by Morgan Rice
Kyle swallowed hard, bracing himself for what might come next. If it was death, he was prepared.
“I am no longer the one you need to answer to. I myself have been summoned. By the Supreme Council.”
Kyle’s eyes open wide. He had heard rumors all his life of the Supreme Council, the governing body of vampires who even the supreme leader had to answer to. And now he knew that it was real, and that they were summoning him. He swallowed hard.
“They are very unhappy with what went on here today. They want answers. You will explain the mistake you made, why she escaped, why a spy infiltrated our ranks, and our plans for purging other spies. You will then accept their judgment in sentence.”
Kyle slowly nodded, terrified for what would come. None of it sounded good.
“We meet at the next new moon. That gives you time. In the meantime, I suggest you find this half-breed. If you can, it may just save your life.”
“I promise, my master, I will summon every one of our vampires. And I will lead the charge myself. We will find her. And I will make her pay.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jonah sat in the police station, very afraid. One on side of him sat his Dad, looking more nervous than Jonah had ever seen him, and on the other, his newly-hired lawyer. Across from them, in the small, bright, interrogation, sat five police detectives. Behind them stood five more, all pacing and agitated.
It was the biggest news story of the day. Not only had an internationally-acclaimed vocalist been murdered, right during his debut performance, right in Carnegie Hall—not only had he been murdered in a suspicious way, but things had managed to get even worse. When the police followed up on the only lead they had, when they had visited her apartment, four policemen were killed. To say that things had escalated was to put it mildly.
Now, not only were they after the “Beethoven Butcher” (or “Carnegie Hall Killer,” as some papers were calling her) but they were also after a cop killer. A four-cop killer. Every cop in the city was on the case, and no one would rest until it was solved.
And the only lead they had was sitting across the table from them. Jonah. Her guest for the evening.
Jonah sat wide-eyed, feeling the drops of sweat forming again on his forehead. This was his seventh hour in the room. During the first three hours he had continuously wiped the sweat from his hairline. Now he just let the sweat trickle down the side of his face. He slumped in his chair, defeated.
He just didn’t know what else to add. Cop after cop had entered the room, all asking the same questions. All variations on a theme. He had no answers. He couldn’t understand why they kept asking him the same thing, over and over. How long have you known her? Why did you bring her to this event? Why did she leave at intermission? Why didn’t you follow her?
How had it all come to his? She had showed up looking so beautiful. She was so sweet. He loved being with her, and talking to her. He was sure it was going to be a dream date.
Then she had started acting strangely. Shortly after the music began, he had felt a restlessness building in her. She had seemed…sick wasn’t the word. She had seemed…antsy. More than that: she had seemed like she was going to burst out of her skin. Like she had to get somewhere, and get somewhere fast.
At first he had thought it was just because she wasn’t liking the concert. He had wondered if taking her there was a bad idea. Then he’d wondered if maybe she just didn’t like him. But then it seemed to grow more intense, and he could almost feel the heat radiating out of her skin. He had then started to wonder if maybe she had some kind of sickness, maybe food poisoning.
When she actually burst out of the place, he’d wondered if she was running to the bathroom. He was puzzled, but he waited patiently by the doors, assuming she would come back after intermission. But after fifteen minutes, after the final bell rang, he had gone back to his seat alone, confused.
After another 15 minutes had gone by, the lights in the entire room had been raised. A man had come on stage and made an announcement that the concert would not continue. That refunds would be issued. He did not say why. The entire crowd had gasped, annoyed, but mostly puzzled. Jonah had been attending concerts his entire life, and had never seen one stopped at intermission. Had the vocalist taken sick?
“Jonah?” The detective snapped.
Jonah looked up at her, startled.
The detective stared back down, angrily. Grace was her name. She was the toughest cop he had ever met. And she was relentless.
“Did you not hear what I just asked you?”
Jonas shook his head.
“I want you to tell me again everything that you know about her,” she said. “Tell me again how you met.”
“I’ve answered that question a million times already,” Jonah answered, frustrated.
“I want to hear it again.”
“I met her in class. She was new. I gave her my seat.”
“Then what?”
“We got to talking a little bit, saw each other in the cafeteria. I asked her out. She said yes.”
“That was it?” The detective asked. “There are absolutely no other details, not one other thing to add?”
Jonah debated with himself over how much to tell them. Of course, there was more. There was his getting beat up by those bullies. There was her journal, lying mysteriously beside him. His suspicion that she had been there. That she had helped him. That she had even beat up those guys somehow. How, he had no idea.
But what was he supposed to tell these cops? That he had gotten himself beat up? That he thinks he remembered seeing her there? That he thinks he remembered seeing her beat up four guys twice her size? None of it made any sense, not even to him. It certainly wouldn’t make sense to them. They would just think he was lying, making stuff up. They were out for her. And he wasn’t going to help.
Despite everything, he felt protective of her. He couldn’t really understand what had happened. A part of him didn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Had she really killed that vocalist? Why? Were there really two holes in his neck, like the newspapers said? Had she bit him? Was she some kind of…
“Jonah,” Grace snapped. “I said, is there anything else?”
