Red Sunset Drive, page 30
“Hey, Anders,” Michael murmured, “the guys are getting suspicious. You need to tell them something so they’re prepared.”
The chief sighed and nodded. “Foster, bring your men into the other room. I need to share something with you.”
Foster’s fiery gaze swept the room, assessing Anders and the women. The captain was astute. It was clear Foster suspected something.
After the men left the kitchen, he sat down at the table. His shoulders drooped. After all, how many times had he battled bloodsuckers? None. Nada. When he was a detective back in the 1930s, he dealt with normal cases: robberies, petty crimes, and a few murders. He’d thought killers were the worst until he had to face these paranormal creatures. Even more confusing was why he and Brett had to continually fight these paranormal monsters. Was it his penance? He didn’t remember ever having done something so horrible that he deserved this kind of punishment. Innocent people were dying, and that went against every instinct he had. In fact, it pissed him off. Sons of bitches.
He leaned back, casting his glance upward, and silently prayed. “Hey. Anyone up there listening? It’s O’Shea again. We’re kind of in a predicament. We could use some help down here.”
After a couple of minutes, he slowly opened his eyes. Nothing? Really? Closing his eyes again, he tried to connect with the powers above. “Hello. I’m still here. I have no idea how we’re supposed to beat the bloodsuckers, which is why I am asking for help. I know you’re up there, so how about giving a guy a break?”
Without warning, a strong gust of wind blew open the front door. His beloved fedora flew off his head and swirled about the room before landing on the floor. Everyone jerked and gaped at the open doorway. Foster and his men whipped out their guns, aiming toward the source of the disturbance.
With eyes wide, Lisa whispered out the corner of her mouth, “Michael, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I think I stepped on some toes.”
He stomped over and grabbed the hat before shoving it back on his head. “Hmmph. I guess you were listening, but you didn’t have to take it out on my hat.” He glanced upward as his gaze hardened. “I’m assuming you’ve got our backs.”
Why was it so difficult to get answers? After all, they all knew he was still on earth to help Brett. If they weren’t going to help, then why allow him to keep visiting? He ran his hand over his face and growled. No use pondering the workings of the universe. There’s nothing I can do to change it.
He turned and froze. What if there is something I can do? He walked toward the kitchen table.
With heads together, Candy and Lisa talked in soft tones near the kitchen sink. Anders and the cops hadn’t returned to the kitchen yet, so Michael sat down and eyed the duffel bag and its contents—especially the grenades. He slid out his arm and quickly scooped a couple grenades into his pocket. He felt giddy. Grenades had been around for centuries. He knew they had been used in the First World War. I’ll bet that these grenades are even more powerful. Probably powerful enough to blow up a vampire if I had to guess.
He couldn’t wait to try them out tonight. He’d stuff them down the throats of the bloodsuckers. That would give them a shock they weren’t expecting.
Anders ran a hand through his hair. Foster, Nichols, and Johnson all stared expectantly at him. Nichols and Johnson were experienced cops and expert shooters. The fact that Foster trusted them enough to bring them was enough for him.
Anders cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. The men waited expectantly.
“Well, I … I’m not sure how to say this.”
Foster’s brows drew together. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. The guys and I know what to do.”
“I know you do. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t trust you.” He gritted his teeth. “I need to warn you that this won’t be a normal case.”
Nichols chuckled. “There’s nothing normal about the idiots we go after, sir.”
“Yeah, but the guys we’re going after tonight are anything but idiots. To complicate matters, they have O’Shea.”
“Damn it!” Foster swore. “Why didn’t you call us sooner? Shit! We need to bring in more men.”
As Foster reached for his phone, Anders grabbed it out of the captain’s hand. “Listen to me very carefully. We are going after men—I mean things—that are not human. Our guns and weapons will not kill these things.”
A nervous laugh escaped Nichols. “Damn, Chief. Are you trying to scare us or what?”
