Stake

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Now that she had accomplished something, Lexi decided to call it a night, though she was still shaking. She had vented and made her case, but she didn’t have the gratification of a lawyer summing up, crossing her arms and finishing her closing argument. She doubted Detective Carrow would ever read her essay anyway.

  Even in her own mind, the debate remained unresolved. Despite her passion, she wasn’t convinced even by Stoker1897’s evidence, but that was no different from any other forum on HideTruth. Still, she admitted the possibility of unusual things, as she always did. That was the point.

  She saw it was nearly 4 a.m. and the blanket of night outside could hide many sinister activities. What if some vampire was out there now? What if he had already read her post and wanted to silence Lexi because she drew too much attention to the threat? She rubbed her eyes. Now who was being paranoid?

  By her own rules, she had to accept the possibility …

  She checked on Blair and found him lying asleep with his face huddled against the pillow, his back to her. The pack of frozen chard had slipped aside.

  Even nightmares would be better than staying awake, he had said.

  In her T-shirt and sweatpants, she climbed into bed next to him and carefully wrapped her arms around his chest to drive away the nightmares.

  ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll keep each other safe.’ Just being close to him made her feel like she was protected from the vampires as well.

  The next morning, a cowed Blair, ashamed of his swelling black eye and bruised face, cooked her a special frittata with spinach and feta cheese. He avoided conversation, talked about painfully mundane things, and she finally interrupted him. ‘You know you can always confide in me if you want to talk, right?’

  His smile looked real and out of place on his discolored face. ‘I know that, Lex. I always do. Right now, I need a free pass. No judgment.’

  ‘You always get a free pass from me,’ she promised. ‘I’ll try not to think about it and concentrate instead on this delicious frittata.’ He kissed her on the top of her head and retreated to his room, leaving her there to eat her breakfast alone.

  As she drank her coffee, wrapping both hands around the mug, Lexi remembered how incensed she’d gotten when writing ‘The Case for Vampires’. Now, in the bright autumn morning, she began to reconsider what she had posted in the middle of the night. Her angry essay had been aimed at Carrow, but distributed for all the world to read. Maybe it made her seem silly.

  After she finished her frittata, she did the dishes, trying to occupy her mind, then opened her laptop, ready to face the fallout from her blog. She was surprised to find a private message from Stoker1897. Her brow furrowed as she read.

  ‘Alexis Tarada, it’s time we get in touch. I have much more evidence than I posted publicly, and I will share it with someone I trust.’ She was both excited and wary. ‘Like you, I live in Colorado Springs. I will provide you with a complete dossier if you agree to meet face to face, in broad daylight in a public place.’

  Lexi was shocked to learn that he was local. He signed his message as ‘Simon Helsing’, rather than his screen name, but she couldn’t possibly accept that ‘Helsing’ was his real name. That only reinforced how strong his convictions – delusions? – must be.

  But she wondered what information he might possess, what details he was unwilling to post on HideTruth. She pondered her decision, reticent. But if proof existed, she needed to see it. One of these days …

  Did she dare risk meeting with one of her most active followers? Especially after Dicked Over, she kept a wall between herself and the crazies. Was Stoker1897 one of the crazies? Or did he have information even more compelling than what she had already seen?

  Lexi realized she was bound by her own words. She had to at least consider the possibility. She should hear him out with an open mind.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied to Stoker1897 – Simon Helsing. And she set up a meeting.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Once inside the victim’s fenced backyard, Carrow felt the bile rise in his throat. He looked down at the dead animal. ‘Beautiful dog. Didn’t deserve this.’

  The coroner had arrived at the same time, both of them called when the fire department discovered the burned body of Douglas Eldridge on his kitchen floor.

  The German Shepherd was young, no more than three or four years old, with a sleek, rich pelt. The skull had been shattered above the right eye. The dog’s mouth was open, the brown eyes glassy and staring upward.

  ‘Damn, I hate to see that.’ Carrow felt a lump in his throat. He’d had his own German Shepherd when he was a boy and still regretted that he didn’t have a dog now.

