First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour (Updated 01-03-2008)
- Thread starter Jodo Kast
- Start date
Lamprolign
First Post
In starlit nights I saw you
So cruelly you kissed me
Your lips a magic world
Your sky all hung with jewels
The killing moon
Will come too soon
Fate
Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him
-Echo and the Bunnymen, The Killing Moon
"Gabe!" It was Chris Ebbing's voice. "Wake up man! You're zoning on me again."
Gabe looked at the crime scene photographer, then turned his head to the side, half expecting to see Mary. Not again, Gabe thought....
"Did you...?"
"Yeah," Gabe interrupted.
"Dude? Are you all right?" Chris's brows were knotted with concern for his friend. This was just like the Abrams scene. Gabe had stood without moving, not even blinking, his eyes unfocused, staring straight ahead.
"I'm fine," Gabe responded. He took a deep breath and looked around the scene again.
Okay, that was bizarre, Gabe thought.
"It was like in the dream," said Mary. "I was standing next to you, like we were there."
Yeah. Did you see anything?
"It was dark and it happened too fast."
These visions seem to leave me with more questions than answers.
Gabe examined the girl's remains. He was no coroner, but he could tell that the victim's flesh had been torn away rather than cut. There were no clean incisions, all the edges were jagged. He looked at her face, relatively unmarred by the devastation wrought on the rest of the body.
"I know her!"
Care to elaborate? Gabe thought. He was beginning to get the hang of conversing in his head.
"She lived at the Haven for awhile." Mary answered. "The Sister thought that she might have some latent abilities but none ever showed up. We helped her find a job and go out on her own."
Do you remember her name?
"I think it was Jenny," Mary said. "Jenny... Matthews."
Gabe filed all this away for future reference. He would see if they found any identification in the apartment. It would raise too many eyebrows if he just pulled the unfortunate girl's name out of thin air. Gabe's contemplation was interrupted by the arrival of four crime scene technicians. They began the tedious job of processing the scene. The first thing was to map the room on graph paper. Gabe always did this himself, directing the techs to measure the room and the relative positions of all the objects therein. It was like an archeological dig, only still juicy in this case.
His eyes traced the edge of the blood. He noted with satisfaction that Merrick was already applying a sterile gauze pad to the blood, properly taking a sample. Smeared, vaguely human-shaped prints traced a red-brown trail into the darkened bedroom. Gabe carefully walked from one print to the next. He stopped at each, examining it carefully. A thick black fiber, stuck in the coagulated blood, caught his attention. He stooped over to examine it. It looked like a strand of hair, or fur. Gabe marked the location of the hair on the graph paper. He retrieved a set of forceps and a small zip lock evidence bag from one of the kits that the techs had brought with them. He carefully retrieved the fiber and held it up to the light.
"Did she have a dog?" Gabe wondered aloud.
"There's no sign of one if she did," Chris answered.
Gabe grunted an acknowledgement and continued to work. He followed the smeared prints to the room's only window. It opened onto a fire escape platform. Gabe found the window unlocked and slid it open. He strained to see the rusted steel mesh that formed the platform's floor.
"Pete," Gabe called.
One of the techs looked up from his tasks.
"Light."
The tech tossed a flashlight, which Gabe fumbled and almost dropped out the window before finally catching it. Its light revealed more blood, barely visible against the ochre metal of the fire escape. Faint prints led up the stairs.
This is interesting, thought Gabe. Bored by the painstaking process, Mary's thoughts were elsewhere.
"I wonder what Poe's doing?"
* * * *
Poe moved across the tenement building roof. At the edge she peered down, tracing the path of the fire escape as it snaked down the side of the building. Something about this place seems familiar, she thought as she studied the alley below. Her gaze shifted upward to the roof of the building across the alley, a similarly dilapidated tenement.
A small red glow caught her attention. A tall, rangy figure stood on the roof across the alley. The cherry on his cigarette flared brighter as he took a long drag. The man was dressed in boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt. He must be freezing. As she watched, he pulled on a pair of jeans, boots and a ribbed black overshirt. All the while, the man kept his eyes trained on a window two floors below. Poe glanced down in time to see Gabe Ansgar's head poke from a window. She looked back across at the man to find his gaze fixed on the investigator.
