I was still in shock by the time I went home. Even though making dinner for myself and feeding my cat, Lilly Puss, I still couldn’t get what I heard first hand from the two witnesses; Jerry Fowler and Willard Manson.
I turned on the stove for my Thai noodles and was busy cooking chicken breasts for the rest of what I would have: Spicy chicken curry and mixed vegetables.
After a few more minutes of preparation, I retired to the living room–with a stack of papers, reports, flimsies, and an evidence bag.
Bless his soul–Percy was able to let me sign out the evidence in the 12th Precinct’s office–providing that I return it within 72 hours.
I had three days in which to find my perp in question, but going about it–?
That was going to prove difficult.
“Only because the person I’m after is a female vampire.” I muttered out loud–thinking back to the moment when we started having the conversation of what she looked like.
“Tall. Very beautiful. Strong by the looks of her.” Jerry told me first off. “He just took that guy apart like he was nothing.”
Willard’s statement followed in my mind:
“She twisted the guy around and sank her teeth into his neck–then snapped it like it was a mere twig afterwards. The guy was screaming for a second, but that never lasted long. Of course, we had witnessed the last few minutes of the altercation–but the truth is…is that we were both stunned by the sheer brutality of the assault. Hers, more than the guy she went and killed.”
I reached over for the evidence bag–with the holographic numbers ‘095463-P’-stamped on it.
Inside it was a chocolate bar.
“What is your story?” I asked myself. “Are you the vic‘s in question, or…?”
Then I chuckled. There was no way a vampire would need to eat such things! They were–after all–blood drinkers!
I left the coffee table area for just a second to keep an eye on my dinner. Lilly was busy cleaning her paws–this white and black cat of mine; no more than several years old.
And a reminder of my ex. She was a gift to me to win my heart and love for him.
Fucking bastard.
But no matter how much I hated him, I could never get rid of poor Lilly. She had stolen my heart–and she was here to stay.
For as long as she wished.
Opening the pan, I checked on the mixed veggies and found that they were simmering in their own juices nicely. Water boiled away at its own pace–creating a nice, fragrant plume of its own.
Wafting past my nostrils and making me smile.
Some things were worth waiting for.
The chicken breasts were also cooking on medium heat–and so I added my own blend of spices and curry to the mix and then checked to see if the breasts were cooked through and through.
They were.
Turning down the stove, I looked in on the boiling Thai noodles and found everything to be in perfect order.
Nothing burning.
I turned down the other burner–the one with the noodles and then went about draining them with a strainer in the sink.
I began to hum to myself–as I did while I cooked–and continued with meal preparations. Once things were set and turned on a low simmering heat–I went back into the living room and started digging into this mystery of mine.
Chocolate bar.
Vampire–female.
Unknown DNA traces–typical.
First kill in 20 years since the Bay Area Killer.
That left me to pause in my tracks.
Could they be one and the same?
I sat down on the loveseat and addressed the com terminal closest to me.
“Adrianne, dear? Are you awake?” I addressed the free-standing station next to the loveseat.
“Yes, Amanda. What do you wish?”
“Could you pull up any files relating to the Bay Area Killer? Authorization Amanda-433.”
“Security clearance accepted. Please stand by.” The invisible voice mod responded pleasantly.
I scanned some of the documents and then allowed my eyes to drift towards the chocolate bar.
Dark chocolate. A part of me analyzed instantly. From Sam’s Chocolate Shop.
That was a special haunt of mine to–from time to time.
Picking up the bag, I peered into the clear plastic with a critical eye.
A chunk of it was missing with the edges melted–like it was exposed to a certain kind of ambient heat source.
Human’s? I thought to myself. Vampires didn’t like chocolate. They didn’t have a heartbeat or anything that we had to generate internal heat and keep our bodies at a high temperature.
“Must be the vic’s.” I surmised out of blunt frustration. But why would a known drug pusher eat a candy bar?
There was no sign of any chocolate residue on the gang-banger’s mouth.
So what…?
“Adrianne?” I called out–setting down the evidence bag.
“Yes?”
“Attach a secondary request if you will.”
“Ready.”
“Access the coroner report on the gang-banger. Look for any traces of chocolate in the vic’s mouth, throat, or stomach contents.”
“Standby please. Files on the Bay Area Killer are now available.”
“Show them.” I said–curling up in my loveseat. Holding my arms and hands out like I was going to start typing–a holographic keyboard popped into existence before me.
Along with a series of interactive HUD screens.
“Data streams active.” Adrianne told me.
I started typing away–bringing up one screen after another in swift succession.
The information began to flow forth as I accessed and isolated the parts of the stream that would be (I hoped) part of my ongoing investigation.
To my despair, there was little there to connect me with my suspect and the Bay Area killer of 2018. The evidence collected during that time didn’t include chocolate. There was no hint of it anywhere in the online police reports and 7th Precinct archives.
I sat there with a forlorn expression on my face.
“Damn.” I said softly to myself. The information kept coming until I put a freeze command on the buffer icon–to the screen closest to me.
Everything in front of my face slowed to a sudden stop like a time-lapsed waterfall.
There wasn’t anything which to connect my mysterious vampire with that episode–an incident which lasted for two years. I reflected silently.
So what–? And was interrupted by Adrianne.
“Coroner data online. Transfer to screen?” She asked.
“Do it.” I said in a prompt manner–then got up. “I need a fresh lead–and I’m getting nowhere with what you gave me.”
“But you asked me for all the relevant data on the Bay Area killer. I provided it.”
“True. But nothing I could scan matched the needed information.” I said before disappearing to check on dinner. It was ready by the time I got there.
Nothing like home cooking. I mused.
A new vid screen popped up in the communications terminal closer to the empty sink and dishwasher.
A holographic image of a dazzling young woman with eye glasses appeared a second later–dressed in a plaid dress and white blouse with white knickers; with a police bomber’s jacket sporting the emblazoned insignia of the 12th Precinct of San Francisco.
“So what are you looking for, Amanda?” Adrianne asked me–standing at attention in her green thigh-high boots–and then saluting smartly like some eager-beaver Academy cadet. “I could locate it for you with my Omega Black security clearance. Anything in the world–just ask.”
“What do you know about vampires?”
The holographic blinked at me.
“Come again?” The young woman chimed in; perplexed.
“Vampires.” I said bluntly–then started dishing out a generous helping for myself. “Know anything about them?”
“I know…enough–from stories, legends, and of course…movies.”
“Tell me.” I urged.
“Outside of the obvious? They don’t like sunlight. Have an aversion to daylight. Loathe garlic, silver nitrate, holy water, and the cross.” Adrianne communicated to me. “And they drink blood–in order to sustain themselves.”
I grabbed a fork out of the drawer and slammed it shut. I then carried my dinner back into the living room–where I sat it down in a premeditated space comfortable enough to fit my hot and steaming dish.
I went back for a beer from the fridge–and popped off the top without even touching it.
Some things with empathy is that you get a small side order of telekinetics as well. I thought; catching the spent cap in the air with two outstretched fingers, and then performed a perfect slam dunk in the open-ended trash bin on the other side of the kitchen.
By throwing it like a Frisbee.
The piece of metal ricocheted off the window pane, of the corner and neatly plunked itself into the bin in passing.
You would think that I am an ordinary private dick–but like I said: I come from a rather unique family line.
There are something to be said about having a genetic heritage that I am rather proud of.
Going back into the living room, I sat down and contemplated my meal and then the data sitting quietly on the screen in front of me.
Leaning back, I took a long sip from the brown-necked bottle.
“Well, that may be true before, but now we are dealing with a vampire whom has a sweet tooth.” I commented out loud.
I didn’t need to see Adrianne’s face when I told her this. I could sense the surprise coming from the com terminal sitting placidly next to me.
“To chocolate?” Adrianne said with astonishment registering in her voice.
“Yes.” I said–taking another cold draw. “To chocolate.”
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER--CHAPTER 6
Refreshed from a long shower, I stepped out into the living room to find everything peaceful and serene:
The wall-screen was quietly talking to itself, Sabastian was still passed out, and the bedside lamp was busy casting its own shadows on the walls.
Nothing was threatening. Everything was quiet.
Not that I was expecting any trouble tonight. I was prepared for a quiet evening.
Wrapped in a large red towel, I went into my tidy kitchenette for something to eat.
I know the stories behind our kind–how we subsist off human blood in order to survive.
If I was full vampire. That would be true.
But I was half-human. And it was that half which allowed me to eat a variety of foods over the centuries.
I was certainly no prude when it came to a diet.
I pretty much ate everything there was.
Except pizza.
I never much cared for pepperoni.
Opening the fridge, I pulled out some wheat bread and baloney–along with some turkey slices and mayonnaise.
A girl’s gotta eat, you know.
Setting these things down, I began to unravel my meal in stages–taking extra care with the light mayo.
If anyone was worried about me getting fat off this stuff–they were in for a looong wait.
Being part vampire had its privileges after all. I could never gain any weight no matter what I ate.
Including chocolate.
What? Did you think that my diet consisted solely of that?
No. I would be too wired past my normal bedtime and then some–if I ate nothing but chocolate.
I just liked the stuff.
Can a somewhat normal girl like me be a vampire and a chocolate junkie at the same time?
I sometimes wondered that (as I was making my sandwich)–given the kind of person that I was.
In the old days, you could spot a vampire easily by their cold mannerisms and impeccable logic, their modes of dress and how they lived.
It was true that we used to hide in the dark and in coffins–to avoid the Sun. Holy water and garlic were our natural born enemies as well; so was silver nitrate.
We didn’t like the symbols which related to God Himself–but I was all right with Pagans and Wicca. (Me personally anyways.)
But over time–and through our war with the lichens–some of the vampires began to develop a natural immunity to these things.
I shuddered softly to myself–the knife in my hand wavering ever so slightly.
I wasn’t a natural born vampire.
But my master was.
As a result of his…attack on me in the early 1300s, I gained most of his immunities.
Otherwise, I would’ve had to really hide in the dark!
My human half wasn’t strong enough to shield me from the pain of being a vampiri, but it did offer what protection it could–on top of what my former master gave me as a scared little teenaged girl.
Finishing up with one slice of bread, I concentrated on the other–and began the process of adding my level of happiness to that part of the sandwich.
I stopped for a moment to get some iceberg lettuce out of the fridge–tearing up a healthy amount and adding that to my late dinner.
Putting it away, I finished my meal preparations, cleaned up the counter and went into the living room with my sandwich.
Curling up on the bed, I changed the channel on the wall-screen and began watching something from the Sci-Fi Channel.
A horror movie, no less. I saw with some inner amusement. And one about vampires.
I watched with interest at how the humans congenially portrayed people like me as being blood-thirsty, mind-controlling fanatics.
I had the power of suggestion well in hand–I’ll admit (as I watched one interesting scene)–over the minds of those much weaker than I and easily manipulated.
But not every human was like that. I had encountered strong-willed ones. They were the more interesting to chase, to hunt, and sometimes…?
To make love to.
My stomach did a leap as I quietly recalled my last human lover some 32 years ago.
A passionate writer whom loved life itself–didn’t care for money or anything like that. Just wanted to see and experience new things.
Of course, he was an old man now–with the strength of youth still flowing strongly in his veins, but (as my pussy spasmed in silent memory) I still recall his touch; his sweet and fragrant breath–and his ability to make me happy.
I certainly missed him.
I polished off my sandwich in short order and proceeded to crawl into bed–thinking of that moment in which he and I shared such blissful moments.
30 Days of Night was still playing on the wall-screen–when I finally turned it off.
After that, I went to sleep–dreaming of him.
The wall-screen was quietly talking to itself, Sabastian was still passed out, and the bedside lamp was busy casting its own shadows on the walls.
Nothing was threatening. Everything was quiet.
Not that I was expecting any trouble tonight. I was prepared for a quiet evening.
Wrapped in a large red towel, I went into my tidy kitchenette for something to eat.
I know the stories behind our kind–how we subsist off human blood in order to survive.
If I was full vampire. That would be true.
But I was half-human. And it was that half which allowed me to eat a variety of foods over the centuries.
I was certainly no prude when it came to a diet.
I pretty much ate everything there was.
Except pizza.
I never much cared for pepperoni.
Opening the fridge, I pulled out some wheat bread and baloney–along with some turkey slices and mayonnaise.
A girl’s gotta eat, you know.
Setting these things down, I began to unravel my meal in stages–taking extra care with the light mayo.
If anyone was worried about me getting fat off this stuff–they were in for a looong wait.
Being part vampire had its privileges after all. I could never gain any weight no matter what I ate.
