The Power

by Cynthia Roberts

  “You know what I meant.” he insisted.

  “I’m fine, Reginald. I was just a bit detained tonight, that is all.” she explained.

  “There was trouble?” Troy spat out as if jumping to her defense. Lillian turned meeting the younger man’s dark brown eyes that at the moment were filled with anger and concern.

  “No.” Lillian replied.

  “Then what detained you?” Josh stepped further into the room, running a large, angry hand through his short, coal black hair as he did so. His muscles were tense, but his heart was beating swiftly as if he too had been worried for her.

  “There is another vampire in this part of the city.” Lillian decided to let them know. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell them about Jack yet though. She herself couldn’t even be sure. She had heard of it happening before, of how the mortals lived again and again from one life to the next, while they, the immortals, stayed the same forever or until they met their demise.

  “You’re sure?” Reginald’s heart jumped fearfully, and Lillian instantly regretted sharing anything at all with her good friend. It was cruel of her to cause his worry, but it was too late now.

  “He has made a kill.” she told the room. Josh and Troy looked at each other, both thinking the matter over.

  “He?” Reginald asked, and Lillian shrugged.

  “Or she. I can’t be sure yet. I ran across a police officer tonight who is working the case. The kill I made this evening.” She said, and they all looked at her with difference in their eyes, as if they didn’t like to think of her as what she actually was: a killer.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, Josh! She has to eat to survive.” Troy growled angrily, as if he hadn’t been thinking along those same lines.

  “Drink.” Josh countered heatedly. “And I know that. I also know that she doesn’t take from the innocent.”

  “No. She doesn’t.” Reginald finished firmly, and he nodded toward Lillian as if saying, “Go on.”

  “The officer that worked the scene…uh, afterward.” she said uneasily. “I read of him that there had been another victim. I did not make the other kill.” she told them.

  “It could be nothing, not even a vampire.” Josh spoke up in a thoughtful manner.

  “The man was killed in the same way, fang marks in the neck, drained of blood.” she told them. Josh swallowed slowly, and Lillian couldn’t resist. She stepped in closer to him, knowing that her nearness made him feel uneasy. He straightened, throwing back his shoulders with pride as she came even closer, even as his heart picked up pace.

  “Enough!” Reginald barked in a commanding voice. “Josh you have no reason to fear Lillian. She knows that you are here to protect her, that you know she is a good.”

  “Person?” Lillian turned to Reginald, raising a perfectly arched blonde brow.

  “Yes.” Reginald agreed, and Lillian tossed him a smile as Josh ranted that he didn’t fear her at all.

  “Don’t forget what it is that I am, Reginald.” she warned, but Reginald merely huffed in a way that said it was no big deal before going on. “You must learn to trust Lillian, Josh, as she must learn to trust you.” he voiced wisely like a scolding father settling a squabble between his offspring. Lillian wondered if that would ever happen? It had taken her a long time to trust Reginald, she recalled.

  Lillian turned back to Josh. She knew he was a good man. She could read it of him and of Troy. Both of Reginald’s grandsons were much like Reginald himself, good-hearted, good souls, men who would die to protect her. She met Josh’s light blue gaze and held it with ease.

  “You must be tired.” Josh acknowledged. The sleep was coming for her soon. She could feel it dragging at the backs of her lids. Her body was feeling heavy and growing numb all over.

  “Very.” she agreed, and she turned to Reginald. “Be careful out there at night, all of you.” she warned, and Reginald nodded that he understood before he took her arm and led her to the door that would lead her down into the basement where she would retire for the evening.

  Dr. Nicole Harold had a cot in the back of her office that she used when the nights ran long, like they seemed to be running tonight. It hadn’t taken her long to discover that Arthur Miller, as the deceased had been identified as through the means of the wallet located in the victim’s back pocket, had indeed been drained of blood. Barely a drop had remained within the body. Where had all the blood gone? It was a question that had plagued Dr. Harold’s thoughts all evening. The answers that came to her were not sane. Even she was aware of that. She was a doctor of science. She knew better than to let her mind wander to these dark places, but how could she not? She had been there that night after all. She had heard the piercing screams of her parents. She had seen for herself those white eyes that the journal she had read much later had spoken of. Gooseflesh popped up on her arms, and she shivered. Shaking her wild mane, she shook the thoughts from her mind. She was going to wind up in an asylum if she wasn’t careful, she scolded her wayward thoughts.