The detective stared down at him.
“No,” he said, finally. He hoped she couldn’t tell he was lying.
A new detective stepped forward. He leaned over, stared right into Jonah’s eyes. “Did anything she say that night indicate that she was mentally unstable?”
Jonah furrowed his brows.
“You mean, crazy? Why would I think that? She was great company. I really like her. She’s smart, and nice. I like talking to her.”
“Exactly what did you talk about?” It was that female detective again.
“Beethoven,” Jonah answered.
The detectives looked at each other. By the confused, unpleasant expression on their faces, one would have imagined he had said “pornography.”
“Beethoven?” one of the detectives, a beefy guy in his 50s, asked, in a mocking voice.
Jonah was exhausted, and felt like mocking him back.
“He’s a composer,” Jonah said.
“I know who Beethoven is, you little punk,” the detective snapped.
Another detective, a beefy man in his 60s with large, red cheeks, took three steps forward, put his meaty palms on the table, and leaned in close enough so that Jonas could smell his bad coffee breath. “Look pal, this isn’t a game. Four cops are dead because of your little girlfriend,” he said. “Now we know that you know where she’s hiding,” he said. “You better start opening up and –”
Jonah’s lawyer held up his hand. “That is conjecture, detective. You cannot accuse my client of–”
“I don’t give a damn about your client!” the detective screamed back.
A tense silence fell over the room.
Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked another detective, wearing latex gloves. He carried Jonah’s phone in one hand, and placed it o
n the table next to him. Jonah was happy to see it back.
“Anything?” one of the cops asked.
The cop with the gloves took them off and threw them in the wastebasket. He shook his head.
“Nothing. The kid’s phone is clean. He got a few texts from her before the show, but that was it. We tried her number. Dead. We’re pulling all her phone records now. Anyway, he’s telling the truth. Before yesterday, she’d never called or texted him once.”
“I told you,” Jonah snapped back at the cops.
“Detectives, are we through here?” Jonah’s lawyer asked.
The detectives turned and looked at each other.
“My client has committed no crime, and done nothing wrong. He has cooperated entirely with this investigation, answering all of your questions. He has no intention of leaving the state, or even the city. He is available for questioning any time. I ask now that he be excused. He is a student, and he does have school in the morning.” The lawyer looked down at his watch. “It is almost 1 AM, gentlemen.”
At just that moment, a loud bell rang in the room, accompanied by a strong vibration. All eyes in the room suddenly turned to Jonah’s phone, sitting there on the metal table. It vibrated again, and lit up. Before Jonah could reach for it, he saw who it was from. As did everyone else in the room.
It was from Caitlin.
She wanted to know where he was.
Chapter Sixteen
Caitlin checked her phone again. It was 1 AM, and she had just texted Jonah. No response. He was probably asleep. Or if awake, he probably wouldn’t even want to hear from her. But it was the only thing that she could think of doing.
As she walked away from the Cloisters, in the fresh, night air, her head started to clear. The further she got from that place, the better she felt. Caleb’s presence, his energy, slowly lifted from her, and she began to feel like she could think clearly again.
When she had been with him, for some reason she’d been unable to think clearly for herself. His presence had been all-consuming. She’d found it impossible to think of anything, or anyone, else.
Now that she was on her own again, and away from him, thoughts of Jonah flooded back to her. She felt guilty for liking Caleb at all—felt like somehow she had betrayed Jonah. Jonah had been so kind to her in school, so good to her on their date. She wondered how he felt about her now, running out like that. He probably hated her.
She walked through Fort Tryon park, and checked her phone again. Luckily, it was a tiny phone, and she had hidden it well in the tiny, inside pocket of her tight dress. Somehow, it has survived through all this.
But the battery had not. It had been almost two days without charging, and as she looked down, she saw it was redlining. There were only a few minutes left before it died completely. She hoped that Jonah would answer her before then. If not, she’d have no way left to reach him.
Was he sleeping? Was he ignoring her? She couldn’t blame him. She would have ignored her, too.
Caitlin walked and walked, through the park. She had no idea where she was heading. All she knew was that she needed to get far away from that place. From Caleb. From vampires. From all of this. She just wanted her normal life back. In the back of her mind, she thought that, if she walked far enough, and long enough, maybe all of this would just disappear. Maybe the rising sun would bring a new day, and this would all be washed away as a bad, bad dream.
She checked her phone. It was flashing now, almost completely dead. She knew from experience that she had about 30 seconds until it was done. She stared at it the entire time it flashed, hoping, praying, the Jonah would respond. That he would suddenly call and say, Where are you? I’ll come right away. That he would rescue her from all of this.
But as she watched, it suddenly went black. Dead. Completely dead.
She tucked the phone back into her pocket, resigned. Resigned to her new life. Resigned to having no one left. She would just have to rely on herself. Like she had always done.
She exited Fort Tryon Park, and was in the Bronx, back on the city grid. It gave her a sense of normalcy. Of direction. She didn’t know exactly where to go, but she liked that she was heading towards Midtown.
