Blood Lust: A Supernatural Horror

by Gurley, JE

  I continued. “We need more firepower. We need men on rooftops at night. We need a specialist in this sort of thing, a priest or someone. A week ago, I would have called anyone crazy who took these things seriously. Now, I don’t know.”

  “A priest?” he asked, almost choking on his antacids.

  I could tell by his expression that idea of bringing in someone from the Catholic Church did not sit well, but I didn’t care. I pushed harder.

  “A priest, a historian, a biologist … someone who might have a clue as to what the hell is going on.”

  He stopped pacing and sat, or rather collapsed into his chair. He leaned across his desk with his hands folded prayer-like, his blood-shot eyes pleading. “Hardin, please be discrete or we’ll both be walking a beat.”

  I took that as tacit permission to call in outside help. I just didn’t know whom to call. I didn’t know Van Helsing’s phone number and the kid at the vampire shop was too young to recruit. I would have to make a few inquiries, but first I had a funeral to attend, two funerals in fact. And it was still raining.

  7

  Back at my desk after two days off to recuperate and attend Lew and Melody’s funerals, I was going through some of Lew’s things, trying hard not to tear up, when a young officer escorted a woman to my desk. I watched her cross the room in a very languid, sensual manner, turning everyone’s head, no easy task in a squad room. She was in her mid thirties with jet-black hair, liquid green eyes and a nicely curved body hidden beneath a business-like gray tweed skirt and jacket, although her powder blue blouse was having a difficult time restraining her breasts. They pushed up invitingly through the top two undone buttons. When she spoke, I noticed a slight accent I could not immediately place.

  “May I speak to Mr. Atwood, please?” she asked pleasantly. She looked at me expectantly.

  I choked up as I answered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Atwood is dead.”

  There was moment of silence before she gushed, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Mr. Atwood contacted me about an article I had written for a New Orleans magazine. When did he die?”

  “He didn’t …” I was about to say ‘die’ but dropped it. “Three days ago,” I answered instead. I didn’t add that if she wanted to see him, she could find him buried beneath an old chestnut tree at the northeast edge of the cemetery.

  She looked slightly embarrassed as she asked, “How did he die?”

  I ignored her question as none of her business. “What kind of article?”

  “It was about a string of unsolved murders.”

  I was intrigued. What had Lew been up to? “What kind of murders?”

  “All young women, six or eight of them every two or three years over at least the last ten years.”

  I stared at her. “Ten years?” Had this creature been at it that long?

  “That’s when women first started disappearing in Sao Paolo. I think scores more may have disappeared from the jungle villages but were never accounted for.”

  Brazilian! That was the accent. “Why did my partner contact you, Miss…?” I fished for a name.

  “Alvarez, Joria Alvarez from Sao Paolo. He wanted to know what I had meant about the peculiar circumstances surrounding the deaths. When I read about the disappearances here, I immediately booked a flight. How many have there been so far?”

  “Look, we have enough reporters fantasizing their own facts about these murders. We don’t need another one.”

  She threw her head back, looking offended. “I am not a reporter, Detective. I am a Doctor of Cryptozoology with the Heisman Institute of Sao Paolo. My father began his study of this … killer sixteen years ago. I took over upon his death five years ago.”

  “What study is that?” The way she had said ‘killer’ led me to believe that she might know more about this creature than I did, which wasn’t much. I leaned back in my chair and invited her to sit in Lew’s. My arm was out of the sling but just shuffling papers had it aching again. I tried to massage it without her noticing. She sat primly, back ramrod straight, her entire attention focused on me. I found her dark green eyes riveting and a little unnerving. I couldn’t help staring at her. She was tiny, barely over five-four, but her petite frame packed quite a body in a small package.

  “My father was an anthropologist,” she continued. “Women of the indigenous native tribes, such as the Yanomani, the Kayapo and the Kapirape were disappearing in alarming numbers. At first, he considered slavers, there are still a few around, but the natives claimed the women were being murdered and their bodies stolen away in the night by spirits. He began to investigate. The natives had legends of a creature that drank blood, the Chupacabra.”

