Beside The Dying Fire 312h1m

BESIDE THE DYING FIRE

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KELLY WATTS

Table of Contents

Title Page

Beside The Dying Fire

Chapter One “We need a little help on this one.” His best friend in the world, Phillip James, was asking for a favor. This wasn’t the first time that Marcus had come asking. Phillip knew that when the regular Chicago Police Department methods failed, Martin McAndrews was the man to turn to. Just not this time. “Phil, you know I’m not in that business anymore.” His friend sipped at the glass of cognac Martin had offered him, and they sat in silence for a few long minutes at the patio table. Martin had only purchased this condo last week, and he’d only had time to outfit it with the most basic furniture. The patio set had come with him from his last place, a modest estate home near Lincoln Park. Phillip was an athletic sort of man, always jogging or working out at the gym. He was taller than Martin, and his muscles bulged under his dress shirt. Detectives didn’t wear uniforms. Of course, in Martin’s experience, the simple off-the-rack suits they did wear marked them as police officers just as surely as anything else. So did Phillip’s short black hair, swept neatly to one side, and his clean-shaven face. In comparison, Martin was slender like a reed. His light brown hair, nearly blonde in the sunlight, was unkempt in that way that Bradley Cooper carried so well. He wore jeans and a simple black t-shirt today. Tomorrow it might be a business suit, or khakis with a button-up, as the mood suited him. The thing of it was, his appearance fooled most people. Yes, he was handsome, and yes he would never win any beach-body contests, but he was whipcord strong and agile, and when that was coupled with his levels of intelligence and experience, he was downright deadly. Phillip had challenged him a few times in a no-holds-barred fight, just for fun. The second time had ended with Martin giving him a broken finger. It earned them a mutual respect and started a life-long friendship.

Of course, all of that had happened before last year’s incident on the banks of the Chicago River. Three men dead. One woman in a medically induced coma. Martin had given up his freelancing after that. All of this was information that Phillip knew. Which made Martin wonder, because if his friend thought it was important enough to ask when he knew the answer was likely to be no, the circumstances had to be serious. “Okay, forget the Department,” Phillip said to him, setting down his heavy glass and rocking it back and forth between his palms. “I’m asking you for this favor. I need your help.” “You know my answer.” Martin smiled when he said it and sipped at his brandy. “Now, if you’d like to play me in a game of chess, I’d be happy to get the board out.” “Marty. People are dying.” So it was that serious. He knew because Phillip never called him Marty. Ever. “There are always people dying, Phil. Death is easy to find. Good chess players are not.” “Sure, people die every day.” Phillip bent down to pick up the manila envelope off the tiled patio floor. The breeze here at the top floor of the condo was warm and insistent this morning, and the envelope flapped in Phillip’s hand. “But not like this.” Martin accepted the envelope and weighed it in his hand. When he opened it, a dozen or more crime scene photos slipped out, along with a multiple page report. The report was pretty standard stuff. Dry, and devoid of any real information that couldn’t be boiled down to dry facts. The pictures were another matter entirely. The first one pictured a young man, pretty in that metrosexual way that was favored by a lot of university students. He was naked, his white skin streaked with parallel red lines like someone had bathed their hands in blood and then dragged their fingertips across his chest and legs and more intimate parts. Four holes at the side of his neck were open wounds right at the line of his jugular vein.

