The Blood Born Tales (Book 2): Blood Dream

by T. C. Elofson

  “What the hell, dude?” Kenny said, still gasping a little.

  “It’s a three-way fuel pipe,” I told him in amazement. I absolutely didn’t know what to say.

  “Yeah, man, I can see that. But what the hell was it doing inside my throat?”

  “Kenny… this may be the first real evidence we have.”

  “What do you mean by ‘evidence’?”

  “Well, the ghost may actually be trying to tell us where he is, and he’s using you to do it.”

  “So I’m fucking throwing up evidence now? Fuck that shit, man!”

  “This could be good for us,” I said in a reassuring tone.

  “Why me? Why not the others?”

  “Well, we don’t know that he didn’t do it to them as well. This may be his way of calling for help.”

  “Calling for help? I thought he was the one killing these people.”

  “Well, we don’t know that. He may be a victim. Just lost. Ghosts mostly are not bad. They’re misguided spirits that just need some direction.”

  “What? Are you a fuckin’ ghost medium now?”

  “I wish I was. I could help him, which in turn would help you. But one thing is for sure—we have to find him.”

  Chapter 25

  2:30 p.m., May 6

  The older agent had dark hair combed straight back from his brow so that whenever he looked down it fell in his eyes. He was constantly shoving it out of his way but did not seem aware of it. His face was aged and interestingly angular, with closely set eyes and a strong jaw and nose.

  Setting the hard case on the edge of his desk, User319 opened it and got out the plastic evidence bags that had been recovered from police evidence lockup. He studied a glass tube, slowly turning it end over end.

  “Hmmm…” the other agent said. “He really messed things up, didn’t he?”

  The man was inexperienced and eager to please, User319 thought. The young agent stood at the other end of the desk and looked a bit like David Duchovny from the X-files with his short but messy black hair and suspicious eyes. Agent Trent Void did not like this young agent; he was simply too naïve.

  User319 didn’t think the man was chastising him for assisting Agent Tango, just reminding him, and User319 felt angry with himself again. Usually he was so careful. But not always. He had made mistakes in the past and no one, especially him, would ever forget it. If anything, he was known for being cautious to the point of obsession.

  “I made a judgment call,” User319 said. “And I was wrong. Now another agent will die.”

  But the other man really didn’t know what he was referring to. This one had no idea what other agent User319 might have meant. He didn’t realize that User319 was referring to Agent Jack Mitchell.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It will all be over soon.”

  But User319 knew better than that. He had recruited Joe. He knew what Joe was capable of; otherwise those people that really ran this country never would have sent him in the first place.

  “Well, they had better make it quick. They’re shooting up half of Seattle in the process.”

  User319 gathered the bags of evidence, returned them to the case, and handed them back to the agent.

  “See to it that these never again see the light of day, Agent.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  User319 watched the man leave with the metal case under his arm. And his misgivings got worse. He did not know what the other members of his secret organization would do if things didn’t calm down in Seattle. A mistake like that could bring the whole house of cards tumbling down and they had all worked for so long to build it. They had been able to operate for so long under the nose of the U.S. government without anyone catching a whiff of their true intentions, and that’s the way it needed to stay. User319 knew that, but he could not, in good conscience, just let Joe die.

  Chapter 26

  2:45 p.m., May 6

  A mile south of Shilshole Bay in Seattle it was overcast and a wind blew in from the sea. A man, an ex-vampire of the family, walked the light, empty beach, headed to a destination. He carried a green coat and gloves, but didn’t wear them. Sweat was streaming down his white face. His eyes were darting around the beach, yellow under the bright light. His heart was thumping faster and faster in rapid, painful strikes. A voice in his mind pulled him closer and closer to the spot, the one spot where his heart would finally stop and then he would find peace at last. His long life through the ages of time would at last come to a final conclusion.

  He needed no marker to find his way. The illumination of his mind was more than enough on that day. Step after labored step, he drew closer and closer to his spot, his death spot. After all these years of wandering the world, after a thousand years of power and violence, he could not release the memories of his past. He remembered everything from his origins in Constantinople to his time in the last Crusades. Those were the glory days. He had been a powerful vampire, a demon of great standing, but now he was nothing. He had lost so much. What was he now? An ex-vampire or just a man? A man with no skills or abilities in this modern age. What place was there for someone like him? None. But to die, to die for the great demon, that he could do. He could die for something.

  He looked young, with dark eyes and very white teeth, and a tattoo on his neck that associated him with the Buddhist monks of Tibet. He looked simple in jeans and Timberland boots, and his greyish blue eyes were sad as he came to his spot. A grouping of seagulls had taken position overhead as they rode the brisk breeze of the Seattle coastline.

  Then the words of his favorite poet Udiah filled his mind.

  In the darkness of the night

  I spied him in the tree

  Sat I frozen by the sight

  He was looking at me

  The summer’s heat became a chill

  The angel of death at his kill.