Poe slipped back from the edge, moving to the far side of the roof. She turned and looked back at the rooftop across the street. The man was still standing there. Silently she sprinted across the roof, leaping in a high arc from the eve to land a dozen paces from where the man stood.
The man did not react to her sudden appearance. He continued to look at the other building, watching as Gabriel climbed out onto the fire escape. He pulled one last time on the cigarette, burning it to a stub, then flicked it over the edge of the roof.
"Ill met by moonlight." He spoke in a husky voice with a slight accent.
Poe felt real trepidation for the first time in many years. The man was taller than he had appeared from afar, lean and wiry. Thick black hair covered his head, roughly shorn at shoulder length. Sideburns traced the edge of his square jaw. Dark eyebrows traced a prominent brow and almost met in the middle of his forehead. He was more than a head taller than Poe.
"That's Shakespeare, little girl. They say he was the greatest writer in the English language." The accent was Russian. His expression was distant, almost wistful. The pupils in each eye were partially obscured by a reflection of the full moon. "Of course, there are many great authors in the mother tongue. Dostoevsky. Tolstoy. Chekhov."
"Chekhov? Are you one of those trekkie geeks? Is that why you were up here naked, waiting for the mother ship or something?" Poe's sarcastic banter faintly masked her unease. "You look like you'd be game for probing."
"Where I am from, little girl, such insolence is harshly punished."
In a blur he closed the distance between them. His first blow sent Poe flying across the rooftop. She rolled to her feet in time to receive a fist in the side of her head. She fell again. She rolled to a crouch, dropped back on her hands and knocked the man's legs from beneath him with a sweeping kick.
He scarcely touched the asphalt roof before he was once again standing, fists held before him at ready. He sprang forward, flipping through a handstand to bring both feet into Poe's face. She leapt sideways, swinging her booted foot up simultaneously to connect with his midriff. The impact abruptly changed the direction of his flip and spun him a dozen paces toward the roof's edge.
Poe felt some of her confidence returning. She hadn't been bested in a fight since she had been turned, even against other vampires. Her confidence was short lived. She saw the man land nimbly on his feet and turn to face her once more. His hands were no longer closed in fists but open, spread fingers terminating in wickedly hooked claws. He growled deep in his throat.
"The stench of the grave is strong on you, little girl. Be careful, or I'll send you back there to stay."
Poe's lips pulled back in a snarl, trepidation transformed to anger. She leapt at her assailant. She caught his clawed hands, holding them up and away from her. She lunged for his throat, her canines gleaming in the moonlight. He fell backwards, folding his legs between himself and Poe. The wind was knocked from her when he kicked out, sending her up and over. She landed flat on her back. Shimatta! What is this thing!
Poe felt the vibration of his charging footsteps through the roof's surface. She flipped to her feet. She hadn't recovered her balance when the next blow fell. Her leather coat and vest ripped easily. She felt hot blood running down her abdomen. Wincing against the pain she jumped, aiming a kick to her assailant's face. The impact staggered him.
"Playtime is over," he said with a sneering grin filled with crooked knifelike teeth.
Poe shifted to the left to barely avoid a raking swipe of his claws. She brought both hands, clasped together, down on his passing head. He stopped in place and spun, catching Poe off balance. With a roar he brought his left arm up and around, raking wicked claws across her stomach. Pain exploded through Poe's body. The force of the blow lifted her off her feet. She felt weightless, heard wind rushing past her ears. Her trajectory carried her over the edge of the roof. She was falling, her arms outstretched and her long coat flapping about her. Above her the man stood silhouetted in the full moon, his face a shadow broken only by a toothy grin.
© 2003 Austin Hale
So cruelly you kissed me
Your lips a magic world
Your sky all hung with jewels
The killing moon
Will come too soon
Fate
Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him
-Echo and the Bunnymen, The Killing Moon
"Gabe!" It was Chris Ebbing's voice. "Wake up man! You're zoning on me again."