Including chocolate.
What? Did you think that my diet consisted solely of that?
No. I would be too wired past my normal bedtime and then some–if I ate nothing but chocolate.
I just liked the stuff.
Can a somewhat normal girl like me be a vampire and a chocolate junkie at the same time?
I sometimes wondered that (as I was making my sandwich)–given the kind of person that I was.
In the old days, you could spot a vampire easily by their cold mannerisms and impeccable logic, their modes of dress and how they lived.
It was true that we used to hide in the dark and in coffins–to avoid the Sun. Holy water and garlic were our natural born enemies as well; so was silver nitrate.
We didn’t like the symbols which related to God Himself–but I was all right with Pagans and Wicca. (Me personally anyways.)
But over time–and through our war with the lichens–some of the vampires began to develop a natural immunity to these things.
I shuddered softly to myself–the knife in my hand wavering ever so slightly.
I wasn’t a natural born vampire.
But my master was.
As a result of his…attack on me in the early 1300s, I gained most of his immunities.
Otherwise, I would’ve had to really hide in the dark!
My human half wasn’t strong enough to shield me from the pain of being a vampiri, but it did offer what protection it could–on top of what my former master gave me as a scared little teenaged girl.
Finishing up with one slice of bread, I concentrated on the other–and began the process of adding my level of happiness to that part of the sandwich.
I stopped for a moment to get some iceberg lettuce out of the fridge–tearing up a healthy amount and adding that to my late dinner.
Putting it away, I finished my meal preparations, cleaned up the counter and went into the living room with my sandwich.
Curling up on the bed, I changed the channel on the wall-screen and began watching something from the Sci-Fi Channel.
A horror movie, no less. I saw with some inner amusement. And one about vampires.
I watched with interest at how the humans congenially portrayed people like me as being blood-thirsty, mind-controlling fanatics.
I had the power of suggestion well in hand–I’ll admit (as I watched one interesting scene)–over the minds of those much weaker than I and easily manipulated.
But not every human was like that. I had encountered strong-willed ones. They were the more interesting to chase, to hunt, and sometimes…?
To make love to.
My stomach did a leap as I quietly recalled my last human lover some 32 years ago.
A passionate writer whom loved life itself–didn’t care for money or anything like that. Just wanted to see and experience new things.
Of course, he was an old man now–with the strength of youth still flowing strongly in his veins, but (as my pussy spasmed in silent memory) I still recall his touch; his sweet and fragrant breath–and his ability to make me happy.
I certainly missed him.
I polished off my sandwich in short order and proceeded to crawl into bed–thinking of that moment in which he and I shared such blissful moments.
30 Days of Night was still playing on the wall-screen–when I finally turned it off.
After that, I went to sleep–dreaming of him.
Monday, April 12, 2010
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER--CHAPTER 5
Fuck…me! I swore in silent amazement–as my eyes beheld the chaos going on in front of me. Searchlights blazed a bright path to some area in the back alley–backlighting everyone whom was combing the ground for clues and such.
Cruisers were saddled around like waiting chariots–engines humming quietly in the background; with their tending masters keeping an all too curious bay of spectators at more than arm’s length.
Almost immediately, I could see that this was no ordinary kill.
I crossed the cordoned off area with ease–after showing the officer-in-charge my electronic badge with its creds imprinted on it–in my passing.
Coroners were milling about and so were a few life techs on the scene. Any one of them weren’t saying much except talking amongst themselves.
Almost instantly, I got a flash-path imprint on my empathic radar–and I saw a brief struggle for dominance; followed by a curse and then a quick snap! of someone’s neck.
Followed by a brief wave of pain and then blessed darkness ness.
I swayed on my feet for a second as I stood there in a daze–suddenly realizing that I had gazed at the corpse of the deceased; covered with a white tarp and some blood stains on the side.
In that second…was all that it took for me to see that someone else was in town and having very much a good time for himself.
“What’s the damage?” I asked one of the local street beaters lingering on the side.
“32-year-old drug pusher named Marcus Peeler. No known kin. Divorced about 5 years ago from his wife of 3 years. 1 kid. Did some hard time recently for selling some Crystal on the streets. No priors before that.”
That left me curious.
A drug pusher? I thought with a strange sense of unease. The last few cases I managed to review on my way down to the precinct indicated that most of the victims were either of poor or middle-class descent.
And a few rich stiffs. But no users or pushers.
Maybe this person in question didn’t know that this was a pusher. I thought to myself–bending down to take a closer look at my vic.
Pulling back a part of the white tarp, I clearly saw the twin bite marks and knew that I had a vampire on my hands.
“Shit on a stick,” I whispered to myself–feeling every pore in my body go cold. These things did exist!
And here I thought that it was just a silly fairy tale. I mean, we had movies based on this nonsense!
But I guess the stories, reports, police and government documentation proved me wrong otherwise.
Someone had been busy over the course of the last 400 years–killing people all over the world and leaving behind these corpses as their eminent calling cards.
I went up for a moment to commandeer a pair of fresh latex gloves–and went down on bended knee to drive out the last of my suspicions.
Probing the neck wounds gingerly, I found that these weren’t some Halloween fakes.
These were also real.
My examination allowed some more blood to seep forth–and I stood there on my haunches–shaking my head.
“Why of all times did it have to be me?”
My father was right after all: It ran in our blood.
My part of the family history anyway.
I came down from a long line of detectives, enforcement officers, police, and even some military brass–each one of us gifted with a form of ESP designed to locate, seek, and deal with anything paranormal.
Before he died, my grandfather told me stories of how things got really nuts during the 70s with the fabled Zodiac Killer. Leaving him to wonder if a vampire wasn’t involved then.
Some of my cousins and two uncles had the gift like I did–but later reported that the killings weren’t paranormal in nature.
But they certainly put one city on edge. That was for sure.
I sighed.
“I guess I can’t get out of this one.” I said to no one in particular–before standing up.
Going back to the officer in charge, I started asking questions:
–“Did you find any evidence at the scene?”
–”If so, may I see it?”
–”Were there any witnesses?”
–”Had they been questioned?”
The man in question first looked at me like I was nuts.
“Just because you’re some private dick now, Amanda. It doesn’t give you the right to start barking orders like some bitch in heat.” he said with clear irritation in his voice.
I looked at him; askance.
“Tell me something: Does the 12th Precinct always tell the newbies to act like this when confronted with a former superior?” I fired back.
“Look, I don’t care who vouched for you, Amanda. This is an internal police matter.” The guy countered thickly. “So back off.”
“Fuck you–Percy Collins!” I said knowingly–without even looking at his name tag. “I have every right to be here and you damned well know that!” Nailing him with a cold stare, I continued with: “Instead of busting my ass on this, can you get that stick out of yours and be more considerate–instead of a wired junkie on coffee and pigging out on those low-fat ring cakes taken from that secret stash of yours?”
Collins stared at me for the longest time–before breaking out into a familiar smile. “They’re called doughnuts, love. And yes, I know who you are. I was playing with you.”
I let out an exasperated sound. And cuffed the man stiffly on the shoulder.
“You’re an ass.” I told him with a rising grin on my face.
Percy stepped forward and hugged me like old times.
“Yes, and it’s been too long since you left the force.” He said with a bob of the eyebrows. “How have you been doing?”
I sighed and slicked back my hair a bit–before shaking my head.
“Bored out of my mind. I thought being a dick would be more exciting than this shit. I guess I was wrong.”
“Going private–” the man mused and then shook his head. “Tried to warn you love. It would be the death of you. But you wouldn‘t listen to me.”
I snorted and tried to change tact. If only for a second.
“And stop calling me ‘love’ you perv. You make it sound like we’re married or something worse.”
Collins shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t help if I’m 100% Brit, child. There’s something to be said about us Union Jacks.”
“A Union Jerk is more like it,” I fired back at him teasingly; enjoying the camaraderie between us. This was routine between us–ever since I first came to the force and Collins was my immediate superior. We’d always open the day with some useless argument or confrontation.
Some people within the department that we were either nuts or the types which couldn’t be counted on in times of crisis.
But over time, we treated it as a game.
He stayed a cop, rose up in the ranks and eventually…?
I left to pursue my own interests in law enforcement.
“Louse.” He countered with a laugh, then got serious.
I noticed the pips on his shoulder epaulets and smiled.
“Late congrats on you achieving looie by the way. The rank suits you.”
“It stinks.” He said jovially. “I would rather be a captain and make my own hours. But Harramond would have nothing of it.”
I smirked. “He did say that you were a lazy son of a bitch.” I prodded him knowingly.
“So I played hooky one night with the guys. Can you fault me?”
“Playing a round of pool and darts–then getting drunk didn’t score too well with John.”
Collins sighed wistfully. “Yeah, well. What’s done is done, love.” He then took me by the arm and steered me towards a smaller crowd with a couple of leery bystanders.
Planting me in front of them, he said, “These two are the ones whom witnessed the attack–moments after it got started. From the way they tell it–it’s like Peeler had no chance to escape; seeing how he got his ass handed to him so quickly.”
I nodded a word of thanks to Percy and let him go back to his rounds.
“I’ll get what evidence you want so you can get one of your ‘impressions’.” He winked at me as I said it–forcing a rise of color out of my cheeks.
Aside from John, Percy was the only one whom knew about my gifts.
Turning to the two in question, I introduced myself.
“On request from the 12th Precinct, I have been asked to come down here and investigate.”
The two of them nodded briskly–if not nervously.
“Just as a fair warning, I can tell if you’re lying. If you are, I will know about it.”
Another nod of understanding.
I pulled out a digital micro-recorder and thumbed the button. No matter where it was, it would pick up their voices while automatically filtering out all the congenial noise pollution around us.
“Tell me what happened–if you can. And tell me in great detail if you are able.”
Both witnesses nodded and they began to tell me what happened.
Earlier today.
Cruisers were saddled around like waiting chariots–engines humming quietly in the background; with their tending masters keeping an all too curious bay of spectators at more than arm’s length.
Almost immediately, I could see that this was no ordinary kill.
I crossed the cordoned off area with ease–after showing the officer-in-charge my electronic badge with its creds imprinted on it–in my passing.
Coroners were milling about and so were a few life techs on the scene. Any one of them weren’t saying much except talking amongst themselves.
Almost instantly, I got a flash-path imprint on my empathic radar–and I saw a brief struggle for dominance; followed by a curse and then a quick snap! of someone’s neck.
Followed by a brief wave of pain and then blessed darkness ness.
I swayed on my feet for a second as I stood there in a daze–suddenly realizing that I had gazed at the corpse of the deceased; covered with a white tarp and some blood stains on the side.
In that second…was all that it took for me to see that someone else was in town and having very much a good time for himself.
“What’s the damage?” I asked one of the local street beaters lingering on the side.
“32-year-old drug pusher named Marcus Peeler. No known kin. Divorced about 5 years ago from his wife of 3 years. 1 kid. Did some hard time recently for selling some Crystal on the streets. No priors before that.”
That left me curious.
A drug pusher? I thought with a strange sense of unease. The last few cases I managed to review on my way down to the precinct indicated that most of the victims were either of poor or middle-class descent.
And a few rich stiffs. But no users or pushers.
Maybe this person in question didn’t know that this was a pusher. I thought to myself–bending down to take a closer look at my vic.
Pulling back a part of the white tarp, I clearly saw the twin bite marks and knew that I had a vampire on my hands.
“Shit on a stick,” I whispered to myself–feeling every pore in my body go cold. These things did exist!
And here I thought that it was just a silly fairy tale. I mean, we had movies based on this nonsense!
But I guess the stories, reports, police and government documentation proved me wrong otherwise.
Someone had been busy over the course of the last 400 years–killing people all over the world and leaving behind these corpses as their eminent calling cards.
I went up for a moment to commandeer a pair of fresh latex gloves–and went down on bended knee to drive out the last of my suspicions.
Probing the neck wounds gingerly, I found that these weren’t some Halloween fakes.
These were also real.
My examination allowed some more blood to seep forth–and I stood there on my haunches–shaking my head.
“Why of all times did it have to be me?”
My father was right after all: It ran in our blood.
My part of the family history anyway.
I came down from a long line of detectives, enforcement officers, police, and even some military brass–each one of us gifted with a form of ESP designed to locate, seek, and deal with anything paranormal.
Before he died, my grandfather told me stories of how things got really nuts during the 70s with the fabled Zodiac Killer. Leaving him to wonder if a vampire wasn’t involved then.
Some of my cousins and two uncles had the gift like I did–but later reported that the killings weren’t paranormal in nature.
But they certainly put one city on edge. That was for sure.
