by Matt Doyle
My mind is screaming something at me, but I’m still too hazy to make it out. I’m missing something. Something important.
Donal rights himself and takes a swipe at the vamp’s shoulder, then swings his other arm across to grab him by the mask when he tries to dodge.
My head finally clears just as the vamp aims his fangs directly at Donal’s eyes and alters the pattern of the flashing. “Ain’t gonna work anymore, ya little bastard,” Donal grunts, and smashes a metal-coated fist into them, shattering the glass. “You’re coming with…”
Suddenly, everything falls apart.
The fear comes back, and I’m sent tumbling to the floor again as a new wave of dizziness hits. All around me, the shadows are moving, twisting into the familiar shapes of people, pointing and watching. Worst of all, it’s hit Donal too. The big Irishman has released the vampire and dropped to his knees, his body spasming as he coughs up bile that sticks to and hangs from his razor-sharp teeth.
I can hear my voice muttering incoherently as I desperately fumble for the Glock. Before I know it, there’s the familiar sensation of a gloved hand wrapping around my throat and forcing me face down to the floor. “There’s no light,” I moan and close my eyes.
Crack.
The hand slips from my throat, and I roll over to see the vampire spin and flail an arm across his head, swiping Bert out of the air and sending him crashing into a nearby crate. My head starts to clear again, and my hand finally finds the Glock, just as an enraged Donal O’Brien lunges at our foe. The vampire sidesteps and I take aim, but he moves quicker, leaping into the air. A loud pop echoes around the room, followed by a crunch, and the vampire seems to push off the air to get height. Another pop and crunch, and he sails higher still, breaking through a window at the opposite end of the room.
I collapse to the floor, breathing heavily, and ask out loud. “You okay, Bert?”
“Caw,” he replies, hopping down from the crate he’d landed in. Or through. Looking over at him, I notice his left wing has snapped in two. And the remnant is dragging behind him in his hand.
“Thanks for the concern,” Donal says, offering me a hand. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
“Well, that went well,” I grumble. “What now?”
“Now, we get the rest of the team in here and see if we can salvage anything useful from this mess.”
HANSON AND DEVEREAUX are on the scene within twenty minutes, which is a testament to either there being a low volume of traffic tonight, or to whichever one of them was the driver knowing the best routes. “No Hoove?” I ask.
“He’s sticking back for now,” Devereaux replies. “He said that if any more attacks come through, he’d rather someone in the know was at the station to handle it.”
“So, what have we got?” Hanson cuts in, making her way back into the room. “Donal said the eye covering didn’t work?”
“It did,” I say. “At first at least. Come to think of it, Donal smashed the guy’s fangs. There’s no way the light caused the second wave.”
“Could they have had an accomplice?” Devereaux tries. “Maybe someone else shone the light at you the second time?”
I shake my head. “I’d have noticed it. Plus, the glass worked for Donal at first. If there was someone else using the same equipment, even if it was in a different way, it shouldn’t have hit him like that. This was different, anyway.”
“Different how?” Hanson asks, inspecting a cracked indentation that’s appeared in the floor.
“The dizziness was similar, and the fear was the same. I didn’t feel sick this time, though. There were some…hallucinations.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “It’s kinda hazy. But the crates all sorta twisted into people. They were just standing there, watching, but it was freaky.”
Footsteps from the door cause us all to turn, and we see Donal O’Brien entering the room. He’s changed out of the TS gear and is now in a more comfortable looking pair of tracksuit bottoms and a vest top. Hanson smiles and says, “Cassie says the glass worked against the lights.”
“Not the second time, it didn’t.”
“There was no light the second time,” I reiterate.
“There had to be something,” he grumbles. “What’ve ya got there, Hanson?”
“Remember how you said the LV flew out the window? I think I’ve figured out how. Hold on.” Hanson runs her fingers over the indentation in the floor, and asks, “Did he seem unusually tall at all? Or did he look like he had lifts in his boots?”
