by J. R. Rain
"I like when you help me, Moon Dance. It feels good. "
"Yeah, well, you smell like greasy ribs and vodka and its turning my stomach. "
"Words every man wants to hear. " He patted the area next to him on the couch. "Lay next to me, Moon Dance. "
"No. "
"Why not?"
"Because it's not right. "
"Hey, if you're not going to turn me into a blood-sucking fiend, then at least throw me a few crumbs here, Sam. Something, anything. "
"If you're going to talk like this, Fang, then I'm calling you a cab. "
"Talk like what, Moon Dance? Affectionately? Lustfully? I loved you long before your shaggy wolf friend came sniffing around. I poured my heart out to you. Gave you all my attention. All my love, even if it was from afar. How many times did I drop everything to help you? How many times did I forego my own needs to help you, to talk to you, to be there for you?"
"You stalked me, Fang. "
"It was the only way, Moon Dance. The only way. You would not have come out into the light. Literally. "
"I would have. Someday. "
"But not soon enough, obviously. I waited too long, and look what happened. Aroooooo. "
"You're drunk, Fang. "
"But that makes my pain no less real, Samantha Moon. I loved you like no other, and you tossed me aside for your doggie toy. The least you could do was turn me, to make me like you, to help ease the pain. "
"You're trying to manipulate me, to make me feel guilty, Fang, and that's a shitty thing to do. "
"It's nothing but the truth, Moon Dance. "
"Get some sleep, Fang. "
Indeed, his eyes were dropping fast. He turned on his side and wrapped an arm around himself and I saw something disturbing at his wrists. Fresh wounds. Bite marks. Had he been biting himself again? I didn't know.
I stared down at Fang, a man I legitimately cared for and loved on some level. A man for whom I had no answers. That he was miserable, there was no doubt. That he loved me in his own way, I had no doubt either.
What I should do about it all, I still didn't know.
Soon after he was snoring loudly into one of the couch cushions, I decided to follow up on a hunch.
I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.
Chapter Forty
I was looking down from a roof top, watching the Fullerton Playhouse below.
It was windy up here, and my light jacket flapped wildly. Too wildly. I think I was losing weight. A steady diet of blood will do that to you.
I was kneeling on the roof's corner, four stories up. Directly below me was a bank. Why a bank needed four floors, I hadn't a clue. Sure as hell wasn't to store my money. So far there was no movement below, although I had spotted something very interesting in the alley behind the theater.
A blue cargo van.
I waited and watched. Other than the van, the theater looked empty. There was no movement. No lights. It was well past time for any rehearsals and any cleaning crews.
I decided not to make a move, unless something prompted me to. I was here for one reason only: to keep an eye on the theater, should the shit hit the fan. Or should someone get tipped off about the police raid.
So far, all was quiet.
My cell phone chimed. A text message. I glanced at the screen. A text message from Danny.
Thanks, Sam! They didn't come back to collect from me. Whatever you did, I owe you one.
"You owe me two, loser," I whispered, and erased his message.
I was dressed in jeans and the aforementioned light jacket. There had been an old fire escape that I had managed to grab onto. Now, I waited and watched. Just another mom with two kids, waiting on the roof of a bank building for a serial killer to emerge from his creepy theater.
Perhaps an hour later my cell vibrated.
I picked up on the first vibration which, I think, was the equivalent to a single ring. It was, of course, Detective Sherbet.
"Mason wasn't there," he said.
"Go figure," I said. "Anything turn up?"
"Nothing yet, but my guys are working on it. If there's a blood stain anywhere, they'll find it. "
"Except if he's as good at killing as I suspect, then there's not going to be any evidence at his home. "
"What are you saying, Sam?"
"He kills at the theater, Detective. You know that, I know that. He kills and drains and bottles his victims' blood all at the theater. "
"A blood factory. "
"Or a slaughtering house. A human slaughtering house. "
"Jesus, Sam. " Sherbet paused. "Then why not destroy the bodies there?"
"Maybe he does. Or maybe he usually does. Maybe he ran out of room. Or maybe he's decided to make it a bit of a game. "
"Jesus, Sam. I'm too old for this shit. "
"We have to stop him, Detective. "
Sherbet paused again, said, "We've got another missing person reported tonight. A female. Twenty-three. Last seen leaving class at Fullerton College two nights ago. "
"She's there," I said, with a surety that wasn't psychic. It was my gut. My investigator's instincts. "The son-of-a-bitch has her. And my bet is she's somewhere behind that door. "
"We can't just go in there, Sam. "
"Perhaps you can't, but I can. "
"Sam, wait. "
"What?"
He exhaled loudly and if I truly wanted to I could have followed his entire train of thought. Instead, I gave him his privacy, let him work this out on his own. Finally, after exhaling again, he said, "I'm coming with you. "
"Welcome aboard, Detective. "
Chapter Forty-one
We met behind the theater.
Sherbet was wearing jeans and a leather jacket that barely covered his roundish mid-section. He was also sporting dark-leather shoes that looked like a cross between running shoes and hiking shoes. I knew he was packing heat, and the truth was, I felt better having him here. Sherbet exuded an aura of control and security. More so than any man I'd ever met, even Kingsley.