I sighed.
“I guess I can’t get out of this one.” I said to no one in particular–before standing up.
Going back to the officer in charge, I started asking questions:
–“Did you find any evidence at the scene?”
–”If so, may I see it?”
–”Were there any witnesses?”
–”Had they been questioned?”
The man in question first looked at me like I was nuts.
“Just because you’re some private dick now, Amanda. It doesn’t give you the right to start barking orders like some bitch in heat.” he said with clear irritation in his voice.
I looked at him; askance.
“Tell me something: Does the 12th Precinct always tell the newbies to act like this when confronted with a former superior?” I fired back.
“Look, I don’t care who vouched for you, Amanda. This is an internal police matter.” The guy countered thickly. “So back off.”
“Fuck you–Percy Collins!” I said knowingly–without even looking at his name tag. “I have every right to be here and you damned well know that!” Nailing him with a cold stare, I continued with: “Instead of busting my ass on this, can you get that stick out of yours and be more considerate–instead of a wired junkie on coffee and pigging out on those low-fat ring cakes taken from that secret stash of yours?”
Collins stared at me for the longest time–before breaking out into a familiar smile. “They’re called doughnuts, love. And yes, I know who you are. I was playing with you.”
I let out an exasperated sound. And cuffed the man stiffly on the shoulder.
“You’re an ass.” I told him with a rising grin on my face.
Percy stepped forward and hugged me like old times.
“Yes, and it’s been too long since you left the force.” He said with a bob of the eyebrows. “How have you been doing?”
I sighed and slicked back my hair a bit–before shaking my head.
“Bored out of my mind. I thought being a dick would be more exciting than this shit. I guess I was wrong.”
“Going private–” the man mused and then shook his head. “Tried to warn you love. It would be the death of you. But you wouldn‘t listen to me.”
I snorted and tried to change tact. If only for a second.
“And stop calling me ‘love’ you perv. You make it sound like we’re married or something worse.”
Collins shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t help if I’m 100% Brit, child. There’s something to be said about us Union Jacks.”
“A Union Jerk is more like it,” I fired back at him teasingly; enjoying the camaraderie between us. This was routine between us–ever since I first came to the force and Collins was my immediate superior. We’d always open the day with some useless argument or confrontation.
Some people within the department that we were either nuts or the types which couldn’t be counted on in times of crisis.
But over time, we treated it as a game.
He stayed a cop, rose up in the ranks and eventually…?
I left to pursue my own interests in law enforcement.
“Louse.” He countered with a laugh, then got serious.
I noticed the pips on his shoulder epaulets and smiled.
“Late congrats on you achieving looie by the way. The rank suits you.”
“It stinks.” He said jovially. “I would rather be a captain and make my own hours. But Harramond would have nothing of it.”
I smirked. “He did say that you were a lazy son of a bitch.” I prodded him knowingly.
“So I played hooky one night with the guys. Can you fault me?”
“Playing a round of pool and darts–then getting drunk didn’t score too well with John.”
Collins sighed wistfully. “Yeah, well. What’s done is done, love.” He then took me by the arm and steered me towards a smaller crowd with a couple of leery bystanders.
Planting me in front of them, he said, “These two are the ones whom witnessed the attack–moments after it got started. From the way they tell it–it’s like Peeler had no chance to escape; seeing how he got his ass handed to him so quickly.”
I nodded a word of thanks to Percy and let him go back to his rounds.
“I’ll get what evidence you want so you can get one of your ‘impressions’.” He winked at me as I said it–forcing a rise of color out of my cheeks.
Aside from John, Percy was the only one whom knew about my gifts.
Turning to the two in question, I introduced myself.
“On request from the 12th Precinct, I have been asked to come down here and investigate.”
The two of them nodded briskly–if not nervously.
“Just as a fair warning, I can tell if you’re lying. If you are, I will know about it.”
Another nod of understanding.
I pulled out a digital micro-recorder and thumbed the button. No matter where it was, it would pick up their voices while automatically filtering out all the congenial noise pollution around us.
“Tell me what happened–if you can. And tell me in great detail if you are able.”
Both witnesses nodded and they began to tell me what happened.
Earlier today.
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER--CHAPTER 4
Even though I was an honor student at Berkley–with my choice of expensive dorm suites and all that–I chose to have my own place off campus.
I didn’t think it would be much good for campus security to find me roaming around at night–especially since they instituted curfew laws at the university.
I liked my freedoms just the way they are.
Especially in my line of work. I could not afford any delays.
Even if school was one of them.
Truth be told, I chose to go back to school; chose to reintegrate myself back into the human world after a few decades of voluntary isolation.
I wanted to see what had changed in my absence and what hadn’t. Most of downtown San Francisco had in this new century.
Gone was the old quaint style in which I had grown to love and cherish over the last 170 years since the city was incepted.
Now, San Francisco had become a technological hub which featured more neon signs and psi-implanted advertisement kiosks than anything I could recall.
Even old Tokyo had nothing on this transformed populace.
Sky-high spires gleamed of richly inlaid steel columns and fluted Aires–with some Greco-gothic sculptures.
Everything about the city’s main district had been transformed. In many ways…?
Slowly assimilated.
The part of San Francisco that I had called home these last 20 years was the reason why I had moved my base of operations to–after a long stay in the Northwest’s own British Columbia.
Of course, some of the legends surrounding my exploits could never be proven–much less collaborated.
I never stayed long at any rate. I don’t know how much I will stay here–even after I graduate with honors.
Turning the key to my apartment, I went in and out came a black ball of fur and energy.
“Sabastian!” I yelled; turning around on a dime–my jacket following suit. My long-time companion and friend darted down the hallway–seemingly engaged in a game of Invisible Tag with something.
My sharp eyes caught sight of a flying bug–and that’s what got my furry companion’s attention.
“Come back here, you insufferable mouse catcher!”
The cat paid no heed to me and I was forced to leave my place unlocked an unattended.
Fine time for him to come out of his domain and into another–less tame–one. I thought to myself.
Tossing my bag of chocolate bars inside, I closed the door sharply and tucked my keys inside my jacket pocket.
“Little beast!” I hissed between my teeth, and stalked after my prized pet with surely vengeance in mind. I could never bring myself to hurt the three-year-old feline.
Even if I was a vampiress hunter.
Despite the legends, cats remained a vampire’s soul mate throughout the years. They were treated reverently like the ancient Egyptians did with Osiris.
I had so many pets over the centuries, I had lost count. But each one brought me joy and heartache. It was the reason why I started up the practice after so many long years.
I didn’t want to feel alone again.
Sabastian didn’t escape me for very long. The cat knew he was in deep shit for his little stunt.
But that didn’t stop him from hunkering down with his prize–the fly caught between his paws.
He was delicately eating it, so I rose back up from my hunched position–hands out like claws to scoop up my cat–and turned away from the somewhat macabre scene.
“You and your bug habit.” I scolded the feline under my breath. “I feed you well and give you plenty of attention–and you still do this?”
Sebastian meowed softly to me in response–before I felt his sleek and satin body rub against my legs lovingly.
I bent down to scoop him up; holding him close to my breast.
Rubbing his ears and then under his chin–his favorite spot–the obnoxious creature began to purr in heaven at my touch.
The sound alone made me shiver with want and desire of another kind.
The human kind.
“You like this, don’t you?” I whispered to him; nuzzling my face up against his pelt-like fur.
The cat’s eyes were closed in such a way, that I knew that he was enjoying this as much as I.
“Brute.” I said with a chuckle. “I could never punish you for following your instincts. It’s what I would’ve done in your place.” I then carried him back to my apartment; opening the door with one hand, while dumping gently to the ground with the other.
“In you go.” I said firmly. “You’ve had your three minutes of freedom. Now mom has things she needs to do.”
The cat vanished from my sight like always–before coming out from underneath the bed for a moment to tackle what was on the floor next to my modest entertainment center:
My bag of chocolate bars.
Quickly, I went over and rescued the vulnerable treat to myself–and gave the cat a forlorn look.
“Now, now,” I scolded gently. “That’s not for you. I’ll give you some kitty treats in a second–spoiled brat-kitty.”
Sabastian rolled over and showed me his white tummy–an oddity for him and any like him in his genus. Most black cats I knew were all black. When I got him from a rescue shelter three years ago, he was this little pathetic and round little mound of life–barely six weeks old.
I fell in love with him in an instant–like I did now.
Smiling, I bent down and rubbed his tummy affectionately, before he had the common sense to reach out with his claws and grab a hold of my hand and offending wrist.
“Playful, are we?” I said with an intoxicating grin–spinning the cat gently around like he was a feather duster.
That got my cat’s goat–as the human saying goes–and his claws dug deeper. And his teeth.
I ignored the small bites of pain into my blunt olive skin–and gave him another healthy spin.
It just egged him on. And I smiled.
“Kitty go wheee!” I chortled with child-like delight.
Sabastian bit down, clawed down, and then licked my hand fervently.
I laughed lightly and allowed my beloved pet some moments of self-absorbed penance, before I gently extricated my hand from Sebastian.
“Okay, you mongrel. I have to go and shower. And then I plan to eat something.” I told him, rubbing his head lovingly.
I grabbed the remote from on top the large twin bed and flicked the wall-screen on.
Technology had improved quite a bit in the last 30 years–and now people didn’t have to buy Tvs anymore.
Each place now had its own personal wall-screen.
Of course, the larger units had more than one, but this was a tiny studio apartment with its one-bedroom and smallish living room–complete with its own kitchenette.
I chose the living room as my own personal bedroom–but not because I could sit up on some nights and watch my favorite shows–but because it felt and reminded me of my own family’s home so long ago in my native Romania.
I went by the name of Maria Elena Dumitra then–and I remember my mother nicknaming me Ela for short.
But I was plain Marlena Eliza Kosonovitch today. And though I have many family trinkets and a few namesakes to remind me of the person I once was–I could never forget my past.
The wall-screen flared to life in a haze of blue and then static for a second–before the auto-detection circuit built into the wall-screen communicated with my service provider and offered me an outside view of the world as they saw it.
These humans…
I frowned at today’s selection of news. Nothing more gory and depressing than watching them kill each other over land parceled out to others over the expanse of time.
War after war greeted me–as their mighty armies battled for what meager resources were left.
Yesterday, it was oil.
Today, it was the one thing which covered three-quarters of this planet: Water.
And if the victor couldn’t have it, nobody could.
I smirked at the thought of seeing this country’s once mighty army become reduced to nothing more than blood-running mercenaries.
Much like they were during the unsuccessful oil wars at the beginning of the century.
But as the threat of global warming increased, so did these politicians thirst for control of anything.
It no longer mattered to them what human lives were sacrificed.
So long as they got what they were sent out for.
It was such a sad state of affairs–as I watched silent images of destruction and horror play across my screen.
And to think my life was complicated? I thought as I got up for a second from the edge of the bed–my eyes never tearing away from the digital overlays flooding past me in silent procession.
I started to strip down–kicking off my boots and disrobing my overcoat all at the same time.
My pants went next before I sat back down on the cool quilt in my silk panties.
Sabastian stretched out and purred to himself–before curling up his paws a little; all in an effort of getting my attention.
I watched him sigh with contentment, watched his breathing start to go shallow, and then sense him start to fall asleep on his own.
He was such a sweet and loving cat. I didn’t know what I would do without him in these trying times.
Then a BREAKING NEWS indicator flashed by the wall-screen at the bottom and I used my remote to navigate towards the bottom.
Clicking on that–while I was half-naked–I watched with sudden interest as I spotted a local camera crew shoot LIVE from the scene of a local crime.
“Mine.” I whispered with some grim satisfaction. One of the things I learned in the past was to never linger around the scene of a crime.
Or a public disturbance.
Reason why I was in such a hurry as I was today.
I could see the camera crew and the reporter try to get in close-in shots of the crime scene (which had been taped off), and pestering the local police unit in charge of the whole affair.
But with the sound muted, I didn’t really care much for the bytes.
I just wanted to see what had become of my little foray.
Then I decided to un-mute the whole thing and I was treated to a bespectacled visage of chaos and disorder.
“–can you tell us what happened here?” the female reporter was desperately trying to grab the lead police officer’s attention. “Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Any word on what happened here? Is it the work of a serial killer!?”
“No comment.” The man said in a brusque tone of voice. “Now get the (censored) out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing on a goddamned crime scene!”
The woman wisely backed off from her charge and turned to face the camera man and me.
“Well, you have it here, folks.” She said with an air of rattled professionalism. “The death of a gang-banger, and your local street beaters have decided to keep it under wraps. As usual. More on this story as it develops at 11. For CBS7 News; this is Samantha Carter reporting.”
