by Laira Evans
'Thank you Fred, terse and to the point as always. Nice to know I've gone from incompetent rookie to drug addict to half-rabid dog in your eyes. Little sis would be so proud of me.'
I held still as he linked my handcuffs to a chair that was itself nailed to the ground, my eyes burning from the shame of my situation. He and his partner left after that, apparently feeling the chain links were sufficient restraint. If either of them had personally seen me throw that man last night hard enough to dent a car I doubted they would have been quite so confident. Unfortunately if I ever wanted to see my family again then supernatural feats of strength in front of a camera and multiple eye witnesses were definitely a no-no. Even as I made the resolution to hide my abilities I came to realize just how hard it would be. Whatever the blood-fueled power was that dwelt inside of me, I could tell it wanted out. Every lick of fury I felt at my confinement reverberated against it, whipping up the power like a storm does the sea.
'I need to stay calm.' I kept my eyes closed as I lifted my head, arching my back over the seat of the chair until I heard my spine crack. 'Dignity is for politicians.' Taking two deep breaths I assumed the best posture I could and opened my eyes. A well-groomed woman in a business suit sat in front of me, back against the wall. To my right was the blacked out window Fred was probably hiding behind, and to my left was Captain Morris. More than ever he managed to look like my town's old Mayor. Now that was a man carved from stone. He'd led the town well, back in the days before we unified with the Republic, but he was too stern for the people to accept during peacetime. Too unyielding and unforgiving. It was a shame that this time I was guilty of more than breaking curfew to look at the stars..
“Coffee?” asked the female interrogator.
“No thanks.” I bowed my head until I could draw my fingers through my hair, its strands wild and snarled. 'Lovely.' I knew a comb was a luxury I might not see for a long time. My chains rattled softly as I attempted to cross my legs before remembering the link to the chair lying in between them. Honestly, what was I doing anyways. What did I care if she looked ten times better than I did right now, this wasn't a pageant.
“Julie, my name is Barbara and I'm here to help learn your side of the story. I hear you're new in town, is that true?”
“....”
“I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.” Her voice was like honey, but I knew it wouldn't take much for her to bear her fangs... that saying struck a little too close to home these days. 'I probably shouldn't be talking to her at all.'
Nonetheless I spoke. “I guess it’s been nearly two weeks now.”
“Anything you liked in particular about our town?” 'That smile of hers almost looks real.'
“There's a shop near my apartment that makes a mean turkey sandwich.” Though if my reaction at the diner was any indication I wouldn't be having another any time soon. Even now I could feel that accursed memory of eating that man's leg rise within me. I wondered if I would ever be able to eat meat again without thinking of it.
“Julie, do you mind telling me why you wanted to become a police officer?”
'To protect Holly,' was the first thought that crossed my mind. However, that would be both an unwise and embarrassing thing to say. I shuffled slightly in the chair. When in doubt, deflect. “That's getting kind of personal, don'cha think?”
“Of course, of course.” Barbara pulled a large photograph from the file on the table beside her. The picture had very little color, blood staining the ground beside the crashed police car. Just like when my Thirst arose, the only thing that stood out was that same red fluid. “We have eyewitnesses of you trying to kill the truck driver that called 911 for you. Your finger prints were in the car, the owner of which, one Jake Williams, was found strung up with barbed wire at the train station this morning. It was the same car that video surveillance shows you entering several minutes before the accident. The question here is why.”
My body became tighter and tighter as she spoke. When she finished I could feel my muscles quivering. It was a little odd that they hadn't mentioned Penny, but the labs probably just hadn't finished analyzing that crime scene yet. 'Don't think about her now.' “Listen, it's not what you think, you have to believe me.”
Barbara put away the photo before speaking. “I'm here to get your side of the story Julie, that's all. But you have to admit that things don't look very good. If you can give us some sort of explanation for why you did it then maybe we can make things go easier for you.”
