was doing. But she couldn’t get out of it, either. She was getting in deeper and deeper. Then the idea came to her. She knew about Alexander’s experimentation, about his technique. She convinced Mager to invest, to allow her to explore the possibility of using vampires instead of humans. They’re already dead. And their organs regenerate.”

  “Your mother and Mager are kidnapping vampires, then harvesting and selling vampire organs?” asks Zack.

  “Apparently vampires are universal donors. Mother discovered a vampire organ can be transplanted into a human with no danger of rejection. Mager’s doing the kidnapping.” Alan’s face turns red. “Although it seems Mother has looked through Alexander’s patients’ records from time to time to find ‘prospects.’ Her word, not mine.”

  I sit again, trying to absorb what he’s telling me. “And then your mother operates on these prospects against their will?”

  Even stares down at the desktop in front of him. “Healthy new organs save lives.” It’s repeated like a lesson he’s been forced to memorize.

  “Lives like Michael Dexter’s?” I shake my head. “Alan, your mother has Isabella, Amy, and Evan, doesn’t she?”

  He meets my gaze head-on. “I don’t know about Amy and Evan, I swear. Only Isabella.”

  My skin is crawling. The realization of what Barbara Pierce is doing is making my stomach churn. So barbaric and so unnecessary.

  “Where is she keeping them?” asks Zack. “And how is she containing them? No human can simply take a vampire if he or she doesn’t want to be taken.”

  “Silver. That’s where Alexander’s research came in handy. The way I understand it, Mager uses tranquilizer darts containing silver to capture the vampires. Then Mother stores the shells in containers where they’re given silver-laced anesthesia to keep them sedated and trapped.”

  “The shells?”

  Alan swallows. “That’s what she calls them. They don’t have souls, you know. They aren’t human. The shells are like . . . like incubators.”

  “For organs,” Zack adds. “She’s built a goddamned organ factory using vampires. Have you known where Isabella was this entire time?”

  “Have you?” I repeat.

  He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t even know about Michael’s illness until after she went missing. We dated for several months and he didn’t breathe a word of it. After Isabella’s disappearance, he went downhill fast. There was an emergency hospitalization. Isabella was his primary contact. With her gone and no family, he had the hospital call me. I went to my mother right away, of course. Michael needs a liver transplant.”

  Alan climbs to his feet and walks over to the window.

  “And your mother offered this neat and tidy solution?” Zack asks, his voiced laced with disdain.

  Alan turns to face us. “I had to do something! Michael had exhausted all normal channels. He’s on a waiting list, but he’s failing so fast. I told him that there might be another way—that we had money and could look for alternatives. There are always favors to be had if one is willing to pay the price. Michael wouldn’t hear of it. He said he wouldn’t buy his way to the top of the list at the expense of other deserving patients. He’s ready to die.”

  “Only, you aren’t ready to let him go,” I say.

  Alan glances at the clock on the wall above the coffeemaker. “Michael’s was supposed to be the last life Isabella saved. According to Mother, she’s at the end of her period of . . . usefulness. After a while, the levels of silver necessary to control them turns the organs, spoils them.”

  Zack’s on his feet. “How much time do we have?”

  “The operation is supposed to take place this afternoon. Maybe an hour,” answers Alan.

  Zack fires off a series of questions, short and direct.

  “Are there other vampires being held hostage?”

  Alan nods. “I don’t know how many.”

  “Is there a security system?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know the code?”

  “No.”

  “Are there guards?”

  “Yes. One. Mostly just to sign visitors in and out. And to provide security after hours and during the weekends.”

  “Anything else we should know?”

  Zack walks over to a refurbished cast-iron radiator next to the window and gives it a good yank.

  Alan hesitates.

  Zack turns his attention back on him. “Well?”

  “There’s a door,” Alan continues. “It’s hidden behind a bookcase in Mother’s office. It’s the way into the laboratory.”

  “Address?”

  Pierce’s lab is not far from Barakov’s office. We should be able to get there in ten, fifteen minutes tops.

  Zack reaches back, under his suit, with one hand for his handcuffs. With his other hand he grabs Alan’s wrist. “We’ll come back for you.” After cuffing him to the radiator, Zack turns to me. “No way he can move that thing. I’ll drive ahead and scope out the building. Call me when you get there.”

  Alan sinks to the floor. “Michael’s going to die. And I’m going to jail, aren’t I?”

  He’s come clean. The least I can do is give him the truth. But what exactly is the truth? Nothing he said to us could be used in court. And even if it could, what kind of story are we talking about? A doctor using vampire organs in transplants? Who would believe it? Once the word got around the vampire community, though, I’m afraid he’d have more to fear from them than any human court.