Gabe looked at the crime scene photographer, then turned his head to the side, half expecting to see Mary. Not again, Gabe thought....
"Did you...?"
"Yeah," Gabe interrupted.
"Dude? Are you all right?" Chris's brows were knotted with concern for his friend. This was just like the Abrams scene. Gabe had stood without moving, not even blinking, his eyes unfocused, staring straight ahead.
"I'm fine," Gabe responded. He took a deep breath and looked around the scene again.
Okay, that was bizarre, Gabe thought.
"It was like in the dream," said Mary. "I was standing next to you, like we were there."
Yeah. Did you see anything?
"It was dark and it happened too fast."
These visions seem to leave me with more questions than answers.
Gabe examined the girl's remains. He was no coroner, but he could tell that the victim's flesh had been torn away rather than cut. There were no clean incisions, all the edges were jagged. He looked at her face, relatively unmarred by the devastation wrought on the rest of the body.
"I know her!"
Care to elaborate? Gabe thought. He was beginning to get the hang of conversing in his head.
"She lived at the Haven for awhile." Mary answered. "The Sister thought that she might have some latent abilities but none ever showed up. We helped her find a job and go out on her own."
Do you remember her name?
"I think it was Jenny," Mary said. "Jenny... Matthews."
Gabe filed all this away for future reference. He would see if they found any identification in the apartment. It would raise too many eyebrows if he just pulled the unfortunate girl's name out of thin air. Gabe's contemplation was interrupted by the arrival of four crime scene technicians. They began the tedious job of processing the scene. The first thing was to map the room on graph paper. Gabe always did this himself, directing the techs to measure the room and the relative positions of all the objects therein. It was like an archeological dig, only still juicy in this case.
His eyes traced the edge of the blood. He noted with satisfaction that Merrick was already applying a sterile gauze pad to the blood, properly taking a sample. Smeared, vaguely human-shaped prints traced a red-brown trail into the darkened bedroom. Gabe carefully walked from one print to the next. He stopped at each, examining it carefully. A thick black fiber, stuck in the coagulated blood, caught his attention. He stooped over to examine it. It looked like a strand of hair, or fur. Gabe marked the location of the hair on the graph paper. He retrieved a set of forceps and a small zip lock evidence bag from one of the kits that the techs had brought with them. He carefully retrieved the fiber and held it up to the light.
"Did she have a dog?" Gabe wondered aloud.
"There's no sign of one if she did," Chris answered.
Gabe grunted an acknowledgement and continued to work. He followed the smeared prints to the room's only window. It opened onto a fire escape platform. Gabe found the window unlocked and slid it open. He strained to see the rusted steel mesh that formed the platform's floor.
"Pete," Gabe called.
One of the techs looked up from his tasks.
"Light."
The tech tossed a flashlight, which Gabe fumbled and almost dropped out the window before finally catching it. Its light revealed more blood, barely visible against the ochre metal of the fire escape. Faint prints led up the stairs.
This is interesting, thought Gabe. Bored by the painstaking process, Mary's thoughts were elsewhere.
"I wonder what Poe's doing?"
* * * *
Poe moved across the tenement building roof. At the edge she peered down, tracing the path of the fire escape as it snaked down the side of the building. Something about this place seems familiar, she thought as she studied the alley below. Her gaze shifted upward to the roof of the building across the alley, a similarly dilapidated tenement.
A small red glow caught her attention. A tall, rangy figure stood on the roof across the alley. The cherry on his cigarette flared brighter as he took a long drag. The man was dressed in boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt. He must be freezing. As she watched, he pulled on a pair of jeans, boots and a ribbed black overshirt. All the while, the man kept his eyes trained on a window two floors below. Poe glanced down in time to see Gabe Ansgar's head poke from a window. She looked back across at the man to find his gaze fixed on the investigator.
Poe slipped back from the edge, moving to the far side of the roof. She turned and looked back at the rooftop across the street. The man was still standing there. Silently she sprinted across the roof, leaping in a high arc from the eve to land a dozen paces from where the man stood.
