by Ray Garton
"What has she said?" Keoph asked.
"Nothing. Well, she speaks sometimes, but only to say, 'Vampires. Vampires.' She's.. .not herself. What.. . what am I going to tell the police? They're going to want to know why I didn't call them as soon as she disappeared."
Davey stepped forward and said, "Tell them the truth, Mr. Burgess. Any vampires on the force would have a hard time covering this up. It's a matter of hospital record. Just tell them the truth. I'll back you up."
Keoph gave him a questioning look. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"What do you think Casey would say?" Keoph said quietly.
Casey would be against it. But if she were by his side instead of in that hotel, there would be no problem. "It's time this got out. And it might help me get Casey out of that hotel before they kill her."
A uniformed police officer came through the swinging double doors that led back to the ER. He was a stout man with a ring of greying dark hair that went from ear to ear around his bald crown. He had a bulldog look to him—he even had an underbite. He approached Burgess. His nameplate read Offer. N. Keaton.
"I've been trying to talk to your wife, Mr. Burgess," the officer said. "But all she says is, 'Vampires,' over and over again. Do you have any idea what that might mean?"
Burgess looked at Keoph for a moment, then at Davey. He turned to the officer and said, "Officer Keaton, my wife is saying, 'Vampires,' over and over again because ... well, that's who kidnapped her."
Keaton's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry?"
"She was kidnapped by .. . vampires. They held her—" He turned to Keoph and Davey. "—where was it again?"
Keoph said, "We're pretty sure it's the Royal Arms Hotel in North Hollywood."
Keaton turned to Keoph and said, "Who're you?"
Keoph introduced himself.
"What's your involvement in this?" Keaton asked.
"Well, it's, uh... I'm a private investigator. Mr. Burgess hired me, and his wife's kidnapping was related to my investigation."
Frowning now, Keaton took a pad and pen from his pocket and wrote on it. "Keeph?"
"No, Kee-off" He spelled the name.
"You have an office here in Los Angeles?" Keaton said.
Keoph said, "No, I'm from San Francisco."
"What did Mr. Burgess hire you to investigate?"
Keoph looked at Davey for a moment, then said, "He hired me and my partner, Karen Moffett, to investigate ... vampires."
Keaton used the pen to scratch his bald head. "Look. I have to write a report about this, okay? I've got to write all this information up. And you're telling me that Mrs. Burgess was kidnapped and brutalized by vampires?"
Davey said, "You saw the bite wounds on her neck, didn't you?"
"Who're you?" Keaton said.
"Davey Owen. Their investigation led them to me. Along with Mrs. Burgess, they kidnapped my wife and Mr. Keoph's partner Karen Moffett. They're being held in the Royal Arms Hotel right now."
"When did this happen?" Keaton said. "Didn't you call the police?"
"There are those in the police department who cover for them," Davey said.
Keaton laughed. "Okay, I've had enough of this. Mr. Burgess—"
"But it's true," Burgess said. "What they say is true. I hired them to investigate vampires and... they found some."
"Yeah," Keaton said. "Listen, I need to know—"
Davey stepped up close to Keaton, and in that moment, his face changed—it grew hair, his brow became more pronounced, his eyes became blood-red except for a pinpoint of black in the center of each, his ears sprouted hair and became pointed, and his nose flattened and turned black on top of a snout filled with fangs.
Keaton dropped his pad and pen and immediately went for his gun as he stumbled backward and said, "Holy fucking shit!" He unholstered his weapon, then dropped it on the floor. By the time he picked it up, Davey looked himself again.
Davey slowly opened his mouth and showed his fangs. "You going to tell me I don't exist?"
Keaton returned his gun to its holster and frowned at Davey.