  I heave a sigh. “I don’t know, Alan. Depends entirely on your mother. If she’s willing to take responsibility for the murder of Barakov’s first wife and the homeless victims, you may get a break. But I think if I were you, I’d worry more about retribution from the vampires. They don’t play by the same rules we do.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Since it’s early Saturday morning, it only takes me fifteen minutes to get across town. During the drive, my thoughts are as frenetic as they are fractured. This case has turned into a nightmare with ramifications that can literally shake the worlds of both humans and supernaturals. I was serious when I told Alan he may have more to fear from the vampires than any human court. And what about this Davis Mager? Wi
ll Barbara Pierce give him up? It may be her only way to win favor with the district attorney and, possibly, immunization for her son.

  The address Alan gave us for his mother’s office comes into view. It’s a fairly new three-story luxury medical building built around a courtyard. I pull into the parking lot next to Zack’s car and climb out.

  Unlike in her husband’s office, there is a large air-conditioning unit perched on the flat roof and signs announcing that Crown Security monitors the premises. The area around the building and adjacent parking lot is landscaped with cascading bougainvillea and large ferns, giving the appearance of a well-kept residential yard. There’s a sign on the front listing Dr. Barbara Pierce’s name among the other medical tenants and a telephone number to reach the security desk outside of regular business hours, including the weekend. The security gate, which leads to a courtyard, is closed and locked.

  Still no Zack in sight. Before I have the chance to pull my cell from my pocket to call him, Zack appears and opens the gate from the inside.

  “How’d you get in?”

  “A little trick I picked up from my previous job.” He pulls the gate closed behind me.

  “Have any tricks up your sleeve to get us past that?” I point up ahead to the building’s main entrance. A security camera hovers over the door, no doubt monitored by the guard inside.

  Zack scoffs. “Amateurs. The security is unbelievably sloppy. I’ve already found an alternative route. Come this way.”

  The courtyard has a fountain in the middle. He leads me behind it and around to a side yard. Separating the side yard from the front is a six-foot stucco wall with a locked gate. Zack easily scales the wall and seconds later the gate swings open for me.

  “No camera,” he says, pointing to the door up ahead. “And just an old-fashioned dead bolt.” The door is partially hidden by a screen of thick bushes. As we walk toward it, Zack pulls out a ballpoint pen and begins to unscrew the top. The casing is hollow and contains a variety of picks and tension tools.

  I have a very bad feeling nothing we do today is going to be reportable to our superiors. This may be the first time I’ve partnered with someone who has Zack’s “special” skills, but there are three missing vampires, people as far as the world knows, and I shake off my reservations. Human or not, the victims get my sympathies.

  Zack gets right to work. “Never met a lock I couldn’t pick.”

  “Get a lot of practice, do you?”

  “You should see my collection of chains and handcuffs.”

  “Kinky.”

  Within seconds, there’s a metallic click and he’s cracked it.

  We slip inside.

  This side entrance takes us to the private elevator that goes directly to Dr. Pierce’s suite.

  “Now what?” I whisper. This door requires a key card of some kind.

  He pulls something from his wallet, swipes it, and voilà—green light.

  “Do I even want to know where you got that thing?”

  “Probably not,” he mutters, pocketing the card, then drawing his weapon.

  Zack takes point. Since he’s the one with super-duper healing and I’m practical, I let him.

  The waiting and reception areas are empty. We quickly move into position by the entrance to the back office. Gun in hand, I pull the door open. Zack leads the way. We proceed cautiously down the hall of exam rooms. At the end, a door stands ajar. According to the placard, it’s what we’ve been looking for, the office of Dr. Barbara Pierce. And it’s empty. Once we’re inside, the real chore lies ahead of us. Finding the hidden entrance to the lab.

  There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases on all four walls.

  “I should have asked Alan which bookcase,” I whisper.

  “No need,” Zack answers, in a hushed tone. He crosses to the first bookcase, leans close. He straightens and moves to the second. Then the third. He gives me a thumbs-up. “This one.” Before I can ask how he determined it, he adds, “I hear the whine from a generator. It’s strongest here. Labs need power. A secret lab with its own operating suite needs its own power source.”

  “You are so clever.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Any idea where the catch or lock is that will open this puppy?”

  I’ve already holstered my gun. With both hands free, I begin to explore the bookcase, passing my hand under and over each shelf. Nothing. I reach behind the case as far as I can. Still nothing. On either side. I turn and look at Pierce’s desk. I remember Alan had the release for the front door of his office somewhere under the top of his desk.

  I take a seat in Pierce’s chair and let my hands explore. No catch. I open the file drawers to the left and right, shuffle papers around so I can see the entire insides of the drawers. My impatience is growing along with my fear that if this takes any longer, we’re going to lose Isabella.

  I sit back in the chair, sighing with frustration. The top of Pierce’s desk holds a blotter, a potted plant, a metal divider tray, a pen set.

