Ed turned to me. “Up for a little adventure?”
“Try to stop me,” I answered.
Ed surveyed my three piece suit and tie, under the trench coat, and cordovan shoes. “I hope you don’t mind a little mud. Those aren’t exactly jeans and hiking boots you’re wearing.”
“They’ll clean up.”
We left the truck and worked our way up the road. Ed was right. Soon I sank to my ankles in mud. I thought how this better turn out to be worth it or Sam’s going to hit the roof. Arriving at the house we found it dark inside except for a candle burning on a table.
“Somebody’s up to no good,” I whispered, pulling on a pair of leather gloves.
“I see the girl.” Ed rasped with rising tension in his voice.
Peering inside I discovered the reason for my friend’s edginess. A naked young woman sat beyond the candle, tightly bound to her chair. Long black tresses flew back and forth as she whimpered and struggled against her bonds.
“Ed, snap out of it,” I growled. He wrenched his eyes from the young woman to me. Remembering his relapse with the girl in the alley, I added. “She is not prey.”
He grinned sheepishly showing a glimmer of teeth in the dark. “Yeah, right, of course,” he muttered, but the evidences of his scents and demeanor told me her helpless nakedness had gotten under his skin.
At that moment a man crossed the candle light. He, too, was naked, carrying a large knife. He lifted the woman’s arm, inspecting it as if at a slave auction. In terror she squealed, pressing knees close to cover her sex as best she could.
She must have peed herself because he yelled out and slapped her. We watched him storm off to the next room, returning with water and a wash cloth. He freed her from the chair, stood her up, and began washing her down. The trim young brown body entranced Ed. I snapped him out of it with an elbow to the ribs and signaled to break in through the front door.
When we came plowing into the small dark room the woman screamed and the man went for his knife, but Ed, as old as he was, as a vampire still covered ground pretty fast. The knife came at him in a blurred arc but he snatched it from midair. A step later he held the man aloft by his throat.
“What do I do with him?” Ed asked.
I turned attention my to the dark squirming mass suspended aloft in Ed’s grip. “Hold him for now.” Turning back to the woman, I asked her what happened.
With terror in her eyes and exuding a mixture of fear and sexual arousal, I covered her with my overcoat. After a moment she said. “I was walking home from a night class. We got out late and my friends couldn’t wait. Simpson offered me a ride.”
“Are you talking about Simpson the security guard?” I asked. I had known him practically since I started at the university
“That’s the one.”
The woman continued. “I refused the ride, telling him I lived close by. He came out of the van and used one of those zapper gun things on me, threw me in the van and brought me here.”
“Well, you’re safe now,” I repeated and told Ed to put Simpson down.
As he hit the floor I caught a glimpse of the campus security logo on the shoulder of his uniform jacket. “Simpson,” I asked. “Why?”
A pudgy man staggered to his feet, dusting off. “How do you think someone like me gets pussy?” he answered bitterly. “For years I watched them at the gym or jogging or walking to class. They treated me like I didn’t exist. I decided to put that to good advantage. Nobody fears or even notices a security van or an ordinary guard.”
“Are you ‘The Poser’?” I asked, but never got an answer. With an astonishingly quick move for a human, he whipped out a stun gun, pressing it against Ed’s forearm. I heard the quick clicking sounds as the high voltage permeated him, creating a superhuman maniac. Simpson died in a second, his neck broken when Ed threw him against the wall.
Not sure what he would do next, I stepped between him and the woman. For five minutes or so he paced the room, panting fiercely with fiery eyes as the battle to take her in a blooding raged inside.
Gradually the electric rage subsided. His scents returned to normal. “I’m back,” he said.
A thrill ran through me at the victory my friend won over his baser urges. I patted his shoulder warmly. “I’m very proud of you.”
Ed turned his attention to the cowering woman. “What’ll we do with her?”
“You clean up. Leave her to me.”