"I'm a vampire, Officer Keaton," Davey said. "The city is full of people like me. I'm harmless, and so is my wife—we don't want to hurt anybody. But there are a lot of vampires out there who aren't so harmless. Some of them have kidnapped my wife and Karen Moffett, and they're the same people who kidnapped Mrs. Burgess. They were unhappy about the investigation and wanted to persuade Mr. Burgess to call it off. The only problem is, that's not enough for these vampires, Officer Keaton, because they're bloodthirsty, and god only knows what they're doing to my wife and Karen Moffett."
Keaton slowly bent down and picked up his pad and pen. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Who are these ... vampires?" Keaton said.
"They're working for Victor Barna," Davey said.
"Victor . . ." Keaton laughed. "Okay, okay, you almost had me convinced for a minute, there, but then you went over the line. You know, I hear Donald Trump heads up a little group of werewolves, maybe he and Victor Barna should get together, you think? Look, Mr. Owen, I have no idea how you did that, but keep in mind, this is Hollywood, where giant gorillas climb skyscrapers and tidal waves destroy New York, so we aren't that easily impressed here. Mr. Keoph, I'm not interested in talking to you right now, I'm talking to Mr. Burgess." He turned to Burgess. "I'll be back later to see how your wife is doing and see if she's talking. They're doing a rape kit right now, but I'm sure they'll let you in to see her soon. Look, Mr. Burgess, if you want to know my opinion, you should leave the stuff you write in the books. It doesn't work well in real life, and I really don't appreciate being fed a line like that in an investigation, okay? You'll be hearing from me soon." He looked at Keoph and Davey again. "It's been very strange meeting you, gentlemen."
Keaton turned and left the waiting room through the main entrance, out into the night.
"Didn't take him long to convince himself he didn't really see that," Davey said.
"If it's any consolation," Keoph said, "you scared the shit out of me."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Denise has a psychic," Burgess said. They sat in a booth in the diner end of a diner/cocktail lounge called Sneaky Pete's.
Davey and Burgess had cocktails in front of them while Keoph drank a diet cola, because he was driving. They had just finished a delicious steak dinner. Davey's rib-eye had been seared on the outside, but it was raw all the way through, and blood pooled on his plate, which he'd dabbed up with a dinner roll. They were awaiting their slivers of cheesecake.
"I figured, she has a psychic," Burgess said, "I can have my little investigations. I mean, she actually listens to this psychic and takes advice from her. But when I told her some time ago, rather vaguely, what I wanted to do she blew her top. She thought it was a terrible idea and would most likely be an expensive one. But I had some money put aside for... playing around. I was determined to go ahead with my little investigation, I just didn't tell her about it. Now this. It's my fault."
Davey said, "My guess is, they've been following you for awhile. You managed to accomplish what they apparently couldn't—you found Walter Benedek."
"And now he's dead," Burgess whispered, shaking his head. "Because of me."
"If you want to know the truth, Mr. Burgess," Davey said, "I'm amazed Walter lived as long as he did. I expected them to get to him years ago. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself. Walter was living on borrowed time, and he knew it. The story he wrote for the Post will not soon be forgotten. It brought them very close to exposure for a short time, and it scared them. I'm sure they've been watching Casey and me ever since my brush with them. I often wonder when my time will come. If they couldn't forgive Walter for writing that story, how must they feel about me? I blew up Live Girls. I killed a lot of them and put them closer to exposure than they've ever been. Yeah, I often wonder what they have planned for me. And when."
To Burgess, Keoph said, "Your wife is badly beat
en, but she's going to get better."
"She's very fortunate," Davey said. "It's not like them to let someone go. They were sending you a message."
"I already had the message, before they took her," Burgess said.
"They just want to make sure you got the message," Davey said. "What they did to your wife—it's their way of saying, ‘Is that perfectly clear?' "
Burgess scrubbed his face with both hands. "I've been doing this for eighteen years—collecting these articles, talking to people, making calls. How long have they been watching me? Is this something I'm going to have to worry about the rest of my life?"
