by Sloan Archer
She glanced up at the porch light and frowned. The damn bulb was out. Something was always breaking in their apartment. First it was the dishwasher, then the screen over her bedroom window had fallen apart just last week; it looked like it had been clawed to shreds by a feral cat. Perhaps if they hadn’t used such cheap materials when they built the place…
She cussed, dropping her key ring. It took her a minute to find it within the dimness of the porch. Luckily, her neighbor’s living room lamp was on, which gave her the tiniest bit of light to find the thing.
Poor Carl. She wondered if he ever got sick of always having to wait around for people.
After a few attempts, she eventually got the key to make contact with the lock. She opened the door, and turned back to wave at Carl. He waved in return and pulled away from the apartment.
Liz stepped into the blackness and closed the door behind her, running her hand along the wall to locate the light switch. She found it and flipped it up, scowling when the room remained dark.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, contemplating the possibility of a power outage. But then she remembered the bright lamp next door.
Something stirred within the darkness.
She blinked, her eyes straining to adjust.
Another movement.
Liz held her breath. She stepped back near the door as quietly as she could, her hand patting along the wall as she desperately tried to locate the handle.
A solid force slammed her from the side, causing her spine to make small popping noises as she pitched through the air. Her head hit the hardwood floor with a jolt, momentarily knocking her senseless.
The force had paralleled being hit by a car- at least that was how she imagined it would feel. But that was illogical; she was indoors. She rubbed her scalp, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Something hard wrapped around her neck and hauled her to her feet- a crowbar maybe? No, it was an arm. And arm stronger and more solid than any she’d ever felt.
She threw her head back and thrashed her legs.
You’ve got to fight Liz, she mutely commanded. You’ve got to fight to the death!
But her neck began to burn so much and she was so very sleepy all of a sudden. Her attacker had thrown acid on her... Or had she been stabbed?
The grip around her neck tightened, and she did the only thing that she could think to do before she lost consciousness completely: bite.
She sunk her teeth into the arm of her unseen attacker, clenching her jaw down as hard as her teeth would allow. Her mouth filled up with blood and she gagged. But, still, she did not let go, not even as the revolting coppery liquid flowed down her throat.
The grip on her neck loosened, and she was able to distance herself far enough away to snap her elbow back, making contact with the assailant’s face. The intruder stumbled, providing her with enough time to run out the front door.
She tripped on the way out, flinging an arm against the door to regain control of her unsteady limbs. Her mouth fell open in horror; her hand had left behind a bloody stripe. She touched her neck, feeling a sticky wetness beneath her fingers.
She staggered forward, making it as far as the edge of the porch before dizzily falling to her knees. It was too late. She’d lost so much blood.
She flopped forward, her face splashing down into a murky puddle of mud.
Elizabeth Lori Miller exhaled her final breath; her heart pumped its final beat.
The killer fled from the apartment, pausing to kick Mercy’s wretched human body over to savor the sight of her disgusting dead face.
No! It couldn’t be.
Who was this?
It was the wrong girl!
There was not much to do now other than run.
Mercy would have to die another night...
EIGHTEEN
Jerry, the vampire I’d chaperoned, and I were sharing a laugh in the car on the way home.
I’d just informed him that I’d had more fun on our “date” than I’d ever had with any other man in my life- excluding Robert, that is- despite the fact that it had been spent with a gay man who’d been dead for over a hundred and fifty years.
He was tickled.
Jerry and I had kicked off our evening by going to an art gallery exhibit near Embarcadero. He was showing a few of his pieces alongside other vampire artists, although he was a civil rights lawyer by profession. (And clearly quite a good one. His going rate was five hundred dollars an hour.)
His paintings, which were inspired by his childhood in Africa, and then his later years as a plantation slave, depicted all sorts of macabre imagery focusing on the deconstruction of the human spirit. His work was spectacular; too gory (and expensive) to be anything I’d choose to hang in my own home, but spectacular nonetheless. He sold every single piece that he had on display before the show was even halfway over.
As it turned out, Jerry was also popular within the human art community. He’d been an acquaintance of many well-known modern artists of his day. Much to my enjoyment, he spent a great deal of the evening sharing stories about them, tirelessly and graciously answering every single one of my ten million questions about his experiences.
Hands down, my favorite recollection of Jerry’s was about a struggling New York City artist that he’d known in the 1930’s. This human painter friend of his had experienced his first major artistic breakthrough after watching Jerry devour a mugger who’d attempted to rob the two of them at knifepoint in an alley.
Instead of running away in fright after he’d realized what Jerry was, the artist remained motionless in the alley, captivated by the blood spatters on the ground. Moved by the handiwork of his vampire muse, the artist began employing a splatter technique which later made him one of the most famous painters in the world. When interviewed, this volatile artiste would provide vague answers when asked about where he received his creative visions. In private, however, he referred to Jerry as his “bloodsucking liberator.”
After the art show, Jerry and I had gone to a swanky vampire bar called Crimson. The bar served fancy blood cocktails in fine crystal glasses that looked so stylish that I almost felt tempted to try one. I took my drink “virgin” of course, ordering a conservative gin and tonic.