I muted the reception then and returned it back to the Headline News Channel.
I could easily detect the disdain in the red-headed woman’s voice. It didn’t sound like she was enjoying getting outmaneuvered by San Fran’s finest.
I smiled to myself.
Whatever they find, it won’t lead back to me. I’ve been too careful to leave anything of myself behind. I thought as I rose to my feet and peeled off the last articles of my clothing.
My 40-DD breasts jutted out perfectly with my toned stomach and small hips. I never outgrew how my body looked to me: So flawlessly perfect in many respects–without so much as a blemish or scar.
Odd for a vampiress hunter. You would expect something from my line of work. But since I was turned so many centuries ago, I was also gifted with a hyper-accelerated immunal response system.
Injuries common with the humans would cease to exist in a matter of minutes.
Even grave injuries which would put most people in a hospital’s ICU ward.
I smiled and pranced around a bit–feeling both sensual and powerful at the same time. I needn’t worry about any perverts or peeping toms looking in my only large-scale, rectangular window (which was built along the lines of a skyscraper).
They couldn’t see anything from the second-floor balcony anyway.
And if they did?
I smiled to myself evilly.
“Probably have a heart-attack and die.” I murmured, before trailing a foot along Sebastian’s upturned back.
“Behave yourself.” I said, before disappearing into the other room.
I didn’t think it would be much good for campus security to find me roaming around at night–especially since they instituted curfew laws at the university.
I liked my freedoms just the way they are.
Especially in my line of work. I could not afford any delays.
Even if school was one of them.
Truth be told, I chose to go back to school; chose to reintegrate myself back into the human world after a few decades of voluntary isolation.
I wanted to see what had changed in my absence and what hadn’t. Most of downtown San Francisco had in this new century.
Gone was the old quaint style in which I had grown to love and cherish over the last 170 years since the city was incepted.
Now, San Francisco had become a technological hub which featured more neon signs and psi-implanted advertisement kiosks than anything I could recall.
Even old Tokyo had nothing on this transformed populace.
Sky-high spires gleamed of richly inlaid steel columns and fluted Aires–with some Greco-gothic sculptures.
Everything about the city’s main district had been transformed. In many ways…?
Slowly assimilated.
The part of San Francisco that I had called home these last 20 years was the reason why I had moved my base of operations to–after a long stay in the Northwest’s own British Columbia.
Of course, some of the legends surrounding my exploits could never be proven–much less collaborated.
I never stayed long at any rate. I don’t know how much I will stay here–even after I graduate with honors.
Turning the key to my apartment, I went in and out came a black ball of fur and energy.
“Sabastian!” I yelled; turning around on a dime–my jacket following suit. My long-time companion and friend darted down the hallway–seemingly engaged in a game of Invisible Tag with something.
My sharp eyes caught sight of a flying bug–and that’s what got my furry companion’s attention.
“Come back here, you insufferable mouse catcher!”
The cat paid no heed to me and I was forced to leave my place unlocked an unattended.
Fine time for him to come out of his domain and into another–less tame–one. I thought to myself.
Tossing my bag of chocolate bars inside, I closed the door sharply and tucked my keys inside my jacket pocket.
“Little beast!” I hissed between my teeth, and stalked after my prized pet with surely vengeance in mind. I could never bring myself to hurt the three-year-old feline.
Even if I was a vampiress hunter.
Despite the legends, cats remained a vampire’s soul mate throughout the years. They were treated reverently like the ancient Egyptians did with Osiris.
I had so many pets over the centuries, I had lost count. But each one brought me joy and heartache. It was the reason why I started up the practice after so many long years.
I didn’t want to feel alone again.
Sabastian didn’t escape me for very long. The cat knew he was in deep shit for his little stunt.
But that didn’t stop him from hunkering down with his prize–the fly caught between his paws.
He was delicately eating it, so I rose back up from my hunched position–hands out like claws to scoop up my cat–and turned away from the somewhat macabre scene.
“You and your bug habit.” I scolded the feline under my breath. “I feed you well and give you plenty of attention–and you still do this?”
Sebastian meowed softly to me in response–before I felt his sleek and satin body rub against my legs lovingly.
I bent down to scoop him up; holding him close to my breast.
Rubbing his ears and then under his chin–his favorite spot–the obnoxious creature began to purr in heaven at my touch.
The sound alone made me shiver with want and desire of another kind.
The human kind.
“You like this, don’t you?” I whispered to him; nuzzling my face up against his pelt-like fur.
The cat’s eyes were closed in such a way, that I knew that he was enjoying this as much as I.
“Brute.” I said with a chuckle. “I could never punish you for following your instincts. It’s what I would’ve done in your place.” I then carried him back to my apartment; opening the door with one hand, while dumping gently to the ground with the other.
“In you go.” I said firmly. “You’ve had your three minutes of freedom. Now mom has things she needs to do.”
The cat vanished from my sight like always–before coming out from underneath the bed for a moment to tackle what was on the floor next to my modest entertainment center:
My bag of chocolate bars.
Quickly, I went over and rescued the vulnerable treat to myself–and gave the cat a forlorn look.
“Now, now,” I scolded gently. “That’s not for you. I’ll give you some kitty treats in a second–spoiled brat-kitty.”
Sabastian rolled over and showed me his white tummy–an oddity for him and any like him in his genus. Most black cats I knew were all black. When I got him from a rescue shelter three years ago, he was this little pathetic and round little mound of life–barely six weeks old.
I fell in love with him in an instant–like I did now.
Smiling, I bent down and rubbed his tummy affectionately, before he had the common sense to reach out with his claws and grab a hold of my hand and offending wrist.
“Playful, are we?” I said with an intoxicating grin–spinning the cat gently around like he was a feather duster.
That got my cat’s goat–as the human saying goes–and his claws dug deeper. And his teeth.
I ignored the small bites of pain into my blunt olive skin–and gave him another healthy spin.
It just egged him on. And I smiled.
“Kitty go wheee!” I chortled with child-like delight.
Sabastian bit down, clawed down, and then licked my hand fervently.
I laughed lightly and allowed my beloved pet some moments of self-absorbed penance, before I gently extricated my hand from Sebastian.
“Okay, you mongrel. I have to go and shower. And then I plan to eat something.” I told him, rubbing his head lovingly.
I grabbed the remote from on top the large twin bed and flicked the wall-screen on.
Technology had improved quite a bit in the last 30 years–and now people didn’t have to buy Tvs anymore.
Each place now had its own personal wall-screen.
Of course, the larger units had more than one, but this was a tiny studio apartment with its one-bedroom and smallish living room–complete with its own kitchenette.
I chose the living room as my own personal bedroom–but not because I could sit up on some nights and watch my favorite shows–but because it felt and reminded me of my own family’s home so long ago in my native Romania.
I went by the name of Maria Elena Dumitra then–and I remember my mother nicknaming me Ela for short.
But I was plain Marlena Eliza Kosonovitch today. And though I have many family trinkets and a few namesakes to remind me of the person I once was–I could never forget my past.
The wall-screen flared to life in a haze of blue and then static for a second–before the auto-detection circuit built into the wall-screen communicated with my service provider and offered me an outside view of the world as they saw it.
These humans…
I frowned at today’s selection of news. Nothing more gory and depressing than watching them kill each other over land parceled out to others over the expanse of time.
War after war greeted me–as their mighty armies battled for what meager resources were left.
Yesterday, it was oil.
Today, it was the one thing which covered three-quarters of this planet: Water.
And if the victor couldn’t have it, nobody could.
I smirked at the thought of seeing this country’s once mighty army become reduced to nothing more than blood-running mercenaries.
Much like they were during the unsuccessful oil wars at the beginning of the century.
But as the threat of global warming increased, so did these politicians thirst for control of anything.
It no longer mattered to them what human lives were sacrificed.
So long as they got what they were sent out for.
It was such a sad state of affairs–as I watched silent images of destruction and horror play across my screen.
And to think my life was complicated? I thought as I got up for a second from the edge of the bed–my eyes never tearing away from the digital overlays flooding past me in silent procession.
I started to strip down–kicking off my boots and disrobing my overcoat all at the same time.
My pants went next before I sat back down on the cool quilt in my silk panties.
Sabastian stretched out and purred to himself–before curling up his paws a little; all in an effort of getting my attention.
I watched him sigh with contentment, watched his breathing start to go shallow, and then sense him start to fall asleep on his own.
He was such a sweet and loving cat. I didn’t know what I would do without him in these trying times.
Then a BREAKING NEWS indicator flashed by the wall-screen at the bottom and I used my remote to navigate towards the bottom.
Clicking on that–while I was half-naked–I watched with sudden interest as I spotted a local camera crew shoot LIVE from the scene of a local crime.
“Mine.” I whispered with some grim satisfaction. One of the things I learned in the past was to never linger around the scene of a crime.
Or a public disturbance.
Reason why I was in such a hurry as I was today.
I could see the camera crew and the reporter try to get in close-in shots of the crime scene (which had been taped off), and pestering the local police unit in charge of the whole affair.
But with the sound muted, I didn’t really care much for the bytes.
I just wanted to see what had become of my little foray.
Then I decided to un-mute the whole thing and I was treated to a bespectacled visage of chaos and disorder.
“–can you tell us what happened here?” the female reporter was desperately trying to grab the lead police officer’s attention. “Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Any word on what happened here? Is it the work of a serial killer!?”
“No comment.” The man said in a brusque tone of voice. “Now get the (censored) out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing on a goddamned crime scene!”
The woman wisely backed off from her charge and turned to face the camera man and me.
“Well, you have it here, folks.” She said with an air of rattled professionalism. “The death of a gang-banger, and your local street beaters have decided to keep it under wraps. As usual. More on this story as it develops at 11. For CBS7 News; this is Samantha Carter reporting.”
I muted the reception then and returned it back to the Headline News Channel.
I could easily detect the disdain in the red-headed woman’s voice. It didn’t sound like she was enjoying getting outmaneuvered by San Fran’s finest.
I smiled to myself.
Whatever they find, it won’t lead back to me. I’ve been too careful to leave anything of myself behind. I thought as I rose to my feet and peeled off the last articles of my clothing.
My 40-DD breasts jutted out perfectly with my toned stomach and small hips. I never outgrew how my body looked to me: So flawlessly perfect in many respects–without so much as a blemish or scar.
Odd for a vampiress hunter. You would expect something from my line of work. But since I was turned so many centuries ago, I was also gifted with a hyper-accelerated immunal response system.
Injuries common with the humans would cease to exist in a matter of minutes.
Even grave injuries which would put most people in a hospital’s ICU ward.
I smiled and pranced around a bit–feeling both sensual and powerful at the same time. I needn’t worry about any perverts or peeping toms looking in my only large-scale, rectangular window (which was built along the lines of a skyscraper).
They couldn’t see anything from the second-floor balcony anyway.
And if they did?
I smiled to myself evilly.
“Probably have a heart-attack and die.” I murmured, before trailing a foot along Sebastian’s upturned back.
“Behave yourself.” I said, before disappearing into the other room.
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER--CHAPTER 3
I hated this part of my job. Really, really, really hated it.
What am I talking about?
Well, after my last break up with my asshole boyfriend, Todd Summers, I stopped dating men in general and began to get my life back in gear.
I went through the San Francisco Police Academy like every other raw recruit, passed–being the top 15% of my class–and fell into the time-honored role of being an underappreciated traffic cop.
Not that I minded it–mind you. The chaos in my life was far above the crazy shit a woman of my age and stature could hope to compete with while directing traffic.
Fender benders and jaywalkers I could easily handle.
But being a free-lance dick?
Heh.
I suppose things could be worse.
And as boring as this job was–at times–there was no pressure, no challenges, nothing which could add more stress to this 35-year-old body of mine.
I tapped the pencil lightly on the desk; thinking back to the times when I was really happy and nothing could ever change that.
Boy…was I ever wrong!
Life kicked me upside the head faster than I could blink. The relationship with my ex was both tormenting and stressful. The asshole son of a bitch wanted to control every aspect of me from minute one.
I didn’t know what possessed me to fall in love with him in the first place. It wasn’t like he was rich or something.
I laughed of course–rolling the pencil between my ink-stained fingers.
The pansy ass thought he was a great lover in bed too–with his pencil-thin, 4-inch prick. I thought to myself. So many times I kept fantasizing that he was someone else. Maybe a younger version of Brad Pitt–before that old fart kicked the bucket because of an accidental prescription drug overdose several years ago?
