by Mac Flynn
Chapter 14
I kept up, kind of. It was a lot easier running with superhuman speed on smooth, clean, even floors than it was over trashy, uneven streets filled with potholes the size of Buicks. The book in my hands didn't help, but I didn't want to drop it on the side of the road and doom a hobo to a grisly fate. Vincent led us back up the river toward the Compound of Doom, but veered onto several streets away from the water. We came to a bare lot with trash heaped taller than me, and in there he uncovered Tim's wrapped body where he'd hidden it beneath a bunch of clothes.
Vincent hefted Tim over his shoulder and I noticed the body wasn't as stiff and frozen. "We have to deal with this tonight, don't we?" I asked him.
"It cannot wait," Vincent replied. He glanced over me with a critical eye. "Can you run very far?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Did this ring also give me a lot more strength?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess we'll see how far I can go."
Vincent turned away and sped along the streets, and I followed. We wound through commercial and industrial districts, houses and apartment buildings, and past the outskirts of the city. The hard road narrowed and the buildings became far and few. Corn fields replaced parking lots and large stores gave way to barns. I hadn't been out there except on joyrides, but I enjoyed what little I could see by the light of the stars above us.
Just when I thought I couldn't run any farther Vincent turned off onto a dirt road. It led up to an abandoned barn with stacks of dry hay in front of the large doors. He set Tim's body on the top of the stack and wandered into the barn. I noticed a few barn boards stuck out of the straw, and turned to Vincent when he emerged from the barn with a box of matches n his hand. "You guys were ready for this, weren't you?" I whispered.
"Yes." He lit a match and tossed it on the pile.
We both stepped back when the fire took to its food, and in a minute the hay was a bonfire of flames that licked at the sky. I glanced down at the book in my arms, and then to Vincent. "Should I burn this?" I asked him.
He looked to me, and took the book off my hands. I was glad for the less responsibility, but curious when he stuffed it away inside his coat. "Bat will be curious to see this," he explained to me.
"Oh, right." I didn't think I wanted to know anymore, at least not until it got me into trouble.
Knowing from movies how awful burning bodies smelled, I made sure to stay upwind of the smoke. Vincent and I silently stood beside one another and watched as the flames consumed Tim's body. It was a terrible sight to behold, but I couldn't look away. All the memories of the great jokes and laughs and teasing we'd had together went up with that smoke, and I felt a tearing inside me as I spoke a silent goodbye to my old friend. I didn't even notice I was crying until I felt the tiny droplets drip off my chin.
I rubbed my eyes to stop them, and Vincent glanced down at me. His face was dry. "Problems?" he wondered.
I snorted and managed a small smile. "Yeah, I'm human and these damn emotions are bothering me."
"Emotions tell you that you're alive," he countered.
I stopped my pawing at my tears and glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "That was strangely emotional for an undead guy," I commented. Vincent shrugged and turned away from me. I gave him a closer look. In the firelight I was reminded how handsome he was, and in the soft lines of his face I detected a hint-smidgen-possibility of sadness. "Could I ask you-"
"Yes," he interrupted me.
"Yes what?" I returned.
"Yes to your question."
I leaned in and narrowed my eyes. "You weren't digging around in my mind seeing what I was thinking, were you?"
"That's neither possible, nor anything I would care to do," he replied.
"Then what was I going to ask?"
"You were going to ask if I had a soul."
I blinked. "How'd you know that?"
"It was the first question Tim asked me." Vincent turned to me and looked me over. "He must have seen a lot of himself in you."
"So if you have a soul how do you manage to-well, to kill people?"
"My soul isn't like that of a human." He closed his eyes and chuckled. "Sometimes I even bring it out and look at it."
I took a step away from him. "Oookay, that's creepy."
"That's what Tim would say," he replied.
"And he was right." I glanced back at Tim's remains. The fire was hot enough I couldn't stare directly into the flames, but that meant there would be only ash left of him. "So, um, what do I do now?"
"You survive," Vincent answered.
"Will that really keep me busy for long?" I asked him.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean just surviving sounds boring. Isn't there something interesting Tim did? You know, to pass the time?"
"He had his occupation," he reminded me.
"Oh, right, the business." I crossed my arms over my chest and furrowed my brow. "I suppose it can't be any more dangerous than what we did tonight?"
"Not often."
"And it pays decently?"
"Quite often."
"And it'll keep me out of trouble?"
"Not likely."
I clapped my hands together and playfully pushed my shoulder into Vincent. He swayed and raised an eyebrow "Well, why the hell not?" I mused. "I've got a lot of time on my hands so I may as well take over his business. Besides, with you as an employee somebody else has to be the front-man for the customers. Otherwise they'll all be scared away." Vincent cracked a smile, and I wagged my eyebrows. "There, that's the look I want from a happy employee of-" I frowned. "Um, what did I just take over, anyway?" Vincent's face fell and he looked at me with an annoyed expression. I shrugged and sheepishly smiled. "Tim just told me he was some kind of consultant."
"Private detective," he blandly replied.
I blinked. "Private detective? That's what got him into so much weird trouble?"
"Paranormal private detective."
"Oh, that would explain you and-well, everything else."
"Yes."
"What's the name of this business?"
"Vampire Dead-tective Agency."
"Catchy."
"It was Tim's idea."
"It would be. So is this sleuthing business hard? Any special skills I need to learn?"
"Yes."
I waited with baited breath for further explanation. I nearly suffocated. "Mind telling me what they are?" I gasped.
"Experience is the best teacher."
"If you don't tell me something useful I'll stick voodoo pins in my own crotch," I threatened. Through our joined pain that would hurt him more than me.
"Diplomacy is useful," he spoke up.
"I prefer the more direct route of threats."
"So I noticed."
"It gets results."
"So I noticed." I sighed and shrugged, but there was a mischievous smile on my face. "This is going to be a long, long relationship."
"Very long," he agreed.
And oh boy was it, particularly in that early adventure with the cult. . .
or visit Mac Flynn's website.
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