“I’m not joking. I’m very serious. If you want to walk away, then do it. No one will think any different of you.”
Foster swore under his breath and stomped toward the window. “Cut the bullshit, Anders. Exactly what are we up against?”
“If you repeat what I’m going to tell you, I’ll make sure you write parking tickets the rest of your career.” Anders pointed his finger at each of the men. “Got it?”
Anders caught sight of Michael standing in the corner, watching. His men nodded, waiting for Anders to continue. There was no good way to tell them. “We’re hunting vampires.”
Silence filled the room. The men gaped at him. Michael’s grin grew.
“What did he say?” Johnson gasped, looking at Foster.
“Vampires? Like the ones that fly around and change into bats?” Nichols asked.
Foster stared at him, a look of disbelief on his face.
“No, they don’t fly around and turn into bats, but they’re fast. Listen, guys. I know I sound crazy. There are things in this world that we can’t see.”
Foster growled, “Like what?”
Anders winced. Michael suddenly disappeared with a glimmer of amusement on his face. Damn. What is the ghost up to?
“Ghosts. I may sound crazy, but I’ve had to face ghosts and demons, and it was scary as hell.”
The three men stared back at Anders. Nichols eyed the door, looking as if he were ready to bolt.
“Guys, I didn’t use to believe in the hocus-pocus bullshit either. Only crazy people or spiritual people see paranormal things—not an old street cop like me.” Anders ran a hand through his hair. What else could he say to convince them?
Michael stepped from the shadows to the center of the room; his body visible to everyone. With his hands on his hips and his head cocked at a jaunty angle, he snorted, “Guys. You need to listen to Anders. We don’t have much time.”
Nichols and Johnson stepped back, placing their hands on their guns.
Foster growled, “Who the hell are you?”
Michael grinned and glanced toward Anders “You want to tell them, or should I?”
“Since you’re here, go ahead.”
Puffing out his chest, Michael pushed back his hat to reveal his face. “I’m Detective Michael O’Shea.”
Foster frowned and stepped closer to Michael. “O’Shea? You’re related to Brett, aren’t you?”
Beaming, Michael nodded. “Yep. I’m his great-great-grandfather.”
Anders choked back a curse. He could see Foster trying to do the math in his head. He knew what was coming next.
“That would make you over a hundred years old. From where I’m standing, you look like you’re in your early thirties.” Foster glared at Michael.
“Close.”
“If you expect us to believe that you’re Brett’s grandfather then you’re batshit crazy.”
Michael’s smile faded. “No, not crazy … a ghost.”
Foster gaped at him before bursting into laughter. Nichols and Johnson joined in the laughter.
Anders slowly shook his head. Michael glowered at the men still chuckling at his expense.
Suddenly Michael’s figure shimmered and vanished. Foster’s and his men’s faces froze. Their mouths gaped open as they turned about the room, looking for Michael. Foster stopped and looked at Anders. The man’s face was as white as a sheet.
Anders almost smiled, remembering the first time he realized that Michael was indeed a ghost.
Foster stuttered, “What … where is he?”
“Oh, just wait. I’m sure he’ll be back to gloat.”
Sure enough, a light breeze sifted through the room. Particles of who knew what flew through the air and collected in the center of the room until Michael reappeared. With his arms folded across his chest, his chin jutting forward, he looked every inch a determined detective.
Nichols and Johnson stepped closer to Foster. His men looked nervous. Anders had to give Foster credit; the man didn’t cower or back down. But neither did Michael.
“So, believe me now?” taunted Michael.
Foster squinted, reaching out to poke Michael’s arm. “Maybe. You seem real enough. How did you do that disappearing thing?”
“That is my secret, Captain. I take it you’re a believer now.”
Foster glanced at his men, who stood behind him. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I know something happened that I don’t understand.” Foster bit his lip. Frown lines marred his face. “What’s really troubling is that if ghosts are real, then vampires might be real. I don’t have a clue how to fight either of you.”
