The Blood Born Tales (Book 1): Blood Collector

by T. C. Elofson

  He sat on a metal chair, his knees wide apart and his hands clasped tight by cuffs. There seemed to be nothing remarkable about the man that sat before us. His eyes were hard to read—they were often shut tight, in fact. There seemed to be nothing left in him but rage and aggression. But Jack was working on him.

  “I told you! I don’t know the stiff,” said Joe Dorty.

  Jack was silent and his answer to the man’s claim was nothing more than a grunt at first. Nothing more, nothing less. Jack stood in silence and even I wanted this young FBI agent to speak. The air between Jack and the suspect invited no interruption and I noted that several beads of perspiration had begun to roll down the man’s face as Jack looked at him. Joe Dorty was obviously uncomfortable. I was satisfied with the show from my seat. If I had had a bowl of popcorn, I would have welcomed the buttery taste. At that moment, Jack was the teacher and I was the student. I was definitely intrigued by this class.

  “Your pupils are constricted. That suggests an increase in adrenalin.”

  “What?” Dorty’s voice squeaked.

  “And the change in voice pitch indicates increased pressure in the neck via the laryngeal prominence.” Jack pointed to his own throat as if he was giving a medical demonstration. The suspect still sat silently at the long, empty table, his hands handcuffed and twitching nervously on top of it.

  Joe proceeded carefully; he had become quite discouraged by Jack’s direct approach to him. His dismay was there on his face for anyone to see.

  “What are you saying…?”

  “You’re lying to us,” Jack said. “Kinesthesia is a clear indicator of dissembling.”

  “What?”

  “Concealing one’s true motives, Mr. Dorty.”

  “You’re making no fuckin’ sense, dude,” Joe snorted.

  “Now let me ask it again. Did you see the man get killed?”

  Mr. Dorty leaned back in his chair in a kind of surrendering way and spoke softly.

  “Yeah, I was there.”

  Realizing the importance of Joe’s gesture, Jack discontinued his aggressive approach and awarded Joe with kindness.

  “You were there?” Jack repeated his question.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see the person that killed him?”

  And that he did. In about the same words I had heard in dozens of films before, he was about to describe a horror movie to Jack and to us. Of course he knew we were listening.

  “Man, it was no person. It was a vampire,” he said, leaning forward and getting closer to Jack.

  “A vampire like you, you mean?”

  As I sat on my little metal chair and watched Jack work his magic on him, Kenny and I began to speculate about the coven of vampires that we had discovered only a few hours ago. With fifteen members and a mischievous contingent of men, women and children who wanted to play pretend and feel what it was like to live on the darker side of life, they formed their own version of a vampire clan.

  Joe was getting angry. Because the way the stinking system worked in this town, if we grab the asshole, he either goes down or he leads us to the real killer. So we made Joe lead us to the real suspect who killed these victims because, God knows, we didn’t have anywhere close to enough evidence to hold him for long. It was a bluff, but most bad guys don’t know that. The case would just get weaker and weaker if this lady, this killer, had no name. If no one knew who she was, then she would just slip down the rabbit hole.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jack was saying to him. “I want to know if this killer was a man or a woman. And you tell me what he or she looked like, okay?”

  A long hush followed.

  Joe then fell into one of his extended, reflective silences. Jack knew enough not to rush him on this. Joe simply thought what had to be thought during times such as these and often emerged from these deep waters at a point quite distant from where he dove in.

  A minute passed before he answered Jack with a reluctant sigh.

  “Okay, yes, it was a chick. Right. Everyone in our clan knew about her because she had such a history with Candelas. Or that’s what he called himself, anyway. You know, we all had different names—our vampire personas.”

  Jack paused, thought for a moment, and then returned to the subject at hand.

  “Do you recall her name?”

  “Candelas called her Fabiana or something like that. It seemed she was a professional type. I mean she had money. Lots of money. And power. She destroyed him without even trying.”

  “The lady I’m talking about is only about 130 pounds. There’s no way she could do something like that,” Jack said.

  Emotion left Dorty’s face and he looked away before he spoke, but not to Jack. He turned and looked at the wall mirror—to us.

  “Listen, real vampires are out there. I didn’t really believe it myself until a few weeks ago, but strange things began to happen around the city and then he showed up with his mystery and European voice—this Candelas guy…”

  Joe stopped for a moment to take a breath as if what he was saying was draining his energy.

  “Our clan was innocent enough. We cut one another with small razor blades, drank each other’s blood and gave sacrifices to the blood gods like we had seen in the movies. But I don’t think one of us was really ready for a true blood sucker to enter our clan.”

  Joe Dorty was a mixture of confidence and fear tucked away into the small frame of a man. “Those of us who knew the truth did not dare say a word,” Joe continued. “After all, it is sacrilege to say the immortals don’t really exist. And in this case, they don’t, because he’s dead but not killed by a person like you or me. A vampire took his life. Candelas the vampire gave us everything we’d ever wished for. We were lonely mortals that sat at the feet of gods. We would have done anything that he asked of us.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “Because of the gift he could give us.”

  “What gift?”

