Stake

by Kevin J. Anderson

  ‘Possible vampires,’ Lexi said.

  ‘Potential victims. They’re not safe.’

  Lexi tried to dredge up her confidence. ‘Helsing said he found suspicious activity around the warehouse where Eldridge worked, mysterious shipments from Eastern Europe. You should at least investigate that. What if he’s right? There might still be something nefarious going on.’

  ‘He pounded a stake through two victims, and he cut off another guy’s head. My priority is to stop him from killing again.’ Carrow stood up, keeping the folder. ‘I need to take this as vital evidence in the case.’

  Lexi was too disoriented to think of any objection. Could he do that? She wanted to argue, but she knew she was on thin ice. He could easily confiscate her desktop computer and her laptop, bring her in for a lengthy interrogation.

  He tucked the manila folder under his arm. ‘We’ll be talking further, Miss Tarada. Be sure to send me all the information you have, so I don’t need to ask again. And call me the moment he contacts you again.’ He strode toward the door and opened it. ‘Vampires or not, this Simon Helsing is a killer – and I’m looking for monsters that I know exist.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Out in the forest camp, the members of the Bastion gathered around because Lucius had called them to witness. They were terrified.

  The men and women stood by the tents and lean-tos, cowed into silence. Campfires burned, the smoke nearly invisible in the gathering dusk. Bright battery-powered LED lanterns spilled out harsh white light, making the event more like a spectacle.

  A battered young woman with torn clothes huddled on the ground, sobbing, shaking, mindless with fear. Mama wrapped a camp blanket around the girl’s shoulders, stroking her tangled hair. ‘Shush now. It’ll be all right.’

  The woman slipped an arm out from under the blanket and wrapped it around Mama’s leg, holding her in desperation. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘Thank you for saving me.’

  Tall and hairy, Roland made a dejected lowing sound like a cow caught in barbed wire. The big man’s arms were extended high above his head and his wrists were tied together, with the rope thrown over a tree branch so that he dangled with his feet barely touching the ground. His reddish beard was full and tangled like an animal’s mane; his russet hair hung in tangled locks. Tears poured in rivers through the hair on his cheeks.

  Lucius had undone the man’s overalls and pulled down the front flap to leave Roland exposed and vulnerable – just as they had found the young woman he’d held prisoner and repeatedly abused.

  ‘Sorry,’ Roland groaned. ‘Sorry! Pleeeease.’

  Lucius felt only steel inside him. He was the leader of the Bastion. He had to protect his community. And this man was a threat to them all. ‘I should not have listened to you the first time, Roland. I should never have felt sorry for you.’

  The hairy man’s knees buckled as he collapsed in despair, but the ropes suspended him, letting him hang like a dead weight. The abrasive bonds had rubbed away the skin on his wrists, and blood trickled down his arms. ‘Please! I was lonely.’

  ‘You hurt her, just like you hurt that other girl. We can’t let you hurt anybody else. Never again.’

  ‘No! I’ll be good.’

  ‘It is what it is.’

  Thirty members of the Bastion had gathered, sickened by what Roland had done. They stood around the main camp, a silent but unanimous jury.

  Mama placed her arm around the victim’s shoulders. The poor woman didn’t seem to know what was going on. She rocked back and forth, in total shock, withdrawn into herself. ‘Shhh. It’ll be all right. He won’t hurt you again, but I need you to look up now. My Lucius is going to ask you a question.’

  The children stood with their parents, wide-eyed and still; they could feel the import of what was happening. Young Joshua stood tall as if he considered himself an adult now. He watched the hairy prisoner with hard eyes.

  After the recent cold snap, the perfect autumn weather drew day hikers and backpackers. This young woman – Lucius didn’t even know her name – had been out on the trail alone. He could only assume that Roland had spotted her, tracked her, seized her.

  After the assault on the first female hiker, the Forest Service had conducted bothersome searches for days. But since the victim could not find the place where she had been held captive, and because the Forest Service had limited resources, the search parties had dwindled to nothing. Even if searchers did find Roland’s old dwelling, he had moved on after the Bastion exiled him.