I sucked in my breath tightly–thinking back on the day I heard that news. And how his ex-wife was devastated over his death.
Yes, I had a thing for Hollywood hunks–past or present. I still remember fantasizing over Sean Connery–before his death in the late teens of natural causes.
Of course, I think every woman had a fantasy about someone rich or famous. But mine were an escape from the hell I put myself through–being with that uncaring son of a bitch.
It was a good thing I broke up with him. I couldn’t bear the thought of having his demon spawns running around the lower Haight-Ashbury District. I continued to think as I watched the portable screen perched on the corner of the desk.
Nothing much going on with the world today, I saw. Just the same shit every day: Wars, murders, corrupt government officials, and everything else in between.
And to think that–growing up–my life and my world would be one born from the pages of Science-Fiction & Fantasy.
2038 was certainly a real let down–in my opinion.
The world just gets worse by the day and here I sit–bored out of my skull and waiting for something exciting to happen in my life.
For once, I didn’t give a shit about the who or the what. I just wanted something to happen!
Then the phone rang.
Prayers answered.
I picked up the wireless handset from its cradle and spoke clearly into the pickup.
“Amanda Scott Detective Agency. How may I help you?”
The voice on the other end was someone I immediately recognized.
“John! You old goat!” I yelled into the phone’s optically-powered receiver. “Uh-huh. Yes. I am doing fine. That’s good. Emily and the kids are doing well. So what can I do for you, Captain?”
I listened for a few minutes, thinking over what my old commanding officer had to say.
Did I forget to mention that I had quit the force some 8 years ago to pursue this gig?
It wasn’t that I didn’t like my job directing traffic–something else just came up. Something which caught the eye of one John Harramond; former Captain of the 12th Precinct–now Police Chief for most of Lower San Fran and the Upper Westside.
“Okay. So the vic is an unidentifiable perp–most likely a gang-banger.” I mulled out loud to myself. “So what does this have to do with me, John? You know that I don’t do street crimes. That’s usually reserved for Homicide.”
I listed to John’s soft baritone voice on the other end of the link. I liked him because of his presence, but most importantly, because of his voice.
Very subtle, very powerful. And aesthetically pleasing to my ears.
For some strange reason, he sounded like my dear old dad.
But his response to me was very put off.
“Bite marks?” I echoed. “Uh-huh. That certainly is odd. Some signs of a struggle–okay.” I said–fishing out a pen and writing some of the information down on a note pad.
“Give me a second, John. I need to make sure I heard this right.” I tipped my handset just right and heard him say: “But this is your area of expertise, Mandy. Not mine.”
I felt an immediate blush rise up my neck as he said it.
My special nickname from him.
“True. But calls like this tend to be a prank by the local riff-raff and doped out teenagers looking for bragging rights.” I calmly pointed out while jotting down notes.
“This guy is no prank. We have a dead corpse on our hands–with strange puncture wounds and signs of a struggle.” John continued to berate me–hoping that information alone would change my mind.
“That may be true, but why does this involve me still?”
“Paranormal things are a specialty of yours, Mandy. Especially since you have some form of precognitive sensory perception and telepathy. You’ve told me many times that you can somehow “sense” things which are out of whack with our normal surroundings–including things which can’t be easily explainable.”
I listened because I respected John. Not because he was pointing out the obvious to me.
“Duh.” I finally said out of mild exasperation. “Most medical journals these days call that ESP. I just have an enhanced form of it–that’s true. But that doesn’t make me the more qualified.”
“Well maybe this will help speed up your decision. What if I were to come out and say that this looks like the work of our serial killer? The one whom has been preying on the young and old for years now?”
“The Bay Area Killer?” I said aloud. “John…that guy’s just a myth! He hasn’t been seen or heard from for 20 years!”
“In the public eye–yes. But off the record, he or she has been quite active for all this time. I’m not saying that this person has been killing for 24 hours straight–for some 20 years running. But we’ve had some reports of dead bodies showing up a few times every seven months. And this month marks the last seven-month anniversary. This is the first body this person has left behind. And given this guy’s M.O., count on at least 4 to 5 more victims before the month is out. Especially since this is October and all.”
“Halloween, right?” I guessed off hand. “Why do these sorry pusses always have to kill on the Eve of Sam Hain?”
“I’m not sure, Mandy. But will you look into this matter for me?”
I nodded–finally giving in. That much I owed my old captain.
“Sure, John. Just make sure that whomever is overseeing the investigation gives me some wide latitude on this matter. You know how much I despised being dragged through yards of red tape and endless beauracracy.” I told him.
There was some laughter on the other end of the line.
“You always did have a thing for rebelling against authority, child. All right, I’ll see that you’re cleared by my department. Just don’t do anything rash.”
“No promises,” I gently reminded him with a smile touching my soft lips. “And thanks.”
“Good hunting.” Was my former CO’s response–and the link went dead.
Staring down at what I wrote, I smiled even more.
Things were about to get more interesting from here on out. I just wondered who it was that killed this guy.
The Bay Area Killer was never positively identified–except by the bodies drained of their blood–at times–or just left for dead; with strange puncture marks to the skin.
Of course no one really wanted to come out and say it:
That this killer was a vampire.
Naturally, this case now fell under my jurisdiction. And I was the only one whom could close the book on a case which stretched back not only decades, but…
Centuries.
What am I talking about?
Well, after my last break up with my asshole boyfriend, Todd Summers, I stopped dating men in general and began to get my life back in gear.
I went through the San Francisco Police Academy like every other raw recruit, passed–being the top 15% of my class–and fell into the time-honored role of being an underappreciated traffic cop.
Not that I minded it–mind you. The chaos in my life was far above the crazy shit a woman of my age and stature could hope to compete with while directing traffic.
Fender benders and jaywalkers I could easily handle.
But being a free-lance dick?
Heh.
I suppose things could be worse.
And as boring as this job was–at times–there was no pressure, no challenges, nothing which could add more stress to this 35-year-old body of mine.
I tapped the pencil lightly on the desk; thinking back to the times when I was really happy and nothing could ever change that.
Boy…was I ever wrong!
Life kicked me upside the head faster than I could blink. The relationship with my ex was both tormenting and stressful. The asshole son of a bitch wanted to control every aspect of me from minute one.
I didn’t know what possessed me to fall in love with him in the first place. It wasn’t like he was rich or something.
I laughed of course–rolling the pencil between my ink-stained fingers.
The pansy ass thought he was a great lover in bed too–with his pencil-thin, 4-inch prick. I thought to myself. So many times I kept fantasizing that he was someone else. Maybe a younger version of Brad Pitt–before that old fart kicked the bucket because of an accidental prescription drug overdose several years ago?
I sucked in my breath tightly–thinking back on the day I heard that news. And how his ex-wife was devastated over his death.
Yes, I had a thing for Hollywood hunks–past or present. I still remember fantasizing over Sean Connery–before his death in the late teens of natural causes.
Of course, I think every woman had a fantasy about someone rich or famous. But mine were an escape from the hell I put myself through–being with that uncaring son of a bitch.
It was a good thing I broke up with him. I couldn’t bear the thought of having his demon spawns running around the lower Haight-Ashbury District. I continued to think as I watched the portable screen perched on the corner of the desk.
Nothing much going on with the world today, I saw. Just the same shit every day: Wars, murders, corrupt government officials, and everything else in between.
And to think that–growing up–my life and my world would be one born from the pages of Science-Fiction & Fantasy.
2038 was certainly a real let down–in my opinion.
The world just gets worse by the day and here I sit–bored out of my skull and waiting for something exciting to happen in my life.
For once, I didn’t give a shit about the who or the what. I just wanted something to happen!
Then the phone rang.
Prayers answered.
I picked up the wireless handset from its cradle and spoke clearly into the pickup.
“Amanda Scott Detective Agency. How may I help you?”
The voice on the other end was someone I immediately recognized.
“John! You old goat!” I yelled into the phone’s optically-powered receiver. “Uh-huh. Yes. I am doing fine. That’s good. Emily and the kids are doing well. So what can I do for you, Captain?”
I listened for a few minutes, thinking over what my old commanding officer had to say.
Did I forget to mention that I had quit the force some 8 years ago to pursue this gig?
It wasn’t that I didn’t like my job directing traffic–something else just came up. Something which caught the eye of one John Harramond; former Captain of the 12th Precinct–now Police Chief for most of Lower San Fran and the Upper Westside.
“Okay. So the vic is an unidentifiable perp–most likely a gang-banger.” I mulled out loud to myself. “So what does this have to do with me, John? You know that I don’t do street crimes. That’s usually reserved for Homicide.”
I listed to John’s soft baritone voice on the other end of the link. I liked him because of his presence, but most importantly, because of his voice.
Very subtle, very powerful. And aesthetically pleasing to my ears.
For some strange reason, he sounded like my dear old dad.
But his response to me was very put off.
“Bite marks?” I echoed. “Uh-huh. That certainly is odd. Some signs of a struggle–okay.” I said–fishing out a pen and writing some of the information down on a note pad.
“Give me a second, John. I need to make sure I heard this right.” I tipped my handset just right and heard him say: “But this is your area of expertise, Mandy. Not mine.”
I felt an immediate blush rise up my neck as he said it.
My special nickname from him.
“True. But calls like this tend to be a prank by the local riff-raff and doped out teenagers looking for bragging rights.” I calmly pointed out while jotting down notes.
“This guy is no prank. We have a dead corpse on our hands–with strange puncture wounds and signs of a struggle.” John continued to berate me–hoping that information alone would change my mind.
“That may be true, but why does this involve me still?”
“Paranormal things are a specialty of yours, Mandy. Especially since you have some form of precognitive sensory perception and telepathy. You’ve told me many times that you can somehow “sense” things which are out of whack with our normal surroundings–including things which can’t be easily explainable.”
I listened because I respected John. Not because he was pointing out the obvious to me.
“Duh.” I finally said out of mild exasperation. “Most medical journals these days call that ESP. I just have an enhanced form of it–that’s true. But that doesn’t make me the more qualified.”
“Well maybe this will help speed up your decision. What if I were to come out and say that this looks like the work of our serial killer? The one whom has been preying on the young and old for years now?”
“The Bay Area Killer?” I said aloud. “John…that guy’s just a myth! He hasn’t been seen or heard from for 20 years!”
“In the public eye–yes. But off the record, he or she has been quite active for all this time. I’m not saying that this person has been killing for 24 hours straight–for some 20 years running. But we’ve had some reports of dead bodies showing up a few times every seven months. And this month marks the last seven-month anniversary. This is the first body this person has left behind. And given this guy’s M.O., count on at least 4 to 5 more victims before the month is out. Especially since this is October and all.”
“Halloween, right?” I guessed off hand. “Why do these sorry pusses always have to kill on the Eve of Sam Hain?”
“I’m not sure, Mandy. But will you look into this matter for me?”
I nodded–finally giving in. That much I owed my old captain.
“Sure, John. Just make sure that whomever is overseeing the investigation gives me some wide latitude on this matter. You know how much I despised being dragged through yards of red tape and endless beauracracy.” I told him.
There was some laughter on the other end of the line.
“You always did have a thing for rebelling against authority, child. All right, I’ll see that you’re cleared by my department. Just don’t do anything rash.”
“No promises,” I gently reminded him with a smile touching my soft lips. “And thanks.”
“Good hunting.” Was my former CO’s response–and the link went dead.
Staring down at what I wrote, I smiled even more.
Things were about to get more interesting from here on out. I just wondered who it was that killed this guy.
The Bay Area Killer was never positively identified–except by the bodies drained of their blood–at times–or just left for dead; with strange puncture marks to the skin.
Of course no one really wanted to come out and say it:
That this killer was a vampire.
Naturally, this case now fell under my jurisdiction. And I was the only one whom could close the book on a case which stretched back not only decades, but…
Centuries.
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER--CHAPTER 2
I found an open door to my immediate right and jumped right in–listening as a tiny bell above my head tinkled in welcome at my arrival–and the door shut behind me.
Trapping me in a small shop lined with an exotic assortment of chocolates.
I was in Heaven.
Leaning on the glass counter, I struggled to catch my breath–acting like I had just ran a marathon. But deep down, this was something more closer to what humans called a ‘panic attack’.
Vampires I knew never got such things. But I was not your typical vampire. I was also part human. And it was that half of me which was affected the most.
I struggled for a few more seconds against the tide of adrenaline and fear, and so many other clashing emotions which tore at me.
I stared down–through the case–and saw so many wrapped bars of chocolate, so many different kinds; that I was temporarily blinded by the decadent treasures which laid themselves bare before my wondrous eyes.
