Lancet

[Intrigue]

Lancet

______________________________________________

(working title)

The pain lasted only a moment, searing up across my skin and into my scalp before fading into a low, repetitive pulse. My vision went black, muscles sagging as I fell, something clawing at my arms, fighting my fall. Fingers went numb, and limbs stiffened as a vacant cold took hold of my body. I tried to fight, I swear I did, my mind worked furiously as I scrambled back over the edge of that bottomless void, a well of pitch-blackness from which there would be no escape.

Sobbing, gasping, I wrenched myself away and stared into blank, inhuman eyes. They were hard and cold as ice, glittering in the half-light as I choked on my own blood and bile as it rose to my throat. I brushed my neck, wiping away the scarlet stain there as pain lanced through my body-- this wasn't supposed to happen. The predator had its prey, I was the lion's meal, dead the moment I was seized.

"Like Hell," I snarled, fighting against the urge to tremble and fall. It stumbled as its blank, feeding mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. Porcelain-white canines curved away from upraised lips, the sharp, pale features utterly devoid of human emotion. Scrambling through my pockets, I fell back against the brick wall of the alley, nearly slipping on a trashed wrapper as I lifted the can of aerosol, pulling out a matchbook and dropping the contents to the ground.

It didn't matter. I had what I needed.

Still gagging, gasping, the match flared as I struck it against the book. With the match lit, I dropped the little case and grasped the aerosol can I had cradled in the crook of my arm, extending the flame, and hitting the pressure-trigger atop the can. Jets of fire longer than my arm sprayed out, catching the creature full-on in the face and lighting the darkened buildings with incandescent fury as it shrieked, its consciousness returning before instinct took over. It hurled itself backwards, slamming into the brick wall opposite me, crashing into trash cans, into a dumpstair before letting out a final banshee-shriek and falling to the ground.

Little tongues of flame still burned slowly across the remains, dancing in the nighttime air before being banished once again by the calm, cold breeze.

Staggering out, I placed my hand against my neck to staunch the bleeding. The saliva was taking effect, and already had as far as I could tell. My vision and senses were clouded, fading rapidly as the world spun and turned. A lamp-post, cold and hard against my palm, held my battered frame up as I tried not to fall. I stared at the scarlet streak across my hand, but the wound had nearly clotted already.

"Erick!" Hands grabbed my shoulder, "Erick! Speak, say something, man!" I tried to respond, but my tongue felt thick and fuzzy. Words tried to arrange themselves in my head, but somehow kept getting lost between thoughts and mouth.

"I'm fine..." I tried to say, slurring my speech and swaying despite the hand.
"darn it, I can't even under-"
"Just get him to the car!"
"Yeah, yeah, right!"
I felt myself moving, practically dragged away.
"Noooo..." I heard myself moan, I wanted my lamp-post back.
"Shush, you'll be--" I never did find out what I would be as I finally fell deep, deep into fitful sleep.

---

I woke up, staring blankly at a white ceiling. Something prickled my arm, and I looked over to see an IV by the bedstand, something clear and fluid travelling through a long plastic tube. Trying to twist my head, I felt a sharp pain that made me cringe. As it passed, I reopened my eyes, slowly blinking at the softly-painted walls, the stuffed animals, and the partially closed door on the farthest wall. Voices trailed in from the hallway beyond, faint but recognizable.

"He's been hurt... And badly," one was feminine, and concerned.
"He lost blood?" Cold, calm, and professional.
"Too much... The treatments are helping."
"Was he...?" An unspoken question hung in the air, I could feel the tension even from here.
"No!" The response, a little too sharply. Someone paused, as though calculating, analyzing with passionless eyes.
"Very well, I-- He's awake," the cold voice spoke again, "You should check on him."

A short, brown-haired girl, cute behind her thin-frame glasses bustled in, ponytail bobbing up and down, "Erick! You're alive!"
I winced, the sound pounding against my eardrums.
"Barely," I croaked out.
"Good, get something to drink," she handed me some water, hovering expectantly, looking worried and fretful. A blonde man stepped in, surveying the room with a critical eye, which eventually landed on me and appeared none too pleased.

"Hello Erick," it said. His manner reminded me of a Greek statue, as though he were cut from marble.
I eyed him, taking the glass from the girl with my free hand, sipping it and relaxing into the sheets somewhat, "Thanks... I feel better miss...?"

"Anne," she said simply, bushing off the question as she turned to the man, "See? Perfectly fine."
He nodded, apparently satisfied, "Very well. This event need not be reported then... As you say, no harm, no foul?"
She seemed outraged, glaring at him, but said nothing. He took this as an affirmative, walking out of the room with a smoothness that belied his stiff demeanor.

"Happy fellow," I coughed out, "What the hell happened?"
She looked over at me, her gaze softening somewhat. She really was cute, but she was a good couple years older than I was-- old enough to be well out of whatever league I might be in. I was only seventeen, she had to already be out of college.
"You should really be telling us that."

I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to remember. All I could conjure were images of fire, someone screaming, and... Swathes of scarlet.
"Hey man... How you doin'?" I looked to the door, and recognized the owner of that deep, resonating voice.
"Marcus?"
"Here for you, man," he said, simply. He was another year older than I was, and a Freshman at a nearby university. We were friends most of high school, but hadn't seen each other lately due to his class schedule.
"Good to see you."
"You too... You met my sister, Anne?" Ahhh... So that's who it was. Anne Cleminger, Marcus' older sister.
"Yeah..."

"Get some sleep, we'll be here." He said as I blinked, looking at him as my vision went cross, images blurry and unfocused. I hadn't realized just how truly bone-deep tired that I really was. I drifted off, sinking into the mattress.

And then I died.

I hadn't really expected it, truth be told. I didn't really want it either. I wasn't ready for that yet. I had a life to live, friends and family to love and cherish for years to come. They talk about a light at the end of a tunnel, but there was none. There was no eerie sensation of floating above my body, of looking down upon my corporeal form and wondering just what the hell landed me in that predicament.

Endless, quiet void. A nothingness, infinite and vacant. There was no light, no sense of touch, no sounds. No smell, only the dull conscious knowledge that my life had been snuffed out. And yet I breathed.

I drew another breath. The darkness shuddered, the shadows fled. Rapid pressure applied to my chest as I felt my eyes flutter open, staring into the ceiling.