While Ed dragged Simpson’s body to the van I confronted the woman. “You saved me,” she said. “Who are you?”
I morphed, putting my face inches from hers. “Count Dracula,” I said. “Make up any story you want, but if you tell about us, no place will keep you safe.”
We left her tied up. After driving five minutes down the road Ed called in her location to authorities from a payphone. Three days later police announced Simpson was “The Poser” serial killer. To my relief nothing surfaced about the circumstances surrounding the rescue of his latest intended victim. All in all, I thought it to be a productive experience. Ed handled temptation and we removed a threat to the local community, the human part as well as ours. I relaxed, feeling some of the dangerous attention removed from us.
It didn’t last long.
* * * *
A week later the buzz of the receptionist on the intercom interrupted my progress through a pile of test papers. Yes, Miriam?”
“Professor White, you have Mr. Myers on line one.”
“Thank you, I’ll take it.”
I lifted the receiver to my ear. “Quick,” said the urgent voice on the other end. “Turn on Channel Nine.”
“Ed,” I answered confused. “What’s going on?”
“Just do it, Jim,” he shot back. “You’ll see why.”
On the remote I put in the FOX channel nine. A popular local talk show appeared on the screen. I recognized the blonde haired moderator right away. She sat next to a young male guest on a TV set of expensive and comfortable chairs with a coffee table in front for atmosphere. The camera zoomed in on the guest. Jethro Lee’s shaved yellow head and erect posture was hard to miss.
The moderator proceeded directly to the subject. “You are telling me werewolves and vampires are real and you can prove it?”
After reminding her werewolves preferred the term “lycan,” he said, “That is correct. In my book, Critters of the Night, due out in June from Shad Publications, I reveal, in detail, all there is to know about them.” He eased his terse frame back into the plush studio chair, barely relaxing the horizontal set of his shoulders, staring at the camera with a self-satisfied expression.
“Did you say Shad Publications is releasing it?” Ruben Shad, one of the more well-known conspiracy theorists, had written more than a dozen popular books about government cover-ups, from the Kennedy Assassination and the link between vaccines and the rise of autism, to UFOs.
“That’s correct. I am extremely proud Mr. Shad took an interest in my work.” Jethro replied smugly. I wanted to wring the snotty little bastard’s neck.
“Can you tell us something about these—what do you call them?”
“The Other Kind, or The Others, Ma’am. Lycans and vampires use either title.”
The moderator pulled close, so close Jethro, who never liked anyone invading his space, backed away. “Perhaps you can give a preview of your book?” She cast a wide net, hoping to trap a tidbit for the evening news.
Jethro refused to be taken in. “You’ll simply have to wait for it to come out. I will say this. There is an active coven right here in town.” He turned toward the camera. A studio light reflected saffron glistening on his hairless scalp.
The moderator leaned closer with piqued interest. “Were you a member of this ‘coven’?” she asked.
“Yes, I did belong. For a while. I took the title of my book from the group’s name, Critters of the Night.”
Ignoring his attempt to plug the book, she zeroed in on his relationship with the coven. “Are you one o
f them? Are you a vampire or lycan?”
Jethro hesitated. She had him. To deny being one of us undermined his whole story. To admit it required proof, like a morph. I waited for “Mr. Bigmouth” to dig his way out. He took a breath, passed his eyes introspectively over the coffee table prop and back to the camera. “Yes, I am a lycan. When my book comes out in June I will prove it.”
The moderator took a stab in the dark, still hoping for a byte to put on the evening news. “Is it possible this ‘coven’ has anything to do with the rash of missing persons over the last year?”
Jethro acted miffed when the moderator showed interest in topics other than his book. He tried to steer the conversation where he wanted by saying, “Could be. In my book I documented what they did in great detail.”
That’s when he “stepped in doo-doo,” as Sam was fond of saying.
