Bloodlust (Frailty Book 2) Page 15

  “This department will be the laughing stock of the police community if this idea of yours gets out to the media,” Chief Epps finally stated. “Some dead girl is going around eating people. How are we supposed to answer how that happened when we still can’t prove what Detective Stenks said that she witnessed?” The Chief’s words hung in the air, repeating over and over in Laura’s head.

  Already overrun with toxic sentiments, the tension of the situation proved to be too much and Laura snapped. Rising out of her chair and slamming her hands on the desk, she stood face-to-face with the commanding officer. “Witnessed? Let me tell you what I witnessed,” Laura shot out, teeth clenching as she spoke. “I watched a girl get chewed up by a goddamn animal! He fed on her! Hung her up like a piece of old meat, and I got to watch her die! Not just die – I watched them bury her! I have had to live with that – see it over again every night when I sleep – so I sure as Hell will not stand here and have it questioned after living through all of it!”

  Laura stopped. Her breathing was heavy, and she became aware of that her hands were trembling against the desk where they rested. Across from her, the chief’s gaze remained focused, but she could see something different in the expression. She had been caught off guard by his emotional eruption earlier, and Laura got the feeling he was experiencing the same response to her unanticipated lashing out. There was also the very real possibility that she had just sealed her fate.

  At the moment, Laura did not care. If she was going to go out, at least she had done it by standing up for herself and saying what she had to say. There had been enough second guessing herself and trying to decipher emotions. And what would they do when she was gone and the killings continued? Sooner or later, someone else would figure it out and then the chief would have to admit she had been right.

  A hand touched Laura’s shoulder and another her back, as Dwayne eased her down into the chair. Wonder what his expression was when that broke loose? She had to wrap her hands around the arms of the chair to keep them from visibly trembling.

  Chief Epps, as if taking a cue, quietly sat down. Leaning back in the well-worn office chair and rubbing his cupped hands together, his expression eased further and depicted one of a man in deep reflection.

  Exhaling heavily, Laura attempted to regain her composure and prepare for what she considered the inevitable. Beside her, Dwayne fidgeted, adjusting himself as if his physical discomfort was a direct reflection of her emotional one. Deep down, trepidation or not, though, Laura felt a confidence she had not felt in a while. A strength, or maybe a self-gratification, that came with being proud of standing her ground. A familiar expression found its way to her face, one she could not recall displaying with confidence since the first murders had occurred.

  “As I stated, people being eaten in some sort of cannibalistic ritual by fictional monsters and a teenage girl is not something I can take to the press, or the mayor, for that matter,” Chief Epps said, his demeanor fully restored and a familiar calm resolve back in his voice.

  Laura began to counter what he was saying again, but he held up a hand to stop her before she started.

  “What I can do is stall as long as I can by painting around the edges. I’ll let the mayor know we believe it to be the work of two people and have leads on both, but we are playing it close to the vest in regards to divulging details while we close in,” the commanding officer said. “If nothing else, that man loves his strategy meetings. I’ll schedule one then keep postponing it as long as I can.”

  Tension in the room eased to the point that the ensuing feeling of relief was palpable. Although, she had to admit she was genuinely surprised by the response. It was not clear just how much of their story the chief was willing to accept, but he at least seemed ready to back their play for a little longer. Hopefully that was all they would need.

  “Speaking of two cases,” the chief began again, “do we have any leads on the costume homicides that I may actually want to hear?”

  “I have a theory on that one too,” Laura said, noticing the chief’s eyebrows raise as if preparing for what was coming, “but I would like the opportunity to investigate further so I can bring you something concrete.” She felt even more invigorated as the words came out freer and the hesitation that had haunted her faded, but she still knew enough not to press her luck. One hard-sell story is plenty for the day.

  “Very well. Let’s all get some rest then hit the streets hard again tomorrow fresh. Get out there and find me some tangible evidence,” Chief Epps said, dismissing the two.

  Exiting the office and walking towards the investigator’s area, Dwayne patted Laura on the shoulder. “There’s that fire I’ve been talking about.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way, as she replayed the series of events that just took place over and over in her head. Every time she thought through it, she felt better about herself.

  Just short of Laura’s desk, Dwayne broke off to head towards the forensics area but stopped and turned around. “Just what is this theory that you have on the Amazing Woman case?” he asked.

  Grabbing her purse, Laura turned and started the other way. “Goodnight, Dwayne.” It was not the time to broach the subject further, but she could not help but feel she would be needing his help soon enough.

  23

  Slightly hunched, causing him to look shorter than he actually was, the male figure shambled slowly across the room towards Constance and Ambrose. Carrying a small electric lantern, his features became more distinguishable the closer he got.

  Bald, crooked glasses, tattered sweater vest over beleaguered and heavily stained white shirt, worn blue slacks, and water-damaged loafers were the defining characteristics that led Constance to one quick conclusion: this guy was a hot mess. She would not be caught dead looking like that, but more to the point, none of those turned out to be the feature that really caught the girl’s attention.