"Relapse! Get the doctor! Oh hell, someone get the doctor!"
Get off me, I thought, let me die in peace. Just stop--
And then my heart beat. The desire to live soared, flooding my body and mind. I would live, I would live and, by God, I would not be taken away!

It pulsed again, blood pounding through my system and body, surging into muscle and flesh. Veins pulsed and throbbed, someone else came, frantically applying CPR, forcing my lungs to pump, my heart to beat.

Pressure at my neck, and I nearly panicked as I felt it. I balked, thrashing and dislodging the IV tube as I did so, falling from the covers in a vicious fury as I struggled to orient myself, fear unleashing coils of pent-up stress and anger within my limbs. I finally dislodged myself, hurling upright and glaring, teeth bared and panting from the exertions.

"My God..." the quiet, whispered fear behind the voice attracted my attention. It was Anne, cowering against the far wall with Marcus protectively in front of her. Their eyes met mine, shock and stark terror flooding from them, as though a primal floodgate had been released. Marcus began to speak, a litany of words that spilled from his lips as though rehearsed. Maybe they were, I recognized a few-- Bible verses.

I stepped forward, a burning desire lurching in my gait. I stopped, staring. My blue eyes were red with bloodlust, and I felt a surge of... Power? Maybe? These mortals had a right to fear-- No. That was wrong. I was alive the same as them, I had no right, no right to...

Stepping back, I placed my hands on my temples, my head felt as though it were on fire. My entire body felt as though the very blood inside was boiling and that I would melt alive. Marcus stepped forwards towards me, and I sensed his movement even as I was clenching my eyes shut, snarling at him. He hesitated, his sister grabbing his arm and pulling him back. Footsteps pounded the stairs, the voices of men calling out. Marcus was trying to yell back, assuring them of something... Something...
Every muscle in my body clenched in unison as my spine twisted unnaturally, my fingers clawing at the air. I tried to speak, to apologize, to reassure them, but no words graced my lips. I gradually stopped moving, voices moving closer, Marcus shoving through the crowd to kneel beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm... Sorry."
"I know." It was all he said, and it was all that was needed.

[Mat Ethers]

I liked the first bit that I forced myself to read, but I couldn't read it because of this forums stupid lack of line indents (they have some special name that I can't remember) 9=(no offense meant to you JK I was insulting Proboards).

It might be really annoying but could you please give each paragraph ending a double line break (press enter again). I am still waiting for the perfect internet to arrive, but unfortunately since it is man-made it will never come.

[Intrigue]

Heheh, sorry, no kidding. I posted it up a bit after midnight last night, so it was more of a copy+paste+sleep kind of thing. ^_^

*Goes off to line break*

I know there's a proboards code somewhere that allows indentation and the recognition of free spaces... But I tried it once on a past forum and it didn't work so well.

[Intrigue]

Dawn came and went as the sun rose and set over the city. The little, miniature worlds of a hundred thousands lives carried on, beginning and ending in the blink of an eye. I woke, cold and sweating, to the twilight as the last dying... Dying... No, as the final rays of the sun vanished from sight behind the partially turned window shades. I felt exhausted beyond words, and could hardly turn my head to look. Marcus sat stroking his sister's hair on a couch not far away, his eyes closed and his head leaning against the wall. When I stirred, he looked up slowly, meeting my eyes, and put his finger to his lips as he pointed to his sister.

I half-smiled, falling back against the bed.

Another twenty-four hours passed, and I woke again, this time alone. The couch was deserted, the occupants were long since gone. I realized, belatedly, that the IV tube had vanished, and was replaced by a stand with a glass of water and a small sandwich.

My stomach rumbled, and I reached over to pick up the plate, carefully pulling it over with the glass. Cold water flushed my parched mouth, and the sandwich, though simple, was fantastic. Thus heartened, I considered trying to stand-- and more importantly, how to reach the bathroom door. I tottered to my feet, climbing out of the bed unsteadily. Placing my feet on the floor, I finally caught my balance and stood. I was fairly tall and naturally thin, but the past days without food made my skin feel drawn and tight as I moved.

I finally reached the door, twisting the metal knob and stepping in. It was well-furnished, lit by flourescent bulbs and polished to a shine. I looked into the mirror, leaning heavily against the sink as I looked into my eyes, brushing away strands of thick brown hair. I washed my face, cleaning away remaining grime and, several minutes later, left the bathroom feeling refreshed. Marcus stood, arms crossed, by the doorway as he relaxed against the frame.

His entire body was practically vibrating tension, though I was hardly sure how I knew at the time. He frowned, concern filling his strong features, "How're you feeling? You look better."

I couldn't look up, I stared at my ratty, torn jeans and sockless feet. My shirt was already gone, and I assumed it had been thrown away already.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better."
"Listen... It wasn't your fault--"

My head snapped up, and I looked him straight in the eyes, and saw him flinch. He was scared. The high-school linebacker, one year my senior, one-hundred pounds heavier than I-- was scared. And for reasons inexplicable, this terrified me to the core.

"Yes. It was."

He closed his eyes and sighed. The memories trickled back, coming in short little bursts before the mental dam burst, sending a tidal wave of remembrances cascading into my mind, "It was my fault-- Marie, Jacob... All of them! Every single one! I was too late, I was--" I was hysterical, shutting my eyes and mouth tight and falling to the corner of the bed.

"Tell me what happened, please... I need to know how it happened," Marcus' one, simple request cut through my fatigue and shock, his pleading eyes burrowing deep into my soul. I looked him in the eyes, and we talked for hours, deep into the night.

It began nearly two weeks ago, when the first pieces started falling into place. First Marie, Marcus' two-year younger sister vanished without a trace. The sleepy little suburban community we lived in was filled with hubbub and gossip, from the half-whispered rumor she had run off with a boyfriend, to theories of kidnapping as every other family thanked the heavens it wasn't their child that had gone missing.

We were close to the Clemingers, we knew what had happened. Marie had snuck out, leaving late at night through her bedroom window, or so the investigators thought. Records which Marcus discovered on her unlocked computer led to an online forum dominated by dark, crimson reds and blacks and a distinctly macabre style. Instant messenging all but indicated a late-night rendezvouz... Actually, a series of them, with an as yet unknown stranger.

To my knowledge, the police still have no hint or clue.

They would never get one.

It was the day before winter break, when schools would be out for nearly two weeks. The following day, Marcus and I created individual accounts on this forum, logging in with pseudonyms as we trolled the boards, looking for clues. Finding Marie's account, we traced her posts and followed her virtual trail to yet another site.

