by Lisa Jackson
She hoisted herself out of the pool, showered quickly, toweled off, and slipped into street clothes. Her muscles, which had been tight for two days, were more relaxed and the exercise had exhilarated her a bit, lifting her spirits, focusing her on what she needed to do to find out the truth about the four missing girls and the damned severed arm. It didn’t hurt that Jay would be back tonight.
She’d actually missed him.
Who would have ever thought?
With minimal makeup, her hair twisted into a damp knot on her head, and the vial she’d sworn to Jay she wouldn’t touch dangling from the chain surrounding her neck, she left the locker room and stepped into the night. In the time she’d worked out, the darkness that had been threatening had fallen and fallen hard. No stars were visible above the street lamps, and the wind, which had been quiet all day, was now blowing with force, rushing through the trees, chasing a few dry leaves across the campus lawns, and biting at her nape.
Shivering, she walked briskly through the alley near Greek Row, crossed one of the busier streets near the campus, and pushed her way through the glass doors of the Watering Hole. She spied Trudie, Grace, and Marnie, the blonde she’d followed through Wagner House, seated at a tall café-style table in one corner of a darkened room. All three girls were huddled over stemmed glasses filled with a brilliant red concoction.
Kristi headed in their direction, forced a smile she didn’t feel, wending her way through the tables.
Ready or not, it was showtime.
Ariel O’Toole’s apartment didn’t look like anyone had been inside in days. Dishes were piled in the sink, the bed unmade, a bag of chips tucked into the bedclothes, the cheese dip in a container by the bed old and crusted over.
“Something’s not right,” Portia said as she, the uniformed officer, the apartment manager, and Del Vernon moved slowly through the studio with its wall of decorative bricks and a curtain separating the bedroom area from the living room. “Look at this place.”
“No sign of a struggle,” Del remarked.
That much was true.
“So she’s a slob,” Del said. “Hasn’t cleaned up in a few days.”
Portia opened the single closet. Everything was neatly organized, her clothes arranged by color, her shoes polished and kept in tidy pairs. Her drawers, too, were meticulous, books in the shelves straight and alphabetized. “Don’t think so. This girl is a neat-freak who just hadn’t cleaned up from a late-night snack.” She opened the door of a small refrigerator, saw the contents were arranged carefully. She stepped aside so Del could see.
“Not a slob,” he agreed.
Portia turned to the door where the apartment manager had slowly edged. “When’s the last time you saw her?” Portia asked him.
Bald, with a fringe of graying reddish hair that matched three days worth of stubble, he was nervous having the police on site. “Don’t know…uh, I saw her for sure last weekend, taking a load of trash to the cans outside and then again…oh, hell…” He rubbed his head and his scrawny shoulders jerked up and down as if pulled by strings. “I think she was hauling laundry up…Let’s see, I’d been raking up some old leaves. Guess that was Sunday afternoon.”
“And since?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got forty units here, I don’t keep track of everyone. Do I look like a house mother?”
Defensive, Portia noted. “You got a key to her mailbox?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Let’s check it.” She glanced around. “No phone.”
“Most of the kids just use cells,” the manager said.
“Can’t check her messages then, and she doesn’t get a paper.” But there was a smell to the place, an empty, almost musty smell, and a forgotten cup of coffee was sitting in the microwave.
They walked outside to the mailbox. Bills and junk mail were piling up. According to the report, Ariel didn’t hold down a job, but she should have been going to class. Portia had talked to the mother, who was battling a case of hysteria and was flying in early in the morning, hoping to locate her girl. Portia had called the woman and explained that the police were on the job. They’d called all Ariel’s friends, her neighbors, and checked with the local hospitals. She didn’t have a car, but she did have a cell phone and a bike. Campus police were searching for the bike. Portia had also double-checked with the bank, seeing if there had been any activity on her credit cards, but so far there had been no new purchases.
