The Blood Born Tales (Book 2): Blood Dream Page 2

  “Don’t call him ‘Timothy’. He hates that.”

  “Of course. Now why do you think things are so bad?”

  “I have seen it. The end of days…”

  “Like in the Bible?” the doctor asked in a calm voice. But she was not calm. She was anything but calm and Fabiana knew it. And the doctor knew that she knew it. Some part of her did anyway.

  “Yes, in a way… ‘Five will die and then he’ll rise.’ I have seen it in my mind. It has happened. It will happen,” Fabiana told her with conviction.

  Chapter 2

  6:00 p.m., May 5

  The Thursday I saw Fabiana of Olisipo at West Seattle Mental Health Hospital I barely saw the light of day. It was dark out when I drove to the hospital that morning. It was beginning to get dark out when I drove home to Ballard. Small rain drops fluttered to the ground in front of the beams of headlights. The night was gloomy with fog and was strangely cold for that time of year.

  I thought back to the woman that she had been, the powerful vampire that had saved my life and had taken me away to Italy. She was the voluptuous creature who had turned me into an immortal for a short time and had destroyed the blood line of every blood drinker in the world.

  I’m sure she never would have thought that doing so—and as a result, making herself human, recovering her soul and conscience—would have such a lasting effect on her mind. But it had. Unlike in the popular novels of vampire lore, the blood born don’t have souls. Yes, they can feel and fall in and out of love like any of us but their sense of right and wrong—their sense of good and evil—is gone, mutated by the cold demon blood coursing through their dead veins. But somehow when that soul is returned, the guilt and pain resulting from finally acknowledging all the lives they have taken can be too much for them to bear. Some went crazy, but most just killed themselves.

  I built a fire in my den when I got home and envisioned Italy with its rolling hills of green grass and vine tomatoes and grapes ripening in the Tuscan sun. I imagined myself walking through the fields and tasting crops ready to be picked and I wondered if one day I would be back there again. If Fabiana could ever clear her mind enough to go with me. I missed Italy, but I missed Fabiana even more so. If ever I loved a woman it was her, but I could never have her… No one would ever have her in such a way.

  But Fabiana’s mind was not totally lost to me. It was still there somewhere in the darkness, desperately trying to find a way to the light. And when it did, I would be there for her.

  For the next few hours, I worked at my desk reading a Greek textbook about the dead. The old book sat open in front of me, the dust of its years still tenaciously clinging to its leather binding. And as I perused its pages of supernatural and occult facts, a television played silently behind me. Pictures of my twelve-year-old daughter looked back at me from a small wooden frame sitting on the corner of my reading table and images danced on the flat screen television as I looked up from my book. The face of my good friend Kenny Johnson flashed over the screen momentarily. It was the evening news and one of the reporters from a local channel was running after him. I picked up the remote and hit the mute button. The sound erupted from the television and filled my den.

  “Detective Johnson! Detective Johnson!”

  A young female reporter’s voice sounded as she attempted to get his attention, her microphone outstretched like a sword.

  “Do you have any comment on the newest death? It seems remarkably familiar, similar to the killings of last winter.”

  “This was nothing like the killings from last winter. These are natural deaths. Heart failure. Now I have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

  I was stunned by her words. The murders that took place last winter were never completely solved, but they were taken to an official conclusion. The FBI formally took over the cases, which meant there was to be no more discussion on the subject. They were formally closed. I was forced into early retirement in order to save any blame to Detective Kenny Johnson and the Seattle PD. Kenny was assigned a new partner, and his life in the Seattle Police Department could go on without me.

  A little bit before seven o’clock, my phone rang. I answered it half expecting it to be Kenny or some cellular provider or even a cable company trying to get me to upgrade my service. I was surprised when a strange man’s voice came over the line.

  “Hello?” asked a deep voice I did not recognize. “I am trying to reach Timothy Anderson.”

  “Yes… this is Tim Anderson,” I said, correcting his use of my name. I had always hated the name Timothy and never allowed anyone to address me as such.

  “Oh, good. Detective Dean Trent here. I found your number online. Sorry to bother you at home, Mr. Anderson.”

  He sounded slightly keyed up.

  “But we’ve got a situation. Detective Johnson has asked me to contact you discreetly, off the record, so to speak, sir.”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked, staring tensely at the television. The news was still playing and I hoped that I wasn’t about to be dragged back into some case. I was going to pick Merric up and spend the day with her tomorrow. We needed father-daughter time. She seemed to be getting away from me lately and I needed to reel her back in.

  “Earlier this evening, a thirty-year-old white male was found dead behind a convenience store on the north side. He was the third to be found in the past three nights.”

  My heart sank as I reached for a drawer in my desk and pulled out my Smith & Wesson 40-caliber handgun and the keys to my truck.

  “You said ‘discreetly’. What does the detective want me to do?” I asked.

  “Detective Johnson was hoping for your insight into this case. Nothing more.”

  “Why has Detective Johnson not called me himself?”

  “It was all kinds of hush hush with him. Something about the Feds.”