  At Chupacabra, I smiled politely and raised my hand to stop her. I had heard of the mythical goatsucker of Mexico and Central America, had seen photos of a mangy coyote reported to be the creature. I was in no mood for fairy tales. “This… thing was no coyote,” I said. “It was bigger than a man and it had wings.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You have seen it? Yes, yes, I see that you have. The legend of the Chupacabra has spread by word of mouth over the years until any creature out of the ordinary becomes a Chupacabra, every stolen goat taken by the creature, every missing child a victim. I assure you, the Chupacabra exists and it is as you have described it, much larger than a man, gray with wings.

  “At first, my father dismissed these tales off hand as superstition. That is, until women began to disappear in some of the major cities. He followed the murders fanatically, often at odds with the local authorities, who are somewhat ineffective and demanded bribes for information. He determined an extremely savage serial killer with a taste for human blood was murdering them, but what few clues he uncovered made a human killer seem impossible. He began to pay more attention to tales of the Chupacabra.” Her eyes became suddenly hard and cold and a sneer marred her beauty. “He was dismissed as a lunatic, scoffed at by his peers and colleagues. Life is cheap in Brazil and tourism brings many dollars into the local economy. The authorities do not wish to frighten tourists with fairy tales of monsters. They do not tolerate dissent.”

  “What kind of animal is it?” I asked, intrigued by her story.

  She hesitated. “No kind of animal with which you are familiar. Its intelligence is equal to or surpasses that of a human and its cunning is beyond question. It is savage and ruthless. Muito perigoso. Very dangerous. It kills six to eight women during a month-long spree; then disappears for two or three years. A few years ago, it began traveling north from Brazil. I followed reports until I reached here. Poor Mr. Atwood seemed interested in my studies.”

  “He never mentioned you, but we have been busy lately as you must have guessed. This creature murdered Lew, my partner, two nights ago. It also wounded me.”

  Her mouth opened and worked silently. “You were injured by the Chupacabra?”

  “If you mean a giant gray vampire, yes. It set me and my partner up and killed him.”

  She nodded her head looking distraught. “Sim. Yes, it is very intelligent as I said and very difficult to kill. Its regenerative powers are remarkable. Bullets do little damage. It is a bad thing that it has chosen you, a very bad thing. It survives by stealth. If it allowed you to see it and survive, then it means to kill you. It is toying with you, like the hunter with his prey. It wants your blood.”

  “I thought it just drank women’s blood.”

  “The blood of young women is special for it. Their blood has something in it that it needs, but it often kills for sport as well as food. I must warn you, my father believed and now I have come to believe that this creature lives a very long time, maybe a hundred years or more. If so, it would be very intelligent and wise in the ways of men.”

  I tried to take it all in – First, a vampire, which was difficult enough to believe, and now a Chupacabra that lives for a century and is smarter than Steven freaking Hawking.

  I shook my head. “Lady, you got me confused.”

  She smiled. It was a warm, gentle smi
le, but I could tell she had witnessed much sorrow in her life. “It is much to take in at one time, especially from a stranger. I will let you see some of my notes and decide for yourself.”

  “Can I show them to a friend, a doctor?”

  “By all means. Perhaps he could answer questions I could not.”

  I offered her my hand. “Detective Hardin,” I said. I wondered how Munson was going to take this.

  ****

  I hated to admit it but Munson seemed to believe every word she said. I expected him to be his usual skeptical self, but he simply nodded several times as she spoke, staring intently at photos, charts, articles and neatly typed notes Joria had provided. While he poured over her notes, I was busy looking over her body. She leaned over the autopsy table to point out something to Munson and I got an enjoyable view of her tanned, well-proportioned thighs. As I fantasized her in full Rio Carnival regalia, long legs in spike heels, giant feathered headdress, I realized I had missed the beginning of her question directed at me.