An old man came out from the back and strolled up to the front of me–more at ease than I was at the moment.
“Can I help you, miss?”
At this point, I had forgotten what it was like to breathe.
I inhaled sharply; startling the shopkeeper greatly.
“Sorry!” I quickly apologized. “I just came in here to escape the crush of the crowds outside.”
Terror and fear melted away from the old codger’s ancient features, and he smiled.
“Busy Sunday.” He offered knowingly.
I let out a small grunt of dissent.
“I really hate weekends.” I said. “The people–they drive me crazy.”
“This is what you get in San Francisco these days. I remember a time when things were more relaxed and less chaotic around here.” The old man reminisced softly.
I nodded–knowing where he was coming from. A lot had changed in the last 50 years.
“I know.” I replied without thinking.
“Do you? You seem awfully young for someone who hasn’t been around for as long as I have. How could know what things were like?”
I blushed a bit, suddenly warmed by the fossil’s compliment of me.
“Thanks. I was a history buff for as long as I can recall.”
“Which time?”
I stared into the case even more, my eyes roving around for potential prey. Though I wouldn’t find the kind I naturally enjoyed from time to time, this one was of a kind that only satiate the beast within.
“Um…” I faltered for a second. “All of them?”
The old man smiled. “So you must be a student, then, huh? Berkley?”
“Yes…”
“Good school. I graduated there back in the 90s. When do you graduate?”
“Two more years.” I said automatically, before finding what I wanted. An enriched, 96% cacao, strawberry-infused bar of the darkest chocolate I saw in quite some time.
Did I forget to mention a couple of important things here? I was a student at Berkley, but I am also hopelessly addicted to chocolate.
Not just the lattes I drank, but the bars which I enjoyed with sweet relish.
“Find something you like?” The old man offered with a smile.
“Yes,” I answered and pointed to the bar. “That.”
The old man glanced down to where I had pointed and smiled.
“An excellent choice, my dear. This used to be one of my personal favorites too–at one time. And my wife, Sally’s–when she was alive.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I offered in quiet condolence.
The old man dipped his hand on the other side the case to get the bar. But instead of one, I saw a whole stack of them.
“Could I get five more of those?” I asked in a meek, but hopeful voice.
Naturally, the old fossil’s eyebrows raised up all by themselves.
“At $12.50 a bar? Are you sure you can afford it? Especially on a student’s budget?”
I fished out some of the New Age script which had recently come into circulation only five years ago. Most of the old money which had dominated the country had been phased out by then–replaced by a botched credit-chip system that never worked quite right in the first place.
It took sweeping legislation to introduce what had been a European mainstay for almost 70 years: Holographic currency.
The New Age $100 bill bore some resemblance to the old Grant that was in circulation for decades, but it had more of an updated–futuristic–feel to it.
Less paper, more holographic film material which was designed to mimic the real thing.
And it was folded in half and rumpled.
I handed it to the old man without protest–my mind burning with a desire that I haven’t felt in quite some time. Very few things these days got me more turned on than chocolate did.
I was a woman patterned after traditionalism after all. Seeking out those things which brought me comfort, brought me pleasure, and brought me joy.
And buying the mother lode of dark chocolate was one of those things.
I watched with rapt attention as the old man made change for me, and then proceeded to get my purchased items.
Like an old hand at cards, I found myself staring at an outline of chocolate bars wrapped in blue-red paper and stamped gold foil.
Despite my best efforts to remain calm and collected, my mouth salivated at the thought of biting into these delicate morsels of pure, unadulterated goodness.
“There you go.” The old man said with a chuckle. “I can see that your eager to eat these before you leave my shop.”
My hands twitched and I was edging to go ahead and rip one open and devour it with raw passion.
He left one naked out in the open for me, while he took the other five and put them in a tissue-paper bag.
I immediately snatched the helpless bar of chocolate and proceeded to stare at one of my gained treasures.
And sighed contently.
“Thanks for visiting Sam’s Chocolate Shop.” The old man rehearsed for me with practiced air. “Drop by again if you feel the need.”
I nodded to myself, still holding the bar in one hand and taking the offered bag in the other.
“I will.” I promised solemnly–believing that I had found heaven at last. If there was any place I would rather die now, this was it.
I left more quickly than I intended–carrying only a whisper of wind with me in my wake.
I’m sure that the old man blinked at my sudden departure. Most humans I came across with in my years on Mother Earth didn’t harbor the lightning speed and grace which I possessed.
Before I knew it though, I was walking down the sidewalk–mind and body full–spirit content.
People passed me by–none of them offering so much as a glance to me as I began to deftly unwrap my succulent gift.
I stopped by an open alley just for a second so that I could gain a better purchase on my chocolate. I was in the middle of taking my first bite of my first sweet acquisition–when I heard the soft click! of a .41 Gloucester being cocked in my general direction.
“Comfh on…!” I cried out–my mouth full. I quickly pushed the bitten bar to the inside of my cheek and then added: “I just bought these!”
The owner of the gun didn’t seem to be phased at all by my protests.
“Tough shit, bitch. Now be a good whore and give me all of your money. And no funny stuff.” He said without preamble.
I looked at the skinhead with a poor taste in clothes. He had to be at least 30 or so. But his appearance suggested that he was part of a gang or something.
Loose baggy pants, worn high-tops–which looked more out of place than some of the fancy loafers still used in those stage plays over in Broadway–heavy links of gold and silver chains covering a tattered sports shirt, and tattoos covering both his arms and part of his front chest.
Not to mention the gold grills on his front teeth and the dark shades covering that bald head of his. I thought to myself.
“Just what era did you fall out of from? The early 2000s?”
The man didn’t blink.
“No talking.” He said, beckoning me towards with his gun. It hummed a little, suggesting that the homing round in the chamber was alive and active.
The moment it left the gun, it could mercilessly zero in on its intended victim–by targeting the body’s most vulnerable kill spot.
I looked around–not really worried about my own personal safety, but just out of natural curiosity.
As I suspected, nobody was coming to my rescue.
Not that I needed anyone to do such an archaic thing in the first place.
Those few souls passing me by at a healthy distance didn’t look over, didn’t blink their eyes, didn’t raise the alarm.
I was beginning to wonder why there was so many police here, but crime was still so rampant?
“Are you deaf?!” The man thundered in my ears. “I said move it!”
I had no choice in the matter. I had to do what I was being told.
I didn’t want to raise the suspicions of the locals any.
“You know,” I began rather delicately. “You shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“Save it!” The man snapped–before cuffing me across the face with his weapon.
My world went spinning then, and I lost the bag of chocolate in the process. The piece–that was in my mouth–exploded outwards as a gooey, globby, missile of chocolate, blood, and my own pent up saliva.
I fell smartly to the ground in a heap–before being felt up and then dragged further into the alleyway, behind an overloaded dumpster for cover, before I felt a pair of hands grope me unflinchingly.
My head was lolled forward because my senses swam for just a second. No matter what you know about vampires, there are a lot of things that books, comics, and even the movies left out about our own level of humanity.
I could still feel the cold bite of the metal in my cheek–feel its burn travel across my mouth and into the back of my throat; even as my captor sought mercilessly for anything which resembled money.
Unfortunately–for him–he would only get what I was given by the old man in change: $22.18.
“Where is it?” The man screamed at me. “Where is…the…fucking…money?!?”
I reached into the back of my pants pocket and fished out some colored bills and what loose change I had left.
Without looking up, I handed them to him. “Here.” I said heavily. Thickly. “Take the money and leave me the hell alone.”
The nameless fool snatched it out of my grasp like it was the only thing that mattered. Not the fact that he may have injured me with that earlier attack.
But no.
The money was the only thing which consumed him. That and only that.
However, it only took a few seconds to find out that he wasn’t happy with what he had stolen from me.
“That’s it???” he roared. “Twenty-two fucking dollars and some change???”
“That’s it.” I told him quietly–still not bothering to look up.
Then I was grabbed rather roughly and tossed outside the general protection of the overloaded dumpster.
“Bitch!” The man seethed at me. “For that, I should take out the rest of what I want…from you!”
“That’s not really advisable, kind sir.” I said in my most abasing voice. For what was coming to him, I was rather enjoying this!
So long as my chocolate isn’t ruined. Came the quick afterthought.
“What you want is of no importance to me. I take what is mine.” The man said–after grabbing me by the front of my jacket and hauling me close. I grimaced at the strong smell of alcohol and sweat–not to mention nicotine on this fool’s breath.
It was only then that I looked directly at him.
“And what I take is your life.” I snarled at him then–my face transformed from human to vampire–with my fangs baring themselves to the air in general.
Before he could react, I leaped up in one smooth motion, grabbed him by the throat, twisted his head sideways…
And went right for the kill!
I felt my teeth easily pierce his soft skin and into his jugular.
Right then, I started to suck deeply–holding him fast against his struggling will to live. It only increased my raging desire to kill this asshole for interrupting what I saw was a perfect day for me.
This pissant’s fight for life was ebbing right through me, and I continued to drain him of his life blood.
If you’re worried about him turning, don’t be. Trash like him won’t live long enough to enjoy the sweet nectar of immortality anyways.
I yanked myself free of him, and in one smooth motion–snapped his neck clean like a chicken’s.
I dropped my former captor to the ground, licking my lips and finding the taste of his blood to be somewhat bitter, but not that dour to my insatiable pallet.
“I did try to warn you.” I spat at him–lobbing a bloody loogie of my own creation at the corpse in question. “Fucking pig.”
Looking around for my bag, I found all 5 chocolate bars had come through undamaged. But in the melee, I had lost my other one.
Shit! I screamed in silent irritation. I haven’t even finished that one yet!
I looked up and found a couple of people staring back at me in both astonishment mixed with a growing sense of horror.
I fixed them both with an unwavering cold glare.
“Say anything,” I threatened outright in passing, “and you’re next.”
Neither one said a word. But I got the sense that they wouldn’t.
At least for a time. And then their tongues would loosen, and the authorities would be notified.
But by then, I would be long gone.
However, I was beyond caring. I just wanted to get home and enjoy my fucking chocolate!
Trapping me in a small shop lined with an exotic assortment of chocolates.
I was in Heaven.
Leaning on the glass counter, I struggled to catch my breath–acting like I had just ran a marathon. But deep down, this was something more closer to what humans called a ‘panic attack’.
Vampires I knew never got such things. But I was not your typical vampire. I was also part human. And it was that half of me which was affected the most.
I struggled for a few more seconds against the tide of adrenaline and fear, and so many other clashing emotions which tore at me.
I stared down–through the case–and saw so many wrapped bars of chocolate, so many different kinds; that I was temporarily blinded by the decadent treasures which laid themselves bare before my wondrous eyes.
An old man came out from the back and strolled up to the front of me–more at ease than I was at the moment.
“Can I help you, miss?”
At this point, I had forgotten what it was like to breathe.
I inhaled sharply; startling the shopkeeper greatly.
“Sorry!” I quickly apologized. “I just came in here to escape the crush of the crowds outside.”
Terror and fear melted away from the old codger’s ancient features, and he smiled.
“Busy Sunday.” He offered knowingly.
I let out a small grunt of dissent.
“I really hate weekends.” I said. “The people–they drive me crazy.”
“This is what you get in San Francisco these days. I remember a time when things were more relaxed and less chaotic around here.” The old man reminisced softly.
I nodded–knowing where he was coming from. A lot had changed in the last 50 years.
“I know.” I replied without thinking.
“Do you? You seem awfully young for someone who hasn’t been around for as long as I have. How could know what things were like?”
I blushed a bit, suddenly warmed by the fossil’s compliment of me.
“Thanks. I was a history buff for as long as I can recall.”
“Which time?”
I stared into the case even more, my eyes roving around for potential prey. Though I wouldn’t find the kind I naturally enjoyed from time to time, this one was of a kind that only satiate the beast within.
“Um…” I faltered for a second. “All of them?”
The old man smiled. “So you must be a student, then, huh? Berkley?”
“Yes…”
“Good school. I graduated there back in the 90s. When do you graduate?”
“Two more years.” I said automatically, before finding what I wanted. An enriched, 96% cacao, strawberry-infused bar of the darkest chocolate I saw in quite some time.
Did I forget to mention a couple of important things here? I was a student at Berkley, but I am also hopelessly addicted to chocolate.
Not just the lattes I drank, but the bars which I enjoyed with sweet relish.
“Find something you like?” The old man offered with a smile.
“Yes,” I answered and pointed to the bar. “That.”
The old man glanced down to where I had pointed and smiled.
