by Ian Rogers
Chapter 8
Sandra stood in her apartment doorway, arms crossed, frowning at me.
“You’re not here to kill me, too, are you? Because with my last sitcom in the crapper, I don’t think you’ll get much coverage for knocking me off.”
“Hardy-har.”
She let me in. I dragged my feet to the kitchen and dropped into a chair. Sandra went to take my coat and saw I wasn’t wearing one.
“A dead woman is wearing it,” I told her, by way of explanation.
“Oh,” she said, and went to put on coffee.
“You heard?”
“Yeah.” She leaned against the counter and stared at the floor for a long moment. Then she looked at me with a bright expression. “No offence, but if you could have done this four or five years ago, it would have really helped out my career. I lost a couple of choice parts to Eve Sutter.”
I smiled wanly.
“I just find it so hard to believe, you know? Jimmy Logan a vampire. Eve Sutter a werewolf. Two of the most successful actors of our generation, and they were both monsters. It’s all so odd and freaky.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” I said. “They weren’t real monsters.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly.” I made a sound between a sigh and a laugh. “I spoke with a friend in the forensics lab. They ran tests on Logan and Sutter. Blood tests, marrow tests, DNA, the whole works. Logan wasn’t a real vampire, and Sutter wasn’t a real werewolf. It was easy for them to tell in Logan’s case. If he had been a real vamp, he would have jumped up the moment they pulled that chair leg out of his chest.”
“What about Sutter?”
“I shot her, but not with silver bullets. I knew it wouldn’t have any effect, but I thought it would get her attention. She didn’t die until after she transformed back into human form. Werewolves and other shifters, on the other hand, don’t change back until after they’re dead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sutter didn’t die until whatever it was that turned her into a werewolf wore off. Then, the moment she changed back, she died. Her body couldn’t handle the physical trauma it had endured. A delayed response to getting shot six times.”
“That can’t be right,” Sandra said, but there was a hint of doubt in her voice. “Can it?”
I shrugged again.
“You killed Jimmy Logan with a stake through the heart. That’s how you kill a vampire.”
“Yeah, but that would kill anyone. The same way a hail of bullets would kill anyone. The way it killed Eve Sutter. The way I killed Eve Sutter.”
I tried to stand up, but my legs felt like matchsticks. I sat back down heavily. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt sick to my soul. “Logan wasn’t a vampire,” I told her, “and Sutter wasn’t a werewolf. They were temporary monsters, at best. And I killed them.”
Sandra licked her lips. I was suddenly overcome with an inexplicable certainty that her response to this was going to be the deciding factor in the final turning point of our relationship. We weren’t going to get back together; that ship had sailed. This was about whether or not we would be able to salvage something from all of this, or if we had finally succeeded in becoming strangers to each other.
“Felix, temporary monsters or not, they still killed people. Logan would have killed me if you hadn’t stepped in. The details may vary, but to me this is no different than some guy wired on PCP knocking off a liquor store and shooting a few innocent bystanders for kicks.”
“Thanks, Dee. I needed that.”
“Don’t be stupid, Felix. You’re not a murderer. I never would have married you if you were. You’re difficult, you’re moody, and you’ve got a lone wolf complex, but that doesn’t make you a psychopath.”
“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Your friend Horace Parsons called me.”
“What did he want, an exclusive interview?”
“Yes. Over dinner.”
“What did you tell him?”
“What do you think I told him? I told him to piss off.”
“What else is the news saying about Logan and Sutter?”
“Not much, except that they were in a relationship.”
“They weren’t involved,” I said, “but they were having sex.”
Sandra nodded knowingly.
“They both had a mark on the back of their hand. Like the stamp you get after entering a club.”
“What was it?”
“A butterfly, with the word Chrysalis.”
“I know that place. It’s on King Street, I think. Near Bathurst.”
“I’m guessing a place like that has a special VIP lounge for celebrity guests.”
“It’s called Seventh Heaven. Or it was. I haven’t been to Chrysalis in a few years.”
“Do you think you could still get in?”
“I’m out of work, Felix. I’m not dead.” She winced and touched my arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It just came out.”
“It’s okay. But I might need you to come along. If you wouldn’t mind.”
She considered it for a long time. “Okay. But if you keep me out past midnight, you’ll have to put me on the payroll.”
“Fair enough.”
She got a couple of mugs out of the cabinet and poured the coffee.
“If it turns out I can’t get another acting gig, maybe I could work full-time as your Girl Friday.”
“Dee, you can be my girl any day of the week.”