  His heart was pounding and his glands were secreting. The massive wounds in his chest began to throb and pulse with immense pain and he dropped to his knees. The words hit him again, the words from a voice. A voice that seemed familiar somehow, but a stranger that he had never met. He would die for him though. He would die for his cause, for his rising. Yes. His death would mean something. He would give his life for a cause and he would be remembered.

  A smile filled the ex-vampire as now he was on the doorstep of his death after taking countless lives. After being the angel of death himself, his death could finally mean something, and that gave him joy at last. He had forgotten what bliss actually felt like.

  Chapter 27

  3:00 p.m., May 6

  It was very light out and the water of the fountain misted overhead as Kat walked to an empty seat on a long stone bench in Seattle Center. It was just now 3 o’clock and Dr. Colleens had yet to show herself. Kat sat carefully on the bench, her eyes constantly checking all sides, and her hand rested on the butt of the concealed 9-mm pistol she wore in her coat.

  Detective O’Hara had been understandably on edge the last half hour since her departure from the OCME, or Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. Maybe she had been reading too many conspiracy novels lately, but she was sure she was being watched. Why had the doctor chosen to meet in public like this? Was her office being watched also? Kat did not feel good about any of this. She tried to think back to when this all began.

  That print, she thought. It all began with that stupid print. What was so different about that print? she wondered quietly.

  “Detective?”

  A voice broke the silence and Kat knew that Marty was there even before she spoke. She could see the doctor’s reflection in a glass window in front of her as Marty walked closer. The moment Dr. Colleens rounded the corner Kat had spotted her. Otherwise the police officer would never have planted herself in a seat with such an obvious blind spot.

  Kat looked up from her spot on the bench and smiled at the doctor. It wasn’t a kind smile, but more of a nervous smile. The expression of someone not really sure what was
about to happen.

  “Please sit, Doc.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m late… I… Well, I’m not sure, but I thought I was being followed.”

  With that, Kat gave the doc her eyes. Dr. Colleens now had Kat’s full attention.

  “What do you mean ‘followed’?”

  “It’s been going on for a couple of days now. One of my assistants said that one morning she saw someone in the office that didn’t belong there. Then he was gone. And I keep getting the feeling I’m being watched. And then a car… I keep seeing this car everywhere I go.”

  “A car? What does it look like?” Kat asked in a low voice.

  “A dark blue Ford Explorer with tinted windows.”

  Kat thought right off that it sounded like a government vehicle.

  “What about plates? Did you get a look at the plates? Even a partial description would be helpful, Doc.”

  “Sorry.” Marty shrugged apologetically.

  “Okay… Let’s not worry about the car for now. What can you tell me about everything that’s going on?”

  The doctor dipped her head low and began speaking in a hushed voice, almost a whisper.

  “Did Detective Johnson ever discuss the VICAP case with you?”

  “No.” Kat responded.

  “Well, I’m sure you remember the case. The multiple murders that occurred last winter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it was an FBI investigation officially, but Detective Johnson and Anderson were the lead investigators in the case. It didn’t have a good conclusion. An agent was killed under what the FBI said was suspicious circumstances. And to save face, the FBI got as far away from that case as they could. Soon after that, a team of agents showed up in my office and forced me to sign a non-disclosure agreement. They took all the files and any paperwork I had pertaining to the investigation. All my notes, forensic findings and conclusions, and even email correspondence with a doctor in DC were erased from record.”

  “I understand that Detective Anderson was forced into retirement because of his involvement in that last case,” Kat added, prompting her to go on.

  “That’s correct. And last night after talking with Detective Johnson…Well, we decided an outside consultant needed to be brought in for this most recent case. And if the FBI got wind of what we did, I could be in a lot of trouble right now.”

  “You mean that you brought Anderson in on this, don’t you?” Kat asked.

  “Yes.”

  For a moment Kat did not say anything but held the doctor’s gaze.

  “I know you and Johnson are friends, but I need to know what is going on with my partner. Doc, something is not right with this.”

  “The bodies had some irregularities, things I had never encountered, and evidence I had never imagined possible. Kenny didn’t know who he could trust, so he called in Tim, his old partner.”

  “What can you tell me about the bodies?”

  “Three victims showed up in different areas of the city, all showing signs of the same marks of violence on their flesh. However, the cause of death in all three cases was heart failure, not trauma.”

  “Well, I still fail to see why you would call in Tim Anderson…”

  “Once I examined the remains I found evidence that was… too familiar.”

  “Like what?” Kat asked.

  “Particulates, sediment, and bone density that pointed to the VICAP case.”

  “I see.”

  Kat was silent. Then her radio erupted.

  “Code 10-10! Shots fired! Shots fired downtown. Pike Place Market.”

  Chapter 28

  4:15 p.m., May 6

  Kenny and I were walking into a restaurant which was appropriately named Trinkets considering that all around us, displayed behind glass cases as if they were holy relics, were souvenirs and paintings no one in their right mind would want to hang on their wall. The servers all wore cheap souvenirs on their nametags too. Hell, they probably had a tacky souvenir nailed to the sign outside.