“An excellent choice, my dear. This used to be one of my personal favorites too–at one time. And my wife, Sally’s–when she was alive.”
“Sorry to hear that.” I offered in quiet condolence.
The old man dipped his hand on the other side the case to get the bar. But instead of one, I saw a whole stack of them.
“Could I get five more of those?” I asked in a meek, but hopeful voice.
Naturally, the old fossil’s eyebrows raised up all by themselves.
“At $12.50 a bar? Are you sure you can afford it? Especially on a student’s budget?”
I fished out some of the New Age script which had recently come into circulation only five years ago. Most of the old money which had dominated the country had been phased out by then–replaced by a botched credit-chip system that never worked quite right in the first place.
It took sweeping legislation to introduce what had been a European mainstay for almost 70 years: Holographic currency.
The New Age $100 bill bore some resemblance to the old Grant that was in circulation for decades, but it had more of an updated–futuristic–feel to it.
Less paper, more holographic film material which was designed to mimic the real thing.
And it was folded in half and rumpled.
I handed it to the old man without protest–my mind burning with a desire that I haven’t felt in quite some time. Very few things these days got me more turned on than chocolate did.
I was a woman patterned after traditionalism after all. Seeking out those things which brought me comfort, brought me pleasure, and brought me joy.
And buying the mother lode of dark chocolate was one of those things.
I watched with rapt attention as the old man made change for me, and then proceeded to get my purchased items.
Like an old hand at cards, I found myself staring at an outline of chocolate bars wrapped in blue-red paper and stamped gold foil.
Despite my best efforts to remain calm and collected, my mouth salivated at the thought of biting into these delicate morsels of pure, unadulterated goodness.
“There you go.” The old man said with a chuckle. “I can see that your eager to eat these before you leave my shop.”
My hands twitched and I was edging to go ahead and rip one open and devour it with raw passion.
He left one naked out in the open for me, while he took the other five and put them in a tissue-paper bag.
I immediately snatched the helpless bar of chocolate and proceeded to stare at one of my gained treasures.
And sighed contently.
“Thanks for visiting Sam’s Chocolate Shop.” The old man rehearsed for me with practiced air. “Drop by again if you feel the need.”
I nodded to myself, still holding the bar in one hand and taking the offered bag in the other.
“I will.” I promised solemnly–believing that I had found heaven at last. If there was any place I would rather die now, this was it.
I left more quickly than I intended–carrying only a whisper of wind with me in my wake.
I’m sure that the old man blinked at my sudden departure. Most humans I came across with in my years on Mother Earth didn’t harbor the lightning speed and grace which I possessed.
Before I knew it though, I was walking down the sidewalk–mind and body full–spirit content.
People passed me by–none of them offering so much as a glance to me as I began to deftly unwrap my succulent gift.
I stopped by an open alley just for a second so that I could gain a better purchase on my chocolate. I was in the middle of taking my first bite of my first sweet acquisition–when I heard the soft click! of a .41 Gloucester being cocked in my general direction.
“Comfh on…!” I cried out–my mouth full. I quickly pushed the bitten bar to the inside of my cheek and then added: “I just bought these!”
The owner of the gun didn’t seem to be phased at all by my protests.
“Tough shit, bitch. Now be a good whore and give me all of your money. And no funny stuff.” He said without preamble.
I looked at the skinhead with a poor taste in clothes. He had to be at least 30 or so. But his appearance suggested that he was part of a gang or something.
Loose baggy pants, worn high-tops–which looked more out of place than some of the fancy loafers still used in those stage plays over in Broadway–heavy links of gold and silver chains covering a tattered sports shirt, and tattoos covering both his arms and part of his front chest.
Not to mention the gold grills on his front teeth and the dark shades covering that bald head of his. I thought to myself.
“Just what era did you fall out of from? The early 2000s?”
The man didn’t blink.
“No talking.” He said, beckoning me towards with his gun. It hummed a little, suggesting that the homing round in the chamber was alive and active.
The moment it left the gun, it could mercilessly zero in on its intended victim–by targeting the body’s most vulnerable kill spot.
I looked around–not really worried about my own personal safety, but just out of natural curiosity.
As I suspected, nobody was coming to my rescue.
Not that I needed anyone to do such an archaic thing in the first place.
Those few souls passing me by at a healthy distance didn’t look over, didn’t blink their eyes, didn’t raise the alarm.
I was beginning to wonder why there was so many police here, but crime was still so rampant?
“Are you deaf?!” The man thundered in my ears. “I said move it!”
I had no choice in the matter. I had to do what I was being told.
I didn’t want to raise the suspicions of the locals any.
“You know,” I began rather delicately. “You shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“Save it!” The man snapped–before cuffing me across the face with his weapon.
My world went spinning then, and I lost the bag of chocolate in the process. The piece–that was in my mouth–exploded outwards as a gooey, globby, missile of chocolate, blood, and my own pent up saliva.
I fell smartly to the ground in a heap–before being felt up and then dragged further into the alleyway, behind an overloaded dumpster for cover, before I felt a pair of hands grope me unflinchingly.
My head was lolled forward because my senses swam for just a second. No matter what you know about vampires, there are a lot of things that books, comics, and even the movies left out about our own level of humanity.
I could still feel the cold bite of the metal in my cheek–feel its burn travel across my mouth and into the back of my throat; even as my captor sought mercilessly for anything which resembled money.
Unfortunately–for him–he would only get what I was given by the old man in change: $22.18.
“Where is it?” The man screamed at me. “Where is…the…fucking…money?!?”
I reached into the back of my pants pocket and fished out some colored bills and what loose change I had left.
Without looking up, I handed them to him. “Here.” I said heavily. Thickly. “Take the money and leave me the hell alone.”
The nameless fool snatched it out of my grasp like it was the only thing that mattered. Not the fact that he may have injured me with that earlier attack.
But no.
The money was the only thing which consumed him. That and only that.
However, it only took a few seconds to find out that he wasn’t happy with what he had stolen from me.
“That’s it???” he roared. “Twenty-two fucking dollars and some change???”
“That’s it.” I told him quietly–still not bothering to look up.
Then I was grabbed rather roughly and tossed outside the general protection of the overloaded dumpster.
“Bitch!” The man seethed at me. “For that, I should take out the rest of what I want…from you!”
“That’s not really advisable, kind sir.” I said in my most abasing voice. For what was coming to him, I was rather enjoying this!
So long as my chocolate isn’t ruined. Came the quick afterthought.
“What you want is of no importance to me. I take what is mine.” The man said–after grabbing me by the front of my jacket and hauling me close. I grimaced at the strong smell of alcohol and sweat–not to mention nicotine on this fool’s breath.
It was only then that I looked directly at him.
“And what I take is your life.” I snarled at him then–my face transformed from human to vampire–with my fangs baring themselves to the air in general.
Before he could react, I leaped up in one smooth motion, grabbed him by the throat, twisted his head sideways…
And went right for the kill!
I felt my teeth easily pierce his soft skin and into his jugular.
Right then, I started to suck deeply–holding him fast against his struggling will to live. It only increased my raging desire to kill this asshole for interrupting what I saw was a perfect day for me.
This pissant’s fight for life was ebbing right through me, and I continued to drain him of his life blood.
If you’re worried about him turning, don’t be. Trash like him won’t live long enough to enjoy the sweet nectar of immortality anyways.
I yanked myself free of him, and in one smooth motion–snapped his neck clean like a chicken’s.
I dropped my former captor to the ground, licking my lips and finding the taste of his blood to be somewhat bitter, but not that dour to my insatiable pallet.
“I did try to warn you.” I spat at him–lobbing a bloody loogie of my own creation at the corpse in question. “Fucking pig.”
Looking around for my bag, I found all 5 chocolate bars had come through undamaged. But in the melee, I had lost my other one.
Shit! I screamed in silent irritation. I haven’t even finished that one yet!
I looked up and found a couple of people staring back at me in both astonishment mixed with a growing sense of horror.
I fixed them both with an unwavering cold glare.
“Say anything,” I threatened outright in passing, “and you’re next.”
Neither one said a word. But I got the sense that they wouldn’t.
At least for a time. And then their tongues would loosen, and the authorities would be notified.
But by then, I would be long gone.
However, I was beyond caring. I just wanted to get home and enjoy my fucking chocolate!
Monday, September 1, 2008
THE VAMPIRESS HUNTER-CHAPTER 1
October 10th, 2038.
San Francisco.
Time passed as it always did in these times of anarchy and crisis. I don’t pay attention to much of the news–too depressing for me to watch sometimes.
Watching the human race rush headlong into its own destruction on a personal level?
That was more interesting. And more revealing at times. I can’t believe how many times I personally counted the close calls the human race came to wiping each other in the old century; and seemingly content to repeat the same mistakes of their forebears in this new one.
I sit here at the e-net cafe–watching the Scanners and the Loggers jack into their own personal terminals–and wonder just how much of their lives are being spent in this thing they call…cyberspace?
I suppose the lives people lead now must be absolutely depressing and hard to swallow. Suicides and murders are up and seem to be climbing to highs not seen since the last century. (There are a few things I keep track of–as a person of my caliber goes.)
It makes me think–as I toy with my outrageously expensive latte–that the human race doesn’t have much left to go on.
Half a century more–by my latest calculations.
I take a sip from the tall–frosted–32-ounce Cappuccino-Chocolate Heaven (ironic that such things could be named for their tastes and personal allure–but nothing on the simplicity of things.), and stare at the back of this bald-headed youth of about 26-years.
Scars and acne mottle one side of his skull, while the other has an inport/outport jack located at the base of the right ear–with a thin high-definition, omni-optical lead wire threading its way like a long, coiled snake next to the thought-guided, finger-operated, wireless mouse key.
I shuddered to myself–thanking heaven for its small graces and blessings. I could never see myself immersed in such ravenous technologies.
I wanted no part in the Technological Age which had spawned so many breakthroughs, but had given Man more reason to isolate Himself with each passing day.
Not a day doesn’t go by and I don’t see a human being cross my path with his or her nose jacked into something technology-based.
Based on my observations over the past century, I saw that what was left of humanity would vanish within the next 20-30 years. (Give or take a decade.)
Just before they annihilated themselves into a cold and uncaring oblivion.
I quietly took another sip from my cup–tasting the rich chocolate on my lips and feeling it drain down my throat like sweet ambrosia.
Covering a small belch on my part, I sat back and sighed contently.
For all its fallacies and immoralities, the human race did manage to come up with some more creative drinks–and make them absolutely delightful.
Even as a vampiress hunter, chocolate-laced drinks had become some of my past-time favorite vices. Indulging in them was just a trifle little nothing–a small part of outer shell to disguise my true nature from the ever curious human race.
I sipped again–this time ignoring the pleasant effects that my drink had on me–and returned my attention to the Logger in front of me.
He hadn’t so much as twitched in the ten minutes I sat there–the only sign of life coming from his right index finger.
I sighed.
Humans. I thought to myself–concealing my distrust of them and their electronic toys.
Ever since the government instituted their national ID card in the early part of the century–as a way to combat terrorism–(They said–I reflected)–trivial things as freedom, liberty, and self-identity had become something of an anti-dramatic achronism over the next twenty years.
To a point–nobody cared. Even the holdouts. I thought to myself. The Constitution was silently mothballed–and an anarchist styled government quickly came into play.
Political parties were disbanded and reformed under a one-party system (probably the only thing good which came out of this. I continued to mull), and a type of military obedience was instilled into the population.
Oddly enough, those who wanted such a perfect institution rallied against it. While those who initially against such an ideal–were perfectly compliant.
I sipped again from my cup–draining the last of the warm chocolate latte into my mouth–before setting it down, and then getting up on my own accord.
I slipped a tip next to the cup, picked up my things, and quietly left the cafe–and immediately stepped into the ever-bustling crowd of movers and shakers; mixed with the usual riff-raff of pedestrians.
I melted right into the sea of human flesh–mindful of the fact that it was nearly 12 hours since I last had to feed on something substantial.
I could not risk being seen doing it in broad daylight. Dusk or late evening was the perfect time for me.
But I hated the sounds of a few hundred human heartbeats in proximity to my enhanced sense of smell and taste.
Not to mention my hearing. I could easily pick up the sound of the soft ‘thrushing’ sound of blood being pumped into the arterial veins of the human body–if I wanted to.
That’s how I zeroed in on my potential prey.
And I wasn’t picky. Sometimes, I chose the strong, sometimes I chose the weak. And other times…?
Well, let’s just say that sex didn’t really matter.
Man or woman–they satiated my needs quite nicely.
Including children.