The next photo was the head shot of a black male, around the same age, with the same four puncture marks at the side of his neck, and dark red liquid dried across his flesh. Martin leafed through the rest of them. All men, all naked, all with their blood leaking out from puncture wounds to the neck. One of the last photos showed the male victim still erect, his penis swollen and purple. Now that was a visual image Martin didn’t need in his brain. “How long?” he asked. Phillip looked up from the neat row of photos laid out across the glass-topped table and held in place by the cognac bottle and the flower pot and whatever else Martin had found at hand. “How long? I don’t understand.” He turned the photo of the aroused dead man around to show Phillip. “How long does the erection last?” A grimace crossed the Chicago detective’s face. “A few of the victims are like that still, in their body bags in the morgue. It’s, uh, disturbing to see.” “I’ll bet.” Martin flipped to the last photo. This one was a woman. The only one in the group. Naked, like the others. Same holes in her neck. Blood streaked across her tight abs and round hips and perfect breasts left there by a maniacal finger painter. “That’s Missy Abrams,” Phillip said. “Only female victim so far. ‘Course, it’s harder to tell if she died in a state of sexual arousal.” Martin set down the photo and pointed to it with one finger. “No, it’s not. Look at her breasts. She’s either freezing cold, or someone had her going pretty good to be that, um, peaked.” Phillip turned the photo of Missy Abrams around. “You’re right. I didn’t even notice.” “You need to get out more.”

“Funny.” Taking his glass of cognac back again, Phillip drained it. “This is what we’re up against. All of these victims, all killed the same way, within a three week period of time like it says in the report. The media got hold of this, Martin. A serial killer in Chicago. You know how long it’s been since we’ve had a serial killer in Chicago?” “John Wayne Gacy,” Martin answered without hesitation. “1994. At least, as far as we know. Some of these don’t come to light for a decade or later.” “Well, we know about this one now. This is our latest serial killer. They’re calling him the Vampire Killer.” “How creative,” Martin said. He knew he should not take this case. He knew that no matter what he did, this would turn out badly. For him, and for those involved. All his life, Martin had lived two steps ahead of Death. He’d flirted with Death, and romanced Death, and ultimately spun away before Death could catch more than a fleeting kiss. Then last year, Death had tried to take him again. When he lived, a woman died in his place. A woman that he was very much in love with. He should not take any more cases like this. But his friend was asking, and he was intrigued. Not to mention he was probably the only one who knew where to find the killer. Reaching across the table, he held his hand out for Phillip to shake. “Guess our chess game will have to wait. I have a murderer to catch.” Chapter Two Most people wouldn’t have been able to put together the clues the way he did. Hell, Martin said to himself, all of Chicago PD probably missed the clues entirely. It all went back to the state of sexual arousal the victims had been found in. Not just naked, but ready for sex. Possibly, they died in the act. Hard to say, but add in the fact that all of the victims were young, and found within a two block radius of a street well known for its illegal activity, and the answer became

simple as far as Martin was concerned. The murderer was a street walker. An escort. A hooker. A woman selling her body to anyone who had the money to enjoy an hour or two of physical pleasure. A high-end hooker too, judging by the clean-cut look of the victims. The murderer had removed the clothes, but she hadn’t bothered to hide the stylish haircuts, or the manicured nails on both male and female victims. The hooker was most likely a woman, too, since most of the victims were men. Apparently, she accepted female clients, too. Fewer of those around Chicago than a person might think. That part was simple. What Martin could not figure out—yet—was what weapons he was using to kill her victims. The puncture wounds were too perfectly spaced to be random stabs of a pen or other cylindrical object. They had to have been all inflicted at the same time. All four of them. He was confident that the answer would come to him in time. For now, the question was how to find a high-class hooker without scaring them off? Can’t go in and flash a badge. Can’t go around asking questions, because then you still look just like a cop. No. Only one way to approach this particular problem. Become bait. Walking the ten blocks of Prairie Street between 47th and 57th street, Martin managed to get a lot of looks from a lot of women who were obviously looking for an easy score in the early evening of this late summer night. Martin was easy on the eyes, and he’d affected that shy sort of look that women preferred in their men. It meant he wouldn’t be rough. He wouldn’t look for too much. Hell, maybe he was even a virgin. He was not a virgin, of course, but the prostitutes looking at him saw a man they could take money from, screw for half an hour, and then turn out again so they could take on another client. The more they worked themselves during the night, the more they made. It was simple math, really. His expression was meant to attract a different kind of predator, though. It was meant to lure in a woman who saw an easy mark to murder.

