Dead Shifter Walking by Kim Schubert Page A

the fuck killed those people, Ms. Liaison, and
hurry up.”
    I didn’t even have a chance to ask her how she
knew about my added responsibility, as the line went dead. I stared
at my suddenly silent phone, second time in one night. Guess my
people skills were maintaining.
    Sitting up, I pulled another long swig of wine,
letting my feet rest on the coffee table.
    Why the entire family? I wondered. If the main
target was the mother, why kill the rest. If I were the murderer,
why would I do that? The first reason that came to mind was that
they were all a part of something evil. Second, I was worried one
or more would come after me for revenge. Third, I wanted to torture
her by forcing her to watch everyone she loved die before she died.
I set the wine on the table, going back to the file, looking for
the death order. Please let that be there, I wished.
    Time of deaths put the grandparents first, then
three hours later, the husband/father. Three hours, what the hell!
It did not take three hours to drain a body; I could vouch for that
first hand, especially if a hungry vampire was doing the draining.
Secondly, if it were an off-the-reservation vamp, they would have
drained each of them quickly before moving on to the next. A human
family of eight had a small chance against the undead. Ugh! Again,
the file was missing photos that would show if there were any signs
of struggle.
    Back to the order, next was the aunt and uncle,
both siblings to the mother. Strange, did they have spouses? If so,
that was a loose end to tie up. After the aunt and uncle, the
children were next, then finally the mother.
    I scratched my nose, attempting to pull more
wine, but sadly realized I was out. Crap, I suppose I did need to
get some sleep. I stretched as I chucked the wine bottle into the
garbage before stripping out of my clothing and crashing onto the
bed; the green glow informed me the sun was about to rise at 4:30
a.m.
    ….
    At 8 a.m., I was jerked awake by my nightmares,
my sweat slick against my body, absorbing into the white sheets
beneath me. Shaking my damp locks, I stumbled into the shower.
    When Mercer finally called back at 9 a.m., I was
more than ready for an influx of information to my starving
files.
    “Morning, sunshine,” I answered, cradling the
phone with my shoulder as I laced up my boot.
    He grunted. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
    “Nah,” I answered, strapping on my watch,
“sleeping is highly overrated. So, I have a few questions,” I
started, mentally organizing my list of questions.
    “Meet me at the station,” he said, hanging up,
again.
    Alright, while I will fully admit to having a
whole nest of issues, he was just plain rude. I consoled myself
with that fact while driving to the station.
    “So, good looking,” I said, setting my coffee on
his desk, “what d’ya got for me?”
    He didn’t even look up, but studiously moved
papers across his desk. Looking closer, I realized what the
beautiful glossy photos were―crime-scene pictures of the actual
house. Score!
    In the first photo, an immense red stain covered
the baby blue carpeting, while the furniture was untouched. Up the
stairs, I could see a body behind the railing an arm casually
draped over. The next picture was the body on the stairs, the
daughter, also lying in her own pool of blood, lifeless eyes
clouded over in death, her throat ripped in half.
    “Did they test those substances around the
bodies?” I asked, reaching for the pictures over his shoulder.
    Mercer looked up at me. “No.”
    The next picture was of the son. I leaned
closer, and confirmed what I suspected. The room he was in had
plaster damaged against one wall, the furniture strewn about, and a
bookcase completely collapsed. He fought hard to live. As I looked
into his empty glassy eyes, I promised I would find the son of a
bitch who snuffed out his entire family’s existence.
    “Do you want me to fail, Mercer?” I asked
softly, close to his ear, my anger pushing against my