Crime Rave by Sezin Koehler

creatures. They join hands and fire shoots from them. He burns, alight with their freakishness. Icarus collapses, comatose.
    Icarus averts his eyes from the detectives and the camera. “I passed out at some point, now that must’ve been the drugs.”
    Günn knows he’s hiding something. She smells burning flesh and has to keep herself from gagging. She looks over at Red Feather, giving him her look calling bullshit.
    But how can only this part be a lie? How can he be a vampire at all? Günn’s eye starts twitching again in tandem now with her shaking legs.
    “When I woke up it was nearly midnight. Things started to get really weird. DJ Fetish started spinning—”
    “Spinning?” Red Feather interrupts.
    “Sorry, playing records. Spinning music. You know, how the turntable spins around?” Lazlo finds their ignorance of party culture adorable.
    Red Feather nods. “Please continue.”
    “The DJ started spinning and just like that people were dropping dead. Blood oozing from their ears. All these people, screaming and holding their heads, falling to the floor. The smell of blood was overwhelming, I haven’t had a drink in four years—that alone was crippling.”
    “Why didn’t you get out of the mansion?” Red Feather asks.
    Icarus gives Red Feather a long and serious look. “I tried. The smell of blood and death all around me, the pain in my head. I tried to get out of the mansion but I couldn’t escape the music. Speakers everywhere. I couldn’t find the front door. I kept opening doors and seeing stranger and stranger things. Perverse things. Gateways into hells I’d never imagined and don’t even want to think about. But no exit. And then the mansion exploded.”
    “You remember that?”
    “I felt the ground rumble, turned into a roar, like a troupe of Hell’s Angels passing through, then BOOM, a bright light. I felt my skin and eyes burning. The next thing I remember is waking up in dust, covered in ash and choking. But somehow, I felt fine.”
    Red Feather closes his notebook and runs his hand through his hair. Icarus studies him, trying to unpack his mixed racial heritage, while Günn studies Icarus.
    “Detective, may I ask you a question?”
    “Go for it.”
    “Why did he want to kill everyone?”
    “He who?”
    “The motel fellow, Mr. Crane. It was his mansion, right? He sponsored the party, why would he want to drug and murder everyone? Or is that why he threw the party? To kill us all?”
    “We’re working on that.” Red Feather takes a photo from his pocket. “Did you see this man at the rave?”
    Icarus looks at the face of a man aging badly. Gaunt face, eyes sunken in the hollows of his cheeks, sallow complexion, radiating bitterness. “Is that he?” Lazlo asks and Red Feather affirms. Lazlo turns his full attention to the man who tried and failed to kill him. He’s never seen him before in his life, Lazlo shakes his head no. Red Feather nods, pocketing the photo along with his notebook.
    “Can you think of anything else, Mr. Lazlo?”
    Icarus shakes his head, then says, “Do you believe in God, Detective?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “You’re Indian, right? Oh, apologies, Native American .”
    Red Feather nods. “It’s fine. And yes I’m half Lakota.”
    “Your people believe in a sole creator?”
    Red Feather nods. “But we also have other gods for different aspects of life who also play parts. Why?”
    Lazlo considers the question. “I was raised Catholic, though I never was a believer, mainly because of that nonsense about Jesus rising from the dead. But now, I’m starting to wonder. How else did I survive? Who brought me back? And why me?”
    Red Feather and Günn have no answer.
    To prevent herself from dwelling on the question, Günn busies herself with the video camera, removing and labeling the weirdest victim interview ever known to the LAPD. Or so she thinks.
    Red Feather hands Icarus his card. “Thanks for your time. Please call if you remember anything