“Can’t say I was paying attention,” Donal replies.
“He was shorter than Donal in his gear,” I say. “But taller than me.”
“Hmmm,” Hanson mumbles and starts searching to her left. She picks up a piece of twisted metal from the floor and waves it at us. “He did the flying thing twice, right?”
“He wasn’t really flying,” I clarify. “It was more like he was jumping in the air.”
Hanson nods and makes her way across the room, pulling a torch from her belt to provide some extra light. She finds a second indent nearer the window that was used for the escape and soon has another piece of twisted metal in her hand. She nods at Donal and asks, “That compressed air upgrade you were trying to get funded? The one to give you extra height and speed when you jump? I think he used a similar system. These would have been on the base of his boots. Once he was as high as he could go, he’d have launched them at the floor, probably with a release of air. The force and the reduction in weight would have given him a boost, mid-jump.”
I take one of the pieces of metal and turn it over in my hands. “This would have only added a couple of inches to his height, so I doubt we’d have noticed lifts if we were looking. It doesn’t feel like much of a weight reduction either.”
“The boots would have needed a release system too,” Hanson replies. “Having them anywhere other than the sole of the foot would risk it snapping upwards during use, so you can probably add a few more inches for that. In other words, he has tech-filled platforms. Oh, and the compressed air would play into the weight reduction too. Old style scuba tanks contained three kilograms of air. We can compress three or four times that into smaller air boxes now. Release it all in one go, and you’d get quite a kick. He must do some killer legwork to haul that around, though.”
“That would explain the sound,” I say, still studying the metal intently.
Devereaux frowns. “Sound?”
“Like a pop, and a smack. The air release, and the metal hitting the ground.”
“Makes sense,” Donal replies. “Is Shift Source Ltd still the only one working on the system?”
“Dunno,” Hanson shrugs. “We can always check with Dean Hollister. He likes to keep an eye on competitors, so he’d know if anyone else could do it. And if not, we’ll check his sales.”
“Or have a suspect,” Devereaux adds.
Hanson shrugs again.
I feel a slight pull on my leg as Bert starts to clamber up me to perch on my shoulder. I’ve got the folded remains of his wing tucked into my trousers so that he can move about a bit easier, which seemed to make him happy. He’s been rummaging around the crate he hit since the others got here, though, and once he gets himself comfortable I learn why. He drops something from his beak, and I barely catch it in time.
“Bring your torch over here,” I say, and Hanson does so. Bert has given me a thick, pointy lump of something. It feels like heavyweight plastic in my hand, and it’s pitch black, like the LV’s helmet.
“Is that one of its ear things?” Donal asks.
“Could be,” I say. “Looks pretty damaged. Think we can get anything from it?”
“We could try to check if it really is receiving the tracker signals,” Devereaux suggests, taking it from my hand. “Even if we can’t get it working properly, if the insides are at least recognisable, we could trace its use through the different parts.”
“Thanks, Bert,” I say, and he clicks contentedly in my ear. I
look up at the rest of the team and add, “Sorry to have to do this, but I better head home. Even without this, my kitchen is still flooded. I’m gonna need to sort that.”
“Yeah, it did look a state,” Donal chuckles.
“It’s fine,” Devereaux replies. “We can finish up here, eh?”
“Sure,” Hanson says, and nods at Donal. “You should go rest too. We’re gonna need you at your best if we get another shot at this guy.”
Donal nods his agreement and follows me out of the building. He winks as he walks by and says, “See? Time alone together for the lovebirds,” then trots off towards the van.
I shake my head, a bemused smile on my face, and make my way back to the apartment block. Mr. Thorne greets me at the main entrance. “Ah, good. He found you then. He was scratching at the door when I came back down, and since I’d seen you leaving through one of the windows, I thought I should let him out. He’d only use the window otherwise.”
I smile. “He would, that. Thank you, Mr. Thorne. Say thanks, Bert.”
“Caw.”
