by Peter Sacco
Slowly, O’Connell held up his gun and positioned it at Winston. After cocking his arm, he took a deep breath. “Hold it right there,” he ordered.
Winston froze for a moment before turning around.
“Drop the peg, pal.”
Winston dropped the peg as he turned around. O’Connell noticed the blood on Winston’s hands and clothes.
“Get on your knees!” shouted O’Connell.
He watched him obey as two cops came into the room. O’Connell motioned the detective closest to him to cuff their man.
“Boss, you better come and see this,” snorted the other detective.
O’Connell followed the detective as the other one began reading Winston his rights. O’Connell was led into the now lit room that housed the fresh corpses of Mr. and Mrs. Haines. They were seated on the chesterfield, side by side, with iron stakes pounded through their hearts. O’Connell grimaced and shook his head in disbelief. He stormed out of the room and headed towards Winston. He kicked Winston in the ribs and Winston toppled over onto his side. O’Connell kicked him again.
“You son of a bitch, how could you do that?” yelled O’Connell. Saliva dripped from O’Connell’s bottom lip as he continued to curse him. “Why, you son of a bitch?”
Winston tried to say something.
“What did you say?”
“It was an accident,” murmured Winston.
“An accident! An accident!” exclaimed O’Connell.
Winston offered O’Connell a pathetic stare. “Where do you get the balls to call cold blooded murder an accident?”
Winston tried to compose himself. Slowly, words flowed from his lips. “I didn’t mean to kill the dog. I was still holding the stake after I used it to open the window and forgot to put it back in my coat. I heard something at the front door and as I went to the door, the dog jumped up onto the stake. I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
O’Connell glanced away and shook his head. “You know, pal, I’d love to shoot you right here. Maybe I should, and save the taxpayers all those dollars for a piece of shit like you.”
“You’re going to shoot me for killing a dog?”
“A dog? A dog! Are you in your right mind! There are two people in the room next door skewered with stakes through their hearts, and you’re worried about the damn mutt!”
Winston looked down at the ground and giggled to himself.
“You think this is funny, asshole?” shouted O’Connell.
Winston looked up at him and shook his head. “Actually I do, Officer,” he asserted with sarcasm.
“You do!” gasped O’Connell.
“They weren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to be away for the night. That’s what they told me. She knew. That bitch knew!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded O’Connell.
“She killed them,” yelled Winston.
“She? “ asked O’Connell.
“Yes, her. She’s killed them all.”
“Do you care to elaborate on that Winston before I kick your face in like a rotting pumpkin?”
“Mrs. Haines hired me to follow Simone, their tenant, around. They asked me to find out whatever I could. They have suspected she has been up to no good for some time now.”
“Why you?” asked O’Connell, waving his arms in the air.
“I’m a private investigator. I’ve got I.D. in my coat to prove it.”
One of the detectives slowly reached in to Winston’s coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. He tossed the wallet to O’Connell. He opened it. He studied Winston’s I.D.
“This doesn’t prove shit.”
“If you let me finish my story, it will.”
O’Connell nodded to Winston to finish his story.
“As I was saying, Mrs. Haines hired me to do some searching around. This came after the second to last murder. I began tailing Simone and noticed really strange stuff was going on.”
“Like what?” asked O’Connell impatiently.
O’Connell noticed the deep scar over Winston’s right eye. “Well, for starters, the hours she was keeping. Old lady Haines said she would go into her room here and literally disappear for hours.”
“That’s not surprising, she works steady nights,” added O’Connell.
“You don’t get it. She would disappear in the room. Haines, being a snoop, said she watched to see if Simone went out the window, but she did not. So she unlocked the door and went snooping through her rooms. She was nowhere to be found. Later that night, doesn’t she come walking out? Furthermore, Haines says she has seen shirts with blood on them. She saw them when Simone had the door open one night. She only sees Simone after dark, and sometimes early morning before the sun comes up. And the night of the last killing, old lady Haines claimed she saw Simone just after four a.m., and when she went to ask her if she was all right, the door was slammed in her face before she could get a word in edge-wise. Haines tried the door to see if Simone locked it, and after she had grasped the locked door, she pulled her hand away with blood on the palm.”
“And what did Mr. Haines think?” asked O’Connell.
“He thought she was imagining things. She has been paying me without him knowing anything about it.”
O’Connell methodically rubbed his temples with both hands before clearing his throat. “So what the hell are you doing here with the damn stakes?”
Winston glanced up at O’Connell and glared at him until their eyes meet. “She’s a vampire.”
O’Connell shook his head, and the two detectives looked away in disbelief.”You want me to believe that Simone is a vampire? You are here on a vampire hunt? A damn witch hunt!” yelled O’Connell.
“Yes, that about sums up my being here,” sighed Winston.
O’Connell gritted his teeth and bent down until he is in Winston’s face. “Listen, asshole. I’ve got two dead bodies in the other room with iron stakes through their hearts. The stakes are the same kind as the ones my men took from your car. You’re telling me about vampires, and there are two people who have just been murdered.”