As he walked, he calculated the gaze of every streetwalker. All of them were dressed to show off their breasts, their legs, their hips. Each of them was sizing him up in turn. Not that one, he thought. Too old. Not that one, because she looked too innocent. College boys wouldn’t be looking for innocent. They’d want experience... A woman stepped out in front of him, her flame red hair flowing around her bare shoulders. She was wearing a white tank top but there was nothing underneath it and the dark circles at the tips of her breasts were plainly visible against the tight fabric. Her miniskirt was pleated and flared with each of her steps. In her jade eyes, Martin could see a predatory glow that said she was looking to chew him up, and spit him out. And maybe bleed him dry. It was a good place to start. “Um, hi,” he said, feeding insecurity into his voice. “I was looking...” “For a good time?” she asked, arching one perfect eyebrow. Then she laughed, and the sound rippled over Martin’s senses. Damn, this woman was beautiful. Bold, too, if she was willing to just walk right up to her potential johns. “Honey, I’ve heard it all before. Come with me.” She took him by the wrist and led him up the street. They were very nearly the same height, he noticed, which made her exceptionally tall for a woman. Most of that height had gone into her shapely, toned legs, and he couldn’t help but watch the way they moved as she pulled him right to the open door of a dumpy brownstone apartment building. “Here,” she said, leading him inside and down a hallway and up a set of stairs. “My place is in here.” “Uh, we don’t have to discuss prices for—” She whirled on him, and her eyes bored into his soul. “I set the prices. You pay. I know what you want. I know how to make you feel like you’ve died and gone to Heaven. Shut up, and let me conduct this ride.” It was in that moment that Martin was sure, this was the Vampire Killer. Prostitutes were always interested in their money. They never gave anything

away for free because this was their job. It would be like a carpenter building a house and only afterward saying let’s talk about what the price should be. That just didn’t happen. No, everything fit. Her demeanor, her location, He’d found his killer. Now he just had to prove it. This was going to be the fun part. Her apartment door was the second on the right and by the time they had gotten that far she was already undressing him, planting her full red lips against his cheek, and the rim of his ear, and the long slope of his neck. She licked him as she thrust her key in the lock. She pushed the door open as she undid his pants and felt inside to find him already growing stiff. It was a normal human reaction, Martin told himself. There was no way any man could have this being done to him and not raise his flag. He knew he had to stay focused but it was very hard to do with the tang of her perfume in his nose and his pants down to his knees and her one hand cupping his sack while the other stroked him harder. She knelt down in front of him, and when she did, Martin tensed. The redhead stopped, and then she laughed again in that same way. “Oh, honey, relax. You’ll like this. I promise.” Her mouth was warm and wet as it slid down over his tip. She kept her lips tight, and pushed hard, and it was like the first stroke into a girl on her wedding night. Martin lost his balance. He had to hold onto her shoulders for leverage. He could feel it when she smiled around the base of his member. Then slowly, so slowly, she pulled herself up, and up, and over the head of his erection, slobbering her tongue around him like an ice cream cone before she was done. He pulsed, and she gripped him hard. “No,” she ordered him. “Not yet. You and I are going to go all night. You will not give up that easy. Understand?” “All night?” Martin wondered if he’d made a mistake and this was not the Vampire Killer. Wouldn’t she want to get him done quickly, hide his body, erase