The man did not react to her sudden appearance. He continued to look at the other building, watching as Gabriel climbed out onto the fire escape. He pulled one last time on the cigarette, burning it to a stub, then flicked it over the edge of the roof.
"Ill met by moonlight." He spoke in a husky voice with a slight accent.
Poe felt real trepidation for the first time in many years. The man was taller than he had appeared from afar, lean and wiry. Thick black hair covered his head, roughly shorn at shoulder length. Sideburns traced the edge of his square jaw. Dark eyebrows traced a prominent brow and almost met in the middle of his forehead. He was more than a head taller than Poe.
"That's Shakespeare, little girl. They say he was the greatest writer in the English language." The accent was Russian. His expression was distant, almost wistful. The pupils in each eye were partially obscured by a reflection of the full moon. "Of course, there are many great authors in the mother tongue. Dostoevsky. Tolstoy. Chekhov."
"Chekhov? Are you one of those trekkie geeks? Is that why you were up here naked, waiting for the mother ship or something?" Poe's sarcastic banter faintly masked her unease. "You look like you'd be game for probing."
"Where I am from, little girl, such insolence is harshly punished."
In a blur he closed the distance between them. His first blow sent Poe flying across the rooftop. She rolled to her feet in time to receive a fist in the side of her head. She fell again. She rolled to a crouch, dropped back on her hands and knocked the man's legs from beneath him with a sweeping kick.
He scarcely touched the asphalt roof before he was once again standing, fists held before him at ready. He sprang forward, flipping through a handstand to bring both feet into Poe's face. She leapt sideways, swinging her booted foot up simultaneously to connect with his midriff. The impact abruptly changed the direction of his flip and spun him a dozen paces toward the roof's edge.
Poe felt some of her confidence returning. She hadn't been bested in a fight since she had been turned, even against other vampires. Her confidence was short lived. She saw the man land nimbly on his feet and turn to face her once more. His hands were no longer closed in fists but open, spread fingers terminating in wickedly hooked claws. He growled deep in his throat.
"The stench of the grave is strong on you, little girl. Be careful, or I'll send you back there to stay."
Poe's lips pulled back in a snarl, trepidation transformed to anger. She leapt at her assailant. She caught his clawed hands, holding them up and away from her. She lunged for his throat, her canines gleaming in the moonlight. He fell backwards, folding his legs between himself and Poe. The wind was knocked from her when he kicked out, sending her up and over. She landed flat on her back. Shimatta! What is this thing!
Poe felt the vibration of his charging footsteps through the roof's surface. She flipped to her feet. She hadn't recovered her balance when the next blow fell. Her leather coat and vest ripped easily. She felt hot blood running down her abdomen. Wincing against the pain she jumped, aiming a kick to her assailant's face. The impact staggered him.
"Playtime is over," he said with a sneering grin filled with crooked knifelike teeth.
Poe shifted to the left to barely avoid a raking swipe of his claws. She brought both hands, clasped together, down on his passing head. He stopped in place and spun, catching Poe off balance. With a roar he brought his left arm up and around, raking wicked claws across her stomach. Pain exploded through Poe's body. The force of the blow lifted her off her feet. She felt weightless, heard wind rushing past her ears. Her trajectory carried her over the edge of the roof. She was falling, her arms outstretched and her long coat flapping about her. Above her the man stood silhouetted in the full moon, his face a shadow broken only by a toothy grin.
© 2003 Austin Hale
Lamprolign
First Post
***Author's note: Make no assumptions concerning the nature of vampires, monsters or dandelions in the First Sight universe. It's a whole new world... (insert evil laugh here)...
...And all trekkie hate mail should be addressed to Jodo Kast
...And all trekkie hate mail should be addressed to Jodo Kast
WisdomLikeSilence
Community Supporter
Lamprolign said:
Sure sounds like a werewolf to me.
But I'll try not to make any assumptions
Fun story hour. I'm always a sucker for modern-day campaigns.