The program went to break. The station scrambled the interns to find what they could on the group and its members. At the same time they informed law enforcement about Jethro’s implication that he had information concerning the missing people. Detective Borden and her minions would soon be on the move. Immediately, I emailed the webmaster of our blog with news of Jethro’s betrayal, recommending his access be denied. Next I told Sam and Cynthia what happened and to expect a visit from the police, no doubt our favorite female detective.
I continued with the work day. My last class ended at five o’clock. As soon as I turned on my cell phone, a message from Cynthia flashed on the screen: Call home!!!
With alarm trilling up my spine, my fingers fumbled with the phone dial. Scenarios of all manner of disasters, involving Sam and the babies, ran through my mind. It took two tries to get Cynthia on the line.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Oh, Doctor Jim it was awful,” she wailed in a voice on the verge of hyperventilation.
“Slow down. Start from the beginning,” I paused as a dreadful sinking feeling took hold. “Where’s Sam?”
“It’s what I’m trying to tell you. They took her away.”
“Who took her away?”
“The police did. The female detective from before, Borden’s her name, came to the apartment with two cops in uniform. They took Sam right out of the apartment. They said they wanted her for questioning. I haven’t heard a word.”
For a second I mused over whether Borden’s inquiring little mind linked the Cynthia she met with missing teen Cynthia. Probably not or Cynthia would be at the station, too.
Returning to the problem at hand, I said, “Now listen to me carefully and do exactly what I tell you. Get Ed and move all the stuff from the freezer and my walk-in to his place. Sterilize the things in my apartment like we showed you. I’ll go after Sam.”
The Dean of the Law School gave me the name of a lawyer named Oscar Young. He specialized in corporate law. Defending in a criminal proceeding looked to be out of his area, but he was available and I couldn’t be choosy. By eight o’clock. we met and headed to the station. They placed Sam in an interrogation room. Upon our arrival the Detective Lieutenant, observing from outside the soundproof plate glass window, shut off the speaker broadcasting the interrogation. Two detectives, Borden and a male, questioned Sam. From the noiseless crying and the way she tossed her head, they were giving her a terrible time. In the back of my mind lurked a picture of Sam being pushed over the edge and morphing.
“My name is Oscar Young,” said the nattily dressed slim, attorney. “I am Ms. Johnson’s counsel and would like to speak with her.”
The Lieutenant took his time examining Oscar’s identification. Meanwhile, the interrogation continued at a furious pace. When he could stall no longer, he turned and knocked on the door to the room.
“All questions will stop,” Oscar said, stepping inside.
Sam raised her face with red swollen eyes, “Oh, Jim,” she cried. “They refused to let me out of the room even to pee.”
You didn’t have to be one of us to smell the urine. Detective Borden shrugged and rolled her eyes. “She didn’t tell us,” she said innocently.
I gave the male detective, standing directly behind Sam, a stare of such ferocity he jerked back in reflex. Ignoring him and turning to Sam, I helped her to stand. “If you are not arresting my client,” Oscar said, “we are out of here.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell in the room and added, “As for this, you haven’t heard the last on the subject.”
I took Sam to the nearest bathroom where she cleaned herself as best as the facilities allowed, and the three of us drove to the apartment.
“There’s no time to waste,” Oscar said on the way. While I drove, he put on a pair of glasses and read the paperwork provided in connection with Sam’s interrogation. “They will be back. I need to know all there is regarding your case and know it now.”
Back at the apartment Ed and Cynthia waited for us. Sam changed clothes while I introduced them, explaining they were the other members of the group, like family, and we had no secrets from them. The attorney appraised them with small black eyes that weighed the cost and value of everything. When Sam returned, he pulled a notepad and pen from his briefcase. Sitting down, he said, “Now to work.”
We gathered around the dinette table. Sam spoke first. “They kept me in that awful room, even when I had to…” She began but Oscar cut her off.