Ariel’s mother wasn’t convinced enough was being done. She gave Portia the name of her daughter’s cell phone company and said Ariel’s phone was equipped with a tracking device, but she wouldn’t be consoled.
“My daughter’s not like those other girls,” she argued. “I’ve read about them, those…those girls who have no one who cares about them. It doesn’t matter that Joe and I are divorced, we both love our daughter and…and we’ll do anything, anything to find her!”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything further,” Portia assured her, more determined than ever to find Ariel.
She just hoped the girl would be found alive.
Her cell phone rang as they were locking the apartment. Caller ID indicated the number belonged to the New Orleans Police Department.
“Laurent, Homicide,” she said automatically as she walked outside, one step ahead of Del Vernon, who was still talking to the anxious apartment manager.
“Detective Bentz, New Orleans, Homicide,” a low, serious voice informed. “I heard you were working on the missing girls from All Saints as potential homicides,” he said without preamble.
Portia drew a breath as she stopped under an overhanging eave on the outside of the tired stucco building. Del was saying something to her, but she shooshed him with a wave of her hand.
“That’s right. I am.”
“It looks like you were right,” Bentz said. “In the last hour, four female bodies, one African American, three Caucasian, all in the same state of decomp, all appearing to be in their twenties, have been pulled out of the Mississippi down here. One of the Caucasian girls was missing an arm.”
Portia’s exhale was a sigh of resignation and dying hope.
“Physical characteristics, hair and eye color, tattoos and scars suggest that they are the girls who’ve gone missing from the college.”
“Okay,” she whispered. Though she’d suspected they had come to bad ends, she’d hoped she was wrong and that everyone else in the department was right, that Dionne, Monique, Tara, and Rylee were still somewhere safe and alive. “You said all in the same state of decomp? But they were abducted months apart.”
“We’ll know more once the ME examines them,” he said, his voice tightly controlled.
“Cause of death?”
“Don’t know that yet. Preliminarily it looks like they haven’t been in the water more than a few days, possibly a week. Hard to tell.” He hesitated and she knew something was on his mind.
“What else?”
“There are strange puncture wounds on the bodies. You know that there wasn’t a drop of blood in that arm you guys found in the swamp?”
“Yes.” She suddenly felt cold inside. Steeled herself for what she knew was coming.
“It looks like these bodies might not have any blood as well.”
“Severed arteries?”
“Not exactly,” he said, and she felt his anger radiating through the wireless phone. “But it could be that the corpses were ex-sanguinated.”
“Drained of blood,” she said, thinking of the puncture wounds.
“You might want to see for yourself in the lab.”
“I will, but now we’ve got another missing girl.”
He drew in a quick, swift breath. “Who?”
“Student at All Saints by the name of Ariel O’Toole. Parents can’t locate her and from the looks of her apartment, I’d say she’s been gone for several days.”
“Don’t tell me, she’s an English major.”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah.”
He swore hard. “I’m on my way up there. The lab can call in their report. My daughter’s a student at All Saints. An English major.”
“I wondered if you’d show up,” Grace said, sipping from her drink as she sat at a table in the noisy bar, where music was playing loudly and a band was setting up in the corner. “Join us.”
Trudie’s face tightened. She made fleeting eye contact with Kristi, clearly not as thrilled to welcome her as Grace.
Marnie tossed her hair from her shoulder and said, “Yeah, have a seat.”
Kristi ignored Trudie as she settled into an empty chair, eyeing their drinks. “So what’re you having?”
“Blood red martini.” Grace lifted her glass and twirled the long stem in her fingers, the scarlet contents threatening to slosh over the rim.
“What’s in it?”
“Blood, of course.” She licked her lips, then took a long swallow. “Mmm.”
Kristi nodded. “Yeah, right, like blood from a pomegranate or cranberry or—”
“It’s human.” Grace laughed at her joke, but Trudie’s mood turned even darker. She shot her friend a “shut-the-hell-up” look, which Kristi guessed, from the glint in Grace’s eyes, she was ignoring. Grace was enjoying this.