A pair of fangs dominated the upper left hand corner, under which was a word writted in what we thought was Latin: "Sanguine," meaning blood. We refrained from contacting the police, afraid of being thought silly, our pathetic investigative attempts laughed at. Instead, we gave them the information on her IM account, passing on to them the information from previous meetings and of that night in the hopes they would track her abducter.

We never mentioned the forums.

Perhaps it was a mistake, and I regret it even now. But even had we mentioned it... Well, who knows. We have all paid dearly now, both with ours lives and the lives of others. Again, we trolled the boards, linking Marie's morbid interests to a startling and shocking discovery-- vampirism. She was looking up information on the (No pun intended) lives of the undead, the leeches of mythological creatures. We watched her growing interest in these creatures, following her earliest posts to the most recent topics when her fervor reached a fever pitch.

She had found them, she declared. She had discovered the dark denizens of the underworld. Through my own account, I made a contact on the site. He went by the name "Mordicant." It took over a week to begin earning the trust of him and other members, but with the combined effort of Marcus and I, we slowly embedded ourselves within the site. In part, we acted opposite roles-- Marcus playing the argumentative newcomer, and I playing off against him, siding with the darker sects of the site. Apparently, it worked.

And then Mordicant invited me to their first meeting. He vaguely mentioned something he named the "Ordo," asking if I was interested in attending a small party to celebrate a grand occasion. He demanded I say nothing to anyone else, and I tentatively agreed to the plans. I discussed the information I had been given with Marcus, but he had recieved no such salutation, and I was on my own there.

We began planning when, several days later, I recieved an email on an alternative account detailing the party in crimson, flowing script across the page. It would be two nights from then, held in downtown Bayside, less than hour away from my own home. Marcus and I would drive their separately, and he would park a street or more away, both of us with our cell phones fully charged and ready, and with 911 on speed-dial. He would wait, and I would gather what information I could.

I arrived that night, and I wish I never had. I walked into that tattered, weather-beaten building. Apparently it had been maintained well, because I could see the windows were clean (if dark) and the walls were decidedly sturdy. The bare concrete floor was matched with equally empty plaster walls, though a hallway in the farthest wall was lit with a flickering light. I cautiously moved forward, trying to stay silent. The pitch-black shadows seemed to mock me, laughing at my internal fear as beads of sweat dripped from my brow.

Someone laid a hand on my shoulder, and I nearly lept out of my shoes as I spun.

"Relax, Grayson."

It was, I assumed, Mordicant. He had black hair, nearly the same as Marcus, but Mordicant's was greased and shining, even in this feeble light. I had assumed the name of Shay Grayson for the forum, and it was what this man would know me as. I smoothed my clothing and stood straighter, falling back on several years of acting courses.

"Of course, Mordicant?"
"Indeed... Welcome to the Ordo, my friend." He said friend with a slight hiss in his voice, and I doubted he would ever have many of those. Anyone who would was not someone I ever wanted to meet, which was ironic considering my present situation.
"It's rather empty," I said, stating the fact as I looked around.
"Of course, you're somewhat early. Night has barely fallen, and our... Well, they shall be here soon enough."

He was a touch overdramatic, beckoning me into the farthest room casually, pointing to the candelabras set up around the room. A small altar was set up on the wall opposite me as I entered, a pentagram carved into the concrete floor and decorated with more candles. Several men, or women, stood quietly here and there, milling about and speaking in hushed voices.

They all silenced when we walked in, and Mordicant bowed formally. They nodded their heads in unison, turning cowled faces to me expectantly. I dipped my head slightly, and they returned to their duties, satisfied with my performance. The man led me over to a series of candles against the eastern wall of the building, directing me to stand there to await the ceremonies, and passing me my own acolyte's robe, which I donned over my shirt and jeans. It was dark, steel-grey and had a heavy hood and arms, perfect for incognito spying.

A clock chimed somewhere, and the entire room fell deathly quiet.

The ceremonies were about to begin.

[Mat Ethers]

I like it a lot. And it's much better with line breaks xD.

[Intrigue]

Three hooded and robed figures entered the room, two of them flanking the middle on either side. Even from my perspective, I could tell the middle figure was female, though I had no clue about the other two. A fourth figure stepped from the farthest corner, moving towards the altar as the trio approached and lifted up a small knife, murmuring in a language I didn't understand.

Still speaking, he lit two braziers one either side of the altar as the trio stopped and kneeled in the center of the room. Mordicant stood on the farthest side, eyes gleaming in the light of the fires. The third figure stood, stepping forward and up to the altar, and removed her hood.

Staring in dumbstruck confusion, I realized it was Marie.
I nearly choked as I took a step forward, earning a dirty look from the one or two acolytes nearby, and reigned myself in. They turned their attention back to the ceremony, ignoring me and my insolence.

They wouldn't be able to ignore it much longer.

I grinned wickedly, holding a small cartridge in my hand and fingering the activating mechanism. They wouldn't be ignoring me much longer, or so I hoped. But I had to bide my time for the moment and wait.

She bowed her head, black hair falling in tresses in front of her face. She looked like Marcus, but was small and petite, and very pale. She lifted her head as the man behind the altar removed his own robe, smiling down at her to reveal two glittering canines, long and cruel in the light. Her face was impassive as she stretched her neck, and he moved his teeth towards her. I stared in horror, unable to act as he slashed her neck with his teeth, faster than most people can move. She cried out, but remained motionless as he used the knife to split his own wrist, dark blood welling out. She knelt at the altar bending down to sip from the goblet into which he poured his own life's elixir.

Wrestling out of my stupor, I slid two small, hard bits of metal onto my hands, and hurled the cartridge to the floor. Similarly entranced, nobody quite noticed what happened until the smoke bomb exploded, sending a wash of smoke across the room and obscuring vision. A thick acrid smell filled my nose, but I was already holding my breath. Leaping forward and hurling off the stupid robe, I lifted my fists and the brass knuckles I had put on just before. A small knife also dug into the small of my back, but I need both hands free for now.

I ran forward, slamming my fist into the man's face with a satisfying crunch, hurling him into the wall behind the altar as I grabbed Marie. She squealed, her blood dampening my shirtfront as I picked her up. Hey, I'm skinny, but I'm stronger than I look. Besides, she was a featherweight.