-WLS
Lamprolign
First Post
Thanks for commenting! Maybe it is maybe it isn't... but I was refering more to relative abilities. Such as dandelions that have six inch fangs and eat small children. heh
Lamprolign
First Post
Meeting you with a view to a kill
Face to face in secret places feel the chill
Nightfall covers me but you know the plans I'm making
Still over sea could it be the whole earth opening wide
A sacred why? A mystery gaping inside...
Duran Duran, View To A Kill
Poe lay staring at the night sky. The stars were occluded here, choked out by light pollution from streetlamps and windows. Humans, thought Poe, eventually destroy everything beautiful. She tried to move, but was rebuked by the burning pain in her stomach. She clenched her jaw and waited for the healing to begin. After being turned, Poe found that any wound she suffered would repair itself. Her sense of pain was just as acute as it had been when she was a human, however. She could survive injuries that would kill any mortal, but she must endure pain that would drive a man mad. She bit down hard against the pain, accidentally biting the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood. So there's a downside to fangs after all. Slowly a warm tingling sensation effused her torso. The tingling gradually spread to her limbs, and the pain eventually dissipated.
She was hungry. She was always hungry after healing. She needed to feed, and soon. Her hunger pushed all other thoughts aside, even her burning curiosity about the stranger on the rooftop. Whoever he was, he was long gone. She had watched him leap from building to building, escaping into the night. She rose and walked slowly into the shadows. There would be something to satisfy her hunger close by...
* * * *
Gabe pulled his head back inside after a cursory examination of the fire escape landing.
"Jake."
"Yeah," The stocky detective grunted upon entering the room.
"There's a blood trail going up the fire escape stairs. Looks like the perp went to the roof or another room above."
"Way ahead of you, Ansgar." Jake Brewer rested his big, stubby hands on the window sill and peered outside. The ash on his cigarette had grown long, and it crumbled to the landing when exposed to the night breeze. "The trail ends at the next landing. We searched the roof while waiting on you to grace us with your presence."
"And?"
"Nuthin'. Our guy must've cleaned his shoes off before he got up there," Jake said. "He probably came back down through the stairwell. The door to the roof was unlocked. Humph. Pretty typical in a dump like this. I don't think the damn thing even works."
"Pete, there's some blood residue on the fire escape," Gabe said to the nearest tech. "Get samples there, too." He turned back to Jake. "Think I'll have a look up top. Care to join me, Jake?"
"Humph."
* * * *
"Well that was productive," Mary said with her normal sarcasm. "Do you ever catch anybody?"
"For your information, smartass, there were volumes of information there. You just have to know what to look for."Gabe was walking away from the scene alone. At least as alone as you could be when a teenage girl resided in your head. He looked at the time on his cell phone. 1:03 AM.
, it's late.
Gabe took the L back to the downtown loop. From there he caught the Blue Line to Rosemont. It was closing in on three in the morning when he finally made it back to his modest home.
"You should try sleeping sometime," Mary yawned. "It's good for you."
"Yeah."
Without bothering to take off his coat or shoes, Gabe flopped on the threadbare couch. He was asleep in seconds.
Sunlight streaming through the wide front window awakened Gabe later that morning. He winced at the stiffness of his limbs. The stitches in his temple itched fiercely. The doctor at the emergency room told him the wound would scar because he had waited too long to have it attended. As if I had a choice, he thought as he gingerly rubbed his forehead. But it could have been worse, much worse. All things considered, he was pretty lucky to have walked away from taking a bullet in the head, even if it did just graze him.
"Someone had some interesting dreams last night," Mary said with mock revulsion. "Poe told me that's all you guys ever think about, but I didn't think she meant, like, literally."
"Dreams too, huh? Guess I can't say I'm surprised, can't keep anything to myself these days. Well, you know what, just excuse the hell out of my subconscious mind, would ya?" Gabe grumbled.." Gabe glanced at the clock. 10:42. "I'm going to take a shower now. I'd appreciate some privacy. And no comments!" Gabe was careful not to undress around mirrors, and was careful where he trained his eyes while he bathed. Mary could see whatever he could, and the idea of giving a teenage girl a peep show made him extremely uncomfortable.