“Please pardon me, Ms. Johnson,” he said. “But to do an effective job for you I need to know three things. First, what the charge or probable charge is. Second, what they asked you and what you told them. Last, and most important, I need complete and truthful disclosure from all four of you, since you all appear to be involved to some degree.” His businesslike demeanor reassured me even if he operated outside his specialty. He stayed focused on the case even when Cynthia crossed her legs provocatively. She captured my surreptitious attention and Ed’s blatant gawk.
“I didn’t tell them anything,” Sam said. “That’s why they became so upset. Borden is obsessed with putting the blame for this on me.”
“Over my dead body,” Ed announced.
I filled him in on everything with respect to the group and Detective Borden’s suspicions.
“Jethro Lee started the whole mess when he suggested on an interview we might be behind some of the missing person cases in the area,” Ed added when I finished.
“I heard about him. It’s a ridiculous and unbelievable claim,” Oscar said. “But from the police standpoint your group doesn’t have to be—what did he call them? Yes, The Other Kind to commit the crimes they suspect you of. They have no physical evidence to link any of you to them or they would have made arrests. However, in order to completely eliminate you from their interest we have to show you were elsewhere at the time of these deeds and couldn’t have done them.”
“In other words,” Sam said, “We need alibis?”
Cynthia shifted in her chair. She pulled at the hem of her miniskirt, stretching the material tightly over her thighs, directing a flirty snicker Oscar’s way. He took brief note and returned to work. Cynthia’s childish effort to control the situation with the males failed, irritating her immensely, particularly with respect to Oscar who she obviously found attractive.
“Basically, yes,” he said to Sam. “Cases like these, where the precise date and time of the crime cannot be determined, complicate the alibi process, but they also complicate the police’s task to prove a suspect’s guilt.”
“All we want is for them to leave us alone!” Sam cried out. “I can’t take much more of this, and neither can my babies.”
“Sam and the babies must be protected at any cost,” Ed added emphatically. “If she needs an alibi, I’ll say anything; do anything to give her one.”
“There will be no more middle of the night interrogations. I will take care of it, but they won’t go away until they eliminate you as suspects or find a better one. With all the light your former group member put on you, that won’t be likely anytime soon. Now, have you told me all there is? Think carefully.
Are you sure you have left nothing out?”
“Am I to understand what we tell you or show you will remain privileged and you can’t disclose it?” I asked.
“That is correct,” he answered. “I may decline to represent you further based on the information or evidence you provide, but I cannot reveal what you tell me.”
“Even if we are what they say we are?”
Oscar chuckled. “Yes, Doctor White, even if you're a pack of werewolves.”
Encouraged by his answer I morphed, with fangs, pallor and red eyes. Oscar instinctively jumped back but recovered and said with another chuckle. “What an excellent effect. How did you do it?”
By then I returned to human form. “You don’t understand. I really am a vampire,” I said.
Oscar stood and sternly replied, “Doctor White, if you think this is all a joke perhaps you should seek other representation.” He retrieved his briefcase preparing to leave.
A vampire morph is not dramatic. Most of it happens internally, expanding joints and modest bone growth. Except for the fangs I could pass for large pale man with a bad hangover. We needed a more dramatic demonstration.
I turned to Cynthia. “Show him what you can do,” I said to her.
“Do I have to?” she complained. “This is a brand new outfit.”
“Please, it’s important, dear.” Sam added. “Besides, I sewed in Velcro morph seams.”
Cynthia stood and stepped to the middle of the room. She faced Oscar who paused at the door. Shimmying out of her panties, she kicked them to the side with a last flick of a bare foot. Stretchy lingerie fabrics didn’t tear. Because a lycan grew when morphing, most underwear bound them painfully. Ed’s eyes locked onto the sexually aromatic wrinkle of white material shimmering at her feet. She stood erect with legs apart and hands on hips. As it molded to her butt, the black miniskirt sparkled with sequins, round like half of a disco ball. I surveyed the pleasingly dramatic arching cleft of her spine under the white blouse.
The Other Kind (The Progeny of Evolution Series) Page 13