I might be a creature of the night who has faced my share of monsters, but sneaking into the dragon's lair alone just sounded like one hell of a shitty way to spend an evening.
The alley parking lot was empty, with only a single spotlight shining down on the back door. A sticker claimed that there was an alarm system in use, but we were about to see. I doubted there was. If this place was what I thought it was, then I doubted Mr. Robert Mason ever wanted the police anywhere near the premises. If anything, he would handle the intruders himself.
Not to mention, Mason had help. Two goons had shown up at my house and neither had been Mason, I was sure of it. Three against two. I liked our chances.
I doubted Hanner was directly involved in the production of the blood. She seemed more refined than that. She seemed. . . better than that. What her connection was, exactly, I didn't know.
But I was going to find out.
I was the first to try the door. Locked, of course. I turned the lever a little harder, and it broke free in my hand. "It's not really breaking in," I said, holding up the broken handle. "If the door is broken, right?"
Sherbet shook his head and eased his bulk around me. As he did so, I had a momentary whiff of Old Spice and sweat, which, for me, was one hell of a heady mixture. "We're not breaking in," he growled, as he broke in. "This is an emergency search. There's a young woman missing, and he's our only suspect. I'm sticking to that story until the day I die. "
"Sounds good to me. "
He removed his Smith & Wesson from his shoulder holster. "C'mon. "
The hallway was pitch black to anyone but me. To me, it was alive and alight. Sherbet reached into a pocket and removed a small flashlight that had a lot of umph to it, revealing a narrow hallway with a door to either side.
"Lights?" I asked.
Sherbet shook his head and continued sweeping the po
werful beam over walls and floors and ceilings. "I don't want anyone running; at least, not yet. We'll catch the bastards by surprise. "
"Sounds like my last date. "
Sherbet grinned. "Sure it does. So what are we looking for?"
"A storage room. Or a props rooms. We're close to it, I think. "
"Then what?"
"We look for a mirror. "
"A mirror?"
"Yes. "
"And you know this how?"
"I'm a freaky chick. "
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then what?"
"There should be an opening behind it. "
"Thank God you didn't say through it. Dealing with vampires is bad enough. I don't think I can handle Harry Potter, too. " Sherbet took another step, then paused. "Hey, do that crazy thing you do with your mind. "
"My mind?"
"You know, one of those mental scouting jobs you do, or whatever you call it. "
"'Mental scouting job' sounds good to me," I said. "Give me a moment. "
"I'll give you two. "
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and cast my thoughts out like a net. The net scattered throughout the theater, through rooms and offices, across the stage and theater seating, and even up into the lighting booth.
"We're alone up here," I said, reporting back, opening my eyes. "Except for the ghosts. "
"What ghosts?"
"The ghosts that have been following us since we stepped foot in here. "
"I didn't need to know that. "
Lots of old places have spirits hanging around them, and this theater, which was decades old, if not a century, was no exception. Still, there seemed to be a lot of spirit energy here, more than to be expected, energy which flitted past quickly, energy which appeared and disappeared next to us, energy which watched us from the shadows. Some of the energy fully manifested into lightly glowing human forms. These watched us from doorways and rafters, from behind curtains and in windows. I decided not to tell Sherbet about the entity standing next to him. For a tough guy, he sure got the willies over ghosts.
"You said alone up here," said Sherbet. "You think this creep works below ground?"
"Would be my guess. "
"And your radar whatchamacallit doesn't pick up Mason?"
"Not yet. "
"Which means?"
"We're still probably too far from him. "
"Or that the place is empty. "
"We'll see," I said.
"Fine. C'mon. "
We soon found ourselves somewhere backstage, where backdrops hung from flies and where trap doors were cleverly placed in the floor. Clothing racks filled with costumes lined both sides of the wall, and a catwalk ran along the upper levels. There were many, many ghosts moving back and forth along these metal walkways.
Lots of death here.
And, judging by the many gashes in their necks, lots of victims here, too. I kept this last assessment to myself. I suspected Sherbet was about to see for himself just what was going on here.
We found a hallway leading off to one side of the stage, which we followed to the props room. The door was ajar.
"This is it," I said.
Sherbet nodded and slipped inside first, holding the gun out in front of him even though we were alone in the theater. I think it made him feel manly. Not to mention, he was still a cop, and cops did these kinds of things.
I paused at the doorway, taking in the room despite the darkness. The room was, of course, exactly as I had seen it in my mind days earlier. Props of all shapes and sizes, everything from dinner tables and jukeboxes to plastic trees and park benches. Like a small town all crammed into one room.
I pointed to the far wall. "There. "
Sherbet followed my finger, aiming his light, and illuminated a massive mirror that was apparently attached to the wall.
"The mirror. Just like you said. "
"Yep. "
"And you've never been here before?"
"Nope. At least, not physically. "
"This is crazy. "
"Welcome to my life. "
He shook his head and I heard his thoughts, despite my best attempts to stay out of them. Rather clearly, Sherbet thought: I'm going insane.
The scent of blood suddenly wafted over me, coming from the far wall - from behind the mirror, no doubt. My traitorous stomach growled instantly. So loudly that Sherbet turned and looked at me. I shrugged innocently.