  Orla Watson gave him a clinical frown. ‘Why is there always more sympathy for dead animals than for dead human beings? In a disaster movie where hundreds of people die, the audience cheers because the puppy gets rescued.’

  ‘I don’t like seeing dead human beings either,’ Carrow said. He turned away, not wanting to look anymore.

  Mel opened the screen door. ‘Body’s in here, Detective. You’re going to want to have a look.’

  ‘Go ahead, make my day.’ Carrow gestured in an awkward gentlemanly fashion for the coroner to precede him.

  The house smelled of smoke and roasted flesh, along with the oily stink of burned plastic. A neighbor from across the street had called the fire department after noticing smoke coming from one of the windows. Knowing that Eldridge, a night-time security guard, slept during the day, they had assumed some casserole had been left too long in the oven. When the fire department broke down the front door, they did indeed find a kitchen fire, though the flames hadn’t spread far.

  A man’s charred body lay in the middle of the ruined linoleum, his blackened skin covered with greasy soot. There was no mistaking the wooden stake in the center of his chest.

  ‘I’ll take a wild guess and say this is connected to the other two murders,’ said Watson. ‘But you’re the detective.’

  ‘Not going to argue with you.’ Against his better judgment, Carrow inhaled deeply, tried to identify the smell. ‘Is that lighter fluid?’

  The coroner leaned over the roasted horror and took a long, slow sniff, like a gourmand savoring a delicacy. ‘No mistaking the fresh smell of aliphatic petroleum solvent.’

  Powdery fire-extinguisher residue lay like faint snow across the body, the dark and bubbly linoleum floor, and the soot-stained laminate cabinets. ‘If the killer meant to burn down the house and destroy the evidence, he did a piss-poor job of it,’ Carrow said.

  From beside the body, Watson looked up at him. ‘Oh, I don’t think he was trying to burn the house down, maybe not even trying to destroy evidence. Lighter fluid is a stupid accelerant for that purpose. He was just making double damn sure. Fire is supposed to be effective against vampires.’

  Carrow groaned. ‘Now you’re sounding like that website.’

  ‘No, I’m sounding like someone who looks at the evidence,’ said the coroner. ‘And I’ll run a full blood test to see if any anomalies crop up.’ She raised her eyebrows at his obvious surprise. ‘Just to make sure.’

  Carrow began assembling the pieces and clues in his mind. He walked down the hall. Inside the dim bedroom, the drapes were closed, the bed rumpled, blanket and bedspread covering a mattress. On a chair, he saw the dark jacket with the insignia of a private security company. He turned back. ‘Crap almighty. Didn’t the neighbor report that the victim was a security guard? Worked at night, slept during the day? That fits the pattern. Our nut job convinced himself the guy was a vampire and killed him.’ He would look into where the victim worked, see if any suspicious activity had been reported there. Maybe there was still a drug or gang connection, but it was sounding more and more doubtful.

  ‘If he slept during the day, the victim probably left his German Shepherd outside.’ He looked down at the charred stake in the middle of the dead man’s chest. ‘Perp must have used the same mallet to kill the poor dog.’
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  The fire truck was still outside, and the captain was filling out his report on a clipboard, waiting for the police to release them. Carrow stepped outside through the smashed front door to see two firefighters, neither of whom belonged on a pin-up calendar. The men were shaken, not accustomed to finding murder victims on a routine call, especially not a corpse with a stake through the heart.

  ‘Is it a serial killer, Detective?’ asked one of the firefighters. ‘I heard on the news about someone else being killed like that.’

  ‘Could just be a coincidence,’ Carrow said, then added a serious tone. ‘Look, I know everybody likes to talk, especially with something as unusual and exciting as this, but I’d really like to keep the sensational aspect out of the news, at least for the time being. I’ll have Public Affairs report this as just another murder, without giving details. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourselves. I’ll double my donation to Toys for Tots this Christmas.’

  The firefighters seemed disappointed, as if they had been looking forward to sharing the salacious story over beers. ‘I have my First Amendment rights,’ muttered one of the men.