“You’re very welcome,” he replies. “If you need any help cleaning up the water, let me know.”
“We should be fine, but thanks again,” I say, and head for the elevator. Once we’re back home, I shut the door and put Bert’s broken wing on the work desk.
“Computer, open server six, primary folder case files, subfolder Orlok, subfolder personal notes. Open file notes. Activate dictation.”
“Dictation activated, please confirm text.”
I grab the towel and start mopping up the remaining water, as I speak. “The glass covering protected Donal from the light, confirming the theory about how the attacker carries out their attacks. The second wave had no clear indicator of source. It did cease after Bert intervened, though, so it obviously requires some form of direct involvement from the attacker. It’s interesting that the technology used to allow him to jump is potentially Shift Source Limited produced. More interesting is that Hanson didn’t seem convinced Dean Hollister is a potential suspect. I wonder why she’s against that as a possibility. End dictation and save.”
“File saved.”
I’ll have to take Bert in for repairs tomorrow. I could try getting him in tonight…no. Right now, I feel better having him around.
Chapter Five
I OPEN MY eyes in a darkened room.
A single light bulb swings freely on a chain, and the gentle clink-clink of the movement is the only sound I can hear. I try to say something but find that my mouth has been gagged with what feels like an old rag. Not one to be so easily silenced, I lift my hands to remove it, but I can’t. My hands have been forced into a prayer position and bound with something. It only takes me a moment to notice the weight on my wrists and hear the metallic clunking going on around me, not to mention how the light is swaying a little more than before.
Concentrating, I start pulling my arms back and forth until I start to fall off balance. Feeling the pressure below, I plant my feet solidly on the floor and lean back, maintaining my seated position but yanking my arms towards me until the bulb starts to swing more freely. The light intermittently catches where I want it to and confirms a few things for me. First, my feet are chained together. Second, my hands have been bound with several layers of electrical tape, and also wrapped in a chain, the length of which runs under the one attached to my feet, and up towards the swinging light bulb.
A few more test pulls show there’s something stopping me from yanking the chained light free. It also means that if I get to my feet, I won’t have enough chain to stand up straight.
Well, that’s inconvenient. Okay, Cassie, let’s sort out that gag.
I snap my mouth and grind my teeth against the fabric, trying to bite my way through, but I can’t tell whether I’m making any real headway. All thoughts of persistence cease when I spot something in the shadows ahead. I concentrate in front of me and gently pull my arms like I’m threading rope through a loop above my head. The bulb starts to swing and, as the light hits where I’m staring, my blood runs cold.
The Light Vamp is standing in the room, his head angled towards me. The swaying light intermittently reflects off the blackened visor that covers his face, and I catch sight of the two ear-like protrusions on the side of the helmet, and the number 49 printed on his forehead. At the base of the helmet, the shattered remains of his fangs look almost menacing. Rather than the pitiful mess of mangled of lighting they are, they seem like war wounds; scars of a battle that neither of us truly won.
The light bulb starts to glow a little brighter, giving me flashes of the LV’s body. Without the cloak, the shiny skintight bodysuit he’s wearing is clearly visible. No, wait. Make that she’s wearing. This vamp is female. With the cloak no longer masking her form, I can see the heavy bracing running up over her thick boots and snaking up a pair of muscular thighs. The strapping stops at her waist, taking on the appearance of a belt, sitting snugly above her hips. Her arms feature a similar strapping, snaking out the back of thick gloves built to extend the fingers like claws. Her body looks as if it’s covered in panels, likely to provide protection, both to her and the tech she’s using.
I don’t have time to think.
The vampire rattles her nails together, and all of a sudden, the room is full of sound. I start pulling my arm chain to the side, and the bulb swings wildly. As the light illuminates the sides of the room, I see rows of dogs, each a pitch-black Doberman, chained to the walls. They struggle against their collars, howling and barking as though they’re in pain.
A shadow moves across me and I look up.
The vampire is now right in front of me, looming over me like a lion that has finally captured its prey.