  And then Roland had taken another victim, another mate. Lucius could not allow that.

  He stepped up to the hairy man suspended from the rope. ‘I hoped exile would be enough of a punishment after the first time.’ Lucius held a sharp hunting knife in his hand, a blade that was made for killing, for butchering … for what Roland deserved. ‘I know the only way we can be certain you will never do it again.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Roland groaned. ‘I’m sorry! Never again.’

  Next to Mama, the girl clutched the camp blanket around her. She turned away from the shaggy brute, but Mama forced her to look at Roland.

  Lucius growled his words like razors. He didn’t allow the remotest hint of sympathy. ‘What you did to that poor girl can never be forgiven. Your fate is her decision.’ Ignoring the whimpers and moans of the hairy man, he turned to the young woman. ‘Will you forgive him? Should we turn him loose?’

  The victim cringed and would have dropped to her knees if Mama hadn’t held her up. ‘No! Don’t let him loose! You can’t!’

  Lucius regarded her with his deep brown eyes. ‘Only you know exactly what he did to you. Should we let him live?’

  The woman shuddered, and the words ripped out of her throat. ‘No! Kill him!’ She curled into a ball, rocking back and forth as Mama comforted her.

  Lucius turned to Roland. ‘It is her decision, and it is my decision. You cannot be allowed to live.’

  A muted gasp rippled around the crowd, but no one objected. Some took a step closer.

  In the light of the camp lanterns Roland dangled from the rope that bound his wrists high over his head. ‘No … no …’

  Young Joshua stood next to little Lily, whose eyes were wide. Looking at Lily, Lucius felt an acid taste of anger rise in his throat. What if Roland had attacked an innocent young girl?

  ‘What you did to them …’ Lucius focused on the guilty man, the rapist – the monster. The Bastion tried too hard to protect themselves from outside threats, but this dangerous man had been right among them. ‘What you did!’

  Without thinking, he tore down the already loose front of Roland’s overalls exposing his large penis hanging there in a forest of red pubic hair. An assault weapon.

  The battered young woman buried her face against Mama’s leg.

  Lucius didn’t need any more convincing. He slashed low and sideways with the razor edge, lopping off the flaccid flesh. Hot blood spouted from Roland’s crotch. The blade was so sharp that the despairing man didn’t even feel it at first, then he let out a bellow of shock and pain.

  The spectators moaned, and some covered up quiet screams.

  Lucius supposed Roland might bleed out eventually, and part of him wanted to let that happen, long and slow, but he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a torturer. He just had to mete out justice.

  Roland’s knees had buckled, and he hung on the rope with his arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets. Lucius grabbed his shaggy head, tugged his face up. The big man blinked his eyes, and his mouth hung open in a pleading expression.

  Lucius made a quick slash across his hairy throat, and another fan of blood spouted out. He stepped out of the way as Roland twitched and bled and swiftly died.

  The sobbing victim turned her head away. Mama tried to comfort her. The rest of the Bastion stared in silent approval.

  Still holding the bloody knife, Lucius walked over to where the young woman shuddered. Mama stroked the girl’s cheek, turned her face upward.

&
nbsp; Lucius stood over her and spoke in a soothing voice. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I’m sickened by what he did. Roland was one of ours and we take care of our own. We never meant to hurt outsiders.’

  ‘You killed him,’ the young woman said, hunching over and clutching her stomach. ‘I want to go home. I can’t be here!’

  He leaned closer to her. She blinked at him, her eyes swollen. Snot ran down her face as she sniffled. ‘Do you truly believe that justice was served?’ he asked. ‘That Roland deserved the punishment I gave him?’

  She nodded, at first uncertain and then more vigorously.

  ‘Good, that was important to me,’ Lucius said. ‘I did what I had to do, but I wanted to be sure you understood as well.’ He walked around behind her.

  The exhausted young woman was barely aware of her surroundings, horrified and relieved at the same time. ‘I want to go home.’

  Mama said, ‘The poor dear is out of pain now.’

  After what she had been through, she thought the ordeal was over. She didn’t suspect a thing.