the evidence? “If this wasn’t her, then he needed to go scout some other prospects. He could always come back to this one. Pun intended. “I’m, er, not sure I have the cash on me for that,” Martin started to say, hoping that would get him excused from her apartment like a shot. Instead, she stood up, and grabbed him by his tight balls, and goose walked him backward through another door, into her bedroom. Martin fell over backward onto soft pillows and overstuffed comforters, and then the redhead was on him like a wildcat, all arms and legs and teeth and tongue and then...and then... And then. Hayley rested her naked body over his, sliding against him in perfect unison, in a rhythm that they had worked out after years of practice. They were one mind when it came to sex, each of them knowing what the other wanted, each of them happy to give as hard as they got. In the middle of everything, Martin asked a simple question. “What if the plan goes wrong?” “Honey,” she said to him. “We’ve done this a million times before. What could go wrong?” The answer came the next day, when the killer they were hunting took one last victim and Hayley lay dead at Martin’s feet. Martin jumped up from the bed and untangled himself from the covers. He was alone. He was in the redhead’s apartment, in her bed, and he was alone. Then he stopped and nearly doubled over to the floor. Every inch of him hurt. Looking down, he didn’t see any bruises. Didn’t feel any broken bones. Yet Martin ached with every beat of his heart. Like something was inside of him trying to push its way out, almost. He stood up again and managed to get himself sitting on the edge of the bed.

And just like that, the pain eased. Drawing a deep breath, Martin tried to think. The redhead hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t dead. That was a good thing because somehow he had lost all of his senses while in her arms. He didn’t even most of the last night. The parts he did made his crotch pulse and his blood heat up. This was insane. He needed to get dressed, and he needed to get out of here, so he could continue his search for the Vampire Killer. Last night...he just let himself get lost in old memories of Hayley. That’s all. Somehow the redhead reminded him so much of the love that he had lost. That’s all it was. So. Get up, and get going. Martin stood up. The pain returned. He sat down again, folded up and dropped to the mattress, and the pain stopped. The bed, he realized. Whenever he stepped away from the redhead’s bed his body was in physical pain. Like an addict too long away from his drug. Damn it. It was just in his head. Every step he took away from the bedroom told him otherwise. It hurt to get his clothes on. It hurt to move. The further he got from the bedroom the less the pain hit him until finally, he was in the living room and near the door, and now he was only feeling a dull ache. Like a body-wide toothache. He sighed, trying to clear his head, regretting all over his decision to help Phillip. Then, as he was lacing his sneakers and about to leave, he saw the note on the coffee table. Good morning, lover. There’s juice in the fridge. You’ll need it. I know it hurts. Poor baby. When you’re ready to feel better, come back to me. I’ll pet you until the pain goes away. I’m the only one who can make it feel better. You’re mine. Shayna That was it. That’s what happened! The bitch had drugged him and now the

only way for him to get the antidote was to come back to her. No wonder she wasn’t worried about him paying. He had to come back to her if he wanted the pain to go away. He was trapped. Chapter Three It was two days later when he broke. Phillip had been calling him nonstop for the last few hours, wanting to know what he had learned, insisting that time was running out, that there was going to be a victim again soon. Martin ignored every call. He tried to ignore the need to be fucked by the redhead again, too, but that was nearly impossible. When he tried to get a few hours of sleep, all he saw was Shayna’s face. When he was awake, all he felt was her hands and her teeth and that extremely talented tongue touching him all over. It made him desperately aroused all day long. Thankfully, he was searching for a killer who was also a hooker. That meant he got to sample several streetwalkers a night. None of them, as it turned out, was the Vampire Killer. Some of them were too dumb. Some of them were too nice. All of them were the wrong girl. None of them slaked his need. As soon as he and whatever hooker he’d paid for had finished, his body began to ache worse. He needed sex, and he needed the release that sex could bring, but he knew it was more than that. He needed to have sex with Shayna. Over and over. It was on that second night that he went to her apartment again. She opened the door wearing a smile...and nothing else. Her body was all curves and soft sweetness. His eyes drank in every inch of her. The dark V between her legs especially. “Hey there, honey,” she purred.