“I didn’t kill them. You’ve got to believe me. She knew I was on to her and she knew I was...”
“Now what are you trying to concoct?” asked O’Connell sarcastically.
“How did you know I was going to be here?” asked Winston.
“We have been following you, “ answered O’Connell.
“How did you know to follow me?”
“Simone gave us a detailed description.”
“And you’ve been following me all night?”
“From the Pot Of Gold to here.”
“If you’ve been right on my tail, how the hell did I have enough time to get into the house and kill both of the Haines and their dog, and shred this room apart? “
One of the detectives tapped O’Connell on the shoulder.” The ambulance and forensics is on the way, but from what we can make of it, those bodies have been sitting for some time.”
Winston nodded agreeably.
“How do we know you didn’t come here earlier, and come back now to finish the job?”
Winston shook his head impatiently. One of the detectives returned to the room holding the stake Winston was forced to drop. “It’s a match,” said the detective.
“How the hell would she get the exact same stakes you were using?” asked O’Connell.
“I told you. She must have been on to me for some time.”
“And you came here to kill her?” asked O’Connell.
“I came here to find her coffin.”
“Premeditated murder,” sighed O’Connell, “Doesn’t get any better.”
O’Connell looked away to regain his composure. He didn’t know whether to chuckle or swear.
>
“I am telling you the truth, for God’s sake. The coffin is here somewhere,” grunted Winston.
One of the detectives examined the wall where Winston was pounding.
“Listen to yourself. Do you know how stupid you sound?” asked O’Connell.
“I know if I were you, I wouldn’t’ believe me.”
“How long have you been stalking Simone?” asked O’Connell.
“I haven’t been stalking her. I’ve been...”
The detective examining the wall interrupted them. “You better come and look at this boss.”
O’Connell and the other detective moved toward the wall keeping a careful eye on Winston. The first detective placed his hand into the hole in the wall and forcefully tugged on something. A loud thud brought the corner of a large pine box through the wall. O’Connell and the other detective sprang back in surprise. The box was forced through the hole and placed before them. Finally, O’Connell nodded to the detective to open the box. The detective slowly proceeded to pry the lid off the box.
O’Connell glanced at Winston, observing the intensity in his eyes. O’Connell noticed the pine box was almost a good six feet in length. Winston struggled to his knees to peer inside the box. O’Connell looked at Winston and then to the box. O’Connell reached in to the empty box and removed an envelope. Before opening it, he stared at Winston and sighed. He read the note aloud.
Dear Detective O’Connell and Mr. Winston.
Is it not funny how fate has brought two strangers such as yourselves together? I am very certain each of you loves his profession because of the chase. You are both predators who derive great pride and satisfaction in stalking your prey. It is all truly a game within a game. Mr. Winston was stalking me. Detective O’Connell was stalking him. And all along I was stalking both of you. I needed a fall guy for my blood lusting habit and I thought Mr. Winston would be the perfect candidate because he is so naive. Don’t ask me why, but I am letting Mr. Winston off the hook or for that matter, off the stake for being a good sport. By letting him rot in jail for my work, he would receive all the glory, but that’s not fair.
Men have been receiving glory way too long. The thought of him being tormented the rest of his life being locked up in jail was very appealing. It even made me moist. However, if I let that happen, good ole O’Connell would be named hero and we wouldn’t want that, would we? Surprised O’Connell? Bet you’re dumping a load in your shorts right about now. Please do not confuse my appetite for blood as paramount for my appetite for the game. The two are exclusive of one another even though they appear to overlap. You see, I was once a murder statistic found drained of my blood in an alley five years ago. Because I was a prostitute, I was treated like a piece of shit by the police and they found more important business to tend to. I believe you were the dumb ass cop assigned to my case, O’Connell. Remember, I was the stupid slut in the wrong place at the wrong time? Well, I guess you can say I moved up in the world from hunted to hunter. I reckon I am a statistic filed away as an unsolved murder. Tell me O’Connell, do you think the police force involved five years ago would have believed my killer to be a vampire? Would they have believed, along with your current force that most disappearances are the result of vampires? There you have it! We really are pains in the neck, are we not? By the way, did you like the way
I changed my method after killing the first seven? Perhaps it was a combination of keeping you on your toes and my anger toward you bumbling twits. This should be interesting listening to the police force of Tarrenwall explain the murders as committed by a vampire. Do you really have the balls O’Connell? As for myself, I have decided to blow this restaurant and move into another city and start a fresh diet. I never like to overstay my welcome in one place because populations do get leached of their nutrients much like rain forests. I feel I have reminisced enough. The one thing we will always share is our need to stalk. And speaking of stalking, I’ve been doing a little of my own. I lied when I said we have one thing in common. Actually, we now have two…Your wives!
