Beyond Nocturne Ch. 04

"IN THE DARK"

EDITED BY:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANT:

Simply_Cyn

***

The sun illuminated the city of San Francisco in the waning hours of the morning; it's citizens hurrying to and from the home and office. Their business and commerce being of chief importance, lives so thoroughly involved with self that they rarely had time to stop and think of others unless a man on the television screen displayed the starving children of the world or a poor woman was found dead in an alley raped and ravaged on the six o'clock news. Convenience store clerks were shot for their money at night while the politicians stabbed each other in the back all in the name of progress and a better way of life during the day. But no matter what, those in power had only those under them on their mind with the best of intentions.

'Tell it to the convenience store clerk', Lydia thought as she poked at her lunch, elbows resting her desk.

She had locked the door and hung a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the brass knob. Most of the employees at the museum knew better than to knock when the sign was up, but she didn't want to take any chances. So many uninvited guests had been visiting her, from Mr. Geer to Detective Wolverton. It all made her so very uneasy and suspicious of everyone and everything. So much was at stake right now, and looking over at the bed nestled in the shadows of her basement apartment, she truly knew she had only herself to blame.

Maricel lay on the bed as she had an hour ago, and the hour before that. She had broken into a cold sweat just after Detective Wolverton had finished asking her questions. Lydia was in a sweat herself as the questions all pertained to murders she had committed in the last 24 hours. One of the murders was unjustified; the other was righteously justified, if not by God then by her own counsel.

She had saved Maricel from the serial killer Larry Crispin, better known in the media as The Front Page Predator. The bastard had meant to add her to his collection of victims, but not before raping her over and over again. Lydia had seen into his cesspool of a mind, and rape was by far the most innocent of plans he had in store for Maricel. When she finally had to choose whether to kill Crispin or let him go, the choice had been simple and quick.

As her television set relayed the morning news bulletin, the pretty anchorwoman reported on the brutal slaying of the killer.

"Police this morning identified the murder victim as Larry Henry Crispin, a 54 year old mortician who lived here in the Bay Area all his life. The details of the murder are baffling enough as it is, but according to evidence found at the scene, officials believe that Mr. Crispin was in fact The Front Page Predator, the infamous serial killer who began his spree of terror in the summer of 1978 to the present, leaving his mark 29 times across the nation," she reported in her made-for-T.V. monotonous tone.

The image changed from her to a picture of Larry, and Lydia felt repulsed seeing him with a broad smile, looking like anyone's uncle or best friend. Like any good wolf in sheep's clothing he was anything but what the photograph, taken at some party not too long ago, suggested. The picture changed again and Michael Wolverton, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing during his visit to see her an hour ago, spoke to the press.

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for your time. Early this morning, the body of Larry Crispin was discovered in his apartment after a 911 call from a neighbor. At some point before the arrival of law enforcement, an unknown assailant had murdered Mr. Crispin and escaped. After a search of his apartment officers found a cache of keepsakes, including fingers, eyes, locks of hair and jewelry. Forensics has determined that Mr. Crispin was in fact the owner of box through analysis of writing and fingerprints found on the items. A total of 29 women have been accounted for based on the number of keepsakes, the exact number of women The Front Page Predator has claimed since 1978. He was notorious for leaving clippings of his victims with the bodies.

All of the women had been featured in newspapers from around the country, mostly front-page newsmakers in small towns and cities. All 29 names found in the keepsake collection matched up to the victims of this brutal killer. At this time, the investigation into who killed Mr. Crispin and why is ongoing. When we have more information you will all be duly informed. Thank you."

There was a roar of questions on the heels of his last word as Michael stepped out of camera view and disappeared through a door, a short fat detective following him.

Lydia leaned back in her chair, her food not really agreeing with her. She didn't really need to eat anymore, but she often did so anyway just to try and retain a small part of her old life. She thought of Crispin and shook her head. That man had to be killed. He was a cancer, a tumor in the body of the world. She knew she had done the world a favor, but would her saving the life of Maricel ultimately destroy her life? The police had already showed up over Steven, and this clever detective had also hinted around about Maricel.