  Lucius was as swift, decisive, and painless as he could be. She deserved that. In a flash, he drove the point of the heavy hunting knife into the base of her skull. The blade severed her spinal cord, and he shoved it up into the lower part of her brain faster than even a nerve impulse could travel. She didn’t feel a thing, and she was dead in an instant.

  He yanked the knife out, and her body collapsed on the ground.

  ‘There is justice, and there is safety,’ he said. The rest of the Bastion stared at him. ‘We had both until Roland brought attention upon us all. She saw me kill him. If we had let this woman go, she would have told others about us. I couldn’t allow that. This way she’ll just be missing.’ He looked down at her sad, fragile body. She reminded him of a young doe killed by a hunter. ‘Maybe they’ll say Bigfoot did it.’

  He instructed four of the men to carry the bodies away from camp so the Bastion could begin to settle in for a calm but guarded night. The next day they would dispose of the bodies in the most rugged wilderness, where they would never be found.

  After years of keeping the Bastion safe, isolated, and in the shadows, Lucius felt that everything was spiraling out of control. By his actions, Simon Helsing was also exposing them to danger. He was growing much too blatant, drawing the police, the media. Lucius feared for his people.

  He also knew what Alexis Tarada was doing. From a public library terminal he had read her recent post, ‘Hiding in Plain Sight’, and he agreed with what she was saying. Alexis was still naïve, but better than most.

  Lucius might have to talk with her, give her more of the information she needed to know. And soon.

  THIRTY

  The folder he’d taken from Alexis Tarada contained a great deal of information – creepy information. Carrow had not expected much when he decided to meet with her again to ask about her meeting at the coffee shop. In fact after reading her crackpot website, the vampire-conspiracy blogs she posted, he hesitated about stepping into that funhouse and buying into a collective insanity. He couldn’t tell if Tarada really bought into it, or if she was just playing her followers to milk them for more donations.

  But now he knew that she had met with the man who was likely the stake killer. Finding this unexpected treasure trove of information made everything worthwhile.

  ‘Simon Helsing’ was certifiably crazy for believing this stuff, and he stalked potential victims. Gullibility did not constitute a crime – good thing, because half the people on social media would be in jail – but Carrow had no doubt that this man had killed Douglas Eldridge, whose name was right there in the dossier. He had also almost certainly killed Mark Stallings and Patric Ryan.

  Tarada might not be directly involved with the murders, but she did have contact with Helsing, and she hadn’t reported the meeting or the dossier to the police. If Carrow gave her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she hadn’t actually aided and abetted a serial killer. Granted, he hadn’t been especially warm and fuzzy to Tarada when he investigated her tip line report, but he gave her his card. The moment she saw this dossier, why hadn’t she called again? Was she protecting Helsing? Dodge had seen her tense meeting with the man at the coffee shop. He had grabbed her arm. Was she afraid of him? Maybe, maybe not. It would be hard to make charges stick, but maybe he could use it as leverage.

  After taking the folder from Tarada’s house, he had slipped it in a plastic evidence bag. The techs had dusted each page for fingerprints, but the killer had left no trace. Now Carrow studied the information from a set of copies while the lab searched for fibers or other evidence that might lead to the man’s whereabouts.

  He commandeered a meeting room down the hall which offered more space than his cubicle provided. Working under the bright lights, Carrow spread out the papers on the table, organizing them in neat stacks so he could look at them all from a bird’s-eye view.

  He had done his homework, as Tarada asked. ‘Helsing’ was the great vampire hunter in the novel Dracula, written by Bram Stoker and published in 1897 – which also explained the man’s screen name. Van Helsing had appeared in countless other books, movies, comics, a veritable pop-culture icon.

  The top set of papers were Helsing’s speculations and notes about Douglas Eldridge, and that alone would be damning enough to charge him with the murder. The sheer amount of detailed information Helsing had obtained was alarming: employee files, tax records, driver’s license, bank accounts. Most chilling was a log of careful surveillance. Simon Helsing had been stalking his victim for a long time.

  Because the killer wanted to convince or dupe Alexis Tarada into believing there were more vampires in hiding, the dossier listed many people of interest. He had killed Eldridge before giving her the folder. Before anyone could have known … But the other targets were still alive.