  ‘Yes you do, and I’m asking for a favor. Let me have a little elbow room to do some investigating, just for a few days. OK?’ Embarrassed, the man fidgeted with his helmet, and the others reluctantly agreed.

  Carrow walked around the garage looking for any sign of an obvious break-in, but the back gate had been unlocked. With the dead dog, he assumed the murderer had entered from that direction. He looked down at the German Shepherd, feeling a heaviness in his chest. ‘This guy’s a sick bastard.’

  Alexis Tarada had pointed out the possible connection between Mark Stallings and Patric Ryan, and she seemed to know a lot about how the killer’s mind worked. He didn’t want Tarada posting any ridiculous theories on her UFO conspiracy site.

  She saw vampires under her bed, too. What if she had her own connection to the killer? A shared delusion?

  He used the radio to call in a plainclothes detail, providing Tarada’s name and address. ‘Do me a favor and keep an eye on her – but from a distance. Could be she’s had contact with the stake murderer. I want a report on where she goes, who she meets.’

  He knelt beside the sprawled dog and awkwardly placed his palm on the fur, patting gently. ‘I’ll get him. I’ll find who did this.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Simon Helsing, aka Stoker1897, was eager to meet. Lexi felt a chill, wondering if he knew where she lived, if he was watching her, stalking her. He seemed rational in his postings online but he was also intense, which might be a bad sign. She would be as cautious as possible, but she needed to know what he wanted to show her.

  Lexi arranged to meet him downtown on Tejon Street, a line of boutique shops, wine merchants, bistros, a wood-fired pizza place, a deli, a sushi bar. She chose a ‘definitely not Starbucks’ coffee shop as a place to meet, at one of the outside tables, in plain view.

  Though she hated to leave Blair alone at home, no matter that he lied that he was ‘just fine’, Lexi arrived half an hour early. She would not have been surprised if Helsing did the same, just so he could watch the place. Was he paranoid? Was she? Lexi didn’t have anything to hide, not with him. They were on the same side, right? Especially if he had evidence that was even more compelling than what he had already shared online.

  But after seeing Blair pummeled by a man who supposedly loved him, she knew not to be so naïve and open. Now I know there are real monsters out there.

  Ever since Cesar beat him, Blair had stayed home from both jobs, kept to his room in the dark, hurt and ashamed. Lexi made sure Blair knew he could talk to her if he needed a friend. He had said he would go back to Rags to Riches today, though she wasn’t sure he would get up the nerve. She hoped she would make it back home in time to wish him luck.

  Lexi treated herself to a large cappuccino, though she was nervous enough without any extra caffeine. She looked around. Tejon Street had plenty of pedestrian traffic and she drew energy from the activity around her. Because of the unseasonably warm autumn day, she wore only a light jacket. She sat at one of the outdoor tables, trying to be as obvious as possible.

  Compared to Dubuque, Colorado Springs was a stunning and vibrant city. From where she sat, she could look west beyond the tall downtown buildings and see the imposing slopes of Pikes Peak framing the old Antlers Hotel. In 1895 Katharine Lee Bates had been inspired by that same view to write about the ‘purple mountain majesties’ in ‘America the Beautiful’.

  The heart of downtown also had its share of homeless. On the corner a block away stood a large man with a shaggy beard and black hair wearing a flak jacket. He panhandled the pedestrians, but seemed quiet and polite about it.

  Lexi sipped her cappuccino, looked down at her blank notebook, waiting. The minutes ticked by, and a man suddenly sat next to her unannounced, moving the metal chair with a loud scraping sound. Though startled, Lexi forced herself to be calm. She regarded a plain-featured man with long brown hair tucked under a baseball cap. He wore a Broncos jacket, which made him practically invisible in Colorado despite the bright blue and orange colors.

  ‘You’re Alexis Tarada,’ he said.

  She didn’t hear a question mark at the end of the sentence. ‘And you’re Stoker1897.’