Pulling her by the arm, I ran back towards the entrance and shoved her through. The smoke hadn't quite filled the small hallway, and was only a light haze in the room beyond, so I chanced a breath and pulled her forwards. I had already texted Marcus, and he would be waiting at the street corner for the two of us.

But I wasn't expecting what was about to happen.

A living shadow burst from my right hand side, slamming into me and tearing me apart from the girl as I crashed into the plaster wall, sending flakes cascading down from the ceiling as I gasped.
Cursing, I pulled myself up, looking into the eyes of someone far, far older than I.

My fist hit him in the gut, but he hardly reacted, smiling with his shark-tooth grin and I realized he was one of the pair that had escorted Marie. His eyes bored into mine, and I felt my confidence and willpower waver, falling... Falling...

I shook myself out of it, but two acolytes were already pinioning me to the wall, punching and kicking me down.

"Enough! Lift him up!" he commanded, and they obeyed.
Bleeding and sore, I was pushed against the wall as he ordered another acolyte to fetch something.

"Little hunter... You will suffer the fate of all your kin," he whispered, taking the goblet from the trembling hands of the acolyte. Marie was crumpled in the middle of the floor, a liquid, dark and thick, pooling below her.

"Take by me the covenant of blood, for I am thy master," he said triumphantly, forcing my mouth open and pouring the hot liquid down. I gagged, throwing up and coughing it out, but he forced me to drink, red spatters covering his robe.

"Go to hell!"
"Too late child, you shall join us."

One of the acolytes holding me relaxed his guard for just a minute, and I wrested my hand free and sent it soaring into the open mouth of the man before me, snapping teeth and bone and throwing him backwards as I pulled away, kicking the groin of the other acolyte and throwing him to the ground, writhing in pain. Eyes wide with shock and pain, the would-be vampire staggered backwards as I grabbed one of the rows of candles, hurling it at him. I pulled Marie up and ran through the door.

The man behind screamed wordless obscenities, helplessly flailing as he caught fire and burned.

A cold breeze greeted us both, and her eyelids fluttered as I tried to carry her. I had to run another block, but I was already being pursued.

"Come on!" Someone yelled at me, grabbing my arm and helping me hoist Marie.

"Jake?" Jacob Cross was a sturdy guy of seventeen, and a friend of mine from time to time.

"Marcus called me when it started getting late, we've got to go!"
We hurried into the backstreets, and he continued as we moved, careful of corners and shadows, "He couldn't risk being recognized by his sister if he went in... As it was, someone got suspicious of him sitting over there and called the cops, so he had to get out. We'll stay at my place for now!"

He bustled us into a car, and I noticed with relief that Marie's bleeding had stopped... The wound seemed to be closing up, already beginning to scab and heal.

"He should be waiting for us at my house, and we'll get Marie to a hospital-- it's not far away.

Someone howled, running out from the alley behind us as we hit the street. Jacob's car was on the fartherst side, neatly parked by the curb. One of the acolytes had managed to follow us, and latched onto Jacob's back. He turned and slammed the robed assailant in the kidneys, knocking the kid, I realized, to the ground.

"Erik! We've got to go!" He yelled at me as he pushed Marie into the backseat, buckling her up as I moved to the car. Something intercepted me, coming from behind and knocking me to the ground.

"Grayson!" Mordicant raged, his face furious and twisted as he pounded on my body with his fists, aiming to injure and maim.
Grabbing him by the shirtfront, I rolled over and pinned him to the ground, slamming him a solid one on the face as his arms slackened.

"Aren't we leaving in a hurry?"

Two more hooded figures stood beside Jacob, one holding him by the neck and lifting him up. His eyes were furious as he kicked and struggled, gasping for air.

"Let him go!"

"I believe your phrase was 'Go to hell,' was it not?" He regarded Jacob with disdain, and, with a flick of his wrist, broke the boy's neck and hurled him backwards.

The world seemed to slow down as I screamed, beginning to run forward towards the pair. They looked at me, eyes darting to one another in amusement as they moved in synchronization. I still had the brass knuckles, and lashed out at the nearest one. He easily turned, grabbed my arm, and threw me into the car. An alarm began to shriek loudly as I sank to the ground, dazed.
I felt myself being lifted again, and the sky spun as I flew backwards and crashed into a wall. My shoulder hit first, taking most of the blow, and I was lucky that it didn't break. Jake was a few feet away, his hands shaking. I couldn't believe it, but he was still alive. His mouth moved soundlessly, and his fingers grasped something, which he tried to lift and give to me.

The two figures moved forward casually; after all, they had all the time in the world.

I crawled forwards, taking it from his hands with as much stealth as I could, and watched the lights leave his eyes.

Determination welled, and I pulled the small dagger from beneath my shirt. One of the men stood in front of me now, and I planted a foot, staring at the ground.

When I looked up, all he saw was the fire in my eyes.

Leaping to my feet, I rammed the dagger into its throat, inhumanly dark blood spilling out as it gagged. I took the spar of wood, and jabbed it home slightly off-center in it's chest, and the entire body went into seizures. Without stopping, I twisted it and pressed it home, the bones snapping in its unbreathing chest.
I smiled into its eyes as the undead life fled its limbs.

The other one had been preoccupied wrestling Marie from the car, and now stood to regard me and its comrade with disdain.
"You are a nuisance."

"darn straight," I said, and turned to run, powering into the alleyway closest to the car and whipping out my cell phone, dialing in a panic as I fled, carrying the one other thing Jake had been carrying-- his jacket, and more importantly, its contents. I pulled them out, one small and boxy, the other larger and cylindrical.

I just managed to grab them when, once again, something slammed into my back and pinned me to the wall, throwing me to the side and pressing me against the brick. Twin lancets of pain jolted through my neck...

And the rest was history.

Jacob saved my life, his pyrotechnic obsessions made a small, portable, homemade flamethrower, and it saved my life.
And I was the only one to survive.

Marcus told me he had gone back to find Marie, but all that remained was a scarlet smear on the seat. He left the car, and called the police anonymously; neither of us would ever want to go back for it.

[Intrigue]

He sat back, thinking quietly to himself as I finished the story. He knew most of it of course, but he hadn't known some of the details. His brows were drawn together, and his eyes held a deep weariness. He wasn't one to cry, but I could tell he was grieving.

"Thank you Erik," Anne said from the doorway. Wrapped up in my story, I hadn't seen her come in, but I looked at her now.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to save her," I said, looking her in the eyes. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself before speaking.