  The next name in the stack was an EMT, an ambulance driver named MaryJane Stricklin. Helsing had obtained her employment record, which showed that Stricklin hadn’t served a single daylight shift in two years. Carrow rolled his eyes. ‘Doesn’t mean she never stepped outside in the daylight.’

  The killer laid out his evidence that led to the desired conclusion. As a paramedic Stricklin had ready access to fresh blood, whether by snacking on some hemorrhaging accident victim or by accessing hospital blood supplies. Through obsessive records searching, Helsing determined that Stricklin’s ambulance logged significantly more fatalities than other ambulances, DOAs that should have survived, based on the nature of the injuries. She had received a reprimand in her personnel file, but no one had ever proved that Stricklin was responsible for the additional deaths.

  The next set of papers included the photo of a middle-aged man with rounded cheeks, heavy eyebrows. Tom Grollin, a night-time cab driver who claimed to have a day job, but the killer could find no record of it, no other employer – which raised Helsing’s suspicions, although it could simply mean that Grollin worked online, or sold junk on eBay, or did odd jobs off the books. Carrow would not have assumed ‘secret vampire’ to be the first explanation. He doubted any cab driver would willingly choose the midnight-to-dawn shift, transporting drunks who puked in the backseat and forgot to tip. Helsing also listed twelve Uber and Lyft drivers who logged only late-night hours and ‘warranted further investigation’.

  Carrow walked around the meeting room table. The next profile in the folder was laughable. Hugo Zelm, well-known reclusive philanthropist. Although cops did not move in those social circles, Carrow knew who he was. Zelm appeared in the news whenever he made some spectacular donation or embraced a particular cause. The dossier noted that Zelm made a regular SupportMe contribution to HideTruth.

  Interesting.

  ‘Should give the guy a free pass in the vampire department,’ Carrow muttered. If Zelm was really a vampire, why would he assist a conspiracy website about vampires and UFOs? Unless that was what vampires did to deflect attention, making their existence look like mere fodder for crazie
s?

  Zelm lived in a mansion in the Broadmoor Hills on the western edge of Colorado Springs, up in the foothills. Unlike the other suspected vampires in the folder, the philanthropist was too obvious. The man hosted a large public event at least once a year. King vampire?

  Carrow rolled his eyes. Wasn’t there always a king vampire? From the photos in the dossier, Zelm was a bald man with an aquiline nose, close-set eyes, and leathery skin, about seventy or so. Certainly not the suave Bela Lugosi type. Still, he had acquired much of his wealth from investments in Eastern Europe. His grandparents had fled the Balkans with stolen treasure during World War II, and Zelm apparently still had family blood ties in the old country. Helsing’s notes speculated that if the man had been alive for centuries, routinely changing his identity, he could have acquired extensive wealth.

  Considering the prominence of the ‘king vampire’, Carrow decided he should talk with him first. The people in the dossier might indeed be at risk.

  He flipped through several other candidates – nightclub bouncers, delivery truck drivers, hotel night clerks. The last one that caught his eye was Frederik Lugash, thirty-two, an immigrant from Hungary who had lived in the US for seven years. Lugash worked nights as a delivery man for a 24-hour pizza place. Helsing found other details that aroused suspicions – at least in the mind of someone wearing a tinfoil hat.

  In the past several months, three of Lugash’s customers had suffered strange fates. One disappeared entirely, simply abandoning an apartment and leaving no forwarding address, no trace. One neighbor said she thought the woman had moved to a new temporary job, leaving her possessions there for when she returned, but that had not been verified. No missing persons report was filed, so the CSPD had never checked into the woman’s situation.

  One customer died in an extraordinarily bloody single-car accident late at night, the body mangled. Helsing had noted, ‘How much blood was taken from the body, unnoticed?’ A third young man on the verge of graduating from Colorado College had slashed his wrists in the dorm room sink and bled out with no one around. ‘No telling how much blood actually went down the sink,’ Helsing wrote. ‘Or how much was otherwise consumed.’