Martin tried to glare at her. “What did you do to me?” “This.” Her hand shot out with the speed of a striking viper and caught the front of his shirt. She pulled him into her and kissed him hard. Her tongue forced his lips open and played with his while she rode his thigh. When she knew he couldn’t take it anymore, she bit down on his lower lip, and held it between her teeth, mischief in her eyes. Then she let go. “That’s what I did to you. Come in. Let me do it again.” “No,” he said. It was barely above a whisper, and his body was screaming for him to go with her and let her do whatever she wanted, but he knew he couldn’t give in. Once an addict gave in and used the drug to mask the pain, the addiction was complete. “I want to stop.” She stroked the side of his face, down along his neck, and then took hold of his one hand. Lifting it up, she settled his palm over her firm breast and shivered. “You don’t want to stop. Neither do I. Touch me.” “No, I...” “Touch me.” Words failed him. “Touch me!” His fingers moved on her tit, and she moaned. Without him wanting it to his other hand found the softness of her hip and traced it around to her ass. “Yes,” she purred. “Do that.” Anger flared in him. This woman would not trap him like this. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the killer now. This must be how she lured in her victims. This was why they had all died in a state of arousal. He was aroused now, his pants too tight and his erection screaming for release. He couldn’t let her do this to him. She would pay for her crimes. She would pay for everything she had ever done to him. He would make her pay. He would make her sorry she ever did this to him!

She would pay! Laughter met his ears as he shoved her inside the apartment and then turned her around, reaching around her to grab one hand onto her breast roughly. The other one stayed on her ass, squeezing and lifting her onto her tiptoes to make her walk, make her move, make her fall down on the bed face first so he could slap her ass again, and again, and again, while she moaned and purred and begged him for more. The pain stopped when he was naked, and inside her, and riding her as hard as he could to punish her. Her laughter filled his senses, and he blacked out. It was later that night when he woke up. Outside the bedroom window, it was still dark. Groaning, he realized what he had done. He’d allowed his fevered brain to think he was the one in control. He wasn’t. There was no control around this woman. He had to stop her. He had to stop himself. This time, he wasn’t alone. Her hands wrapped around his torso immediately, pulling him back down to the softness of her bed and of her body. “Stay with me. I can show you things you’ve only heard about in stories.” “You’re a monster.” She laughed again, and this time, it was harsh and cruel. “I’m no monster. All of us are evil, my sweet. I give evil people what they want until they can’t take it anymore. I’m no more a monster than you are.” Her hand slid down Martin’s chest, and he couldn’t make himself pull away from her. “You wanted to be with a prostitute,” she explained. “You wanted to get your fun for a price. I’m giving it to you for free. What is the harm?” “You’re a killer.” She stiffened around him. He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but once

they were out he couldn’t take them back. Know she knew that Martin had learned her secret. He tensed, and waited to find out what she would do. “Well, well,” she purred. “Guess all johns aren’t that stupid. I have killed, Martin honey. Yes, I have. I only kill the ones who refuse my gift. Anyone who agrees to accept my charms and stay with me will live for a very, very long time.” What was she talking about, Martin wondered. “Let me go.” “No,” she hissed into his ear. Then she bit down on his neck, and Martin felt like there was liquid heat being poured into his veins. His whole body stiffened. His erection was intense and painful. “Stay with me,” she cooed. “No...I mean...” Waves of pleasure coursed through him as her hands went to work on his throbbing manhood. “I can make this last for hours, you know.” She pet him, and stroked him, and the pressure inside of him built up higher. “I can make you scream for release.” “No.” “Oh, yes I can. I can make it hurt. Promise to stay with me, Martin, or I will make it hurt.” “No!” Some last vestige of himself roared within and pushed away and he fell to the floor on his ass. Pain racked him, and his whole body trembled with it as he curled up on himself. Above him, he heard a snarl. It was the sound of a tigress killing for her food. When he forced himself to look up, it was just Shayna’s gloriously nude form, bathed in the soft lamplight.

