“Those reported missing. You think they’re gonna be the next victims?”
In some sense or another. “Maybe. Want to cover all bases.”
“Right. Good thinking.” He smiles. “I’m headed to get myself a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?”
“Thanks, but I’m already on cup number two. I probably shouldn’t have any more.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it’s early for two cups.” He hesitates, waiting for me to say something else. I’m not the most social person, but I try, and I’m usually good at it. Being able to read people and acting in accordance to how they expect me to act is a talent that comes in handy in my line of work.
But right now, I don’t have time for this. Vampires are out there, murdering innocent people. Beyond that, an older vampire is taking people off the streets and turning them into killers.
Officer Beasley mutters an awkward goodbye, and I go back to work. An hour later, I’ve still got nothing. Since I’m waiting on the full lab and toxicology report to come back on our most recent victim, I grab Bryan’s report and get in my car, driving half an hour away to Mrs. Porter’s house.
My heart is in my throat as I walk up the porch steps. I’ve done this before and never felt nervous. I’ve never flat-out lied like this before. I’ve kept the truth, stretched a few details before, but it was all for the sake of the case.
I ring the bell and step back. A minute passes and I think no one is home. I turn to leave, and then hear the lock click back.
“Can I help you?” someone inside says, opening the door only two inches.
I hold up my badge. “I’m Detective Bisset. Are you—”
“Is this about Bryan?” The door swings open and who I’m guessing is Mrs. Porter steps out. “Did you find him?” Her eyes fill with tears.
“No,” I lie.I not only found him, but I also fought him off, bashed his head in, stabbed him in the heart, and then somehow summoned my new friends to come protect me and rip your son’s head clean off his body.“But I think he might be connected to a case I’m working on and wondered if you had a few minutes to answer some questions.”
“Yes,” she says, and steps back, opening the door. My heart aches for this poor woman, and I hate how I can never tell her what happened. Even if she did believe me, I can’t imagine what it would do to her to know her son was murdered, turned into a vampire, and then became a murderer himself. “Come in.”
We move inside and she motions to a couch in the living room. I pull a notebook and pen from my bag and take a seat.
“I read over the report,” I start, “but was hoping you could give me your recollections of the last time you saw him again.”
She takes a deep breath and nods, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from coming. Fuck, I hate this.
“It was Wednesday afternoon. I came home from work for lunch and he was here. I made him and myself a sandwich and sat with him while we ate. He mentioned going out with friends that night, and not to wait up for him. When he didn’t come home, I assumed he had stayed the night with Rebecca.”
“Who’s Rebecca?”
“An old girlfriend. They had a bit of a Ross-and-Rachel situation going on, and he ran into her earlier that week. I called on my way to work, not expecting an answer since it was early. But by ten o’clock…I knew something was wrong. He’s a good kid. He checks in, especially when he’s home from school like this.” She breaks down, and I give her a few minutes to collect herself before pressing on.
“Did you talk to Rebecca?”
“Yes, and she never saw him that night. They were supposed to meet for drinks, but he never showed.”
“What about the friends he went out with?”
“They were at the same bar with Rebecca. He…he never made it.”
“Do you mind if I had a look in his room?”
Mrs. Porter wipes away her tears. “No, I don’t mind if you think it’ll help.” She leads me down the hall into his room. “I haven’t touched anything. It makes me feel like he’ll come home this way.” She stands in the threshold, unable to step foot into her son’s room. “I just want my baby back.”
I can’t get him back, but I can stop the undead asshole who turned him. Going into work-mode, I look around the room. The bed is unmade and clothes lie in a heap on the floor. An open suitcase is in front of the dresser, with clothes and shoes spilling out. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
And then I notice the folded piece of red paper that’s fallen between the nightstand and the bed. Carefully, I pull it out and unfold it. The word “Delirium” is at the top, in bold letters. It’s a flyer for the bar, advertising “half-off hump-day drinks.”
I’ve never been to Delirium, but it’s a bit notorious with the law. Gothic-themed, dark, and hosting interesting party nights, the place has been of concern to us as cops because it’s rumored people go there to buy drugs and hook up in the private rooms in the back. It’s been looked into a time or two before, but nothing has come out of it.
The owners—three brothers from Russia—pay their rent and utilities on time, keep everything up to code, and have all the proper licenses to run the place. They’ve never given anyone any trouble, and pay their employees nearly double the standard rate.