Yes. That was where she would go. Penn Station. She would catch a train, get far away from all this. Maybe go back to her previous town. Maybe her brother would still be there. She could start over again. Act as if all of this had never happened.
She looked around: graffiti everywhere, hustlers on every corner. But somehow, this time, they left her alone. Maybe they realized that she was at the end of her rope. That there was nothing left to take from her.
She saw a sign. 186th Street. It would be a far walk. 150 blocks to Penn Station. It would take all night. But that was what she wanted. To clear her head. Of Caleb, of Jonah. Of the events of the last two nights.
She saw another future ahead of her, and she was ready to walk all night.
Chapter Seventeen
When Caitlin woke, it was morning. She could feel more than see the sunlight striking her, and she groggily raised her head to get her bearings. She felt cold stone touching the skin of her arms and forehead. Where was she?
As she raised her head and looked around, she realized she was in Central Park. She remembered now that she had stopped along the way, sometime during the night, to take a rest. She had been so tired, so weary. She must have fallen asleep sitting up, leaning over and resting her arms and head on the marble railing.
It was already mid-morning, and people streamed through the park. One lady, with her young daughter, walked by and gave her a strange look. She pulled her daughter close as they passed.
Caitlin sat up straighter, and looked around. A few people stared at her, and she wondered what they must have thought. She looked down at her dirty clothes. They were covered in grime. At this point, she didn’t really care. She just wanted to get out this city, this place which she associated with everything going wrong.
Then it hit her. Hunger. A pang struck, and she felt hungrier than she ever had. But it wasn’t a normal hunger. It was an insane, primal urge. To feed. Like she had felt in Carnegie Hall.
A small boy playing with a soccer ball, no older than six, kicked it, by accident, right near her. He came running over towards her. His parents were far ahead, at least 30 feet.
Now was her chance. Every bone in her body screamed to feed. She stared at his neck, zoomed in on the pulsing blood. She could feel it. Almost smell it. She wanted her to pounce.
But somewhere, some part of her stopped herself. She knew that she would starve if she didn’t feed, and that she would die shortly. But she would rather die than harm him. She let him go.
The sunlight was bad, but bearable. Was that because she was a half-breed? How would it have affected other vampires? Maybe this gave her some kind of edge.
She looked around, blinking at the harsh sunlight, and felt dazed and confused. There were so many people. So much commotion. Why had she stopped here. Where had she been going? Yes… Penn Station.
She felt the pain in her weary feet, sore from all the walking. But she wasn’t far now. Not more than 30 blocks. She would walk the rest of the way, catch a train, and get the hell out of here. She would urge herself, out of sheer will, to become normal again. If she got far enough from the city, maybe, just maybe that would happen.
Caitlin stood slowly, preparing to walk.
“Freeze!” a voice screamed.
“Don’t you move!” yelled another voice.
Caitlin turned slowly.
Before her were at least a dozen uniformed New York police officers, all with guns drawn and pointed. They kept their distance, about 15 feet away, as if afraid to get any closer. As if she were some sort of wild animal.
She looked back at them, and strangely, was unafraid. Instead, she felt a strange sort of peace rise within her. She was beginning to feel stronger than the humans. And with every passing moment, she felt less and less a part of their race. She fel
t a strange sort of invincibility, felt that, no matter how many of them there were, or what weaponry they had, she could outrun them, or outfight them.
On the other hand, she felt tired. Resigned. A part of her really didn’t want to run anymore. From the cops. From vampires. She didn’t know where she was running to, or really what she was running from. In some weird way, she would welcome being hauled off by the police. Getting arrested would at least be something normal, rational. Maybe they would shake her up and make her realize that she was just human after all.
The officers slowly, warily approached her, guns drawn, moving with the utmost caution.
She watched them come closer, more interested than afraid. Her senses had heightened. She noticed every tiny detail. The detailed shape of their guns, the contour of the triggers, even how long their fingernails were.
“Get those hands up where can see them!” a cop screamed.
The closest cops were only feet away.
She wondered what her life would have been like. If her father had never left. If they had never moved. If she’d had a different Mom. If they’d stayed put in one of the towns. If she’d had a boyfriend. Would she have ever had been normal? Would life have ever been normal?
The closest cop was now only a foot away.
“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” said the cop. “Slowly.”
She slowly lowered her arms, turned, and placed her arms behind her back. She could feel the cop grab her tightly around one wrist, then the other, jerking her arms behind her too roughly, too high, using unnecessary force. How petty. She felt the cold clasp of the handcuffs, and could feel the metal cut into her skin.
The cop grabbed her by the back of head, squeezed her hair, way too tight, and leaned in close, putting his mouth beside her ear. He whispered, “You’re going to fry.”
And then it happened.
Before she knew what was happening, there was a sickening noise of crunching bone, followed by the splatter of blood—and the feel and smell of warm blood all over her face.
She heard shouting, and screaming, and then shots fired, all in the fraction of a second. It wasn’t until she instinctively dropped to her knees and hit the ground, spun around and looked up, that she realized what was happening.