I cherished them greatly–believing them to hold the true essence of youth and vitality. Suckling on their precious life force was the truest form of immortality.
For vampires.
Of course, if you ever asked me about lycans–werewolves…?
Let’s just say that that war didn’t last more than one generation during the Dark Ages.
From what my Creator told me, the vampire clans were too successful in their campaigns, and the last of the lycans were wiped out.
No quarter spared.
I bumped along–just like any of these other mortals–watching with winsome curiosity at their movements, their lives, their intricate sense of existence.
Nothing special on my part. Just watching them.
In all my years on this Earth, humans were always a source of abject fascination for me. How they were born, how they lived, and even how they each died.
Then I got caught up in the crush of rush hour–and before I knew it–I was being pulled along by these hoards of human bodies; each one as suffocating as the next.
Knowing my own unnatural strength would cause injury to these fragile creature, I concentrated on just gently pushing the first physical body I was in contact with–which turned out to be a teenage boy with ruffled spit curls of red hair and a fair complexion.
Not built, but scrawny, too thin for my tastes. (Of course, I was thinking in the personal arena here. Would it surprise you that I had some definitions of physical beauty that I adhere to, as well?)
“Out of my way!” I growled low and in a threatening voice to the teen. “You’re pinning me, you uncaring brat!”
The boy looked up at me in shock–either at my appearance or just the fact that I had unintentionally yelled at him.
But that shock quickly melted away into a kind of righteous anger and I found myself on the receiving end of a verbal tongue-lashing.
“Don’t get your panties in a bind, bitch!” He fired back at me insultingly. “It’s not me that’s doing this!”
I was shoved forward then–past the pissed off little twit–and I ended up sailing forward and slamming my face into the back of someone else.
No matter what kind of training I had as a hunter, altercations between humans is something you are never really prepared for.
Of course I was too busy eating clean lint of the back of this human while my sharp hearing picked up the quickening pulse of his heartbeat.
Agitation. I quickly saw. This guy’s just as irritated as the rest of these humans. But what’s causing everyone to turn on each other?
I picked myself up then–muttering some kind of half-hearted apology to the man in question and looked around.
Fights were indeed breaking out. Over what, I couldn’t begin to fathom. But fists were flying. Grunts of pain and exclamations of shock could be heard roving about those combatants whom chose to settle their differences much like their ancestors did–before civilization dawned, took a hold of them; thus transforming each person into a productive cog of society.
I smirked.
“Not here.” I muttered to myself. Before too long, the police arrived to break things up. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that a bunch of teens had started the melee–and the disease of hatred and bigotry spread to the back of us–erupting in the usual senseless violence which I had grown accustomed to seeing in humans these days.
Almost instantly, the crowd began to subside and I watched them pick themselves up off the ground, or dust themselves off–before carrying on with their daily activities.
I stood there watching of course–because I was always fascinated by such delicious scenes of unbridled chaos. The aftermath was a special kind of ambrosia to me. I enjoyed seeing the conflagration of broken spirits and shattered composures.
Something about the downfall of mankind always spurred something romantically inside me. But the moment came and went as order was quickly being restored–as cops of different uniformed colors spread out like a weed and began asking stunned bystanders and witnesses if they saw what had happened.
I was accosted myself by one such officer–a woman whose breath smelled faintly of a rose-flavored alcoholic beverage, but had eyes as bright as green emeralds.
She stood there–four inches shorter than me–and asked if I had seen anything of great importance.
I looked her up and down with some disdain, but didn’t have the stomach to tell her how much I didn’t like her.
“No.” I repeated with a bearish Romanian accent. I knew so many languages, English was the easiest to master by far. But in times of stress, my native language always made itself the more dominant one.
“I did not see…anything of great importance.”
“Are you sure?” She continued to pester me. “I don’t care if it’s something trivial. It may help us aid in the investigation as to what took place.”
I suddenly found myself drowning in images of bloodlust and ripping this woman’s head off in one clean pass.
I just wanted to get away from here, before I did something I would later come to regret.
“No!” I growled thickly. “There is nothing which I saw which would help you!” I turned and ran off before the woman could say anything more.
I sprinted past the thinning crowd of humans–looking for any place which would grant me temporary sanctuary until my anger, rage, and bloodlust passed into quiet oblivion.
San Francisco.
Time passed as it always did in these times of anarchy and crisis. I don’t pay attention to much of the news–too depressing for me to watch sometimes.
Watching the human race rush headlong into its own destruction on a personal level?
That was more interesting. And more revealing at times. I can’t believe how many times I personally counted the close calls the human race came to wiping each other in the old century; and seemingly content to repeat the same mistakes of their forebears in this new one.
I sit here at the e-net cafe–watching the Scanners and the Loggers jack into their own personal terminals–and wonder just how much of their lives are being spent in this thing they call…cyberspace?
I suppose the lives people lead now must be absolutely depressing and hard to swallow. Suicides and murders are up and seem to be climbing to highs not seen since the last century. (There are a few things I keep track of–as a person of my caliber goes.)
It makes me think–as I toy with my outrageously expensive latte–that the human race doesn’t have much left to go on.
Half a century more–by my latest calculations.
I take a sip from the tall–frosted–32-ounce Cappuccino-Chocolate Heaven (ironic that such things could be named for their tastes and personal allure–but nothing on the simplicity of things.), and stare at the back of this bald-headed youth of about 26-years.
Scars and acne mottle one side of his skull, while the other has an inport/outport jack located at the base of the right ear–with a thin high-definition, omni-optical lead wire threading its way like a long, coiled snake next to the thought-guided, finger-operated, wireless mouse key.
I shuddered to myself–thanking heaven for its small graces and blessings. I could never see myself immersed in such ravenous technologies.
I wanted no part in the Technological Age which had spawned so many breakthroughs, but had given Man more reason to isolate Himself with each passing day.
Not a day doesn’t go by and I don’t see a human being cross my path with his or her nose jacked into something technology-based.
Based on my observations over the past century, I saw that what was left of humanity would vanish within the next 20-30 years. (Give or take a decade.)
Just before they annihilated themselves into a cold and uncaring oblivion.
I quietly took another sip from my cup–tasting the rich chocolate on my lips and feeling it drain down my throat like sweet ambrosia.
Covering a small belch on my part, I sat back and sighed contently.
For all its fallacies and immoralities, the human race did manage to come up with some more creative drinks–and make them absolutely delightful.
Even as a vampiress hunter, chocolate-laced drinks had become some of my past-time favorite vices. Indulging in them was just a trifle little nothing–a small part of outer shell to disguise my true nature from the ever curious human race.
I sipped again–this time ignoring the pleasant effects that my drink had on me–and returned my attention to the Logger in front of me.
He hadn’t so much as twitched in the ten minutes I sat there–the only sign of life coming from his right index finger.
I sighed.
Humans. I thought to myself–concealing my distrust of them and their electronic toys.
Ever since the government instituted their national ID card in the early part of the century–as a way to combat terrorism–(They said–I reflected)–trivial things as freedom, liberty, and self-identity had become something of an anti-dramatic achronism over the next twenty years.
To a point–nobody cared. Even the holdouts. I thought to myself. The Constitution was silently mothballed–and an anarchist styled government quickly came into play.
Political parties were disbanded and reformed under a one-party system (probably the only thing good which came out of this. I continued to mull), and a type of military obedience was instilled into the population.
Oddly enough, those who wanted such a perfect institution rallied against it. While those who initially against such an ideal–were perfectly compliant.
I sipped again from my cup–draining the last of the warm chocolate latte into my mouth–before setting it down, and then getting up on my own accord.
I slipped a tip next to the cup, picked up my things, and quietly left the cafe–and immediately stepped into the ever-bustling crowd of movers and shakers; mixed with the usual riff-raff of pedestrians.
I melted right into the sea of human flesh–mindful of the fact that it was nearly 12 hours since I last had to feed on something substantial.
I could not risk being seen doing it in broad daylight. Dusk or late evening was the perfect time for me.
But I hated the sounds of a few hundred human heartbeats in proximity to my enhanced sense of smell and taste.
Not to mention my hearing. I could easily pick up the sound of the soft ‘thrushing’ sound of blood being pumped into the arterial veins of the human body–if I wanted to.
That’s how I zeroed in on my potential prey.
And I wasn’t picky. Sometimes, I chose the strong, sometimes I chose the weak. And other times…?
Well, let’s just say that sex didn’t really matter.
Man or woman–they satiated my needs quite nicely.
Including children.
I cherished them greatly–believing them to hold the true essence of youth and vitality. Suckling on their precious life force was the truest form of immortality.
For vampires.
Of course, if you ever asked me about lycans–werewolves…?
Let’s just say that that war didn’t last more than one generation during the Dark Ages.
From what my Creator told me, the vampire clans were too successful in their campaigns, and the last of the lycans were wiped out.
No quarter spared.
I bumped along–just like any of these other mortals–watching with winsome curiosity at their movements, their lives, their intricate sense of existence.
Nothing special on my part. Just watching them.
In all my years on this Earth, humans were always a source of abject fascination for me. How they were born, how they lived, and even how they each died.
Then I got caught up in the crush of rush hour–and before I knew it–I was being pulled along by these hoards of human bodies; each one as suffocating as the next.
Knowing my own unnatural strength would cause injury to these fragile creature, I concentrated on just gently pushing the first physical body I was in contact with–which turned out to be a teenage boy with ruffled spit curls of red hair and a fair complexion.
Not built, but scrawny, too thin for my tastes. (Of course, I was thinking in the personal arena here. Would it surprise you that I had some definitions of physical beauty that I adhere to, as well?)
“Out of my way!” I growled low and in a threatening voice to the teen. “You’re pinning me, you uncaring brat!”
The boy looked up at me in shock–either at my appearance or just the fact that I had unintentionally yelled at him.
But that shock quickly melted away into a kind of righteous anger and I found myself on the receiving end of a verbal tongue-lashing.
“Don’t get your panties in a bind, bitch!” He fired back at me insultingly. “It’s not me that’s doing this!”
I was shoved forward then–past the pissed off little twit–and I ended up sailing forward and slamming my face into the back of someone else.
No matter what kind of training I had as a hunter, altercations between humans is something you are never really prepared for.
Of course I was too busy eating clean lint of the back of this human while my sharp hearing picked up the quickening pulse of his heartbeat.
Agitation. I quickly saw. This guy’s just as irritated as the rest of these humans. But what’s causing everyone to turn on each other?
I picked myself up then–muttering some kind of half-hearted apology to the man in question and looked around.
Fights were indeed breaking out. Over what, I couldn’t begin to fathom. But fists were flying. Grunts of pain and exclamations of shock could be heard roving about those combatants whom chose to settle their differences much like their ancestors did–before civilization dawned, took a hold of them; thus transforming each person into a productive cog of society.
I smirked.
“Not here.” I muttered to myself. Before too long, the police arrived to break things up. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that a bunch of teens had started the melee–and the disease of hatred and bigotry spread to the back of us–erupting in the usual senseless violence which I had grown accustomed to seeing in humans these days.
Almost instantly, the crowd began to subside and I watched them pick themselves up off the ground, or dust themselves off–before carrying on with their daily activities.
I stood there watching of course–because I was always fascinated by such delicious scenes of unbridled chaos. The aftermath was a special kind of ambrosia to me. I enjoyed seeing the conflagration of broken spirits and shattered composures.
Something about the downfall of mankind always spurred something romantically inside me. But the moment came and went as order was quickly being restored–as cops of different uniformed colors spread out like a weed and began asking stunned bystanders and witnesses if they saw what had happened.
I was accosted myself by one such officer–a woman whose breath smelled faintly of a rose-flavored alcoholic beverage, but had eyes as bright as green emeralds.
She stood there–four inches shorter than me–and asked if I had seen anything of great importance.
I looked her up and down with some disdain, but didn’t have the stomach to tell her how much I didn’t like her.
“No.” I repeated with a bearish Romanian accent. I knew so many languages, English was the easiest to master by far. But in times of stress, my native language always made itself the more dominant one.
“I did not see…anything of great importance.”
“Are you sure?” She continued to pester me. “I don’t care if it’s something trivial. It may help us aid in the investigation as to what took place.”
I suddenly found myself drowning in images of bloodlust and ripping this woman’s head off in one clean pass.
I just wanted to get away from here, before I did something I would later come to regret.
“No!” I growled thickly. “There is nothing which I saw which would help you!” I turned and ran off before the woman could say anything more.
I sprinted past the thinning crowd of humans–looking for any place which would grant me temporary sanctuary until my anger, rage, and bloodlust passed into quiet oblivion.
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