“And that’s why we’re all here talking about this now.” Relief coursed through Anders. Now they were getting somewhere. “Vampires are extremely fast—Superman fast. Bullets will slow them down, but to finish them off, you need holy water and wooden stakes jammed in their hearts.”
“Stakes in their fucking hearts! Man, you’re talking crazy shit.” Nichols boomed.
Anders held up his hands. “Listen; take a breath. I know this is overwhelming, but these vampires are murdering people in our city. Either we take them out or we might as well give up now.”
Foster turned to face his men. “I agree with the chief. If people learn that vampires are real, we will have panic. More innocent people will die. We can’t let that happen. With the chief and Michael leading the way, I say count me in. They have experience in fighting paranormal monsters. What about you two? Are you in or out?”
The men glanced at one another before they both stepped forward. They all stood in a circle, arms outstretched, as they fist-bumped one another.
Anders motioned for them to follow him back to the kitchen, where Candy and Lisa waited. He pointed to the counters and table. “There are plenty of knives, grenades, and ammo in here for each of you. Our priority is to get O’Shea and Dragos out of there. Whatever you do, don’t let your guard down even for a second. Remember: we take no prisoners. They have to be eliminated.”
Everyone looked grim as they silently loaded the rest of the weapons.
Anders glanced at the clock and shoved the last round of ammo into his pocket. “Okay guys. It’s showtime. These guys won’t play nice, and neither should you. Let’s go kick some ass.”
56
Brett stiffened. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. They stopped outside his door. Perched on the edge of the mattress, he stared at the door. His heart rose in his throat. The door slowly opened. His nemesis was back. He suspected that the smile on Victor’s face was not a good sign.
Two vampires followed Victor into the room. The men marched over to the bed and loomed over him. They licked their lips. Their heated gazes dared him to try to run—anything to give them cause to kill him. He squirmed like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a gun.
Involuntarily, he scooted back against the wall. How am I going to get out of this mess?
Victor motioned toward Brett. “Take him to the chamber below.”
In a fluid motion, he was jerked to his feet and pushed into the dark hallway. Unable to see, he stumbled, earning the displeasure of his escorts.
A vampire hissed in his ear, “Please run. Try to escape so I can snap your puny neck.”
Brett opened his mouth to tell the guy to fuck off but quickly decided this was not the time or place. He grunted, swallowing his anger at being shoved. It would be a cold day in hell before he gave them any sign that he was in pain.
The hallway wound past several closed doors. How big is this house? He would never have guessed the house hid such vast chambers. Upon reaching the end, an ancient-looking oak door embellished with wrought-iron gargoyles opened. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Concrete stairs wound down to another level. Eyes wide, he took in the ornate, oppressive features of the cavern. It was impossible to believe that this world existed below a house in this wealthy suburb.
The damp, cloying air from the lower level rose up, wrapping its tentacles about his throat. He swallowed the lump. Tremors shook his body. His skin crawled as if he had walked into a curtain of cobwebs. He resisted the urge to brush the sensation from his skin. Suddenly there was pressure on his chest. He paused at the top of the stairs. He didn’t want to go down there. It was as if he knew how the story would end if he did. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back up.
“Get moving.”
When he glanced down, he saw that a sheen of moisture coated the stairs. One slip and he’d fall onto the stone floor below. There would be no mercy from Victor and his goons.
Before he moved, the vampire behind him gave a shove. His hand clawed at the wall, trying to stop the downward motion. There has to be something to grab! His knee buckled, slamming his head into the wall next to the stairs. The movement slowed his momentum and allowed him to collapse in a heap. With the wall now solidly bracing his back, he closed his eyes. Raising a shaky hand, he touched his throbbing forehead. Blood smeared his palm. Glaring at the vampire that grinned down at him, it was obvious that his bloody head had caught the attention of the vampires. They formed a semicircle around him. He shrunk back against the wall. What I wouldn’t give to have a weapon at this moment.