  “Where is Kenny Johnson now?” I asked.

  “With the body,” Detective Trent told me. “The victim was found behind a convenience store on 175 in the Shoreline neighborhood. He’s got some injures that are really odd. They’re not like anything I’ve ever come across. I know you have seen a lot of different types of injuries in your career. Detective Johnson is hoping you might have some ideas about how these were inflicted and why.”

  “Shoreline is out of Seattle jurisdiction,” I told Trent quietly.

  “Yes. But Detective Johnson was approved to take part in the investigation since it seems the body may be tied to cases in Seattle.”

  “Describe the injuries for me please,” I said, hoping to learn more.

  “We’re talking about two areas. One is on his outer thigh—you know, up high near his hip. The other’s on his left shoulder. Chunks of flesh are scraped off and missing, almost cut out. And there are weird cuts and scratches around the edges of the wounds. The body is en route to the county Medical Examiner’s office now.”

  “Did you find any evidence of the missing tissue around the crime scene?”

  My mind was racing through other cases, hoping to recognize some pattern or at least something familiar in the killer’s style.

  “Not so far. We’ve got men out there still searching. But it’s possible the assault occurred somewhere else.”

  “Did you get photographs of the injuries? Something I can look at while the doctor starts her work on him?”

  “Yes. But the M.E. hasn’t done much yet. Because of the cause of death. This is coming back as a natural cause of death. Heart failure.”

  “They haven’t found any blood at the scene?” I asked, incredulous.

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Do you want me to take a look at the body? See if I see anything others may have missed?”

  “From what I understand, that is your specialty,” he said.

  But I wasn’t sure what specialty he might be referring to. I had been a police officer for the Seattle PD and a member of the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension—VICAP—team. That is until FBI Special
Agent Jack Mitchell was killed in the line of duty last winter during the process of an investigation. We had been tracking down a serial killer who turned out to be a two-thousand-year-old vampire who was brutally murdering other vampires. Fabiana.

  In my eyes—and Kenny’s too, I’m sure—Jack gave his life for Kenny. The only specialty I may have had was witnessing the destruction of the Origin of Blood, the order of vampires that tried to kill me and turned Detective Johnson into a vampire for a short while. Now beyond that, I had no more knowledge than my ex-partner.

  “Alright, Detective. I’m on my way now,” I told him.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll inform Detective Johnson.”

  After Trent hung up, I was aware of the television again. I turned it off and had a phone back to my ear almost immediately. Moments later, my daughter’s voice came over the line with the muffled music of some boy band playing behind her. I cringed a little. She was growing up far too fast for her age. She had been wearing bras for years now, way before she even needed them. The makeup and heels came not long after that and it seemed I had no say in the matter.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  And yet it seemed somehow that she was still my little girl.

  “Hi, honey. I’m sorry, but Uncle Kenny needs me to help him for a little while. I can’t come pick you up.”

  “Oh.”

  With that one monosyllabic response, it was just like she was a defensive teenager again.

  “Fine. I’d rather see my friends anyway.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I get back. Okay?”

  “Fine. Bye.”

  Her voice was empty.

  “I love you, Merric.”

  “Love you too.” Click.

  I stood there feeling a little defeated, with the phone hanging from my ear. I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to tell her how much more important she was than Kenny. How much more important she was than some death in Seattle. But I didn’t know if she would even believe me if I told her any of that, and that saddened me.

  A few minutes later I was driving north with my doors locked and the radio on. Fatigue seeped through me like a Vicodin. I felt dreary and numb as I drove down a road shaded by trees and illuminated by the pinkish hue of the first fading light of the setting sun.

  I dreaded what I was about to do. Kenny was pulling me back into a case, a case I’m sure, legally, I was not permitted to be a consultant on. If the FBI got wind that I was being called in to help Kenny out, things could go wrong for us really fast. I was still not a friend of the FBI’s and Kenny was still a suspect in the death of Jack Mitchell. He was the last person to see him alive. ‘Death by vampire’ was not a conclusion the government was willing to accept in the murder of one of their agents, so I took an early retirement to save my friend’s job. The cases were simply filed away.

  I could not see how Kenny could have gotten clearance for me. I had been gagged by the Bureau and not only forced to retire, but forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement as well. They might have even still been watching me. I’m sure we were all covertly observed for some time after all the chaos of last winter went down.

  Chapter 3

  6:05 p.m., May 5

  Reaching for the phone, Kenny started to call for help but then stopped. The images that only a moment ago had assaulted him halted just as quickly as they had come.

  The shaking of his hands and the beating of his heart had returned to what they should be. Unlocking the door to his car, Kenny took his seat and instantly turned over the powerful engine. With a mighty rush of gas, the Mustang roared to life with a deep rumble. The sudden rain shower that was pouring down around the car was now only a low, muffled sound of beats on the roof, and small puddles and streams soon came to life, rushing past his wheels and trickling down storm drains.