"Of course he knows," Lydia sighed, "Why else would he show up here?"

Maricel moaned again, her mouth opening and closing as she dreamed, her body changing and warping into an internally new creature. Lydia walked over to her and covered her with a blanket as the cold sweat continued.

Not more than a few hours ago, Maricel had emerged from her mental cocoon of the change and seduced her. Lydia had never considered what might happen if she turned someone, because she never had allowed her prey to turn. Every vampire is different, some with the super-human aspects and some without. It all depends on the vampire who does the biting. Lydia had been something of a telepath, or even an empath before she was bitten three hundred years ago. The virus that caused the vampirism had heightened her abilities and gave her all the benefits the virus had to offer. She was a rarity, a unique example among a secret society of loners and outcasts.

Many had feared her initially, and her joining of the ranks was difficult for most. There were some vampires over one thousand years old, with all the dignity and respect and honor that went with their distinctive age. And yet, for all their knowledge of the vampire bloodlines and lineage, for all their political sway in both the nocturnal and the human world, they could not match her abilities in full. They could not match her combined or separately.

Deep down, they feared her superiority. Respected, yet feared. And with that fear, there had been much talk of killing her to avoid upheaval in the society, to avoid certain advantages from forming of one group over another. Still, Lydia had served them well on many occasions and earned their respect over time. Out of that same respect for her loyalty to the society, they spared her life conditionally.

The only way her existence could have been more complicated was if she had been born a daywalker.

They did their best to not only keep her separated from the other's in the society, but to keep her from spreading her mutation of the virus. Her telepathic abilities had allowed to her hunt and manipulate in ways even Vlad Dracula couldn't have imagined, and she hadn't tapped but a fraction of her power. Until she had come along, no other creature of the nocturne had caused such a stir. So as a condition of her remaining alive, she agreed to never allow anyone to turn, that when she fed it was to be complete. It had been an easy agreement in that she hated the idea of one more person living like she did, but horrible in that she was killer no matter what.

And so she was branded an outcast amongst her own people and sent away here, to the museum under Geer's watchful eye. She was to live her life here for as long as the museum stood, isolated from everyone and everything.

She touched Maricel's cheek and shook her head. People were always fearful of what they didn't understand, and that went for nocturnals as well.

The vampires as a whole were xenophobic and arrogant. The used the humans as cattle, with little regard for their lives save for a few exceptions. They had hunted down and killed all but a few of the lycanthropes since the beginning of the feud between the two species over two thousand years ago. Lydia herself had killed them in battle many times before laying her sword down. In retrospect, she wasn't sure if the Lycanthropes deserved their fate or the swift brutality the vampire nation cleaved them with.

Lydia had heard of actual zombies, victims of vampires who returned to life, but only partially as the vampiric virus found something inside them it could not overcome and mutated, leaving a half dead and half alive creature with no sense of self. They not only had a thirst for blood, but a hunger for everything else as well. They could pass their mutated version of the vampiric virus to anyone they bit and change them and regenerate. The undead were the vampire rejects, the damned doomed to spend their lives as walking corpses. They could spread like the plague if left unchecked.

But in the last hundred years, with a few exceptions, the vampires had kept them under control, making sure any aberrations were killed immediately. Lydia was considered an aberrant; only she was an aberrant that came in useful to the elders on many occasions over the years.

Because of her willingness to honor the wishes of the elders with her remarkable abilities, she was spared and free to live her life for the time being. Free as her jailer Geer would allow, anyway. She had no fear of Geer himself. He was a pathetic excuse for a familiar and a worse example of humanity. But those who backed Geer were powerful and aligned with the seat of power itself. Lydia may have been a one-woman army in the eyes of some, but she knew as well as everyone else that she could not withstand the wrath of the entire vampire nation.