As was Marnie. “That’s right, we’re all into it. The whole vampire thing, you know.”
Kristi decided to play along. “I’m in Grotto’s class, too. Is he, like, the greatest teacher or what?” Before waiting for an answer, she added, “I guess I’d better have one.”
She looked around just as a waitress dropped off a pitcher of beer and four frosted mugs at a nearby table. Once finished, the girl, a slight brunette with a streak of fuchsia in her hair, turned around and Kristi thought she looked familiar, as if she’d seen her on campus. “You’re in some of my classes…?” she asked her.
“Yep. Bethany,” she said. “What can I get you?”
Kristi pointed at Trudie’s drink. “I’ll have one of those.”
“Good choice.” She nodded her approval. “My personal favorite.”
“Really?”
“Blood red martini.”
“Made with?”
“Gin, vermouth, cranberry juice, and just a hint of grape juice.”
“No real blood?” Kristi asked.
“Sorry,” Bethany said, one side of her mouth lifting. “The board of health frowns on that.”
“I imagine.”
She glanced at Trudie and Grace. “Refills?”
Trudie shook her head. “I’ve got to get to the theater before Father Mathias has a heart attack.”
“You’re in the production, right?” Kristi asked.
“Trudie’s character is Death,” Grace said, and Marnie nearly choked on a sip of her drink.
“Fitting, isn’t it?” she joked.
“Whatever.” Trudie finished her drink in one swallow and grabbed her purse.
Bethany was still waiting, and Grace said, “Why not? And make mine a double.”
“Are you crazy?” Trudie said, horrified. “You have to go to the play!”
“I know, but I already saw it.” Both Grace and Marnie seemed amused by Trudie’s concern, as if they had already swilled down several drinks. “I know the whole gloomy plot.”
“I’ll be right back with those,” Bethany said, heading to the bar.
“Why go to the play again?” Kristi asked.
“Required.” Marnie picked up a few peanuts from the dish at the center of the table and tossed them into her mouth.
“It’s required to see the same play twice?”
Trudie glared at Grace, willing her to shut up. “Not if you’re drunk, it isn’t.”
“Oh, get over yourself, ‘Death,’” Grace said, and she and Marnie laughed uproariously.
Trudie, flushed, muttered, “Screw you, bitches,” then swept through the surrounding tables in outrage, nearly running into a busboy with a tub of dirty dishes.
“She’s pissed,” Marnie said, and they laughed again.
“You know,” Kristi said, as someone changed the music from hip-hop to country. A Keith Urban ballad could barely be heard over the conversation, “I almost believed you. About the drinks.”
Marnie exchanged glances with her friend, then whispered barely loud enough to be heard, “Grace wasn’t lying. We doctor ours.” To prove a point, she actually pulled a small dark bottle from her purse, then surreptitiously unscrewed the lid and added a few drops of dark liquid to her glass. “It’s kind of salty.”
“Like a margarita,” Grace chimed in.
“Yeah, right.”
Grace shrugged, as if she didn’t care what Kristi thought, and took a sip. Either the two friends were certifiable, or they’d decided to have a little fun at Kristi’s expense. Kristi didn’t comment, but waited for her drink as the music changed again. There was a loud eruption of noise at the nearby pool table when one of the players missed a shot.
A few seconds later, Bethany returned, left fresh drinks, and swept up the empty glasses.
Marnie reached into her purse again and lifted her eyebrows, offering a bit of the “blood” to Kristi. Though she wanted to appear to be part of their group, Kristi wasn’t about to drink down some concoction of unknown origins. She shook her head. Besides, both Marnie and Grace were already acting so giddy and drunk, Kristi wondered if whatever they were putting into their drinks might be a street or prescription drug that enhanced the effects of alcohol.