  “Stick to the facts, Nicole.” she voiced the strong words out loud. “Just the facts, Ma’am.” she mimicked the old television show that she used to watch reruns of as a kid. But she closed her eyes and she could still hear the tortured screams, and she was tempted to block her ears to keep them out. Rising, she tossed the wool blanket she had covered up with back onto the barely used cot and began to earnestly pace her muddled office. Her filing system was in shambles if she could even call it that. God, she needed a better assistant.

  “It’s just like I told you, Jack.” Dr. Harold threw out the old, I told you so, when Jack came to the morgue early that next morning. She was dressed in the same clothing she had had on the night before, which let Jack know that she hadn’t gone home or to sleep yet. She had pulled an all-nighter. She was very dedicated to her work, even if her work involved urban legends! Jack shook his head at the thought as he followed Dr. Harold into the freezer.

  Jack stepped up to the stainless steel table that the victim now lay upon. The wallet in the man’s pocket had identified him as Arthur Miller. Jack had checked the man out on his computer at home last night. The man was clean, no record to speak of. Arthur Miller had worked writing children’s stories and had lived all over the world. His murder would not go unnoticed and that didn’t sit easy with Jack, especially with the whole irrational vampire theory that seemed to be developing over it. It was laughable really.

  “And what did you tell me? Oh, yes. Arthur Miller was bled dry by a vampire.” Jack flashed an amused grin to Dr. Harold, who sent him a long, angry scowl in return.

  “Well, he was certainly bled dry.” She hissed. “And the only wounds that the man sustained, besides the bruising on his chest and back, attesting to the fact that he was shoved and by a great force into the wall that we found him leaning against, were the two gaping holes in his neck, just the size of incisors.” She put to Jack smartly.

  “Human incisors?” Jack cocked a dark brow curiously.

  “A bit larger actually.” Dr. Harold turned the victim’s head with the slightest bit of effort. Carefully, she pointed to the deep holes in the neck, holes about an inch or so apart. They were clean cuts, Jack thought. Whoever had done this had done it so carefully that they had not dropped even one drop of blood, at least not any that they had been able to find.

  “This makes two, Jack.” Dr. Harold told him what he already knew. Jack grunted, and looked away.

  “And no other object could have made these marks? No wild animal on the loose?” he was reaching, he knew that, but at least he wasn’t shouting vampires!

  “A wild animal would have made more of a mess, Jack. There would have been blood everywhere.” Dr. Harold made a wide circle with her arms, her hands shaped like claws. “There would have been claw marks of some kind as well.” she pointed out. Jack supposed she was right. It made sense, but if an animal hadn’t done this, then what had?

  “And no human could have done this either, I suppose?” Jack scratched at
the morning whiskers forming on his chin. He had left the apartment early, forgetting to shave after he had gotten out of the shower.

  “I don’t see how.” Dr. Harold said thoughtfully. “There would have been blood somewhere at the scene.” she was looking thoughtfully at the body when a thought occurred to Jack.

  “They moved the body! Arthur Miller wasn’t killed in that alley!” he snapped his fingers together as if he had just figured it out.

  “No, Jack.” Dr. Harold called after him in disappointment when Jack turned to leave. “There were witnesses if you will recall.” she pointed out.

  “Gang members.” Jack countered swiftly over his shoulder.

  “A young man who was scared too death and still in shock when I arrived at the scene.” she snapped fitfully.

  “Or putting on a good show.” Jack came back with as he came to the glass doors that would lead him back outside.

  “Where are you going?” Dr. Harold shouted out the door after him.

  “To question my witness.” Jack called without glancing back. Jose Gonzales knew more than he was letting on, Jack thought, and he would be damned if he let the boy off the hook that easily. This was the second murder that had happened in his jurisdiction in the last week. That was two too many.

  “I done told you, man.” Jose Gonzales slapped his short-fingered hand down on the metal table before him angrily. “I saw what I saw.” his deep brown eyes burned into Jack’s soft amber ones. Jack had a good mind to tear the boy limb to limb, to box his ears a little until the kid confessed to all, but Jose Gonzales wasn’t budging, and Jack had been interrogating him for the past hour.