  I told the hostess that we would like a table for two. “By the window, please,” Kenny added.

  The restaurant was crowded with men and women wearing big badges advertising some hot rod show that was in town.

  “Hot rods,” I said to Kenny and we both got that look in our eyes. We loved hot rods and no one got more excited about them than Kenny. We sat close to other people so we could hear every word that was spoken.

  I ordered coffee and a Philly cheese steak sandwich and I noticed that Kenny wasn’t very hungry. He ordered fries and a coke, not his usual cheeseburger. He looked depressed and suddenly old as he sat across from me in this beautifully ugly place where people were poorly dressed and brought home wages that made Kenny’s seem lavish.

  Kenny’s hair had grayed to a speckle above his ears like a matte silver, and I didn’t know why I had never noticed the age of my friend before. But now as I looked at him, I was saddened by this change in him, this obvious aging. He had not gained an ounce since I had known him. Always the athlete and forever in shape, Kenny now seemed sedated slightly. Crumpled. I could not imagine the two of us working together forever, but lately our limitations had seemed all the more evident because of our age.

  After we ate I began researching again, and it didn’t take very long to come up with something.

  “It’s a 1978 Mooney Single Engine Airplane,” I told Kenny as we sat in the restaurant, my laptop glowing in front of me.

  “What?” he asked, looking over at me in disbelief. I didn’t know if it was from the fact that I had actually tracked down the engine part that had surfaced in his throat or if Kenny really didn’t understand what I had just told him.

  “Yeah,” I said holding the valve up. “It’s from a plane engine.”

  “A… plane…”

  The words seemed to fade and disappear before they could come from his mouth.

  “1978 Mooney.”

  “What the…?”

  Kenny looked sick again and I could feel his mind spinning out of control. I didn’t have to slip into his thoughts for that insight, it was written all over his face for me to see. He stared at me, his eyes red, his face flushed the deep color of blood. Even his large hands, the size of baseball mitts, were a deep red. And suddenly this well-put-together man that I had known for so long seemed disheveled in his jeans and T-shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his boots were huge and dirty. I could feel his panic working through him. Kenny seemed to be weighing a concern that he would not share with me.

  Without saying a word, we threw some money on the table and got up, making our way out to the parking lot. We drove off down the curving road and away from the restaurant. There was a silent understanding between us that we needed to take things slowly without giving up hope.

  “Where are we going?” Kenny finally asked, looking out the window at roadside gas stations and souvenir shops.

  “There’s only one logical thing for us to do now. We have to go to the airport. Time’s a wastin’.”

  I was painfully aware that we were running out of time. It had only been twenty-four hours since Kenny had first had contact with the second body. And now we had half that much time to find a solution to this ghost sickness. Fabiana had told me about how long Kenny would have, but I didn’t want to believe it.

  A few moments later, we were standing in a gravel driveway in the raw, moist air, both of us without rain jackets. I stared up at the murky sky and a few raindrops began to fall. It was really nothing unusual for Washington, just a light sprinkle. Summer had become a reliable pattern. It couldn’t stop precipitating. Lights from the airport tower shined through the blackberries and bare trees on the outskirts of the runway as a small prop plane came in for a landing. Its engine hummed around us as it came closer and closer.

  Kenny and I approached a narrow, metal building that looked as if it had been constructed out of tin and could blow away any minute. Rain began to drum off of its metal rooftop as I knocked o
n the unwelcoming door at the side of this absurd structure. A gruff, unfriendly voice greeted us from the warmth and confines of the other side of the door.

  “Come in!” the muffled voice called to us. Kenny swung the door open and we stepped inside. A heavy-set man sat at an old card table, a lit cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth. I could feel him trying to read us as he wondered who and what we might be. Why were we standing in his office?

  “Can I help you fellas?” he said with a thick country drawl.

  “Yes, sir, I hope so. I’m Detective Kenny Johnson and this is my associate, Tim Anderson. I was hoping I could ask you some questions about a murder that happened here some years back?”

  Kenny had his badge out for the man, but the gentlemen seemed uninterested in his credentials.

  “Hmmm… The name’s John Regees. I don’t know you guys and I know every cop and sheriff in town. Where you boys from?” he asked very suspiciously. I smiled slightly as I pulled my badge from my back pocket and held it up for the man.

  “Seattle PD,” I told him.

  “Hmmm… Seattle. I don’t see many big city cops down here. What do you care about some kid that got killed twenty years ago?”

  “How did you know that it was about a kid?” I asked.

  “There’s only been one murder on my airport, son. And I remember it. It was Ol’ Rob’s plane they used, you know. He was too old to fly anymore and after that… incident… he wanted nothing to do with it.”

  “Whatever happened to the plane?”

  “Oh, other pilots scavenged it for parts. Tore out the guts, and what they didn’t want are out back.” He indicated ‘out back’ with a jolt of his meaty thumb over his shoulder.