Chapter Three
Man’s Best Friend
The corridor is quiet as Dr. Jeffrey Howard drops his head into his hands, which are propped upon his knees. The sleeves from his forest green sports coat flops down toward his elbows. He breathes a deep sigh then slowly releases it. He takes in another breath of air, this time forcing it out of pursed lips upward, as his remaining locks of hair, the remaining ruins of a once great civilization of hair, teeter in the breeze. Howard forces his head up and grimaces in discomfort. The lines around his forty-three year old eyes are further defined by their accompanying bags, swollen like knackwursts on a BBQ. Howard notices a wrinkle fold in the sleeve of his coat and tries straightening it with his fingers. The crease straightens for a moment, but pops back into place. He snickers to himself as he lets out another sigh.
The silence in the corridor is broken by heavy footsteps and screaming accusations. Howard looks up at Detective Ramsey, a very calm and collected cop in his late forties. Ramsey is wearing one of those less-than- attractive, conservative brown suits that cops often wear. He swore they were issued as uniform. Before Howard could finish that thought, he is almost poked in the eye with a finger, by a good looking male wearing a tuxedo. The man has is hair greased back with gel. Any more gel and Jiffy won’t have anything to pop its kernels with, Howard thought. Frank Morro never leaves home without a good dousing of gel in that rat’s ass of a nest. He is a man in his late thirties thinking he is still part of some teeny bopper crowd. Howard can’t stand him. Never could. Was it the fact he was so good looking which made him so hate able? Was it that damn canyon of a cleft he had in his chin? The kind that looks like an asshole squeezed between two cheeks, the catchment area for spaghetti sauce. Or perhaps, it was the fact that he had worked with Howard’s wife and they were a little too close to one another in more ways than one.
“He killed her! The bastard killed her! I know it!” screams Morro.
Morro tries to get at Howard but is restrained by the detective.
“Will you cool it?” barks Ramsey.
Ramsey tries to push Morro into a seat opposite Howard. Howard stares at him and shakes his head in disgust. Morro almost bolts out of the seat, but is quickly restrained by Ramsey. “What the hell are you going to do about it?” growls Morro.
Ramsey looks at both of them for a moment and clears his throat. “We’re checking out his story.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You can’t be serious,” Morro pleads.
“We’re doing the best we can. We’ve got your story, Mr. Morro. Now we need the other version.”
“Check my shorts! You’ve gotta be kidding me! You’re going to actually take the word of a mongrel?” Morro cries.
A uniformed cop comes into the corridor and whispers into Ramsey’s ear. Ramsey nods his head and the cop disappears back through the door. “Mr. Howard, you had better come with me. There are some other people who would like to talk to you.”
Howard looks up at Ramsey and then struggles to stand. He is very complacent and shows no feeling.
“Bear with me, Mr. Howard, it won’t be much longer. I know there are other places you’d rather be right now.”
Howard nods his head in agreement. He will co-operate with Ramsey and the police force. As he follows Ramsey down the corridor, he can hear the selection of obscenities Morro continues to send his way. Morro reminds him of a wolf in heat. He fights back the urge to show any emotion.
***
Howard was married for three years prior to this evening. He was in the top of the class coming out of Harvard Medical School and from there his life just seemed to snowball toward greater success. Perhaps the greatest success in his life was his Language Interpretation Decoder. It had taken Howard years to perfect, but he did it. It was the first of its kind. Any language on the face of this planet, a
nd perhaps others, could be interpreted and the English translation would appear on the small keyboard for the reader. As a neurolinguist, Howard had revolutionized both the world of speech pathology and business. The money made from this invention was countless. He was a millionaire a multitude of times over. Yet, Howard did not see this as the greatest success in his life. If you asked him, it was marrying his wife Sue three years earlier. He was in love at first sight. She was a vision sobering to his tired eyes. A fragrance to his captive nostrils. And the piece of the puzzle he always felt he had lacked in his life. She was his dream girl.
Sue was ten years his junior. Her deepest cornflower blue eyes lit his soul on fire. Her long, blond curly locks tickled his fancy whenever he ran his fingers through them. And her sensuous full lips sent goose bumps throughout his body whenever she kissed him. Boy, could she kiss! She could take the rust off the chrome bumper of a fifty-five Chevy with those lips.
The first year of their marriage had been like a fairy tale for him. He spent so much time with her, he started to feel he might actually suffocate her. Even though he did lack the empathetic skills most men lack around women any way, he sensed it was time to back off somewhat and give her a little more space. Sue stated on several occasion she had wanted to go back her old profession of financial consultant. She had been taking care of her husband’s finances, but asserted on many occasion it wasn’t challenging enough.
During the second year of their marriage, Sue left the nest and re-entered the corporate world of finance to satiate her hunger. She interviewed with several of the best consulting groups in the area, but settled for one spearheaded by a late thirties zesty Italian stud named Frank Morro. At first, she couldn’t really stand the grease-ball. Perhaps she was only fooling herself believing this. It was like one of those master-slave relationships or love-hate relationships. She loved to hate him because she was his slave to lust. Great sex was always lacking in her marriage, and Morro looked like he could deliver. Sure he was a talker, his own legend of sexual conquests, the ladle that stirs the pot. However, there was something there.