Crimson was underground in both a literal and figurative sense. Although one would never guess as much based solely on the lavish décor, the bar was located several dozen feet below the city in a massive tunnel that was once utilized for bootlegging during prohibition.
After we’d received our drinks, Jerry, noticing my concerned expression, sweetly assured me that no vampires were going to harm me. I snorted, curtly informing him that I was more concerned about being crushed to death in an earthquake. It was San Francisco after all. He’d laughed heartily, asserting that I was the most “unorthodox” human he’d ever met.
I still missed Robert horribly, but Jerry had provided the perfect distraction I needed to help soothe my broken heart.
Back in the car, Jerry patted my thigh with his gigantic hand. We’d just entered my neighborhood, which meant that our time together would soon be over.
“Just so you know, I had fun with you, too, sweetie,” he said.
“I’ll be sad to leave you,” I smiled. “I don’t want the night end.”
“Okay, then,” he said, baring his fangs, “I’m just going to bite you right on the neck and we can stay together forever.” Seconds later, he let out an eardrum-shattering cackle. “Oh my God! I’m joking around! Girl, you should have just seen your face.”
Snickering, I punched him lightly in the arm to show that I was a good sport.
“Ouch,” he griped, theatrically rubbing his arm where I’d decked him. He, a two hundred pound vampire who was built like an ox, was unscathed by my pitiful attempt to cause him pain.
He looked away from the windshield and flashed me a grin. “Can you imagine the two of us drama queens living together for all of eternity? Sorry, but I’ve only got room fo
r one queen in my life, and it’s me.”
To my relief, he finally looked away from me and concentrated on his driving. It was making me nervous, the way he kept taking his eyes off of the road. It was pouring outside. The raindrops spilled down from the sky with such force that it sounded like giants were banging their fists against the roof of the car.
“It’s okay, because I’ve always considered myself more of a princess,” I teased. “So, really, you’d be more like my wicked stepmother.”
“Oh my word,” Jerry gasped. The smile vanished from his face.
“What’s the…” I trailed off.
We approached a motorcade of police cars and fire trucks that lined the perimeter of my apartment complex. There was an ambulance pulled up on the lawn.
“I sure hope that somebody hasn’t been hurt,” he cried.
I sat up straight, clutching his arm in fright. I saw it, then, the thin line of bright yellow police tape that blocked the doorway to my apartment. There was a grisly red smear on the door, slightly marred by the rain.
“Oh my God! Liz!”
I launched out of the car before it stopped moving. Jerry slammed on the breaks, bewildered. I reached the police blockade about twenty feet out from the apartment. I lifted the yellow tape over my head and charged forward.
“Hey! Stop!” A few uniformed police officers screamed at me, but I ignored them.
One of the officers stepped in front of me. “I SAID STOP!”
“That’s MY apartment!” I screamed back. “Have you seen my roommate?”
“Are you Mercy Montgomery?” he asked. The officer’s expression instantly changed from anger to pity. He took a step forward, angling his black umbrella so I was shielded from the downpour.
“Oh my God! Did something happen to Liz?” It felt like I’d been kicked hard in the stomach. “Why aren’t you… Please… Just answer me!” I was hyperventilating, unable to get the words out.
“I’m sorry. There’s been a murder,” he said quietly.
I peered into his face. “Liz?” I sobbed.
The officer nodded. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
I stumbled dizzily. The officer grabbed my arms smoothly and led me to a covered picnic area in the courtyard.
David was there, too. His hands were stained red, and he had dried blood under his fingernails and clumped in his hair. His clothes were red, too, expect for the patch of white down the front of his shirt that had been created by his vomit.
He glanced over at me with dead, bloodshot eyes. He was crying. He raised both hands and waved at me weakly, and I realized that he was handcuffed. Even with all the blood he had on him, I knew that he wasn’t guilty of anything. He would never hurt Liz, not in a million years.
I collapsed on a bench and the officer took a seat next to me.
“What happened?” I asked dazedly. “Did somebody break into the apartment?”
“Not that we know of. We got a call from that young man over there” -he pointed at David- “stating that he’d found his girlfriend just outside your door. He claims that somebody had smashed the bulb on your porch light, that she was dead when he found her. He tried to resuscitate her anyway.”
I wiped at my tears with the back of my hand. Poor Liz. And poor David for discovering her that way. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been the first one on the scene.
The officer handed me a balled up wad of tissue. “Sorry. It’s been in my pocket,” he apologized. “But it’s clean.”
I dabbed at my eyes and blew my nose. “Why is he- David- handcuffed?”
“We can’t rule out all the possibilities. He was covered in her blood, and domestic violence is a common thing for men his age, unfortunately.”
I cringed at the word violence. I just couldn’t believe that anyone would- could- do any sort of harm to Liz.
“H-how did she die?” I cried. “Did she suffer?”
“I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you. Is this really information you want to know?”
I looked up and met his eyes. The compassion contained within them intensified my despair. He was a trained law professional who observed the aftermath of grisly crimes day in and day out. If he felt sorry for me, then whatever happened to Liz must have been pretty bad.
“Please, tell me,” I murmured.