I waited for a moment for her to say something more but she simply kept her soft eyes locked on mine, waiting in turn. “I,” 'I what? I'm a monster that hurt a man only trying to help me?' “I don't know what happened to Jake. Someone pulled him through the windshield at the intersection. The only reason I was in the driver's seat was to get the car out of the way of the truck I saw coming at me.”
“Can you tell me why you started working with the serial killer known as Chains?” Barbara's voice was compassionate yet firm as she clotheslined me.
“I would never help a serial killer.” A voice in the back of my head whispered I had nearly taken my first step in becoming one last night. How long would it be before I grew hungry again and started looking at humans like they were food? Would I be able to stop before they died if I didn't have sirens blasting in my ears? Not everyone had a werewolf's strength to be able to push me off. That truck driver certainly hadn't. In truth, I felt a little hungry already.
“Maybe he forced you? Threatened your family?”
“I swear I've never met him.” I felt a twinge in the pit of my stomach, tension growing in my jaw. 'Am I changing again, even without Alex or Bruce near me?'
“Let me speak for a moment,” replied Barbara, “don't worry, I'll give you a chance to talk once I'm done.” Pushing aside the urge to hyperventilate I took a deep breath and relaxed my clenched hands, willing fervently for the process to stop. “Maybe he threatened you? Threatened your family?” I felt her eyes comb my face, searching for a reaction. I kept my eyes near closed, hoping they hadn't had a chance to change. My eyeteeth pressed eagerly at my lips but I could tell they weren't fully elongated. I held my breath for a moment, but it gradually became apparent the process had thankfully stalled, even if it refused to reverse itself. “All the previous victims were young women just like yourself. Maybe you were just searching for some justice. Perhaps you followed a suspect and then things got out of hand. Just tell me, and I'll help you if I can.”
'Enough. No more, no more accusations, no more false compassion, just let it end.' “Let me make a phone call, please.”
“After–”
“I don't want to talk anymore.” Barbara turned towards the captain and received a subtle nod.
“Fine. We'll talk again tomorrow.” Fred and his partner filed back in to release me from the chair as the captain swirled his coffee. My interrogators were no doubt just waiting for me to leave before deciding my fate. Still, as long as they were showing enough mercy to allow the phone call they probably still had some doubts about my crime. They probably had a hell of a time searching for a set of false teeth at the scene of the accident. That’s when I heard Captain Morris tell a joke to the pretty interrogator and laugh. ‘Doesn’t he even care? Are emotions just a game for him to be switched on and off at will?' Maybe if I were so callous I wouldn't be trapped in here. My eyes pressed closed as Fred left me by the phone at the end of the dead-end hallway.
“Hello, Fisher residence, this is Susan speaking.”
I held the phone tight to my ear as if at any moment it would fly away. “Mom, it's me.”
“Julie? I didn't recognize the number.”
“Listen, Mom, I've gotten into a bit of trouble. Don't worry, I'm sure it will all blow over soon.” I tried to sound confident.
“Julie, it almost sounds like you're in jail. Is this some sort of cop joke?”
My throat closed up and I could say no more. I hung up the phone without another word. Even Fred seemed d
owncast as I was put back in my cell.
“Click.” I heard the door to the hallway swing open, wheels running along the concrete floor. I inclined my head to see Mr. No Name, Fred's silent assistant, drop a tray of food through the open slot at the bottom of my cell's bars. It looked suspiciously like my middle school's cafeteria food. That was saying something seeing as there was actual rat meat and sawdust in it on a few occasions. 'I'm really starting to dislike this guy.' Unappetizing or not, I felt I really should try and eat it. 'How long has it been since I've eaten, anyways?' The only thing that came to mind was the muffin, and I'd barely even eaten the edges of it.
I tried to summon an interest in the meal but my stomach refused to comply. Then I heard a strange sound, like the beating of a drum left too long in the rain. 'What is that? It sounds like a heart beat.' I felt my mouth grow crowded, lips curling back over my fangs as my cell's contours lit up in my eyes like a park at midday. 'Frikk.' I hid my face in my pillow as the officer came back pushing the empty cart. “Click.” The hallway door opened again as he exited, far louder than before.