  “Pardon?” I asked, shaking my head to erase my erotic image of her.

  “I was asking if the creature spoke to you.”

  “Spoke?” I asked, stunned by the idea. “You told me it was an animal.”

  “An intelligent animal. That is what we are, is it not?”

  “I’d like to think I was a little higher on the evolutionary ladder than a myna bird, but no, it did not speak; it only screamed.” Remembering that horrific scream sent chills down my spine.

  “That is odd. If it has focused on you for some reason, as it seems to have done, I had thought it might speak to you if only to threaten you.”

  I shook my head. “If it had spoken to me, I would have probably crapped my pants.” I turned to Munson. “What do you think?”

  He looked tired. He had dark circles under his eyes and seemed to have aged ten years in the last three days. It was obvious he had taken Melody’s death very hard. They had worked closely together for six years, longer than Lew and I had. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke. “Her report is extremely thorough and her credentials are impeccable, but if I had not witnessed … had not seen what I did … I would think she was crazy.” His voice caught as he remembered Melody’s tragic death.

  “Bottom line is how do we kill it?” I asked. Who or what the creature was or why it was killing young women didn’t concern me. I only needed to know how big a freaking gun I needed.

  “As you have seen, gunshots do very little but it is not invulnerable. Its skin is very tough but its bones are hollow to allow it to fly. Unfortunately, its regenerative powers are quite remarkable. I believe it feeds voraciously for a few short weeks and then hibernates for two or three years while the search for it, or for the unknown killer, dies down. In this way, its lifespan is increased dramatically.”

  I thought of Sasha Sattersby. “Have you ever heard of the creature leaving a victim alive?”

  She hesitated. “I do not know this Sattersby girl, but from what I have read perhaps her blood was tainted with drugs. It has happened before. The Yanomani use certain drugs derived from plants in their ceremonies in which the women participate. Once or twice, the creature did not feed on victims chosen during these ceremonies, but he did not let them live.”

  I considered this bit of information for a moment. “You mean he let her live to use her as bait. With her injured and alive, my attention would be easily distracted.” I shook my head and smiled. “Sneaky bastard.”

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at me in amazement. “You admire this creature?”

  “Hell no,” I snapped. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch, but now I know just how smart the bastard is.”

  Munson spoke up. “I have learned a couple of things. The creature’s saliva contains a chemical that sedates its victims and its talons initiate a very rapid infection. The febrile condition weakens any prey that might escape and also destroys capillaries.”

  “Meaning?”

  Joria answered for him. “Its victims bleed from the inside, therefore, more blood upon which to feed.”

  I had suffered the touch of that venom and could vividly recall the feeling of helplessness it created as the fever wracked my body. I was glad I hadn’t realized the creature was setting me up as a meal, too. “This thing doesn’t miss a trick. It seems to be some kind of evolutionary marvel.”

  This time, it was Joria who smiled. “I understand now. You do admire it, but as an adversary. The Yanomani hunters believe the greater the enemy, the sweeter the victory.”

  I thought of how sweet it would be to see this creature with a big hole through its head.

  “Maybe so,” I replied.

  ****

  I decided to take Joria out for lunch to continue our conversation. I had to admit to myself that I found her very attractive and more than a little desirable. Unless my powers of observation had failed me, she seemed attracted to me as well. We walked to a deli down the street. I ordered pastrami on dark rye with brown mustard and onion. Joria eyed the dozens of choices behind the glass display case with the delight of a child.

  “They all look so delicious. What do you recommend?”

  “Well, this pastrami is great, but the Black Angus roast beef with Edam cheese and a horseradish mayonnaise on a Kaiser roll is my second favorite.”

  She smiled. “We produce much beef in my country. I think I will try that. Can I have an onion also?”

  “A girl after my own heart,” I said. “At least my breath won’t bother you.”

  I ordered two beers. We sipped the beers and ate our sandwiches at an outside table. The weather was mild with a slight breeze off the bay. The aroma of roasted garlic wafted to us from a pizzeria down the street. The street traffic was loud so we had to more or less shout to be heard.