By the time Gabe finished his morning routine of showering, draining a fresh pot of coffee, and polishing off whatever edible leftovers lingered in the fridge, it was almost noon. He was thinking about heading to the office when his cell phone rang. He looked at the display, it was Chris Ebbing's home number.
"Hello," Gabe answered reluctantly. Chris calling was never the harbinger of a relaxing day.
"Hey man, how's it going?" Chris never sounded anything but cheerful. The man could snap off pictures of a guy with his big toe wrapped around the trigger of a shotgun and the back of his head plastered across the wall, and still sound like some damn perky surfer from California. This morning it grated on Gabe's nerves a more than usual.
"It's been better."
"I thought you might want to know that there was another murder last night, almost identical to the job we worked up." Chris paused for a moment. "Same M.O. Apartment building over on Lake Shore Drive. Ugly, dude."
Gabe's thoughts immediately went to Abrams and demons. He shook his head. Not every nutjob out there was possessed by a demon. There were plenty of normal everyday psychopaths to go around. Still, this wasn't good. Multiple murders in one night was nothing out of the ordinary. Two murders as grisly as the one he'd seen were, though, and if they were indeed identical, the papers would be talking about a serial killer.
"That's great, Chris. Thanks for starting my day off on a good note."
"No problem, man," Chris replied undaunted. "See you at the office."
Gabe placed the phone back on the table. "I need a vacation," he mumbled.
"It might make your company a little more bearable." Mary chimed in. "You know, Poe never did catch up with us again last night."
"For that I am eternally grateful."
* * * *
Tim Sweeney rocked back in the desk chair, his ample weight causing it to complain noisily. He reached for the handkerchief he carried in his shirt pocket to wipe an ever-runny nose. Damned cold weather, he thought. It was his fifth year as a desk clerk at the Ferguson Hotel on South Cicero. He looked around the familiar lobby. Flaking paint on once grand columns and cracked tiles on the floor spoke of years of neglect. During prohibition the place had been first-rate, the speak-easy housed in the basement providing a steady flow of customers. Tim sighed, brushing gray hair out of his face and imagining days gone by. He was startled from his daydreams when a tall, rangy man strode through the hotel lobby doors.
"Room five twenty-four is not to be disturbed today," the man said in an accented voice, not waiting for a reply he walked toward the elevator.
The desk clerk watched him go.. Tim had a fleeting image of the elevator crashing from the fifth floor with the unfortunate guest still inside. The thought brought a slight smile to his face.
After some small shaking and groaning the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. The man stepped out and walked slowly to his room. He took the key from his pocket and opened the door, throwing the deadbolt and hooking the chain behind him. Piotr sat down heavily in the room's only chair and laughed softly. Two in one night, and a real scrape. He smiled broadly, remembering the vampire. Too bad that I had an appointment to keep, little girl, or we could have danced a while longer. His smile changed to a grimace when he twisted to remove his shoes. He had not escaped unscathed in the confrontation.
He rose from the chair and walked to the suitcase lying on the floor under the single window. He opened it and removed a plain manila envelope. Inside was a sheaf of papers. The first sheet had the name Jennifer Matthews at the top, below which was a picture followed by lines of text spelling out address, place of work, and other useless information. Below that was another bio-sheet. This one had the name Charles Druyon at the top and was laid out in the same way as the first. Piotr smiled. He had really enjoyed killing this one. Fat, rich, American bastard. His smile deepened. The man had offered up some small resistance. A witch of his caliber was nothing next to the vampire from the rooftop, but still enough to work up an appetite.
"Who's next?" he wondered aloud, pulling out the third bundle of papers. He looked at the first page. "Asher Russell." Piotr tossed the papers in the chair. Enjoy your day, Asher Russell, he thought as he laid down on top of the bedspread. It will be your last.
© 2003 Austin Hale
Face to face in secret places feel the chill
Nightfall covers me but you know the plans I'm making
Still over sea could it be the whole earth opening wide
A sacred why? A mystery gaping inside...