At the limits of my hearing I could hear whispers, muffled as if diffusing through a wall. I only managed to listen clearly to one of the voices. It was barely audible through the cacophony of humming electrical equipment and the snores of a pair of drunks sleeping off a bender in another cell, but its contents were chilling. “... she must be Chains, or at least involved with him. It was that man’s blood on her clothing, the only question is-,” the door snapped shut, cutting off my wide-eyed eavesdropping.
It figured that practically the only area of science to advance in the post-Infection era was in criminology. Not that the technology was cheap, by any means. If this had occurred in one of the communities at the far north of the continent they never would have had the resources to check for DNA samples.“I'm screwed, aren't I.” An attorney was practically out of the question. They tended to get snippy if you didn't tell them the truth, which happened to be the one thing I couldn't tell them. I didn’t even have a decent alibi for the killings at the start of the week. My home town was close enough that I could have just driven here during the night and been back home with none the wiser by morning. The military checkpoints were notorious for leaking like a sieve. ‘I may have to reconsider the vampire defense.’ It was a tossup at the moment whether having a psychiatrist try and convince me with heavy duty medication that I wasn’t some sort of vampire would make me go mad any quicker than my current situation.
I covered my ears with my hands but it was no use. The steady, endless beating of the hearts of my fellow prisoners continued to assault my sanity. I wasn't even put in the same cell block and yet I could still hear them so clearly. There was a growing question in my mind of just how bad this would be when I was truly hungry. 'And will I be able to eat the prison food, or will I–' I didn't want to say it, not even in my mind, but how long would it be before I started thinking of humans as my food of choice? I had hardly spent a week in this city but it seemed like with every passing day I was losing another piece of my humanity. Could I actually starve to death if I went to jail without access to fresh blood? Or would I instead live some tortured existence off the blood of rats and worms and other foul things that crawled and slithered beneath the earth.
I started tapping against the wall, an evolving percussive beat to distract me from temptation. 'Was it all for nothing? All the studying, all the work I put in at my part time jobs and sucking up to my police mentor for a good recommendation, and it ends like this?' My fist struck at the wall, small cracks striking through the cement at the force of the blow. 'All this power, but the price...' I laughed breathlessly, falling off the bed as I shook. The floor was cool against my tear-slick face, eyes scrunching against the halogen lights. 'I'm falling apart.' What a cosmic joke, I didn't even need to die and rise from the grave to have my entire life crumble around me.
My heart felt heavy, but as much as I wanted to curl up and sleep away this nightmare the energy creeping along my limbs and the worries haunting my mind kept me from staying still. 'Might as well use annoyance to get rid of the other.' Too nervous to sleep and too full of worry to want to stay awake, I'd just have to keep my thoughts at bay as best I could.
An hour of pacing and producing mental static did little to cure me. Turning to pushups and crunches I couldn't shut out an idle wish to have had this sort of endurance back when I took the fitness exam. No matter how long I continued my muscles felt as good as new, but there was something else that was growing. It was like the urge to eat, to drink, to breathe, all rolled into one, yet somehow subtle. Considering how selective my new diet might be, exercising to the point of starvation was not a smart idea.
I forced myself to sit, staring at the new plate of food they had brought me. I'd barely even noticed the drop off, automatically letting my hair fall over my eyes, lips tightly closed as my fingers curled beneath my palms to hide their clawed tips from the deliverer. My watchers, however, were likely far more observant than myself. If I didn't eat for long enough and they thought I was on some sort of hunger strike... well, I'd rather know beforehand if their attempt at force-feeding me would prove toxic.
A vibration thrummed at the base of my throat. It was like the low thrumming of a panther a moment before it growled in earnest. 'Stay calm.' I carried the tray over to the bed after filling the paper cup with water from the grimy sink. I kept my back to the bars as I stared at the food. The last thing I needed was someone watching me while I ate. Delicately lifting a cracker between a pair of claws I turned it back and forth. 'It's just a cracker, it won't kill me. Then again, a week ago I would have said the same about garlic.' I took a nibble. 'It's like cardboard.' I'd never actually eaten cardboard, but if I ever did I bet it would taste just like that cracker. 'Is it this bad because I'm a vampire or because it's prison food?'