  “I love big American cities,” she said. “They seem like live creatures, awake twenty-four hours, never sleeping, always watchful.”

  “What about Sao Paolo? Isn’t it the largest city in Brazil?”

  She nodded with a bite of sandwich in her mouth. She swallowed quickly and answered. “It is large, yes, but it still has the feel of the jungle about it, like a sleeping beast during the afternoon and awake and prowling at night. The pace there is much slower. Here, everyone rushes about like ants disturbed from their nest.”

  “Everyone is in a hurry,” I said.

  “Are you in a hurry, Detective Hardin?” she asked, smiling. Her eyes nailed me to my chair. I took a deep breath.

  “The name’s Tack,” I said. What the hell, I thought. I need someone to call me Tack now. “My partner, Lew, always said I was in too big of a hurry. I guess maybe he was right. It just seems I never get it done.”

  “Get what done, Tack?” My name sounded good passing through her lips.

  “Solving crimes. Another one always seems to come along.” I decided to change the subject. “Did you grow up in the city?”

  “I was born in a small village along the coast.” She laughed. “I was a chubby little girl.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “No, really. I was. Then I learned to swim. I lived in the ocean – swimming, surfing, diving. I even crewed on a private yacht one summer.”

  “Swimming seems to have toned your body nicely,” I said.

  She looked at me and smiled. A slight blush colored her tanned cheeks. “Muito obrigado. Thank you. I try to keep in shape. We moved to Sao Paolo when I was eighteen and started college.” She sighed. “I miss the ocean. Here, you have ocean but no beaches.”

  I laughed. “There are some nice beaches north and south of here. Here, you might get run down by a cargo ship.”

  We sat silently for a few minutes nibbling our sandwiches. I watched the people passing by, mostly unaware of each other, certainly unaware that a monster stalked the nights. The days were safe, for now. Or were they? I decided to ask.

  “Does this thing sleep in the daytime?”

  She shook her head. “I do not think the Chup
acabra sleeps. It prefers the night, however, the cover of darkness, but the sunlight is not its enemy, like in the vampire myths.” She smiled. “It does not fear sunlight or crosses.”

  She had read my mind. It could be out there watching us right now from the dark shadows on any number of abandoned buildings or rooftops. I looked up to scan the rooftops. She noticed the direction of my gaze and guessed what I was thinking.

  “It has not fed in three days. Soon it must feed again. The creature’s hunger will drive it to do so whether it seeks to trap you or not.”

  “We’ll have men on the roof tops and helicopters in the air with night vision gear.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt. Most of the uniforms out there patrolling would have no clue as to what they were guarding the city against.

  She frowned. “It will sense them and avoid them.”

  I threw up my hands. “I don’t know what else we can do?”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled it to the tabletop. “It has killed for decades, perhaps centuries. It has no fear of man. To think it can be so easily stopped is foolish.”

  “This isn’t Brazil,” I snapped. “This is the USA. We’ll kill the bastard.”

  “It has killed women in Houston, New Orleans, Atlanta and now here … It knows all about your American police and the weapons you possess and your great American know-how. We do not all live in the jungle.”

  I realized my outburst had offended her. “I’m sorry. I just want to kill this thing.”

  “First, we must find it.”

  There was a hint of a twinkle in her eye. “Do you have a plan?” I asked.

  “I think I do. It will be dangerous.”

  “For whom?”

  “For both of us. We must bring the Chupacabra to us.”

  I nodded with understanding. She certainly was no coward. “You mean we will be the bait.”

  “Nao. I will be the bait. We will need a room on an upper floor with a balcony. If you will show me the area from where these women were abducted, I can make a guess as to where it might strike next. We will need to find a place that is quiet and dark with nearby rooftops. The creature prefers taking a woman when it can use height to make his escape. In the jungle, it uses trees for short glides. It cannot carry a burden very far without rest stops.”