  “Immortality, of course. That’s really what gets everybody in the end. We were children playing with a grownup. He had the power and knowledge and we would have done whatever he asked.”

  Jack opened a manila file folder that sat in front of him on the table. He pulled out two photographs of Mike Florida and Travis Macavity and slid them across the table to Joe.

  “Did Mike Florida and Travis Macavity do whatever he asked?”

  The fluorescent lighting, pale white walls, and tile floors obviously gave Joe the feeling of confinement, as if the room was closing in on him. Joe could feel eyes on him and sensed their curiosity. I recognized anger in his demeanor and his impatient stare. He was short and thick and sitting there gave him a quiet power but made him a little afraid. He knew his composure would not last.

  I looked over at Jack. His face was quite serious as the young suspect juggled his questions and Jack asked him again, “Joe, would Mike and Travis have done whatever he asked?”

  “Mike and Travis were his favorites. And yes, they would have done whatever he had asked of them.”

  “Why were they at the Warwick last night?”

  “Candelas sent them there to kill the woman.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, man. I heard him send them off.”

  “I don’t understand what would have driven two people like Mike and Travis to murder. Especially to kill for someone else, even if they did believe in the delusion that this Candelas person was trying to sell them,” I said to Kenny.

  “Maybe they were lonely for something that they couldn’t get anywhere else. So they dove into that fantasy lifestyle.” I turned and leaned forward toward the intercom box on the wall next to the interrogation room window and pressed the talk button so Jack could hear me.

  “Jack, can I see you for a moment?”

  I watched as Jack excused himself from the room. A moment later, our door to the observation area swung open and Jack walked in.

  “Jack, show him the photo from the FTA printout. W
e need to know if it’s the same woman,” I said.

  A man in his early thirties, Jack was a casualty of concentrated doses of tainted heroism, smoking, and too much drink combined with the need to do right. That was the combination in most cops and feds for that matter. I was no different except for the smoking. I could tell that Jack had not slept in days and that he was getting close to letting me know that I was not the one calling the shots. He was, after all, the FBI agent and the lead of the VICAP team here, not me.

  Jack didn’t lose a moment but made straight for the door. There was a silence and I could feel Kenny’s eyes looking at me with surprise, but I wasn’t about to apologize. A ripple of laughter was erupting inside of my partner. I had a feeling that Kenny was enjoying this a little too much.

  Jack shut the door to the interrogation room forcefully as he briefly met my eyes. Kenny and I did not speak as Jack took his chair in front of Joe, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it over to Joe Dorty. It was the photo of the woman, our suspected murderess.

  Jack spoke without looking up, “Do you know this woman?”

  Perspiration glistened at Joe’s hairline and dampened the collar of his black shirt. Veins were prominent in his forehead and neck. I could see a repeated laceration to his neck, evidence of repetitive cutting and scarring. His hand began to tremble as he touched the photograph, then he spoke softly and I think the only one who heard his answer was Jack. I could see some nervous recognition in Joe’s eyes.

  “That’s her,” he mouthed, barely audible.

  252

  Chapter 30

  12:33 a.m., November 25

  Aaron stood on the forensic platform looking over a tissue sample and Dr. Marty Colleens walked into the room.

  “I’ve examined all the teeth from the charred victim. They almost match the wounds on all of the other victims. They’re sharp—like a wolf’s or a dog’s, but more even.”

  “So maybe a bite of some kind?” Marty asked. “Any other damage?”

  “All the bone damage I’ve found so far is a result of heat, not force. The heat caused the bones to break apart in small crescent shapes, like this,” Aaron said pointing to an image on a screen before them. “Or they will sometimes show a crisscross pattern.”

  “Have you gone through them all?”

  “I’m still looking.”

  “Excellent. Carry on.”

  Chapter 31

  12:55 a.m., November 25

  A fluorescent light flickered obnoxious patterns on a grey wall outside the interrogation room as Jack shut the door behind him. He watched as Detective Anderson and Detective Johnson disappeared out of sight. Their footfalls and loud conversation seemed to linger on forever as Jack walked down the hall. All this business about User319 and the strange communications he had been receiving were starting to wear on his mind.

  Jack walked into a secure room of the police station, pulled out his cell phone, and called the FBI Regional Computer Forensics lab, or RCFL, in Washington, D.C. After several rings, the line was picked up by a young, female voice. And Jack was happy it was a woman—he always preferred to deal with the opposite sex rather than men. Women always seemed to respond better to him and Jack was always able to get women to do things for him even though women didn’t always like Jack particularly.

  “RCFL, Agent Jones,” the smooth voice had said.

  “Jones, it’s Agent Mitchell,” Jack addressed her.

  “Good morning, Agent Mitchell. What can I do for you?”

  “I have been having some problems with someone who has been contacting me through email and text messages. If you can, I need you to trace down the email address for me. I need a name or a physical address or anything you can give me.” There was a short pause as she mulled it over before answering.

  “Okay, send me what you can and I’ll see what I can do. It may take a little time. I have a big back load right now.”

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  A moment later Jack pulled up what he had on his phone and sent it to RCFL.

