that, would you?”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Damn it, he swore again to himself. He had missed that fact all along. Whoever it was who did this thing obviously had to really, really tear into this guy.
“Yeah, okay. But the letter V was written on the wall above the body, written in the victim’s own blood.”
“If you killed someone, Martin,” and she looked directly into him. He didn’t like that. “Would you leave your name and address at the scene?”
“Okay.”
“Besides, we’ve got plenty of food. Why waste time and energy, why get nice clothes all covered in blood, why bother to beat it out of some fool?”
“I dunno. For kicks?” that’s the motive he believed all along.
“Then why so close to home?”
“Alexandra?” he looked down at the floor, at his shoes when he suddenly interrupted her.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever?”
“What? Drink blood. All the time, Martin. You know that. I don’t live off donuts and cold pizza and beer like you do.”
“No. Not like that, I mean. You know... I mean—”
She thought a moment. “Oh. I see. Well yes. But I don’t see him anymore. After I thought about it for a while, I began to think he was just using me.”
“Huh? Using you?”
“For kicks.” She smiled now, amused at his reaction. “To him I guess it was an adventure of some kind. But I don’t believe he really cared for me. So I left him. No, it just did not work. I suppose after that he tried drugs to get his high. I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“Let’s talk about some of these people who play make-believe, okay?” he grew more and more frustrated as the conversation continued.
“The way I heard it, they like to dress up in capes, light candles, some of them have got their own little fan clubs, too. They get really into it, coerce people into letting themselves be cut so they can try their blood. Some of them even think they really are. I don’t know what these people would do if they met the real thing. Probably run like hell.”
“Tell me about Leon?” he seemed like a clean kid, but...
“Oh, he’s adopted.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Alex found him sleeping behind some trash cans twelve years ago. He was thirteen, I think. Irina took him in, spoiled him rotten.”
“Then he’s not—”
“No. Not sure where he’s from. Don’t know who his real parents are. But he is like one of the family, he knows everyone, hangs out with my other brother a lot, too. Yeah, he’s family. That’s that.”
“Is he okay? Does he want to be—”
“He knows he’s not.”
“Okay. Any of you people ever have a drug problem?” He’d hate to see one of them high on crack, and the damage it could do.
“No.”
“Telling me the truth?”
“As far as I know, none of us are on drugs.”
“Okay.”
Where the hell was the missing link?
Lina pulled up into her driveway and parked her ‘Vette. She saw another car parked on the street by her house and wondered briefly who it could be. When she got out and walked up towards her door she heard voices from inside.
Oh no, she thought. Not again. Not Sky.
She had a rough night and closed the shop early after dealing with abrasive customers and tourists. And now Sky. She was probably in there telling Alex he would be a better, happier, more complete person if he would listen to his inner child or his spirit guides or whatever crack-pot idea she was into now. Either that or she was telling him to become a vegetarian.
She listened.
No. It was a man’s voice. Who was it? Not Rick, his voice was too soft and quiet. Not Martin. But the sound was familiar.
She unlocked the door and went in. If it wasn’t Sky, then she would feel safe to enter.
“Lina! Well, it is good to see you again. It has been so long.”
It was Jim Ellison, the journalist who made his living reporting on the unusual and unexplained. Jim once rented one of Alex’s apartments until he married and bought his own home in another
“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Damn it, he swore again to himself. He had missed that fact all along. Whoever it was who did this thing obviously had to really, really tear into this guy.
“Yeah, okay. But the letter V was written on the wall above the body, written in the victim’s own blood.”
“If you killed someone, Martin,” and she looked directly into him. He didn’t like that. “Would you leave your name and address at the scene?”
“Okay.”
“Besides, we’ve got plenty of food. Why waste time and energy, why get nice clothes all covered in blood, why bother to beat it out of some fool?”
“I dunno. For kicks?” that’s the motive he believed all along.
“Then why so close to home?”
“Alexandra?” he looked down at the floor, at his shoes when he suddenly interrupted her.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever?”
“What? Drink blood. All the time, Martin. You know that. I don’t live off donuts and cold pizza and beer like you do.”
“No. Not like that, I mean. You know... I mean—”
She thought a moment. “Oh. I see. Well yes. But I don’t see him anymore. After I thought about it for a while, I began to think he was just using me.”
“Huh? Using you?”
“For kicks.” She smiled now, amused at his reaction. “To him I guess it was an adventure of some kind. But I don’t believe he really cared for me. So I left him. No, it just did not work. I suppose after that he tried drugs to get his high. I don’t know. And I don’t care.”
“Let’s talk about some of these people who play make-believe, okay?” he grew more and more frustrated as the conversation continued.
“The way I heard it, they like to dress up in capes, light candles, some of them have got their own little fan clubs, too. They get really into it, coerce people into letting themselves be cut so they can try their blood. Some of them even think they really are. I don’t know what these people would do if they met the real thing. Probably run like hell.”
“Tell me about Leon?” he seemed like a clean kid, but...
“Oh, he’s adopted.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Alex found him sleeping behind some trash cans twelve years ago. He was thirteen, I think. Irina took him in, spoiled him rotten.”
“Then he’s not—”
“No. Not sure where he’s from. Don’t know who his real parents are. But he is like one of the family, he knows everyone, hangs out with my other brother a lot, too. Yeah, he’s family. That’s that.”
“Is he okay? Does he want to be—”
“He knows he’s not.”
“Okay. Any of you people ever have a drug problem?” He’d hate to see one of them high on crack, and the damage it could do.
“No.”
“Telling me the truth?”
“As far as I know, none of us are on drugs.”
“Okay.”
Where the hell was the missing link?
Lina pulled up into her driveway and parked her ‘Vette. She saw another car parked on the street by her house and wondered briefly who it could be. When she got out and walked up towards her door she heard voices from inside.
Oh no, she thought. Not again. Not Sky.
She had a rough night and closed the shop early after dealing with abrasive customers and tourists. And now Sky. She was probably in there telling Alex he would be a better, happier, more complete person if he would listen to his inner child or his spirit guides or whatever crack-pot idea she was into now. Either that or she was telling him to become a vegetarian.
She listened.
No. It was a man’s voice. Who was it? Not Rick, his voice was too soft and quiet. Not Martin. But the sound was familiar.
She unlocked the door and went in. If it wasn’t Sky, then she would feel safe to enter.
“Lina! Well, it is good to see you again. It has been so long.”
It was Jim Ellison, the journalist who made his living reporting on the unusual and unexplained. Jim once rented one of Alex’s apartments until he married and bought his own home in another
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