Duran Duran, View To A Kill
Poe lay staring at the night sky. The stars were occluded here, choked out by light pollution from streetlamps and windows. Humans, thought Poe, eventually destroy everything beautiful. She tried to move, but was rebuked by the burning pain in her stomach. She clenched her jaw and waited for the healing to begin. After being turned, Poe found that any wound she suffered would repair itself. Her sense of pain was just as acute as it had been when she was a human, however. She could survive injuries that would kill any mortal, but she must endure pain that would drive a man mad. She bit down hard against the pain, accidentally biting the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood. So there's a downside to fangs after all. Slowly a warm tingling sensation effused her torso. The tingling gradually spread to her limbs, and the pain eventually dissipated.
She was hungry. She was always hungry after healing. She needed to feed, and soon. Her hunger pushed all other thoughts aside, even her burning curiosity about the stranger on the rooftop. Whoever he was, he was long gone. She had watched him leap from building to building, escaping into the night. She rose and walked slowly into the shadows. There would be something to satisfy her hunger close by...
* * * *
Gabe pulled his head back inside after a cursory examination of the fire escape landing.
"Jake."
"Yeah," The stocky detective grunted upon entering the room.
"There's a blood trail going up the fire escape stairs. Looks like the perp went to the roof or another room above."
"Way ahead of you, Ansgar." Jake Brewer rested his big, stubby hands on the window sill and peered outside. The ash on his cigarette had grown long, and it crumbled to the landing when exposed to the night breeze. "The trail ends at the next landing. We searched the roof while waiting on you to grace us with your presence."
"And?"
"Nuthin'. Our guy must've cleaned his shoes off before he got up there," Jake said. "He probably came back down through the stairwell. The door to the roof was unlocked. Humph. Pretty typical in a dump like this. I don't think the damn thing even works."
"Pete, there's some blood residue on the fire escape," Gabe said to the nearest tech. "Get samples there, too." He turned back to Jake. "Think I'll have a look up top. Care to join me, Jake?"
"Humph."
* * * *
"Well that was productive," Mary said with her normal sarcasm. "Do you ever catch anybody?"
"For your information, smartass, there were volumes of information there. You just have to know what to look for."Gabe was walking away from the scene alone. At least as alone as you could be when a teenage girl resided in your head. He looked at the time on his cell phone. 1:03 AM.
, it's late. Gabe took the L back to the downtown loop. From there he caught the Blue Line to Rosemont. It was closing in on three in the morning when he finally made it back to his modest home.
"You should try sleeping sometime," Mary yawned. "It's good for you."
"Yeah."
Without bothering to take off his coat or shoes, Gabe flopped on the threadbare couch. He was asleep in seconds.
Sunlight streaming through the wide front window awakened Gabe later that morning. He winced at the stiffness of his limbs. The stitches in his temple itched fiercely. The doctor at the emergency room told him the wound would scar because he had waited too long to have it attended. As if I had a choice, he thought as he gingerly rubbed his forehead. But it could have been worse, much worse. All things considered, he was pretty lucky to have walked away from taking a bullet in the head, even if it did just graze him.
"Someone had some interesting dreams last night," Mary said with mock revulsion. "Poe told me that's all you guys ever think about, but I didn't think she meant, like, literally."
"Dreams too, huh? Guess I can't say I'm surprised, can't keep anything to myself these days. Well, you know what, just excuse the hell out of my subconscious mind, would ya?" Gabe grumbled.." Gabe glanced at the clock. 10:42. "I'm going to take a shower now. I'd appreciate some privacy. And no comments!" Gabe was careful not to undress around mirrors, and was careful where he trained his eyes while he bathed. Mary could see whatever he could, and the idea of giving a teenage girl a peep show made him extremely uncomfortable.
By the time Gabe finished his morning routine of showering, draining a fresh pot of coffee, and polishing off whatever edible leftovers lingered in the fridge, it was almost noon. He was thinking about heading to the office when his cell phone rang. He looked at the display, it was Chris Ebbing's home number.
"Hello," Gabe answered reluctantly. Chris calling was never the harbinger of a relaxing day.
"Hey man, how's it going?" Chris never sounded anything but cheerful. The man could snap off pictures of a guy with his big toe wrapped around the trigger of a shotgun and the back of his head plastered across the wall, and still sound like some damn perky surfer from California. This morning it grated on Gabe's nerves a more than usual.