  The slated rooftop of the somewhat dilapidated convenience store hummed with the music of drumming water as a storm rolled into the city. Thunder and lightning announced themselves with booms and flashes overhead, and the weather seemed to affect his mood.

  Kenny had to be very careful about bringing Tim into this case, but he didn’t know what else to do. It must be kept as quiet as possible. If the captain were to find out, who knows what he might do or say?

  Uncharacteristically, it seemed as though a fierce wind had blown through Detective Johnson’s mind. Memories of horrors were flashing across his thoughts. Kenny dabbed fear from his eyes, and his hands were shaking again on the wheel as he sat in the darkness of his car. Always the police officer. Calm and collected.

  And no officer worth his salt would sit idly in the illuminated cab of a car at night. The dome light was disconnected, just as it always had been—a habit he had learned from years of stake-outs in the seediest parts of Seattle. It would not be advantageous to have a dome light suddenly come on while sitting in a darkened car as a drug dealer or murderer prowled the shadowed street before you. In less than a second, you would be spotted and your cover would be blown.

  Kenny looked at himself in his rearview mirror and wondered what had just happened to him. He had never had a moment of utter panic like that before. He had certainly experienced many nightmares after witnessing so many violent crimes over the years, but not once did he feel a moment of sheer terror like he had just a moment ago.

  He could still see those yellow eyes that stared at him. Eyes the color of gold looked out of a sea of blood. Kenny could still feel the pain that had taken hold of him as he saw those long, black claws coming at his body, ripping his flesh to the bone. He felt it. The pain was so real that he half expected to see blood when he looked down to his chest, but there was nothing there—just his pounding heart beating so hard he thought he was going to die.

  As a kid, Kenny had been utterly terrified for years, the child of an abusive home. When he was adopted at the age of six, he had had fits of indescribable panic late at night. His ‘night terrors’ lasted for many years but eventually went away.

  Now suddenly Kenny’s mind was awakened to violent images again. His heart was still racing and he tried to calm himself. He closed his eyes and took long relaxing breaths. Finally his heart rate returned to a normal rhythm.

  Soon Tim would be joining him and Kenny wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Yes, he had missed his friend greatly in the last few months. But Kenny felt a lot of apprehension over seeing Tim again in an investigative capacity. Not too long ago, he had come over to Tim’s house in Ballard to watch a game. It was fun. They ate food, drank non-alcoholic O’Doul’s beer, and yelled at the television together. It felt like it always had. Old times. The two of them still seemed like friends, but now, with Tim on his way to help out in the investigation, Kenny wasn’t at all sure how he felt about it.

  Kenny had been assigned a new partner and all that mattered was that it wasn’t Tim. Kenny had been paired up with Detective Katrina O’Hara. She was a relatively good detective with a strong, clinical mind. But Kenny was having problems being partnered with anyone who wasn’t Tim. He liked her just fine. However, Kenny had been very standoffish and untrusting with her. And he was certain that she hated him.

  With a roar of the engine, Kenny’s black Mustang with the white stripe pulled away from the curb and sped off down the road. It was still raining hard when he pulled up to the King County morgue, and there were three police cruisers and county vehicles parked in front. He was grateful that he had beaten his old partner there. His heart was racing again but this time Kenny was sure it had to do with the anticipation of Tim’s arrival and not those inexplicable visions he’d just had.

  Kenny got out of his car and didn’t bother with raising the hood of his jacket. He just let the rain drops land on his head as he made his way inside. Soon his friend Tim would be there and as long as certain people of authority didn’t find out that Tim Anderson was now involved, all would be alright with the world.

  Chapter 4

  7:00 p.m., May 5

  There were a number of cars park
ed behind the Seattle City morgue when I pulled my Ford F150 into the parking lot. The Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Marty Colleens, was already there. So were her deputy chief, Aaron, and her new administrator, Isaiah Decorson. I recognized Kenny’s classic ‘69 Mustang at once. I pulled in next to it and a moment later I was standing before Michelle, an older African American woman, the ‘Gate Keeper’ as I like to call her. She was the secretary and security guard for the King County Medical Examiner. Michelle had no love for me, she never really had. It was Kenny she loved as if he were her own son. But me? She never looked twice at me, even when I was actively coming to the morgue for legitimate cases.

  It was raining in Seattle as usual. The relentless downpour—which seemed to come and go wherever I found myself—beat flowers to naked stalks, and blacktops and sidewalks drowned in large pools of water around the entryway of the morgue.

  As I entered the short hallway, I was greeted by Michelle’s hard look that she seemed to give me every time a new body found its way into her morgue. Michelle wasn’t keen on the idea of me being there. She’d always been difficult with me. I was never really sure why. In fact, I truly didn’t give a crap. I had more important things in my life to worry about than if that old bitch liked me or not. But still, I was as nice to her as I could be.

  “Mr. Anderson,” she spoke coldly, emphasizing the Mister part of my name, letting me know she was aware that I was no longer part of the Seattle Police Department. It was apparent that she was not going to be helpful even one little bit this evening.

  “I’m here to see Detective Johnson, Michelle,” I told her.