"No, but you did what you could. And... We-- Marie owes you that much. Mom and Dad owe you that much." She stepped forward, putting a hand on my shoulder, "Don't blame yourself..."

"What were they doing?"
I startled, looking at Marcus, "Some kind of ritual... I think. Is it... Real though?"
Marcus looked thoughtful, and Anne looked puzzled, "Is what real?" She asked.
"Vampires."
That got a reaction from both of them.
"Yes, we are," came a cold voice, "Anne, Marcus, please leave us for a minute."

It was the blonde man, his face a mask but his eyes fixed on me as I sat there. I suppressed an involuntary shudder, and watched my friends leave quietly, looking back at me over the shoulder.

"Hey, Erick. If you need anything, just call us," Marcus said pointedly, looking at the blonde man with nothing less than sheer violence.

Cold eyes watched them leave before returning back to me.

"You're a...?"
"Vampire? Yes. As were those who you most remarkably slew the other night," he looked at a calendar posted on the wall, colored in pastels and cheerful designs, "It is Christmas Eve... How ironic. Yet your heart beats still..." He cocked his head in wonderment, looking at me with the first real expression I had ever seen on his face.

"Of course..." I said slowly, watching him as he paced the room, watching me from the corner of his eye.
"You do not understand the implications of what has happened, do you?"

"If I did, would I still be sitting here?"

"Excellent point. Erick, I would like to be the first to inform you that you have died. You are dead, as a doornail, even." He looked amused, flicking off some dust from his shirt with contempt.

"But I'm breathing... And speaking."

"So am I, in a way. But you... Your heart beats, you were turned, Erick... And yet here you sit, quite remarkably alive. Yet you still do not understand."

I looked blank, and his face turned exasperated.

"Erick, no human in a millennia, to my knowledge, has ever been reborn and lived to speak of it. In fact, many are still quite comfortable roaming the city after dark, avoiding the light of day. But not one of them has breath, so to speak."

"You're surprised that I'm still alive?"
"Not at all. I'm surprised that you haven't been gutted to pieces by now by my brethren."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"Certainly, any time."

"You haven't answered why you're helping us out, who are you?" I stared him down, meeting his glacier stare.

"Marie met me once or twice, I must confess I did like the girl. When I discovered what they were planning... Too late, I might add," he broke off.

"You knew her!?" I asked in outrage, "Why didn't you help us?"
"I was unaware of what they were doing. I was not so informed, and the girl had not told me herself. The Ordo has its secrets, and it keeps them close."

"The Ordo?" I recognized the name vaguely, "Who are they?"
"Hardly your concern. It is more than enough to know they exist."
"So they're your archenemies or something?" I was wheedling him for information, and it appeared he had not yet noticed.

He snorted, "Hardly. Our interests do conflict at times, to our mutual dismay. That is enough chit-chat. Suffice it to say you are now a specimen of great value, I would watch my back, were I you."

Our discussion thus ended, he left me to my thoughts.
Who or what had I become?

The next three weeks were uneventful. School resumed, and life began to return to normal. The Cleminger family was devastated, and both Marcus and Anne took leave from jobs and school to stay home (admittedly continuing their courses online, or by mail). Both were withdrawn, keeping to themselves or the house, and the occurences before were never mentioned to anyone, family or friend.

Police investigation chalked everything up to a cult abduction when we revealed our story. We were formally reprimanded by the authorities for our rash actions, though the Clemingers did send me a belated Christmas card some days later.

There was never any mention of vampires from any one of us. Investigations rounded up several of the missing cult members, who refused to speak.

It's interesting to mention that each one perished with twenty-four hours of setting foot in prison.

The whole event slowly faded from the news, and there was hardly a hint of anything supernatural at all. No vampires, no ghost stories. Although I did see mention of a Sasquatch siting in one of the local tabloids.

I chalked it up to imagination.

One night though, as I lay in bed, I realized I couldn't sleep. Moonlight was streaming in through my window, and I contemplated my life so far. A good student, I had a lot of prospects, and recieved massive wads of college-mail daily. I sat up, flicking on a desk lamp after closing my blinds, and began to shuffle through piles of paper and reviewing the day's letters.

Bored, I kicked back on the bed before something caught my eye-- the computer. I honestly hadn't touched it in weeks, and I didn't blame myself considering the past events. Getting up, I spun the chair around and sat down, flicking on the monitor. I saw the reflection of my eyes in the black screen before the blue logo popped up, displaying a loading screen.

It eventually solidified into my desktop, and on a whim, I checked my email. Nothing interesting at all, some spam and a few holidy well-wishers.

Then I decided to check the forum-- the old one, with the fang logo. Some kind of morbid curiosity drove me back, and I logged in.

One new message waiting.

Clicking, I waited for the screen to load before hissing an obscenity, heat rushing to my face as I clicked the sender's name and opened the message.

It was from Mordicant.

Dear Mr. Grayson,
I understand our correspondence has been lacking of late. But I know who you are. I know where you live. You will not escape us this time. If you contact the police, or any of your friends (I could almost hear his hissing inflection) you will have signed the deaths of every one of your family. We have a present for you, and to prove that what we say is true, check behind the bushes of your back garden. You will not be disappointed.

The message had been sent two days ago. I flew from the room as quietly as I could, opening the door and leaving the light on-- anyone looking would assume I was still there. Without making a sound, even in a house as creaky as this, I hurled down the stairs and to the basement. The stairs were carpeted, as was the bottom floor, but the basement was still concrete. All the windows were tight, and the blinds drawn. A small window in the highest part of the wall opened out on the back yard, and I clambered up onto a well-cushioned couch to look through as I sank a little.

I saw nothing other than the spindly, leafless trees in our backyard. Nobody patrolled our lawn, but I felt a rising dread. Calmly, I walked upstairs, removing a small key from a hook in the kitchen, and walked downstairs again after slipping on a pair of older black sneakers. I also donned a dark sports jacket, in the hopes of camouflaging myself as much as possible.

I didn't have any weapons, everything I had taken three weeks ago had been confiscated as evidence by the police, and I was hardly going to go out and get anything now. Still, I did have a Leatherman given to me some time back. I attached the little pouch to my belt, with the many-tooled device sitting comfortable inside. I snuck back to the basement, unlatching and opening the basement door, and relocking it when I was outside. A flagstone path stretched out farther into our backyard, and the trees behind the fence loomed menacingly.