  That designation went to Ferguson’s bodily appearance. His skin was a pale-gray, sagging around two milk-white eyes; so milky that the iris was almost washed out. The flesh on his exposed arms seemed as though it was wrapped too loosely and reminded Constance of rotted canvas, and the smell the man emitted matched.

  Arriving at their location in the room, the teen felt so initially repulsed that she had taken a step back, causing Ambrose to laugh at her expense.

  “Very funny, but what is that thing?” she asked before stepping forward and poking timidly at the sagging flesh.

  “This is no mere ‘thing’,” Ambrose responded. “Ferguson is my ever obedient servant. He has assisted me unquestioningly for quite some time.”

  “He looks like a freaking zombie,” Constance said, waiving her hand in front of the man’s face and getting no response back.

  “That is a close assumption, but he is not undead; simply, his will is mine,” Ambrose replied, walking slowly around the immobile figure. “And the control works quite efficiently, I might add. Ferguson requires very little in the way of sustenance and absolutely no entertainment. However, he does need a supplement regularly.” Stopping at one side of the man, Ambrose pulled up a coat sleeve and bit into his own exposed forearm, causing it to bleed freely. Sticking the wound up in front of Ferguson’s mouth, he commanded the man-slave to drink, and the servant did so.

  “Creating one is quite simple; have someone drink your blood without you having bitten them first. The transference of fluids is one way and binds the person to you without initiating the rebirth – the change. Maintaining the bond requires a minimal occasional feeding,” Ambrose instructed as he removed his arm, leaving the man-slave suckling the air like a child attempting to breast-feed.

  “Why would you need something like that?” Constance asked as she wiped her hand off on a large piece of the building’s masonry that lay where it had fallen some time ago.

  “Look at what you attempted with your parents,” Ambrose countered. “I told you there was a better way to deal with that situation. Here it is. You
simply enslave them.”

  At first, the thought of seeing her parents in such a condition caused Constance to scoff, but the reaction was fleeting. She began to find amusement at the concept of her mother, Miss Attention-getter, shuffling around like a bag of dough with legs and oblivious to everything but her every whim. It would certainly have benefits over her mother’s current condition, which left the woman weak and prone to passing out while carrying out Constance’s demands.

  Like when she ordered her mother to clean the sheets after one of her playtimes. Playtime, Constance reflected. They really had been a mixed bag. Cecile came to mind, and suddenly Constance made the connection. That’s why the young woman had become so lethargic after consuming the blood from her breast; she was succumbing to the blood taint. Constance realized how close she had come to discovering what Ambrose was describing. If she had pulled up short from biting Cecile, the young woman would have been enslaved.

  Actually, I learned two things from that experience. The other was how fast her body would recuperate from a wound. The incision she had made over her nipple had scabbed almost immediately and by the next day was all but gone. Now there was not even a scar to show that the cut had even happened. Good thing, because it would be a shame to blemish something that perfect.

  “Besides,” Ambrose continued, “I do not possess the skill to create the electronic devices I used in the deaths that were committed to frame the demon – your Roofy. So, I found a very bright and creative engineer to assist me. I must admit, Mister Ferguson even surprised me with some of his originality.”

  Roofy. Just the mention of his name got Constance’s adrenaline going as she thought about their adventure and rubbed the concrete block harder, its gritty surface gnawing at her skin. He was out there somewhere, and she wondered how long it would be before he came looking for her. She was sure he would; how could he resist coming for her after having spent time together. Curiosity piqued, she pressed further.

  “Why didn’t you just bite him…Roofy; turn him into one of us?” she asked.

  “A demon’s blood runs in an opposing circle from ours, Child. We are connected to them, yet they are our enemy,” Ambrose answered. “If a mortal human drinks the blood of a carrier, a demon, or is bitten by one, their blood is corrupted, turning them in a blood-dealer; a hunter of men. Once changed, if a reborn once again drinks the tainted blood, there is a further toxic effect. The reborn’s own blood system is infected, causing a painful death.” The statement was accented by a look of displeasure that crossed Ambrose’s face.

  No love lost between the two types of creatures. And another item that obviously got under the older man-beast’s skin. She decided to commit it to memory as an important note.

  “So, if a demon bites one of us, it would kill them too?” Constance asked, prying further for information that might be useful.

  “No,” Ambrose answered sharply, negatively recalling his own failed attempts to destroy the demon he had been chasing. “Unfortunately not. However, it does weaken them – even causing loss of control if they have not totally consumed the host that carries them.”

  Recalling the encounter at the abandoned service station in Nevada, Constance realized that was how Roofy had regained control during the fight. She distinctly remembered his demon-possessed-self biting Ambrose during the altercation.

  “That will be his downfall. His consumption of our blood will cause the demon to retreat within Roofy, leaving his human form helpless and ripe for destruction,” Ambrose added, clenching his hands in determination.

  “What is your beef with him?” Constance asked, hands on her hips. “Roofy’s a good guy. What have you got against him?”

  “That is not your concern. What is important is the role you will play in helping me bring the demon down and killing him,” Ambrose stated.

  Constance wanted to lash out defiantly at the mention of hurting Roofy, but instead she held strong and stuck to playing out the ruse. “I could do that myself, I’m sure. He trusts me. It would be easy to get close to him,” she said, hoping Ambrose might agree to the ploy. His facial expression gave her his answer even before he began speaking again.