  An elaborate pen set.

  I look up at Zack. “Couldn’t be . . .”

  He shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

  He reaches over my shoulder and his fingers tighten around the first pen in the rack. It lifts free. Then he tries the second. This one doesn’t. He tugs at it and it levers down.

  At the same time, there’s a gentle sliding sound. I spring from the chair to watch the bookcase swing forward on a well-oiled track.

  Zack and I move through the door, Glocks in hand.

  We find ourselves in what looks like a small laboratory. A long table holds an autoclave, a microscope, and a desktop computer, as well as racks of test tubes and blood samples. There are other machines I don’t recognize on a second table. The shelves above them are filled with supplies, including towels, sheets, and a stack of fresh scrubs. To my right are two closed doors. Directly across from us is a window. Through it, we have a clear view of the operating suite. On the other side of the glass are six coffins on stainless steel biers. Zack and I exchange glances. Pierce keeps the vampires in coffins? A macabre joke? Each casket has a large tank at the end of it. A coil of plastic tubing connecting them. I surmise that’s how the silver anesthesia Alan mentioned is administered. One coffin is open, but from this vantage point we can’t see inside. A woman dressed in scrubs stands in front of it, blocking our view. Her back is to us, but I know it’s Pierce. I recognize the upswept blond hair from last night.

  We move in tandem to the adjacent door. Zack stands to the right, I, to the left. With a sweeping motion, he cracks the door open. The sound of a Rogers and Hammerstein tune spills out. Pierce is cheerfully humming along. The door opens as soundlessly as the bookcase. Pierce doesn’t hear us enter, doesn’t even look up as we move behind her.

  She’s standing over a coffin, a syringe in her hand. The lid and sides of the coffin appear to be lined with silver. There’s a blanket that looks to be of spun silver pushed to the end and partially draped over the side. The coil of plastic tubing hangs disconnected from its tank at the end. From over Pierce’s shoulder, I can see inside.

  Isabella. It’s horrifying to get my first glimpse of what has become of her. The wispy woman with the radiant smile I’ve been searching for is stretched out, nude, her body withering away. Her long brown hair looks like straw. Her lips are drained of color and peeling, her skin pale and pruned. Across her abdomen is a series of ghastly-looking scars that have yet to completely heal. She’s moaning softly, her eyes closed.

  Pierce reaches inside the coffin and lifts Isabella’s arm. “This will put you to sleep for the final time. In a moment, it will all be over.”

  Just as she touches the syringe to Isabella’s arm, I step forward, chambering a round. Zack has moved to my left, his gun trained, too, on Pierce.

  “Drop the syringe,” I order, struggling to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Or don’t. I would love an excuse to shoot you.”

  I expect her to whirl around, be startled, yell.

/>   She does none of those things.

  To my great disappointment, Pierce obeys. The hand with the syringe drops to her side. “You don’t understand,” she says, still not moving, not turning around to see who has invaded her private lab. “If you did—”

  “Oh, but I do understand. Better than you imagine. We’ve just come from your son’s office.”

  “Alan? Is he all right?” She’s staring into the coffin.

  “He told us everything. Now, I want you to step away from the coffin and turn around, slowly.”

  “I need to give Isabella a shot,” she says, remaining motionless. “She is recovering from a powerful sedative. If she is allowed to become fully conscious—”

  She doesn’t get the chance to complete the sentence.

  Isabella’s hand flies up from the coffin and fastens on Pierce’s throat.

  “Isabella, no!” I shout.

  Zack moves to intervene.

  We’re both too late.

  With one strong flick of her wrist, she’s pulled Pierce into the coffin. The doctor flails, trying to break away, but the promise of sustenance seems to breathe life into Isabella. She sits up, pulling Pierce to her chest. She fastens her jaws on the doctor’s neck and begins to drink.

  I hate what Pierce has turned Isabella into, but there are strict laws in the vampire community about when and how a vampire feeds. And killing a well-known doctor and draining her blood might put Isabella in just as much danger from her own kind as she was from Pierce.

  Zack grabs hold of Isabella’s hair in an effort to pull her free from Pierce’s body.

  Isabella easily throws him off, jaws snapping at Zack’s throat.

  “Find blood,” he shouts. “There’s got to be some around here.”

  I’m already headed for the door across the way. When I push it open, there’s only one bed inside. It’s an operating suite, complete with monitors and an oxygen supply. The table is empty. My heart is pounding as I run for the second door. It also leads to a patient room. Again with one bed. This time occupied. Dexter is still and pale under the blanket tucked around him. Intravenous tubes in his arms connect to two overhead infusion bags—one containing blood, the other a clear liquid that I assume is keeping Dexter hydrated—and sedated. In this room, there is a refrigerator. When I open it, I find the blood bags. I grab several and race back to Zack.