With total stealth, I hugged the shadows of the wall and made my way to the thin forest. We lived in a suburban neighborhood, but there was a stretch of foliage behind our houses for a little less than a mile. Being well past midnight, there was no light in any neighboring house, but I was hardly about to stop by the bushes to check for any presents.

Doing so would be suicide, anyone watching the house would see me for sure. I was lucky enough as it was that the doorway was partially blocked by an outcropping vine-lattice, covered in growth. Staying in the darkness, I crept to the nearest trees, looking for somewhere to spy from.

So I climbed to my personal vantage point for surveillance. I loved to go back here and climb the trees, and used to do so as a kid. Now I was grateful for my exploration, and clambered up the thick branches of a solid oak tree, reaching the near top and looking around. From here, I was level with the second story of my own house, which is actually higher than you might think, since the house itself sat on top of a short hill, with the backyard sloping slightly downwards.

The night was cold and crisp, and I was glad for my jacket's added warmth. Cradled in the crook of a branch, I felt exhilarated for a reason I couldn't pin down. I was on the Hunt, the prowl, searching the night for my prey--

I shook off the feeling, scanning the darkness. Even with the clouded sky, the moon was still bright and cast a pearly luminescence on all below.

"There!" Whispering quietly, I hugged the branch and began my descent as I spotted a scout lying between two bits of bush and bracken, another man lying on his back with a bored expression. Neither saw or heard me as I ghosted to the ground, the leaves hardly stirring.

"Pssst! Did you hear that?" One asked urgently, poking his comrade in the stomach.

"No, I didn't! Knock it off, it's your imagination," the other hissed.
His face was still frozen in irritation when I rammed my elbow into the back of his head, sending his body to the ground.

Catching him before he fell, I hurled his limp form at his friend, how fell backwards with a grunt as the air was knocked from his lungs. Jumping up, I landed scant inches away and backfisted him in the face. His spinning body fell to the ground and didn't move. I smiled to myself, satisfaction flowing through my veins as I lowered for the kill-- and stopped.

Kill them? Whatever their motives, I couldn't kill them in cold blood. Shaking my head, I pulled out some plastic rope I had borrowed from our basement and bound their limbs, dragging them away and to separate trees. For good measure, I gagged them as well on the off chance they woke up at an inconvienient time. For the moment though, they were sleeping like babies-- concussed babies, maybe, but quite calm and peaceful.

I really, really wanted to know who these people were, and how they had found my house. More importantly, I wanted to know where the rest of them were.

Hugging the shadows and concentrating on my prey, predatorial eyes latched on to another target-- shifting behind the window in the house next door. Now wasn't that interesting? There was no light on, and I felt a deep suspicion growing in my chest. My instincts were on fire, and something about that house was setting them off.

Approaching the back door, I turned the knob.
It was locked.

"How to get in...?" I asked myself. Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed Marcus as I retreated into the forest again.

"Hey man, wake up," I said.
"Erick? It's 3 a.m." responded a voice plaintively. Marcus wasn't a morning person, and neither was I, to tell the truth.
"Two guys were spying on my house, I think there're more next door."
"WHAT?" He was fully awake now, and I could hear him rampaging like a bull elephant, "Marcus! Quiet!"
The noises died down, and the response was sheepish, "Sorry, I was getting dressed."
Jeeze, I could imagine.

"That's fine, but be careful about it, they might be watching you too."
"Sure, no problem. Meet you at the oak in five?"
I agreed, and retraced my steps to the oak tree I had left a few minutes earlier and dawdled until I heard footsteps. I dashed behind a trunk, and heard a grunt nearby.

"Who's there? Erick?" It was Marcus.
"Yeah! I'm here, sorry about that."
He looked at me apprehensively, "You move fast. And quietly, I didn't hear anything."
I grinned at him, "I've been getting practice."

He looked unnerved, but followed me to the house regardless. We searched around a bit, and I ended up climbing a balcony to test a window. This one was open, unlike the door downstairs. I slipped in, removing the screen cautiously, but didn't hear any alarms. I left the screen outside, closing the window as I slid onto the floor and crouched. I heard voices-- definitely not those of the elderly couple who lived here-- and snuck to the ground floor, sliding the door open for Marcus to come in.

We relocked it, the little bolt snipping into place.

"Stay quiet, don't make any unnecessary noise," I said to him. He nodded grimly. We heard soft sobbing in the distance, and knew something was wrong. Had there been nothing of interest, we would've left as quietly as we came-- but as it were, that was out of the question now.

"Shut up, woman!" came a whip-crack voice ahead and to the left. We paused, flattening against the wall of the kitchen. I peered around, seeing a door leading downstairs with the lights on. The stairs themselves were made of unfinished wood, and the entire basement wall seemed raw unpainted drywall. The flooring on this level was stained and varnished wood planks, and very similar to my own house. My parents were fast asleep, they'd have an aneurism if they knew what we were doing now.

Oh well, easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

Marcus looked angry, rubbing his knuckles furiously as I tensed in anticipation. Without a word, we slunk from our hiding places and down the stairs, to a landing. The wood planks obscured most of us from view, and I lept down the final flight and landed cat-like on the loose low-pile carpet below without a sound and looked apprehensively at my friend above me.

He cocked an eyebrow, walking with his feet carefully placed on opposite sides of the stairs themselves, avoiding putting his weight on the middle of the boards where they would bend and creak. I held to the shadows, trying to avoid pressing myself into the deceptively fuzzy pink insulation in the walls. I peeked around another corner, and saw our neighbors tied up, bound and gagged in the far corner. The shades of the basement door were drawn tight, and the windows blocked by black construction paper or cardboard. Three men, two carrying visible guns, stood in the room as Mordicant paced back and forth nervously.

"Grayson-- or rather, Carter-- should have found the message by now. That insolent little punk will pay for his treachery," he said, viciously shaking his hand in the air. It would've been intimidating, if not for a fading black bruise over his right eye. I felt myself puff up a little, but deflated almost instantly when he turned to the woman bound to the chair.

"Either he recieves my message, or you and your husband suffer in ways you could not. Possibly. Believe."

Erick Carter. He knew my name, and where I lived. At least there were no hooded supermen this time, but the automatic pistols those men held... We had nothing to fight against that. Or did we? I looked at my hands, clenching the fist and remembering what Blondie (my new nickname for our anonymous blonde friend) had said.

Marcus elbowed me gently, and I drew my head back. We looked at each other, apprehension drawing our faces tight.