"I think they're giving you an opportunity to back off now," Davey said. "You'll probably never know if they keep on watching you or not, so there's no point in dwelling on it. Drop your investigation. No more clippings, no more phone calls, no more interviews. Don't research anything remotely related to vampires for a good long time. But don't ever assume they've gone away."
"That's—" Burgess sighed, then shook his head. "—not very encouraging."
"I'm sorry," Davey said, "I don't mean to be discouraging. I'm just explaining to you how it will be. They're letting you go. Take advantage of it. Stay out of their way, and don't worry about them."
"But Denise," Burgess said. "What's been done to her will leave scars."
"She's going to need you," Keoph said.
"Yes," Burgess said. He sat back and thought about that for a moment. Finally, he nodded and said, "Yes, maybe she will."
After dinner, Keoph drove Burgess back to the hospital and dropped him off with the assurance that he would call them with any updates about Denise.
"Have you read his work?" Davey asked as Keoph drove them back to Davey's house.
"No, I haven't. Karen has. Have you?"
"Yes, I've read a few of his books. Some of it's genuinely spooky stuff."
Keoph shook his head and smiled. "I think he's crazier than a shithouse rat."
"Seriously?"
"I don't think you write that kind of stuff unless you're ... well, different."
Davey chuckled. "Yeah, well, he's different all the way to the bank."
"You don't do so bad with your screenplays, do you?" Keoph said.
"They've given us a good life." Davey's face fell, and for a moment, he looked as if he were going to cry. "I'm very scared, Gavin. For my wife, I mean. Very scared."
Davey had left the porch light on when he left, so he saw the package on the porch before Keoph had even stopped the car in the driveway.
"I don't suppose you're expecting a package?" Keoph said.
Davey shook his head. "Afraid not." He got out of the car and went up the steps to the porch, with Keoph right behind him. He picked up the package and found it wasn't very heavy—a few pounds at most, securely taped up. There was nothing written on the box, no name or address, nothing at all.
He unlocked the front door and led Keoph inside. He closed and locked the door behind them. Davey took the package to the kitchen, turning on lights along the way. He put the box on the counter and took a knife from a drawer.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Keoph said.
"You don't have to stand in here if you don't want to," Davey said. "Go out in the living room. If it explodes, you'll be safe."
"No, wait, let me take a look at it." Keoph approached him and held out his arms for the box. Davey handed it over.
Keoph considered the weight, put his ear to the box, then moved it gently back and forth and made the object inside shift. He stood up straight and said, "I hear Styrofoam popcorn."
"I'm serious, Gavin. Go."
Keoph reluctantly left the kitchen.
Davey sliced the knife along the tape on the box. He opened the four flaps and found that it was in-deed filled with the white bits of Styrofoam. He reached into the popcorn and almost instantly jerked his hand back. He had touched something that felt like cold skin.
He carefully began to sweep the popcorn out of the box using both hands.
He found a nose.
"No!" he shouted.
A clenching pain moved through his entire being as he moved his hands faster and sent the chunks of Styrofoam flying in all directions, until he could see it.
Casey's sad, dead, decayed face peered up at him, eyes and mouth open, in a pool of lustrous reddish hair.
Davey heard a strange sound, and quickly realized it was coming from him, a sound deep in his throat, which grew louder, until he was growling, and louder, until he was shouting. He did not form words, he simply cried out in a broken voice as he dropped to his knees.
Then Davey lost control.
Keoph paced in the living room until he heard Davey cry out. He turned and hurried back to the kitchen, where he jerked to a halt in the doorway.
Davey put his right hand on the back edge of a hutch filled with china and silverware and pulled it away from the wall, knocked it over. Dishes shattered and silverware clanged.
Keoph took a step back because Davey had changed. His face was dark with hair and he bared his fangs in his snout, nose flat against the top of it, ears hairy and pointed and pink on the inside. His eyes were deep-set beneath a suddenly pronounced ridge of brow. As he continued to cry out, he tore at his shirt until it was off and he threw it to the floor in tatters. There was hair on the back of his right hand, while his left remained twisted in its black glove. He grew dark hair on his chest, shoulders, arms, and back as Keoph watched.