“Fine!” she screamed. “Stay there!” He had no intention of moving, at least not until the pain eased, but her words made him nearly as still as a statue. He did not want to move, and it was because Shayna had told him not to. Martin was in deep, deep trouble. He was still trying to force himself to think, to move, to act, when Shayna came back in the bedroom. She was pulling another man along the floor by one arm. Martin watched in horror as she threw the man on the bed, flat on his back, and then climbed up over him. Her breasts hang down tantalizingly close to the man’s mouth. “I want you, Martin,” she said to him, ignoring the whimpered pleas of the man under her. “I have three bedrooms in this apartment. Two of them were occupied last night. You aren’t the only one that I’m stringing along right now. Kevin here is so addicted to me his eyeballs hurt, aren’t you, Kevin?” The man nodded, arching his mouth up, tongue out as he tried to lick the orb of her breast. Shayna slapped him. “Stop that.” The man went still. “Martin, you’re going to agree to be with me. I want you. More than I have ever wanted any man, I want you. No one has ever withstood my charms for as long as you have. No one at all. I will have you. Promise me I will have you.” Martin rocked himself, arms tightly wound around his knees, and shook his head. Still, it was a long moment before the word came out. “No.” “Promise me!” Shayna demanded. “Promise me, or this man dies.” Martin’s head spun. He should never have taken this job! He couldn’t let Shayna just kill that man but his body was in so much pain. There was no way for him to act. Nothing he could do. Nothing, except give in.

Shayna saw the change in him when his body slumped. The pain had eased up with just the thought of going back to her. Martin found he could stand. He could think a little more clearly. The addiction he felt for her was nearly complete. All he had to do was tell her yes. He wanted to give himself to her so badly. “There’s my man,” Shayna said to Martin. “There you are. Now. Promise me that we will be together forever.” “I...promise...” He reached out for her. Shayna moved off the other man, kneeling at the edge of the bed so that the lamplight did amazing things to her skin. “Promise me,” she demanded. “I...” “Say the words, Martin, and tonight I will show you so much.” “I...promise...” “Yes?” “I promise to...” Shayna purred. “To...never...” She held her hands out to him. “I promise to never let you hurt anyone again!” Martin screamed, forcing the words out as red hot pain spiked through the back of his mind. This time, he used the pain to drive him, used it to motivate his hands to form fists and his fists to drive forward until they were connecting with Shayna’s jaw. She howled, a wounded animal lashing out in anger, and Martin knew he was dead.

Chapter Four Shayna was on him almost instantly, beating his head against the edge of the bed and slamming her fists into his back. He rolled away, unable to do much else except crawl away. The pain flared up like white hot flames, but then a strange thing happened. Whenever Shayna touched him, the pain disappeared. Of course. Whatever addiction she had fed him it was only better when he was with her. That didn’t mean just sex. It meant being in her bed. It meant touching her. It meant every time he drove a fist into her face—like this—then the pain went away. He nearly shouted in joy, but then her fingernails caught the side of his face and clawed into him. A weapon. He needed a weapon. On the table outside the bedroom was a lamp and he picked it up and swung it hard and connected with the side of her head. Shayna rocked back and then looked back in surprise. When she did, Martin saw the way her canine teeth had lengthened to fangs. He didn’t have time to how strange that was. It didn’t matter that it was impossible. All he had time to notice was how those four teeth would make the same perfect impression as the death marks on all the victims. The newspapers didn’t know how right they were when they called this the Vampire Killings. Shayna was a vampire. She came at him again, quicker than thought, and all debate about what she was or wasn’t flew out of Martin’s head as he swung with the lamp again. It shattered against her shoulder and he was left with broken shards and nothing else. She bowled into him, launching the two of them back into the little kitchen area. His back hit against something hard. The refrigerator. When she reared back, screaming still, and came at him again, Martin threw the fridge door open. She smashed into it hard, staggering back, blood streaking