  252

  Chapter 32

  1:55 a.m., November 25

  The wind was blowing with force and the moon was unwilling to give in to the clouds. Fabiana stood as still as a Greek statue on the rooftop of the police headquarters in downtown Seattle.

  It was now completly dark out. The streets were quickly filling up with exorbitant, fast-living men in tight dress shirts and extravagant women in short skirts. All the big city noises and hustle were making them the easy meals that vampires looked for. But not now. Not at this moment anyway. No vampire would come within a mile of this place now that Fabiana was here.

  A woman about 50 meters away was walking through a dark street, heading to a spot away from the crowd. Fabiana could hear her heart beating excitably under her dress, a thin, silky outfit that barely covered what it needed to cover. Her flesh was hanging lose so she could give those certain men something to see. Men that paid well and knew how to talk the talk and walk the walk. But right now she was alone, standing in the darkened street. Her long blond hair was bouncing from side to side, slowly sweeping curls over her back. There were hungry, masculine eyes on her now and Fabiana knew it. She could see it all with little effort from her vantage point over the city of electric lights. This poor woman would make an easy target for the killers of downtown.

  Long antennas and receivers stood around Fabiana like metal trees swaying back and forth in the wind. Her thoughts jumped from one person to the next in the wide police building. She was searching for Detective Anderson. Fabiana was undeniably intrigued by him. He seemed like a different kind of human. One like she had never known before. There was almost an immortal-like quality to the man. He had an air of confidence she had only known from the oldest vampires in The Family. There was something about him that pulled her to him.

  She closed her eyes and effortlessly invaded the eyes of one of the police officers in the building. The brightness of the homicide unit came back into her mind’s eye as the man made his way closer to Detective Anderson and his partner.

  She found him in conversation with his partner Kenny. Not only could she hear the words that were spoken by both of them, her powers were even strong enough to see them through the dense steel and concrete structure of the building. Tim and Kenny were at their desks facing one another, each holding a cup of hot coffee. Kenny lifted a Styrofoam cup to his lips but Tim was drinking out of a black mug that read World’s Best Dad. The mug was given to him by his daughter, the only mug he ever used. Fabiana gleaned all of this directly from Tim’s mind.

  And now even more, this mug reminded her that Tim was much like a great man she had known—her father. Tim loved his child fiercely, even though a lot of the emotions that were wrapped up with his failed marriage came out when he looked at his daughter, a girl named Merric.

  However, Tim Anderson was a good man. Even though he saw the face of his ex-wife in his child, he never let that distract him from the fact that Merric was her own person. The exuberant love that emanated from him was so truthful and so powerful there were times that even he didn’t know how to handle it.

  Fabiana liked him. That much was easy to see.

  “What do you think, Tim?” Kenny was asking him.

  “I don’t know, man. It just doesn’t feel right. And something about this whole case is off. I just don’t see that woman doing all of this… Do you?”

  “Man, I have seen some crazy shit in my life… You know that. I’m not really sure, but one thing I do know is that Jack would have our jobs and put our butts in a sling if he ever caught word of all this vampire talk,” Kenny said, slumping back in his chair. And for a moment, Tim suddenly imagined that chair—Kenny’s chair of flimsy wood—splitting and breaking under his weight. Tim smiled at that.

  “Okay. Then what do we do?”

  “Play this close to the vest… for now.”

  “Right.”

  Tim was very silent at that. He did not tru
st Jack and Fabiana could see it and that was good. Jack was not to be trusted in the slightest. She had encountered his kind before and if this had been a different time, a different era, she would have done something about him. Something unpleasant. But she had promised herself a long time ago that she would take no more innocent lives. She was responsible for too much destruction and death already and wouldn’t add to her body count now.

  “This whole vampire shit is just too strange, dude. I can’t for the life of me get it out of my head.”

  “Yeah, Tim. I know what you mean.”

  Darkness returned to Fabiana’s mind as she pulled her thoughts out of the homicide unit and no longer invaded the privacy of the young, unsuspecting officer that walked several floors below her. She stood up tall and slender next to the thin antennas of the rooftop and she could feel the locks of her hair dancing with the playful wind that now wisped around her.

  There was a time not so long ago when Fabiana wouldn’t think twice about invading someone’s mind. In fact, she enjoyed doing it. She used to work the darkness on their thoughts. She would reach into the recesses of their minds and control all their actions. One time she coerced a man into sadistically murdering his entire family and then taking his own life shortly later. Fabiana was considered by many to be one of the most effective killers in The Family.

  But that was in her youth. She was much like an adolescent child for the first part of her immortal life. But now, almost two thousand years later, her mind was tormented by her poor choices in youth. By the guilt of all those deeds that caused so much suffering to so many innocent lives.

  Over the years and the older she became, her mind suffered many phases. The really old vampires tended to go crazy and then come back to the world. They came back to their reality, their clear thinking. But Fabiana had never been able to forgive herself for what she had done the last time. She knew that she could never let that happen again. No more destroying innocent lives.

  Fabiana had gone crazy and that’s when everything went wrong. She had started to slip away from reality, slowly at first, but then the darkness came to her. The person that was born from that darkness was one of the most fearsome and ruthless killers Europe had ever encountered.