I barely tripped over calling myself a vampire anymore. It was a hard thing to deny after spending half the day with fangs tickling my lips. At the very least, I was something decidedly unnatural. Rallying my will I stuck the rest of the cracker in my mouth, pressing at it with my tongue until it broke. My teeth for the moment were rather ill-suited for the job of chewing crackers. While my eyeteeth had changed the most, all of them had become a bit sharper and more pointed than normal, even the molars. For the time being I wasn't comfortable enough with them to not worry about accidentally biting myself as I chewed.
“Blech.” The cracker did nothing for my hunger. Should I call it hunger? It was similar but it seemed to press itself on my mind more than my body. It was like a slight lightheaded feeling, a hollow, cold pit at the center, as if life itself and all its sharpness and vitality were slowly draining away. It was a craving, too. The taste of their blood was something I could never forget, the remembered flavor nearly as strong on my tongue as the dissolving cracker that was there in actuality. I ran a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. I raised the cup to my lips–
“God, what is that stuff, acid?” I coughed again and again, head bent towards the floor as I tried to expel ever last drop of the vile liquid. My mouth felt numb but a few gentle probes assured me that everything was still there, fangs and all. I looked sideways at the puddle on the ground where I'd dropped the cup. It looked innocent enough, but burn me once... 'Holly would be laughing if she could see me right now.' My little sister would probably take a snapshot on that new phone of hers she treated like a baby. “Yep, that's my big sister,” she'd say, “perched atop a bed as if the puddle was out to get her.” I really was being silly, wasn't I. Restraining my impulse to flinch I touched a fingertip to the puddle. Nothing happened. 'That was anticlimactic.'
'It's a shame I didn't work here long enough to find out if they're taping me right now. It's probably still Fred watching, he's the only one boring enough to monitor video feeds for hours on end without falling asleep.' Deciding to play the scientist I refilled the cup after dusting it off a little. I was pretty sure I knew what h
ad happened now. There wasn't anything wrong with the water, just with me. I took a tiny sip from the cup, holding the water on my tongue. It tasted vaguely wrong to me, but I was able to let a drop or two down my throat at a time. Anything more than that sent me coughing as my body violently rejected the non-blood substance. I vaguely remembered something about adults needing eight cups of water a day. At this rate that would take me hours and I still might not accomplish it.
I really was going to starve in here. Or die of thirst. Hunger and thirst were starting to blur together these days. The food tray made an unsatisfying clatter as I swept it into the bars. I wanted to break something, slowly and painfully. Chains and a hostile judge not in attendance I was forced to find alternatives.
The metal post of the bed gave a satisfying crunch in my hand. Every twist of the metal as I wrenched it free heated it hotter and hotter. What cuts I took from its edges as I reshaped it were shallow, healing in moments as if they never were. The result of my handiwork was far from polished, but it did give a new meaning to hand-wrought craftsmanship. “A knife,” I whispered, wondering why I had made it. It was a dark, foul thing. The edge was ragged, the entirety of it stained crimson from where my own blood had ground into it during its making. My claws traced over the indents of my fingerprints on the handle, the tiny clicks as they worked their way over the grooves audible to my ears alone.
I had lived with a knife for as long as I could remember. Terrible creation or not, it brought me comfort to hold it. The harsh squelch and squeak of a rubber boot interrupted my musing. My heart jumped to my throat as I stowed the knife between my bed and the wall, schooling my expression to stillness. Hesitantly I shifted my seat, hands folded in my lap, face tilted into shadow. “Miss Fisher, this is hardly befitting behavior of a police officer.” I froze, but he gestured to the food scattered by his feet rather than my hidden knife. I had to give him that one, it had been rather juvenile to throw the tray.