He looked around to ensure that there was nobody listening. “If you want my honest opinion, I don’t really believe that David is guilty. Your roommate’s throat had been ripped open. I’m sorry, should I stop?”
“No. I want to know what happened to her.”
“Okay. Well, Liz’s injury wasn’t typical, like the ones I usually see in the city. I was a park ranger back before I joined the force, and I treated a lot of unlucky people who encountered bears on their hikes. From what I’ve seen, Liz’s injury is more indicative of an animal attack. It had to be something with sharp teeth, like a mountain lion.”
I sat up with a start. Sharp teeth.
I had been the target of the attack, not Liz. It hadn’t been Mathew following me the whole time.
It was a vampire.
I couldn’t contain my shudder. “This is just so much to take in,” I said quickly. “I just… can’t believe it. Are animal attacks common this close to the city?”
“No, not usually. Your property is adjacent to the trail, but there are no mountain lions out there that anyone is aware of.” He took a deep breath. “I hate to ask you this at such a horrible time, but could you tell me your whereabouts for last night?”
Shit. He knew that I was hiding something.
“She was with me the entire night, officer,” Jerry said as he came striding up.
“And who are you?” the officer asked.
“I’m her friend,” he said haughtily. “But I’m also her lawyer, Jerome Bellamy,” he added, producing a card from his pocket. His flamboyant accent was gone and had been replaced by a no-nonsense courtroom tenor.
The officer took the card and glanced at it briefly. He handed it back to Jerry. “You can keep your card, Mr. Bellamy. Mercy isn’t a suspect, but it is my job to ask her.”
The group of policemen surrounding David waved to the officer. He excused himself and left us.
I shot Jerry a meaningful look, hoping to convey to him that Liz had been murdered by a vampire, which he had no possible way of comprehending based on my crazy bug eyes.
He was sporting a thick mask of foundation that he didn’t have on during our outing, probably an attempt to appear more human. He looked human alright, if he was going for an overdone streetwalker effect.
He noticed me scrutinizing his face. “What? Do you know how difficult it is to find foundation for black vampire skin? It was the best that I could do in the car,” he whispered.
I numbly dabbed at my tears, smiling crazily in spite of myself. “Thank you for being here with me,” I said.
“Sweetie, you’re going to catch a cold out here.” He removed his thick wool trench coat and threw it over my shoulders. I attempted to protest out of politeness, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“Thanks,” I said unfeelingly.
“You need the jacket more than me. It’s not like I can catch a cold or anything.” The Jerry from earlier had returned, complete with his lovable Southern inflection. “Listen, are you okay? Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thank you. You’ve already been a big help. I’m so sorry that our evening had to end this way.”
“Oh my, Mercy, not at all! I’m just so sorry about your friend.”
He discreetly looked at his watch and then up at the sky. I understood immediately.
“You’d better go. It will be daylight soon. Honestly, I’m fine.”
He hugged me tightly, rubbing my back. “I’m awfully sorry that I have to leave, but if the sun rises, this flamer will go up in flames.”
We said our goodbyes, and as nice as he was, he left his jacket with me, along with his business card. If the p
olice had any more questions, then they could just call Jerome Bellamy, Attorney at Law, he’d said. Free of charge, of course.
After Jerry departed, I turned my attention back to the group of police officers. I tilted my ear in their direction nosily, listening in on what they were discussing. They were engrossed in a dialogue with a man wearing a white jacket with CORONER printed across the back.
From what I gathered, Liz had been dead since around midnight, which validated the alibi David had given them. One of the neighbors might have found her sooner, but nobody had seen her because of the smashed-out light. I clenched my fists in rage; the killer had left Liz on the front porch to perish in the rain overnight like she was nothing more than a heap of garbage.
A few moments later, an officer unlocked David’s handcuffs. He rushed over and threw his arms around me. He was shaking violently, just as I was.
His cold lips brushed against my ear. “I’m going to find the bastard who did this, Mercy,” he whispered. “And when I do, I’m going to rip his fucking heart out.”
“The police will find him, David,” I reassured, but I wasn’t so sure. Unless they were on the lookout for a vampire, they’d be searching in the wrong place.
The apartment was cleared for entry a little after dawn. The painful and sickening souvenir from Liz’s murder had been left on the door. I ran my fingers over the smear, feeling the dried, cracked blood: the last mark Liz would ever leave on the world.
Before the police left, one of them had awkwardly handed me a flyer for a service that specialized in crime scene clean up. I’d have to remember to give them a call later.
I took one step into the apartment and stopped. I couldn’t be there, not alone, and not with Liz never coming back. I stepped back out through the entryway, grabbing my cell phone off the table by the door. Without a second thought, I punched in Robert’s number.
The line rang several times. “Mercy. I was just thinking of you. I-”
“Liz has been murdered!” The words came tumbling out. “Somebody came to my apartment and killed her last night on our doorstep. Her throat was ripped wide open and I think it was a vampire who did it. A vampire, Robert! I’m sorry for bothering you, but I didn’t know who else to call. There’s blood all over my door and I can’t believe that she’s dead. How could anyone do this to Liz?” I babbled. “How can she be gone?”