In low, urgent tones, he told me his plan. He crept back up the stairs, and I pushed my way into the furnace room. It was hot in there, and I was uncomfortable and sweating. As cold as it was outside, the heating systems were definitely doing their jobs. I waited, sitting on a packaged box. Outside, there was a loud thud and the sound of cracking.

Mordicant yelled out in delight, and I heard him rushing past three feet away in the hallway opposite the wall I sat behind. He fled up the stairs, accompanied by at least two of the flunkies. Through a crack in the wooden walls, I saw the third henchman watch them leave, turning around to face the old man and woman. Their grey/white hair was mussed, and both sported several bruises, but no severe injuries as far as I could tell. Marcus had already dialed the police, who would be arriving soon. I eased out of the door, leaving it open to avoid the lock clacking shut as I stepped onto a heavy cardboard box, crouching down, and springing forward.

I slammed into his black-sweatered back, wrenching his arm to the side as the pistol fired. Both of us crashed into a large bookcase, which teetered and fell onto us. A corner cracked me on the head, and I spun around dazed and fell off. He cussed loudly, pointing the gun at me point-blank, and pulled the trigger.
The smell of cordite and gunpowder filled my nose, and I reeled backwards unsteadily, clutching my stomach as my mouth dropped open.

"You..." I choked as he smiled down at me, raising the gun to my head. Muscles tensed, and I felt lighter than the air itself. Every atom of my body hurled itself at him, and my shoulder caught him in the solar plexus as the gun went off again, the bullet shattering a vase on a cabinet behind me. I grabbed his hand, my grip crushing the bones in his wrist as he cried out in pain, dropping the smoking gun to the floor. Enraged, my fist shot up into his nose in a spray of blood and a loud snap.

"You're dead!" he yelled, in nasal tones.

"Yeah, and you'll be ugly forever," I spat back, ramming my knee into his gut for the second time. His eyes pinned to me, and he drew a knife from behind his back. His eyes were still focused on where I had been standing when I moved up from behind him and rammed both fists into the nerves on either side of his spine, paralyzing his body in pain as I spun, delivering a hollywood-perfect karate chop to his neck which sent him sprawling unconscious to the floor.

Rapid footsteps above signalled the return of Mordicant and his minions, and I bent down to untie the ropes binding the two elders. With nothing sharp to release them, I bit my lip in frustration-- the Leatherman!

I pulled it from its little sheath, and busied myself slicing the ropes. Voices were calling up above as Marcus wrought some kind of havoc outside, clearly distracting them. Whatever it was that he was doing, I prayed he would continue. I finally sawed the rope, freeing the woman, when the blade snapped. I looked at it in shock, disdain at my efforts being rendered so futile by something as menial as this.

Blood trickled down my chin, and I felt the wound carefully as something grazed the top of my finger.

What the hell?

She was staring at me, first in gratitude, then shock, then horror as I looked up at her, canines flashing in the light. From what I could tell, they were hardly as prominent as those I had seen before, but definitely and certifiably there.

Whatever, I would see my dentist later. In the meantime, I bent forward, slashing the ropes with my fangs and freeing the other prisoner. Both were utterly silent, nodding gratitude as I dashed to their basement door, unlocking it and ushering them outside. Sirens blared to life, not far away, and I saw a shadow disappear into the foliage of the woods.

"Run! To my house, over there!" I put the key in their hands, "Just get away from here!"

I left them standing there, barreling into the bushes and leaping over the fence to chase my prey. Wind whipped at my ears and hair, and the sheer exhilaration of the chase filled me with a wild, primal joy. On a whim, I jumped upwards and rebounded off a tree, landing flawlessly and continuing my mad sprint. It was as though the air itself had granted me wings as I flew across the ground, a living shadow beneath the shade of the naked trees.
"Mordicant!"

The shape turned, its eyes glittering. Branches and shadow obscured my view, and I was unable to get a clear view. I was rapidly catching up, and began preparing to intercept my target. My breathing became labored, and I faltered slightly, my hand unconsciously rising to my side-- and the wound a few inches above my hip.

Pain flared through my torso and I nearly doubled over, barely missing running headlong into a partially upright log.
Blood covered my hand, dark and wet in the dry night air. But seeing myself fall behind, my quarry so close... I redoubled my efforts, catching my breath and ignoring the flaring agony.

"Mordicant!" I bellowed, furious. It turned slightly, just in time to slam head-first into a tree. He spun, crashing into the undergrowth with all the grace of a blind rhinoceros. Fists clenched, I jumped upon him, staring down into his terrified eyes.
And felt utter disappointment.

It was one of the flunkies, and he tried to scramble away. I grabbed him by the shirtfront, but didn't quite have the willpower to really do anything. I stared him the eye, and he gibbered mindlessly as I smiled down at him. My face was reflected in his dilated pupils, and a trail of blood ran down from his scalp. It looked... Tantalizing. I watched, mesmerized, as drops fell with a small patter onto the grass below.

What a waste, I reflected. My heart beat loud in my ears, my breathing ragged. His determination seemed to come back at my apparent weakness, and he shoved me off. I fell, rolling in the grass. From his pocket, he drew a small silver object-- a cross. He began recitations, quoting scripture in much the same way Marcus had so many nights ago, only Marcus hadn't soiled himself at the time.

I sat there, bewildered at his actions. It was irritating, to be sure, but I noticed no holy lightning striking down upon my location, and stood unsteadily. He backed away, still reciting with fearful fervor.

Cocking an eyebrow, I stepped forward, and he twitched back in response-- just far enough to trip over the branch behind him. In a flash, I was upon him again, a single scream tearing through the night air.

[bigdognick6]

come on man update this!!! you just cant hook me and leave me hanging like that

[Intrigue]

I wobbled unsteadily back towards the house, nearly tripping on bits of bracken as I did so. A keening, frightened wail erupted behind me, as though a child had just tripped and scabbed his knee for the first time.

I made sure I was clean as best I could. Even stopping by a small creek and washing my face didn't make me feel any better. What I really wanted was a long, hot shower, and to be away-- far away-- from all of this.

Staggering back to the house, I leaned against the wall. The sounds had long since died out, and sirens shrieked in the distance. My parents had long since been awakened by the couple who entered, and stood on the porch, holding each other.