Victor stood at the top of the stairway. The vampires glanced up at their master and then backed away from Brett. Yet he didn’t relax. He was like a circus animal, an amusement, for these sick bastards. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and tentatively descended the remainder of the steps.
Soft footsteps glided down the stairs as Victor followed. Goosebumps trailed down his back. Victor could reach out at any second and kill him. He wouldn’t even see it coming.
“Go to the right,” Victor ordered.
He followed the vampire into a dark room. The stench of urine and blood made him gag.
“Come now, Detective. It’s the sweet smell of blood.”
Brett glared at Victor, ignoring his comment. As he glanced around the large room, he noticed a dark shadow dangling from the ceiling. A man? A dead man?
Victor motioned to another vampire, who turned on several lights. His gaze traveled up the man’s body, pausing at the face.
A moan escaped from Dragos’s cracked lips. Brett watched Dragos slowly raise his head and glance around the room. His gaze hardened when he spotted Victor. Dragos’s face turned red as he jerked the chains encasing his arms.
Victor stepped forward and grabbed his neck, dragging him forward.
“I have brought you company, Dragos—your detective friend, O’Shea. Like you, he was a little reluctant to cooperate, but that is all in the past.”
Brett recoiled as Dragos glared down at him. What the hell?
“If you think the human is important to me, you are sadly mistaken.”
Brett struggled to keep his mouth shut. The hatred streaming from Dragos’s gaze had him rethinking every minute they had spent together. Son of a bitch. I opened up my house to the bastard because I felt sorry for the guy.
Victor’s gaze grew calculating. The vampire whipped toward him and slashed his bare arm with a fingernail. Blood formed in a dotted line. Victor grabbed his arm and licked it.
Brett fought to pull away from Victor’s grasp, but it was ironclad. Fear coursed through him. The dull look in Dragos’s eyes scared him. Had Dragos surrendered—given up?
“Really, Victor. Are you showing off for the human?”
Victor flung Brett’s arm aside and stormed over to look up at Dragos.
“Are you ready to join us? Ready to release your power and live up to your potential? Dragos, I chose you because you are intelligent. You can have anything that you desire.”
Dragos closed his eyes. His muscles relaxed. What is Dragos thinking? Don’t give up! Brett silently pleaded. Dragos tossed his head, causing the dark hair to fly off his face and revealing a harsh stare.
“No!”
Victor’s eyes widened in what appeared to be disbelief, but that was quickly replaced with a look of determination. He turned and nodded at the other vampires. They grabbed Brett and tossed him on a nearby table.
“Argh! Stop!” Every bone in his body burned. He flung his legs off the table, only to receive a punch in the stomach. Instinctively he tried to curl into a ball. Hands grabbed his arms and legs and quickly strapped his limbs to the table. He thrust his body upward, tugging at the immovable straps.
Alto stood near the table, watching Victor. At Victor’s slight nod, Alto leaned down. The vampire’s teeth lengthened. Brett’s eyes flew wide open. Shit! He was going to die.
He screamed as teeth sank into his neck. “You bastard. Get away from me! So help me, when I get loose, I’m going to kill your sorry ass.”
Breaking through layers of skin and muscle, the intrusion of the bite was a violation of his soul. Little by little, weariness filled him.
“Enough,” Victor growled.
Raising his head, Alto slowly wiped his mouth.
Dragos twisted his body, which rippled with strength as he pulled on the chains. “Victor. Enough!”
“Are you joining me then?”
A scream of anger ripped from Dragos’s throat.
“I cannot,” he groaned.
Victor shook his head. “Alas, you leave me with little choice. Alto, finish the detective. Then toss the body in the fire.”
Comprehension hit him. Finish the detective! Oh crap. Brett pulled against the restraints, but they remained secure. He looked at Dragos. Dragos’s face looked as if it were carved in granite: no emotion, no recognition, and no regret. So much for friendship. Had Dragos really been a friend?