  ‘Helsing,’ he corrected her. ‘Simon Helsing. No need for the screen name here. The whole reason for this meeting is so we can be honest with each other. Too many damn secrets and cover-ups, political dealings and dark financial transactions.’ He spoke quickly, articulately, but each word seemed to have a broken glass shard attached to it. ‘I don’t care about politics and money.’ He shifted on the metal chair. ‘No, I’m more interested in the survival of our race. You’ve read my postings, and I read your post, “The Case for Vampires”. A very good summary, but you don’t know everything.’ Helsing’s eyes were dark blue, not at all bloodshot.

  ‘We’re both on the same page,’ Lexi said. She decided to let him guide the conversation. ‘On my site, I promise to keep an open mind, because I know through personal experience that not everything can be explained. A lot of it is nonsense – I think you know that, too – but not all of it. You offered some very interesting evidence, posted a lot of details about the recent murders. You’re right, there does seem to be something fishy.’

  ‘Murders?’ Helsing sounded cagey. ‘Depends on your perspective. If vampires exist, then is it murder to stop creatures that feed on people, drain their blood, and cover up the killings? You could call it self-defense.’

  ‘If vampires exist.’ Lexi felt gooseflesh on her arms. ‘You seem to know quite a bit about the victims.’ Could she come right out and ask him directly if he was somehow involved? Her eyes flicked from side to side.

  ‘I know a lot about vampires.’ He slid a manila folder across the table next to her cappuccino cup. ‘This is vital information, and I want to help you understand. Vampires are very skilled at keeping themselves hidden, and no one takes their existence seriously. People just laugh at you if you even suggest it.’

  Lexi remembered Detective Carrow. ‘Yes, they do.’

  He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘I think that’s been carefully orchestrated for decades, even centuries. Native superstitions in Eastern Europe kept the vampires – the lampir – contained over there. There, the locals believe in them, and they know how to defend themselves. It’s been a silent war for a very long time.’

  She scribbled down notes so he would know she was paying attention.

  Helsing kept talking. ‘Vampires thrived behind the Iron Curtain during the Soviet era, especially in the Stalinist years. People vanished, but everyone was too terrified to report the victims, assuming the secret police had taken them away as political prisoners. Vampires took advantage of that and proliferated. I think vampires may even have infiltrated the Communist government. I gathered evidence of that, too.’ He paused, suddenly wary. ‘Sorry. That makes me sound like a lunatic
.’

  Lexi guarded her expression. ‘Frankly, most of the stories on my website sound unbelievable, at least at first. But I did agree to come here and listen to you, didn’t I?’

  He relaxed just a little. ‘You did.’ Helsing seemed high strung, full of energy, but she didn’t think he was on drugs. ‘In the Bosnian War, I saw things that changed me forever. Vampires used the turmoil there as a way to spread over here in earnest. Some of the returning UN peacekeeping forces were turned, which allowed the vampire infestation to grow in America.’

  ‘You make it sound like vampirism spread the way Vietnam veterans brought giardia home from South East Asia.’

  His expression darkened. ‘I’m not comparing the infestation of vampires to the spread of a stomach bug.’

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to make light of it.’ She worried that he might bolt.

  ‘That’s exactly what real vampires would do,’ he said. ‘You have to know their techniques, their misinformation, how they hide their existence by exposing rumors, just enough to make the idea seem frivolous. They constantly sow doubts, use ridiculous Hollywood movies and fake news as camouflage. They spread outrageous memes so no one will ever take the existence of vampires seriously. They hide on the fringe, where they can remain safe and anonymous.’

  ‘I spend a lot of time researching things like that,’ Lexi replied. ‘Most of the memes and fake news are designed to muddy politics, smear campaigns to destroy an opponent.’

  In a perfectly serious voice, Helsing said, ‘Vampires are smarter than politicians.’

  Lexi chuckled. ‘That’s a true statement.’

  Helsing paused, as if trying to understand what was so funny. ‘Vampires spread melodramatic stories to make sure that any serious discussion about their existence is dismissed. They have succeeded so far.’