I avoided their gaze as they watched the patrol cars swerve into the street, hiding myself in the shadows behind the house. I heard panting, and tensed as someone rounded the corner, raising my arm and preparing to--

"Marcus!" I cried out, "You're alright!"
He looked aghast, and slightly insulted, "Of course I am. What'd you expect? The cops already got the other two, but the greasy guy--"
"Mordicant."
"Whatever. Greasemonkey got away."

The gleam in his eye was one of excitement, of adrenaline pushed to the max. He grinned, flashing pearly teeth. I responded with my own, and he considered my mouth thoughtfully, "You might want to hide those... Here, open up."

Puzzled, I opened my mouth. His eyes widened as I did so and he urged me to wash as soon as I could, before I was taken for questioning. Gently, he pushed on my canines with his fingers. I felt a soft pop, and a strange pressure.

"Good as new. Nobody will notice," he said, with finality, "You'll tell me what happened later...?"
I nodded, "There's another of them back there in the trees... You'll hear him when you get close enough."
He looked slightly sickened, but placed a hand on my shoulder and gripped hard, "Will he remember?"
"Doubtful. That fall cut him up pretty badly, and his head got knocked around a bit, I don't think he'll be mobile just yet."

He left, wishing me well, to let the police know about the captive back in the forest as I slunk into the house, sliding into an adjacent room in the basement, where I washed my face as best I could, removing the smears and stains. There was little I could do about my clothing, or the hole ripped in the side of my shirt.

The wound was closed, but the scar was still visible. Even so, it would look suspicious... I would have to claim that I was merely skimmed by the weapon. Blood still rimmed it, dark and heavy as it dried. It was close enough to my side that it wouldn't be difficult to claim that I had twisted when the gun fired, just barely cutting skin.

Somehow I had little doubt that, within a week, not even a scar would remain. Keeping these thoughts to myself, I sidled out the door again, going around the house as I heard the police tromp upstairs. The elderly couple had already left my house, and were speaking to an investigator.

With more than a little reluctance, I walked over and joined them. I was bone tired, deeply and truly exhausted. Even so, walking over and saying "Hi, I'm Erick!" seemed a bit over the top, even in my current state.

Ah, whatever. I did it anyways.

He eyed me and my appearance. One of the medics had already run over when he saw me approaching, and was carefully checking me, "He seems all clear, bit of a cut on his side here, but it's already scabbed over. Tough kid, this."

Alright then... I just wouldn't mention the gun. Easy enough. The detective nodded, and the medic moved his attention elsewhere. The couple had already explained their side of the story.

Several days ago, a trio of men appeared on their doorstep, asking about the neighborhood and nearby houses. They had presented identification declaring them as salesmen and, under their disguise, pumped the two for information.

The couple had declined, but the visitors were rather firm with their decision to stay.

"They made threats," the lady said, her old voice hoarse and pained, "When they finally broke in, all the way, they tied us up and kept us downstairs..."

The elderly man nodded, looking at me, "And this young boy saved us both. Untied the ropes and everything."

I looked straight at him, and only the faintest wink told me that he knew very well what had happened, but wasn't saying anything about it.

"Really? And how did he tie you-- Ah. Larsson, very good. What is the status of the house?"

Larsson was a skinny, tall man with straight black hair and glasses which he repeatedly shoved up on the bridge of his nose, lest they fall to the ground and shatter, "The ropes were cut by something very sharp, and we found a small tool--" he presented the leatherman I had before "--broken nearby. Apparently it was enough to set these too free, Detective Carmichael."

The detective took the baggied evidence in his hand, glancing over it and the broken blade before handing it back, "File it. I'm sorry son, but you can't have it back," he said, looking back at me.

That was fine, I didn't care at this point.

He added to his sentence, "And I'm afraid you'll have to come down to the station with me as well. We'll... Larsson! Who's this?"

Larsson had returned, having left to deposit the evidence in his little case, "We found another one unconscious in the woods, sir. He was bleeding badly, we think he fell over a log and split his head on the wood. There's a large wound on his neck as well, and he has a severe concussion."

"Get him on the ambulance! As I was saying, Erick..." he trailed off, waiting for me to answer.
"Carter. Erick Carter, Detective."
"Ah! Good, Mr. Carter, you'll come with me. Officers will remain here for the night and ensure your parents and neighbors are safe."

I wondered if he knew about the escaped ringleader, and began to speak, "Pardon me, detective... One more thing--"
He broke off my sentence, "Not another word. Come, into the car."

We spent the next two hours discussing the night's events. I clung to my story as best I could, refusing to change the details in the slightest. Whatever I said, I think Carmichael suspected me of hiding something. He was right, of course, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"I told you, I cut the ropes with the leatherman. Almost as soon as I was done, it snapped, but everything was already done anyways so..."
"So they just got loose?"
"Yeah."
"And then you gave them the key to your house."
"Yeah."
"And you went where?"

I gestured vaguely in the air, "One of the guys tried to run out, I followed him..."
"You knew he had a gun?"
"Well, kinda."
"But you followed him."
"Yeah."
"Why?"

Shrugging, I gave him an I-don't-know-read-my-mind look. He evidently got the message and sat back, exasperated, "Did you see him fall?"
"Yeah, he smashed his head against the log."
"Did you know he nearly died of blood loss from a neck wound?"
"What happened?"
"I thought you said he fell."
"Of course, but it was just a bit dark and I couldn't see anything."

He pondered for a moment, looking at me with eyes hard and brown as an oak tree, "Was there a leader there? Someone we didn't find?"
I paused, then nodded, "Yeah. It was the same guy who..." I trailed off. If he did his homework, he'd know what was going on.

Nodding, he thumped his fist on the table, "Same people then, I thought we'd gotten rid of them finally... That night, did they... I don't know, do anything unusual to you?"
I looked perfectly bland, "Sorry sir? No, ju-just h-her," I stammered, unwilling to say her name as I cringed... I had been so close, so close...

He leaned over the table, giving me a fatherly pat on the shoulder. His hands were ice-cold, and the gesture empty of feeling, "Nothing you could've done, Erick."

Still looking at me with suspicion, I could tell he was only acting to get on my 'good' side. Not that I had one at this hour of the night.

"Fine, you'll be released but the neighborhood will be under supervision for the next few nights. Lock your doors, and windows for safety's sake if nothing else."

And with that, I left the police building in an unmarked squad car. The ride home was uneventful, and I slept fitfully in my own bed, assaulted by dreams of murderous men with dark hair and weapons.

[bigdognick6]

Oh My God Thank You!!!! just make sure to keep updating it, this is still far from finished.