“Come on, Kristi. You’ve been asking all the questions,” Grace said. “Don’t you want Marnie to add a little bit of real blood?”
“Nah. Got too much to do tonight.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Marnie shook several drops into her drink, then some into Grace’s as well. Lifting her glass, she said, “To vampires,” her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“To vampires,” Grace agreed, clinking her glass to her friend’s.
Kristi hoisted her stemmed glass. “To vampires,” she intoned, and they all took a sip.
The drink was strong, tasting of cranberry and gin, warming its way down Kristi’s throat. Marnie and Grace giggled all the more and licked their lips. They acted like they really believed in the vampire stuff, or at least found it incredibly hilarious. Kristi watched them as she sipped her drink, then put in casually to Marnie, “I thought I saw you go into Wagner House the other day.”
Her own words “other day” seemed to reverberate a bit, and Kristi looked around toward the band, wondering about the sound. And was that right? Was it the other day? Or, had it been at night? She couldn’t seem to rightly remember. “It was after hours,” she added, for clarification.
“Really?” Marnie’s smile wobbled a bit…looked like a snake crawling across her lips. A blood red snake. No, it was just her lipstick running…or…?
“We all go there,” Grace said over the loud music, and she seemed to be having trouble staying on her chair.
“Yeah, we meet there.”
“We’re meeting at Wagner House tonight.” Grace again. “Maybe you’d like to come.”
Grace’s words sounded funny, as if coming through water. And her image kind of wavered. Feeling uncomfortably warm and off balance, Kristi licked her lips and tried to respond but the words felt stuck in her throat.
“Oh, God, it looks like the drink really hit you hard.” Marnie seemed concerned. “Let’s get her out of here.”
“I’ll pay,” Grace said, and flagged over the waitress…what the hell was her name? Bethany…the girl in Grotto’s class…She came over in a hurry and they began talking together. They grabbed Kristi under her arms and helped her toward the door. Lord, she was drunk, her legs hardly working. She heard phrases like, “Can’t hold her liquor…we’ll get her home…”
But that wasn’t right.
She’d been drugged. She knew it.
Somehow, someway, they’d slipped so
mething into her drink and she’d been foolish enough to have trusted the waitress. Damn it all…
No one in the bar seemed to notice as she was hustled out a side door and into the dark, cold night. She tried to yell, but no words came, and when she managed to fling one arm out, nearly swiping Grace’s chin, the other girl laughed it off.
She looked like just another wasted college girl.
Now what? she thought, but even as the words crossed her mind they escaped again. Her mental acuity, at least for the moment, had disappeared. Blackness pulled at the corners of her consciousness and she thought she might pass out.
Don’t! Stay awake! You have to keep your wits about you!
“Here ya go,” Bethany said, opening a door as the two other girls guided her outside, keeping her moving while her own legs became less and less steady.
Outside the air was crisp, in stark contrast to the thick, noisy, warm atmosphere in the bar. “We’ll take it from here,” Marnie said.
“I’ve got to get back inside….” Bethany, sounding pissed.
“If anyone asks…” Grace’s voice, as if from a distance.
“I know what to say. Just get her out of here now, before someone comes.”
Bethany had been the one to put something in Kristi’s drink.
Fool! You knew she was in Grotto’s class as well!
She tried to yell, to call for help, but only the smallest sound escaped her lips.
The door slammed behind them and Kristi realized she was being held between Marnie and Grace and she couldn’t move at all, couldn’t command her muscles to do what her brain was asking.
For the other girls, all the joviality, the silliness of the evening, seemed to have worn off.
“Stupid bitch,” Marnie said, forcing Kristi along a dark alley. “Stupid, snooping bitch.”
“You want to know about vampires?” Grace asked as Kristi’s dread increased. “Believe me, tonight, you’ll learn.” She grinned down with a malice so cold Kristi’s heart quivered. Behind her braces, just barely visible, were a set of glistening white fangs.