She lunges.
I SIT UP in bed, panting heavily as cold sweat pours down my face. Even as realisation slides into place, I pull my hand up to my face and rub at my eyes, trying to tear the images away.
Over the years, I’ve learned to pay attention to my dreams when it comes to cases. Often, what my waking mind can’t see, my subconscious can show me in my sleep. The problem here is that it may not apply. I’ve seen the LV as a movie monster from the get-go, and last night’s confrontation certainly didn’t help dispel that.
“And what do movie monsters give you?” I grumble to myself. “Nightmares.”
But why was the vamp in my dream female? We already established that the attacker was male.
I shake my head and push my hair back out of my face. Determined not to let the fear get the better of me, I haul myself out of bed and shower quickly, then cook up a couple of sausages to shove between some over-buttered slices of bread for breakfast. Once I’ve eaten, I call Familiar Enterprises Limited and arrange to drop Bert in for repairs, giving a brief description of the damage, but nothing more. I’ll go through the security issues when I get there.
Looking at the time, it’s not quite late enough that I can guarantee everyone else being at the station yet. Now, whose number do I have who likely won’t be rolling in for the early shift? I smile, and say, “Computer, activate speaker phone and dial Lieutenant Hanson, Mobile Number.”
“Please wait…”
I take another mouthful of greasy goodness—the only reason I’m using the speaker system rather than my actual cell phone right now—and wait. After a few seconds, the ringing gives way to a bemused sounding Hanson. “Someone’s eager this morning.” She laughs, then adds, slightly muffled, “Not you.”
“Busy?” I ask.
“Nah, it’s just Dev mucking around.”
I smile to myself, and reply, “I was gonna see if you were up to a quick trip, but I feel bad asking now.”
“Nah, don’t feel bad. I’ve got a slightly later start today anyway. Plus, I’m way better company than any of the local cab drivers.”
“You’ll get no arguments there.”
“Yup. And you can just come straight out and ask for a ride. We’re partners on this case, and after last night, it m
akes sense that we all stick close. Where did you need to go?”
“The FE Limited building. Bert’s gonna need some repairs, and I’m gonna have to explain a few things to them. Shouldn’t take too long, but if it’s gonna be too far out of the way, just say, and I’ll harass the cab companies.”
“Sounds fine to me. I’ll drop Dev at the station then swing by yours. Think you can be ready in about an hour?”
“Absolutely. Thanks, Hanson.”
“No problem. See you in a bit.”
Hanson hangs up and I can’t help but smile again. “I guess Donal was right.”
I tap my fingers on the table. “An hour… I guess that’s enough time to file my report.”
“SO. DEV, HUH?” I say, pulling myself into the front seat of Lieutenant Hanson’s car. Bert is strapped into one of the backseats in power down mode, ready for his wing reattachment.
She laughs, checks the road, and pulls out. “No judging, you. If you can date clients, I can date colleagues.”
“True enough. It surprised me, is all. He seems so innocent.”
“And you’re saying I’m not?” She smirks, knowing full well I won’t buy that.
“Three words. Black Widow tattoo.”
“I’ll have you know Suzy Spindle Legs is a classy lady.”
“Classy? What was it you told me? That they used to call you the Black Widow in college because nobody who dated you was emotionally able to date anyone else after you were done with them? That you’d essentially killed everyone’s chances with them? Oh, and let’s not forget you got the tattoo while drunk because you were proud of the achievement.”
Hanson laughs and replies, “Okay, one, I was young. Two, I’m sure my exes are all fine now. Mostly. Three, the art is fucking good. And four, Dev happens to find that story funny. Besides, he’s sweet. That’s fun to dick with.”
“Poor Corporal Devereaux…” I say, shaking my head.
“I had a similar thought about you when I saw you in Tourniquet. Didn’t seem like your normal sort of haunt.”
I shrug. “Not really, but that was more due to my own misconceptions than anything. Nice people.”