"It's been better."
"I thought you might want to know that there was another murder last night, almost identical to the job we worked up." Chris paused for a moment. "Same M.O. Apartment building over on Lake Shore Drive. Ugly, dude."
Gabe's thoughts immediately went to Abrams and demons. He shook his head. Not every nutjob out there was possessed by a demon. There were plenty of normal everyday psychopaths to go around. Still, this wasn't good. Multiple murders in one night was nothing out of the ordinary. Two murders as grisly as the one he'd seen were, though, and if they were indeed identical, the papers would be talking about a serial killer.
"That's great, Chris. Thanks for starting my day off on a good note."
"No problem, man," Chris replied undaunted. "See you at the office."
Gabe placed the phone back on the table. "I need a vacation," he mumbled.
"It might make your company a little more bearable." Mary chimed in. "You know, Poe never did catch up with us again last night."
"For that I am eternally grateful."
* * * *
Tim Sweeney rocked back in the desk chair, his ample weight causing it to complain noisily. He reached for the handkerchief he carried in his shirt pocket to wipe an ever-runny nose. Damned cold weather, he thought. It was his fifth year as a desk clerk at the Ferguson Hotel on South Cicero. He looked around the familiar lobby. Flaking paint on once grand columns and cracked tiles on the floor spoke of years of neglect. During prohibition the place had been first-rate, the speak-easy housed in the basement providing a steady flow of customers. Tim sighed, brushing gray hair out of his face and imagining days gone by. He was startled from his daydreams when a tall, rangy man strode through the hotel lobby doors.
"Room five twenty-four is not to be disturbed today," the man said in an accented voice, not waiting for a reply he walked toward the elevator.
The desk clerk watched him go.
. Tim had a fleeting image of the elevator crashing from the fifth floor with the unfortunate guest still inside. The thought brought a slight smile to his face.After some small shaking and groaning the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. The man stepped out and walked slowly to his room. He took the key from his pocket and opened the door, throwing the deadbolt and hooking the chain behind him. Piotr sat down heavily in the room's only chair and laughed softly. Two in one night, and a real scrape. He smiled broadly, remembering the vampire. Too bad that I had an appointment to keep, little girl, or we could have danced a while longer. His smile changed to a grimace when he twisted to remove his shoes. He had not escaped unscathed in the confrontation.
He rose from the chair and walked to the suitcase lying on the floor under the single window. He opened it and removed a plain manila envelope. Inside was a sheaf of papers. The first sheet had the name Jennifer Matthews at the top, below which was a picture followed by lines of text spelling out address, place of work, and other useless information. Below that was another bio-sheet. This one had the name Charles Druyon at the top and was laid out in the same way as the first. Piotr smiled. He had really enjoyed killing this one. Fat, rich, American bastard. His smile deepened. The man had offered up some small resistance. A witch of his caliber was nothing next to the vampire from the rooftop, but still enough to work up an appetite.
"Who's next?" he wondered aloud, pulling out the third bundle of papers. He looked at the first page. "Asher Russell." Piotr tossed the papers in the chair. Enjoy your day, Asher Russell, he thought as he laid down on top of the bedspread. It will be your last.
© 2003 Austin Hale
Lamprolign
First Post
Many thanks for the good words! We've already started on the next installment, look for it by Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Thanks again!
We've already started on the next installment, look for it by Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Thanks again!Lamprolign
First Post
Jodo Kast posts narrative
I just reviewed a post to the story that Jodo Kast penned. Most excellent as usual but very dark and edgy. There will be many, many smiley faces in this post. It pushes the outer bounderies of a PG13 rating. 'Tis very good but read with caution, not for those who are easily offended. Jodo will be posting shortly...
I just reviewed a post to the story that Jodo Kast penned. Most excellent as usual but very dark and edgy. There will be many, many smiley faces in this post. It pushes the outer bounderies of a PG13 rating. 'Tis very good but read with caution, not for those who are easily offended. Jodo will be posting shortly...
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