As we moved around a four-poster bed covered in cobwebs, Sherbet said, "I swear to God that if a guy in a hockey mask and a chainsaw starts singing about the music, I'm going to start shooting. "
"You're mixing, I think, like three movies together. "
"Well, they've been warned. "
We found ourselves at the big mirror. The smell of blood was most definitely coming from somewhere behind the mirror. I said as much to Sherbet, even as my stomach growled again.
Sherbet looked at me, looked at the mirror, then looked at my stomach. He put two and two together and grimaced unconsciously. Finally, he said, "Help me with the mirror. "
He holstered his gun and we each took one side of the mirror and lifted it off the hook. Once done, we set it to one side, and returned to the spot where the mirror had hung.
There was, of course, a door there.
A hidden door.
Chapter Forty-two
The scent of blood was nearly overwhelming.
So much blood.
Sherbet and I had the same thought simultaneously: to scan the room beyond. So I did so, and saw that it was empty of anything living. I reported my findings to Sherbet.
He nodded and pointed at the doorknob. "Any chance this lock is broken as well?"
I reached for the doorknob and a moment later dropped the twisted metal to the floor. "I would say a good chance. "
He shook his head. "I'm just glad you're on our side. C'mon. "
He eased the door open, which promptly groaned loudly on rusted hinges. He flashed his light on the ancient, rusted hinges. He said, "My guess is there's another way down here. Probably accessible from the alley. "
"Would make it easier bringing bodies in and out. "
Sherbet nodded grimly. He next swept his light around the small room. "Another storage room. "
I was suddenly having difficulty focusing on the detective's words. After all, the scent of blood was much stronger in here. Much, much stronger. And intoxicating.
Doing my best to ignore it, I stepped in behind Sherbet and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with even more theater junk. Moldy props. Moldy clothing. Hats that were badly destroyed by rats or moths. Boxes and crates and old furniture. And the moment I stepped inside, my inner alarm began buzzing.
"What's that sound?" asked Sherbet, pausing, listening.
"What sound?"
"You can't hear it? It's a steady buzzing. Like electricity crackling. "
Stunned that the detective could pick up on my own inner alarm, and stunned at the depth of our connection, I told him what he was hearing.
"Thank God. Thought I was going crazy all over again. C'mon, let's check this out, and be careful. It's buzzing for a reason. "
The air was alive with frenetic energy, which lit the way for me. Not so much for Sherbet. His flashlight would have to do. Tiny claws scrabbled in the far corner of the small room. A mouse or a rat.
By all appearances this was just a forgotten storage room. A storage room hidden purposely by a massive mirror. If I had to guess, I would say the crap in here hadn't seen the light of day - or the light of the stage - for over fifty years.
Most important: it appeared to have no exit.
We moved deeper into the room. Sherbet's breathing filled the small space. Mine, not so much. The wooden floorboards groaned under the big detective's weight. Me, not so much. The smell of blood was heady and distracting and reminding me all over again just what a monste
r I had become. Sherbet gave no indication of being able to smell the blood.
The metallic scent wafted through the far wall of the room, that much was clear. I moved toward the wall, toward the smell. Once there, I reached out a hand and placed it on the cool wood paneling. With Sherbet easing up behind me, I closed my eyes and cast my thoughts outward again. This time my trawling consciousness returned images of a short corridor and wooden stairs that descended down. At the base of the stairs, I saw another door. I tried to push through that. . . but the images beyond were vague and distorted. Too far to see. I snapped back into my body.
I reported my findings to Sherbet. He said something about me being handy to have around. I agreed enthusiastically. Next, we both felt around the wooden wall until we simultaneously found a seam. We kept feeling until we found a small notch in the wall. Sherbet stood back and I hooked a finger and pulled.
The wall instantly opened, rumbling along tracks hidden in the ceiling and floor. Dust sifted down. Cold air met us. Darkness lay beyond.
Darkness lit by supernatural light and infused with the scent of even more blood.
So much blood.
Stomach rumbling and hating myself, I led the way through into the passageway.
Chapter Forty-three
I counted seven ghosts.
Some drifted along the dark corridor. Others simply appeared and disappeared, popping in and out of existence. Still others approached us, curious. Most were in their fuzzy energetic state and composed of tens of thousands of shimmering particles of light. Some spirits were brighter than others, and still others were more fully formed. Most, however, were just faint blobs of light drifting down the dark passageway.
Sherbet said, "I keep seeing movement out of the corner of my eye. "
"You're catching sight of them, Detective. "
"Them?"
"Spirits. "
"We're still on that subject?"
"They're still here, Detective. "
He aimed his flashlight down the long corridor. The light disappeared without hitting anything. A lesser man might have been scared shitless. Sherbet only said, "Again, I don't think I needed to know that. Which way?"
The tunnel led in both directions. I followed the scent of blood and pointed to the left.
"To the left it is, then," he said, and led the way, sweeping his light before him.
The corridor was composed of dank wooden panels. I had no doubt that we were following something built a century or more ago, walled off and hidden, and used by only those with secrets to hide.