  “Your spirit is commendable, young one, but it will only take you so far. The demon is far too powerful for you. It would serve you better to follow my lead. I am your pack-father now. My will is all that matters. It’s better for you to embrace that fully and know your place in the fold,” Ambrose said confidently.

  Pack-father, Constance pondered. She was now in some sort of pecking order with him at the top, like a den of animals. Frustration built back up. She was not some lapdog that could be ordered around. There had to be a way around his determination to get at the man that was meant to be hers. Exerting herself and pushing her pheromone-induced influence, she abruptly changed demeanor, putting on a smile and approaching Ambrose seductively. “Why waste your time going after that meaningless demon when you have someone like this standing right in front of you? I’m sure I can give you a better reason to give me your attention.”

  The effort was met with mocking laughter from the man-beast. “You? Are you supposed to be something special?” Ambrose asked, wiping away her attempt with a gesture of his hand. “Don’t waste your menial talents on me, child. Have you not learned yet that it will do you no good? This kill belongs to me, and while I applaud your determination, I will not have you attempt to circumvent me and take it for your own. Besides, I’ve had hundreds, maybe thousands, of women far better than you, and I could get a superior specimen any time I so desired.”

  Constance’s blood boiled. How dare he insult her like that. She was beauty walking. The majority of women out there would beg to be in her shoes. There was no way she would be degraded in such a way. As insulted as she felt, it did occur to her that he had totally misconstrued what she was trying to accomplish. Ambrose believed she was trying to be over zealous versus being protective of Roofy. That was probably a good thing, and she noted she needed to be more careful in her strategy.

  “Fighting against my will is hopeless,” Ambrose began again. “And even if you can summon enough fortitude to ward off my direct influence, I have other means of persuading you.”

  True words, she thought, recalling his torture of her in their first encounter. Play it cool, Constance. You’re better than he is. Say what he wants to hear. “Just tell me what you want me to do,” Constance responded, feigning servitude. “Besides, I’m over him. And it’s his fault I’m like this now – him not protecting me like he promised. I guess I owe him for that.”

  “’I’m glad you are making the right decision. So we understand each other, though, should you choose to turn on me, I will hunt you relentlessly – track you anywhere you go. There will be no feeding unless I allow it. No freedom. No release. It would be nothing to lock you away and starve you – let the hunger overwhelm you until you are nothing more than a quivering, insane snot begging for substance, like a common rat. You think I abused you before? That would be nothing compared to me bringing my many years of experience in torturing someone to bear upon your frail person.” Ambrose punctuated his speech with a snarl.

  Trapped. Constance felt trapped, and the current situation was getting her nowhere quick. She needed to get his focus off her so that she could figure out what to do, because her handing over even another small piece of control to Ambrose was unacceptable. Plus, with him watching over her at all times, she could not find a way to get to Roofy first. He was hers, and nothing and no one was going to stand in the way of that.

  “Now,” the elder blood-dealer said, reaching out a hand towards his man-servant, “Ferguson, if you will, I need the devices I had you work on.”

  The blood-slave retrieved two cellphones from his pockets and placed them in Ambrose’s outstretched hand, and in turn, Ambrose handed one to Constance. The communicator was outdated by current phone standards, being a simple flip model.

  “Spared no expense, didn’t you,” Constance said sar
castically.

  “The phones serve a singular purpose. There certainly was no need for excess gadgetry. I’ve had Ferguson alter them so that each will only dial the other, no matter what button is hit,” Ambrose said.

  Opening the phone and hitting a number of buttons, Constance got the response he had indicated, with each press only producing one phone number. She hit send, causing the other to ring. Ambrose opened and closed it, ending the connection.

  He slid his into a pocket in the trench coat he wore while continuing instructions. “You will go back to your home and feed. Be mindful, though. Do enough to keep your strength up without drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. At the same time, follow any leads you may get concerning the demon. When one of us is able to locate the target, we will contact the other in order to plan out the trap.”

  Ambrose dismissed Ferguson, who began slowly shuffling back towards the open door.

  “You probably will not have to look hard, as I am sure Roofy will seek you out. And once we have him, we will need to act quickly to destroy the demon,” Ambrose instructed.

  “Sure,” Constance said, shoving the phone in a small pocket of the lightweight three-quarter-sleeve cardigan she wore and turned to leave. “We’ll get him. He won’t be able to resist me.”

  “Don’t forget, Little One,” Ambrose stated sternly, “you are not unique. I have others and will not be the only one watching. Should you choose to defy me, there will be nowhere you can run that I will not find you. If we succeed, though, I will show you how to use your power to get whatever you want from this pitiful world.”

  Power. Oh, I will have that, just not in the way you are suggesting. Constance needed to act quickly, though. Shooting him back one last glance, she opened the large sliding door just enough to let herself out and welcomed the feeling of freedom the night air brought. Out there somewhere was Roofy, and if he could not help her take care of her problem, she was sure the demon could. Roofy would do whatever it took to protect her, no matter what the sacrifice. She just knew it.