Keoph backed out into the hall. He wondered what was in the box. He assumed the box contained a part of Casey, a part that left no doubt in Davey's mind that she was gone—only death could get that kind of reaction.
He could hear Davey breathing heavily in the kitchen, but he had stopped growling and shouting. He stepped toward the doorway and peered around the doorjamb. Davey looked like himself again. He stood with his hips leaning against the edge of the counter, bent forward at the waist with his hands on his knees, elbows locked.
"They ... killed ... Casey," Davey said, hoarse and breathless. "Those ... fucking bastards ... killed her."
Keoph stepped back into the doorway as Davey paced the length of the kitchen, rubbing his face with his right hand.
"What am I going to do?" Davey said. "What... what am I going to do?" He went to the kitchen table, sat down, and began to sob.
Keoph went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, Davey?"
Davey shook his head slightly, face down. "Would you rather I leave you alone?" A faint nod.
Keoph left the kitchen and went to the living room. He sat down on the couch and took the television remote from the coffee table and turned it on. He channel-surfed, seeing nothing on the screen—his thoughts were too demanding.
What hope did Karen have of surviving? Keoph knew there was a chance she was already dead. But he was determined to remain positive about it and assumed she was still alive. Davey wanted to go into the Royal Arms. The thought of it made the skin shrink across the back of Keoph's neck, but he agreed that it might be necessary. If Karen had been able to get away from them on her own, she would've shown up by now. The idea of going in there terrified him, but he was not going to abandon Karen. But if he was going to do it, he wanted to be armed. He tried to think of someone he knew of in Los Angeles who might be able to provide them with weapons. No names came to mind.
Keoph stopped channel-surfing on a competition between battling robots in a caged arena. As he watched the show, he slowly drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Davey went upstairs and out on the deck outside his bedroom and took off all his clothes. He became airborne and flew through the night. It was a hot, humid night that would be ending in a few hours. Fat dark clouds rolled in from the north.
He could not conceive of never doing that with Casey again—taking flight just for the sake of it, to be free with her in the sky again. His marriage to Casey was the only thing in his life from which he
had derived true pleasure. It had been a quiet, comfortable marriage. Davey remembered how good it had made him feel when, while sitting in his favorite chair reading a book, he had looked up to see her sitting in her favorite chair reading a book, and she had looked up at the same instant, and they had smiled. That had happened too many times to count. It had been a passionate marriage, too, and it caused Davey great physical pain, deep in his gut, to know they would never touch again.
As he flew, Davey lifted his head, opened his snout and howled. He howled at the fat, waning moon. It was a howl made up of all his pain, and the sound cut through the night like shards of glass.
His pain was dark against the white hot glow of his anger.
They had to pay for this. There was no way Davey was going to let this slide by without some kind of retaliation. He'd gone up against them before—he'd been afraid then, too, but had plowed forward and done what he'd set out to do in spite of himself.
The only difference was that this time, he had nothing to live for, so it didn't really matter to him if he lived or died.
But he couldn't do it alone. He would need help. For one thing, he would need guns.
He circled back around and returned to the deck. He stood there naked for awhile, leaning on the rail. He waited for the sobs to pass, gave them time to work themselves out. Then he slowly put his clothes on and went back inside.
Davey taped the box up and carried it out to the side of the house and dropped it into the green trash bin. The garbage man would come tomorrow and take it away.
Back in the house, Davey went to Keoph, who sat slumped on the couch watching TV. "Come on, let's go. We have to go see Mrs. Dupassie again."
They went outside, and got back into the Mercedes.
"Listen to me, Gavin," Davey said. "I'm going into that hotel, and I'm going to get Karen out. You are not obligated to go with me. It's going to be very dangerous, and I don't plan to go in alone, but I plan to take other vampires with me. You don't have to go."