  “You saw a woman?” Exhausted, Jack decided to humor the kid.

  “She was no woman, man.” Jose shook his dark, gelled head from side to side. His dark eyes were wide as if in shocked memory. “I mean, I thought she was at first, but,” he whistled beneath his breath. “She wasn’t human, man.”

  “Not human?” Jack repeated tightly as he leaned back, cradling his chin in his hand and meeting Jose’s troubled gaze. “Then what was she?”

  “I already told you. She drank his blood! What the fuck you think she was, Santa Fucking Claus?” Jose shouted in frustration.

  Jack let out a sarcastic laugh. This was unbelievable. Fed up, he lurched forward, grabbed the kid by the collar of his shirt and practically dragged the kid out of his seat. Jack leaned in close enough to glare into the kid’s alarmed eyes. “Cut the shit, kid. Right now, you’re my only suspect. Do you know what that means?”

  “You ain’t got shit. Check the alley. Check the dead guy. You won’t find my prints anywhere, man! You got no weapon, no blood on me anywhere. I ain’t done shit!” Jose shouted into Jack’s face, and Jack’s fist clenched tighter on the kid’s shirt until he realized he was choking him. Tempted to finish the job, Jack let out a frustrated growl and allowed Jose to fall back into his seat. This had clearly been a waste of time, Jack groaned. Standing, he walked to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles.

  “You can’t hold me here, man. I ain’t done nothing.” Jose called knowingly, but in a pleading voice. He was right, but Jack wasn’t going to tell him that, not yet. Instead, Jack walked out when the door opened. Thirty minutes later with much regret, he instructed a uniform to let Jose Gonzales go. Jose had been right. Jack had had nothing to hold him on, no proof, no witnesses, nothing.

  Chapter five

  One week later.

  Victim number three was found behind a bakery on Fifty-First Street Sunday evening. This time, the victim was female, showing Jack that the murderer really had no preferences other than the fact that he liked to kill under the cover of night. All three murders had been committed in the exact same manner: by brute strength, two jabbing wounds to the neck that were cleanly cut. Not a drop of blood had been spilled when Arthur Miller had been murdered which brought Jack to the same conclusion, the murder had taken place at another location, but what of the other two? What of Walter Brown, the young business man that had been murdered not three days before Arthur Miller’s body had been found? There had been blood splattered across the dingy alley walls as if it had been spray-painted there. It had been a raged kill. Anyone had been able to see that. It was the same with the body of Rita Gallenger: a bloody slaughter. Why had Miller’s murder been conducted so cleanly? Or rather, why had Arthur’s body been moved and not the others? Was it a time issue?

  Because of the writer, Arthur Miller, and the odd way the three victims had died the case was getting a lot of media coverage, and this didn’t sit well with the Commissioner. Tommy Banks, the commissioner, was under a lot of pressure to see this case closed. The Feds had been called in, much to Jack’s annoyance and Jack had been assigned a partner, a new guy that had just transferred in from Brooklyn, a detective named Tony Bordello. Jack wasn’t sure about that one yet. The man spoke in a strong Bronx accent and dressed like he was going to some fancy dinner rather than working a case.

  Sitting at Garret’s Bar and Grill with his brother and the owner, Garret Stone, that Saturday night Jack did his best to forget the case at least for those few hours he had to catch up with his older brother. They didn’t get to talk as much as they used to, Jack thought with regret. Jack was always putting in the hours at the station or on the streets and Garret was always putting in the hours here at his restaurant. The restaurant had been open for going on six years now and was gaining more and more popularity through great reviews and A-listers dining in. Jack had heard that one of those guys from that show Friends had stopped in last week. Now more and more people were piling in, hoping to see the star again. That always happened the weekend after a movie star stopped by. While that was good for Garret, the packed house was keeping Jack from being able to have a decent conversation with his brother. Garret slid back into the corner booth as Jack lowered his beer mug.

  “Sorry, Jack.” Garret swept his overly long blonde hair back away from his handsome face. His blue eyes were alight with excitement. “Jennifer Aniston just called to make reservations for next week. Can you believe that? That Perry guy must have given us a good review.” Garret grinned from ear to ear.