from her broken nose. “You will die,” she hissed. The pain in his limbs made him wish for death to come right now. He could die later. Right now he had to stop Shayna from killing him or anyone else, including that poor fool in her bedroom— With a garbled screech, that guy jumped onto his back and began beating him in the head with a frying pan. Martin took several seconds to process what was happening and then he pushed off the floor with his legs and landed them both on their backs between the kitchen island and the sink. Shayna’s other victim had come to her aid. Martin had been able to resist her, at least a little, but it was obvious that this guy was fully under her addiction. He was weak, though, as if Shayna had been holding onto him for a long time. The idea of this man being in the other room while Shayna had been sexing Martin made him sick. The guy tried to beat at Martin and hold him down but Martin easily broke free, about to stand up and find a way to escape, when Shayna jumped onto them, and the three of them rolled around naked as if it was some sort of bizarre orgy. She bit at him, she clawed at him, kicked and gouged and punched. Martin covered his face with his arms and tried to scoot himself back on his ass. Something cold and hard brushed his left thigh. The frying pan that had been used as a weapon just moments ago. He picked it up. He swung it as hard as he could, edge first. It lodged into Shayna’s side, cutting into her below her ribs. She stopped, looking down at the wound. Then looking up at Martin with a smile, she pulled it out and pushed it away. Martin was still holding onto it but she sneered like it didn’t matter. “I’m a vampire, honey. I live forever.” With a screech, she bared her fangs at him and suddenly Martin saw his fate. Reflexively he swung the frying pan again. Not at her body this time, but at her neck. Its edge severed her flesh, cut through veins and tendons and bones, and

came out the other side. Her face was a beautiful study in shocked disbelief for what seemed like an eternity. Then without warning she blew apart into bloody ash, spraying everywhere, coating Martin, the kitchen counters, and everything. Across the room, still on the floor, Shayna’s second victim thrashed wildly. His arms and legs beat out staccato rhythms and bloodied themselves against the hard surface of the linoleum. He gibbered and babbled and made the most horrifying retching sound. Then he went perfectly still. It was a long time before Martin allowed himself to move from where he was. When he went to check on the guy, he was dead. Gasping for air, feeling dirty all over and inside too, Martin stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. The shower was cold but he didn’t care. He threw himself under the spray and let what was left of Shayna turn the water black, and then wash down the drain. He was shivering before the water ran clear again. He curled his hand into a fist and beat it against the wall of the shower, over and over. The case was solved. The killer was dead. Was that the right word? Did vampires die? How in the hell were their vampires in Chicago? How were there vampires anywhere in the world! His mind was screaming. His heart was racing. Everything was wrong. He should not have taken this job. No more. He was done. The case was over. Not that he could ever bring the bad guy—girl—to Phillip for justice. He’d have to settle for the killings to stop. Martin knew that sometimes, that was just the way it went. It was over. Only, no it wasn’t. His fist slammed against the wall. It wasn’t over. The pain was still there. He hurt. He hurt so bad. It should have gone away

when Shayna died. He should feel like himself again. His body was still reacting to the need for her touch and there was no way for him to fix it... In another part of the apartment, Martin heard a woman call out for help. Standing up, letting the water continue to spray in the tub, he stepped out of the bathroom. The call for help repeated itself. He followed it down the hall to a door. Inside, he found a third bedroom. On the bed was a naked woman, tied up with her hands and feet to opposite bedposts. “Oh, thank God,” she said, her voice shaking and weak. “Thank God! Help me. Please help me.” Martin ed Shayna saying that there were three bedrooms in her house and that two of them had male victims in them. She had never mentioned who was in the third one. Now he knew. This woman. He felt it when his teeth grew longer, sharpening into fangs, jutting out of his mouth. Four of them. They would make a perfect impression on the girl’s neck when he bit into her and drained her blood. Maybe he’d draw on her skin with it. Maybe he’d do anything he needed to make this pain go away, even for a little while. The Vampire Killings weren’t done. A small part of him knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew that he needed to stop. If Hayley could see him like this she would kill him on the spot. That’s what they used to do, together. That’s what he used to be when he was with her. Someone who hunted down monsters, and put an end to them. I miss Hayley he thought to himself, as he sank his teeth into the neck of the screaming woman tied up and helpless to stop him.