So she abided by Geer's rules. And now, she had apparently passed her fate on to Maricel along with her abilities. Lydia's moment of compassion for Maricel would, in the end, cause her life to be forfeit. She had violated the agreement with the elders, and once it was learned what she had done, they would come for her or tip off a slayer about her location. Maricel would die with her when the time came, of that she was sure.

And yet, knowing all this when Lydia bit her to spare her from the AIDS virus, when she fully connected to her and she saw the horror of vampirism, Maricel still harbored gratitude toward her rescuer.

To Lydia's surprise, she had harbored even more than that. She had entered Lydia's mind and stimulated her sexually, charging the feelings she had discovered when she was with Steve and seducing her. A sexual awakening had happened that night, and Lydia had been unprepared to handle it as Maricel used her new powers to tempt her. She had been powerless to stop it, as she hadn't yet recovered from her experience with Steve and the addictive nature of sex, a nature she had forgotten over the years. She fought for as long as she could and then, as with her thirst for blood, gave into the hunger the young woman aroused in her.

Like her life of recent, everything she knew was changing and flipping on her. She no longer was in control of herself.

She was in over her head, and she felt as though the world was closing in on her. Steve's death had been unbearable in the end as he professed his love to her. She had killed him, unable to fight back the thirst. She had killed Larry Crispin, a serial killer who had killed 29 women and targeted Maricel. Maybe it was justice done to end that murderous son of a bitch's life, but Maricel was an innocent.

Maricel had been given to death by Larry and saved by Lydia, who in turn could only spare her life by selling her soul to the plague of the devil himself. But Maricel had asked her to do this, had pleaded to be saved from the AIDS virus and to be put at the mercy of the vampiric thirst.

She believed she could choose how she met her end as a vampire. Lydia had tried to tell her she was wrong, but in the end she either didn't understand or didn't care. Lydia supposed it didn't matter now. A connection had formed between them during the feeding, and Maricel was a part of her now. They had shared a moment of pure sexuality between them this morning, further strengthening the bond they shared, and binding her to Lydia forever.

Was there a feeling of guilt over that? She wondered.

And now, Michael Wolverton had shown up with questions about Steve, Larry and Maricel out of the clear blue sky. Lydia still could not tell if he actually knew she was the killer, or if he had just appeared that way. Either way, Lydia knew that he was close, too close to stumbling his way into a situation of which he no understanding. She would have to find him and either convince him to seek another suspect and misdirect him, or dispatch him.

'Kill him,' she thought sourly.

She didn't want to, and the idea of killing Steve's brother made her feel sick to her stomach as she considered the alternative. She could not risk exposure for herself or the society, or Maricel now that she was no longer human. Slayers would show up in no time and destroy them once word got out.

She thought of her brief joining to Michael's mind, and the last images she had seen in his head before he somehow blocked her. She could see the morgue where Steve had been taken, but where his corpse should have been, there was only an empty table, blood on the floor, bodies and a severed head.

"What the fuck have I started?" she asked herself.

***

"Nice press conference, Mike," Chief Hollins said, slapping Michael on the back so hard he almost lost his cigarette, "Those jackals can be vicious, but you had them eating out of your hand."

"Not really," Michael shrugged, weary of Hollins suddenly friendly disposition, "I just gave them the facts."

Hollins office was thick with smoke from Michael's cigarette and his own huge Cuban cigar. He rolled it back and forth between his rubbery wet lips. Michael took his seat in front Hollins' oversized desk and winced at how uncomfortable it was. The man was all about psychology and asserting power over others, as if being Chief of Police wasn't enough. Michael had sat in the chair many times, and he along with any one else in the department could attest to the fact that it felt like a spring was uncoiling up your ass. Only a sadist could have found the old, rickety chair comfortable.

"What can I do for you, Chief?" Michael asked politely, not giving Hollins the satisfaction of seeing him so uncomfortable.

"My sympathies to you and your family over the death of your brother," he said, his large hairy hands clasped together on the desk, "This must be a terrible time."

"It is," Michael agreed, his face remaining unreadable.