  “That’s great, Gar.” Jack lifted his mug once again. Fucking great, he added to himself. All he had wanted was a few minutes alone with his brother. Jack stifled the resentful feelings. He really was happy for Garret. It was just that Garret was all the family Jack had left and they didn’t seem to even have time for dinner together, rather alone any real quality time. Stop whining, Jack scolded himself as he met Garret’s happy face.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I know I’ve been busy.” Garret began sincerely, but Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  “Don’t worry about it. We can catch up some other time.” Jack replied as if it was no big deal. They hadn’t seen each other in three months though. What was another three months?

  “Things have been going well for you?” he cocked a blonde brow Garret’s way. Garret’s grin intensified if that were possible, making Jack wonder what was up.

  “I popped the question.” Garret blurted out suddenly as if he couldn‘t contain himself.

  “The question?” Jack leaned forward in near shock. Garret laughed nervously.

  “I know. I know. Sheila didn’t think I would ever get around to it. I got her the perfect little ring, diamonds and sapphires. She loves sapphires.” Garret was gushing. It was laughable. Garret never gushed! Jack grinned. He downed the rest of his beer before setting the mug aside and clapping his brother on the shoulder.

  “Congratulations. I know it was a long time in coming. You’re lucky Sheila didn’t dump your ass a long time ago.” he joked good naturedly.

  “Damned lucky.” Garret agreed. Jack grinned. If there were ever two people more right for each other than Garret and Sheila, Jack sure didn’t know them. Garret and Sheila Queens had been dating for the past two years or more. Sheila had been Garret’s downfall so to speak. Before Sheila had come along, Garret had bee
n a notorious playboy, able to get any woman he wanted with the snap of his fingers, or so it had seemed to Jack, but then Sheila had come along, and suddenly Garret had lost all eyes for anyone but her.

  “Congratulations.” Jack said again, proudly.

  “Thanks.” Garret grabbed his beer and drank up. “I wanted to tell you first, just not over the damned phone. You’d think you would eat here more, Jack. Your brother does own the place.”

  “You’d think I’d eat something besides sandwiches and crap from street venders, but God, I don’t have the time. I work all damned night and then some. So do you for that matter.” Jack groaned out.

  “We need to get together more often.” Garret acknowledged with an edge of sadness in his deep voice. Jack nodded his head in total agreement, knowing at the same time that it more and likely wouldn’t happen. Garret opened his mouth to say something more, but then someone called his name from behind them. Sheila was there. Jack gave a wave to the beautiful, petite woman with the short blonde bob, and told Garret to go on. Garret promised he would be right back, but Jack stood ready to leave, knowing that their time together as brothers and friends was over, at least for the night.

  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving just because I showed up?” Sheila called loudly over the buzzing crowd and soft music.

  “Nah. It’s late. I got work to do. Congratulations, sweetie. You finally roped my brother into marriage.” Jack said on a teasing note, and he leaned in giving Sheila a friendly peck on the cheek.

  “Roped? He practically begged me.” Sheila countered and they all chuckled in amusement. Jack was smiling when he looked up, and his heart jumped suddenly to his throat. She was there, he thought, as his amber eyes melted over the tall, beautiful woman across the room. She was standing there looking perplexed as if she were waiting for someone. She was dressed to kill in a little, sexy black dress that was sleeveless and revealed her creamy, white shoulders and more than a hint of her ample cleavage. Her hair was pulled up in a fashionable sense that drew all attention to her cleverly angled face. Jack’s hand came to his gut, suddenly feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. He had looked her up on the Internet that night after he had met her in the coffee shop a week ago. Lillian Saint Rose was a wealthy woman. Her great, great, great grandmother, her namesake, had been an artist and a famous one. Her paintings, mostly portraits, sold in the millions still today, and Lillian Saint Rose, the new one, the one standing there looking bewildered and beautiful, was an artist herself, one compared to her great, great, great grandmother, which was an honor, or so Lillian had said in the article written about her in the Smithsonian, which Jack had also found on-line. It seemed Miss Saint Rose had homes all over the world. Clearly, she was out of his league, Jack was thinking, not for the first time, when suddenly those pale blue eyes lifted to find him where he stood at the balcony peering down at her. He smiled nervously knowing that he had been caught staring. Miss Saint Rose smiled in return and before he knew what he was doing, Jack made his way down the winding stairs and right to her as if he had been pulled there by some unseen rope.