"Look, Mike," Hollins took a deep drag on the cigar and looked at him carefully, "I appreciate the gut reaction any good cop, hell any good person, would have to the murder of a family member."

"Thank you, sir."

Hollins eyed him for a moment and then asked, "You're wondering why I've kept you clear of your brother's murder?"

"No sir," Michael looked out the window.

"Yes you have."

Michael said nothing.

"I need you focused on Crispin," Hollins said, "You can't afford to be distracted right now."

"I'm not distracted, Chief," Michael replied, "Crispin is my priority."

"Then why did you sign out evidence from your brother's case," Hollins shuffled through the folders on his desk and finally found the one he looking for, "The umbrella?"

"There may be a connection between whoever killed my brother and Larry Crispin. The prints on that umbrella matched ones taken from Crispin's apartment."

"Bullshit," Hollins shook his head and held up a copy of the prints Michael had taken from the photograph of Maricel. He shook the paper violently and said, "All you have are smudged fingerprints and a lot of conjecture. That's it."

"But if they are related," Michael reasoned, "Then it is my business now. Larry Crispin is my case, and if there is connection outside that then I have to be allowed in on it. Anything less could impede the investigation and put it in jeopardy. Crispin is my case, sir, and I need to have all the resources open to me."

"Detective Aikens is in charge of the case on your brother," he said, "Do not impede him by sticking your nose in on his turf or getting personal about this. Stay focused on the job."

"Sir, with all due respect, Aikens is a first month detective without a lick of common sense."

"Watch yourself, Wolverton," Hollins pointed at him, his cigar ashing on the desktop, "You've been in enough trouble as it is, and one more violation could see you busted to patrolman until you retire. My intervention on your behalf with the commissioner is the only reason why you have a badge still. You are floating on my good graces, understand?"

Michael wanted to punch the fat, egomaniacal fuck right in the face as hard as he could. With all that was happening in his life, this asshole wanted to play hardball with no regard for who was more qualified to get the job done. It was all about power, and he had to admit, for as many ways as he wrong on things in the past, on this one issue, Hollins might be right. Being a good cop meant stepping on toes sometimes, and Michael had stepped on enough of them to draw the attention of certain corrupt city officials and chairs of government. There was no question that he was on thin ice. Were it not for the Chief, he wouldn't have a job. At the same time, it was clear he had something of grudge against him.

But this was not the time for arguing about personal grudges or vendettas.

"I understand completely," Michael managed as he put his cigarette out.

"Good," Hollins smiled warmly, as though nothing had happened and leaned back in his chair. It creaked and moaned under his weight, and Michael was sure one of these days it would break. He only hoped he was in the room when it happened so he could watch Hollins fat ass bounce off the floor and laugh until he pissed pants.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Yes. Norwood Geer from the Art Museum called earlier, said you questioned one of his employees," Hollins inhaled deeply on his cigar, "Stay away from the museum. Let Aikens handle it."

Michael choked back his anger and smiled amiably.

"Now," Hollins said, "If the two investigations do cross paths, I will handle it. You've got the biggest fucking case to cross my desk since I can remember literally falling into your hands, and you've already got most of the mystery surrounding The Front Page Predator solved. This is national P.R., so don't fuck it up. This case could make you or break you. Be smart, Michael. "

"Yes sir."

Michael left the office with a headache as he tried to focus again on his job and not creative ways a bus could run over his boss. He passed the squad room and took the elevator to the third floor where the forensics lab was located. Hollins words echoed through his mind, gruff and arrogantly confident as he considered his options. He knew if he pushed it and stayed on his brother's murder unofficially, Rossetti would back him up and take the fall with him. But Rossetti was also a good cop with a clean violation record. Michael knew his own career was almost finished, but Rossetti had a promising future. They both knew being partnered with Michael was Rossetti's biggest career mistake, but the man stuck by him anyway.

'Loyalty', Michael thought grimly as he looked around the lab, 'like a brother is loyal.'

"Mike," a friendly voice called from across the room, "There you are."