The Pains of Immortality (A Vampyric Thread) OPEN

It took one night to change her life forever. It took about a year to adjust to the changes and discover her new limitations. It took longer for the pain and loneliness to sink in. It was different for each person, some never survived the change, and others had weaknesses that made their existence more difficult to painful. Most become animalistic in some way, with fur, claws, horns, fangs, or other physical abnormalities. Most had amazing stamina and health, aversion to sunlight, and strange cravings for flesh and blood. Even then something caused them to die painful deaths. Despite their longevity or perhaps because of it? This had led her to research, collecting samples of those she met, all were very interested and cooperative and she kept up with many correspondences around the world.

Still it was the twenty first century and still she was no closer to revealing the secret behind their unique genetic mutation. She knew they had been around a long time, called vampires, werewolves, among other things. Valik had not even discovered any correlation to survival time. Sometimes the best adaptations died within 20 years and the most grotesque lived centuries. She considered them immortal as they all had amazing regenerative abilities. It was their weaknesses that did them in, or catastrophic organ failure as if their bodies could no longer withstand the mutation.

Valik was currently working in New York, and many of her kin had quietly immigrated to assist her with her work. She fed on the homeless, and had got it down to where she had not killed anyone in centuries. She had never changed someone and she later found out that it was almost always an accident the first time, and most were more careful after that. It was amazing that despite practical immortality and strange deaths that more of them were being created, seemingly in proportion to total population.

Valik was able to pass for human, but she owned and operated an underground club. It funded her research and gave her "kin" a place to socialize. She was short, with a compact build, dark bluish black hair, eyes that were distinctly lavender, prominent canines, and she kept her nails manicured. She had heightened sense of smell and hearing, which was common, she considered it part of the hunting mating instincts, though some had heightened sense of smell and other amazing sight.

Tonight she was at the club, working the crowd, noticing a few new faces in the crowd as she entered her private booth and ordered a drink. She found the mortals that passed through her doors amazing, they were accepting, and bizarre in their own way.

Jakar had heard good things about this underground club he found himself in tonight. His strong scence of sight and hearing had led him to notice a woman enter. She walked around, seemingly familiar with the club. His keen eyes picked out her prominant kanines as she opened her mouth for a breath. She was indeed one of them. Although she looked young, he knew that was probably not at all the case. He himself looked to be barely out of college, yet he had seen the fall of Rome. Jakar had long ago put away his primal urges to feed on the flesh of humanity, it had always seemed wrong to eat a creature capable of reason. Jakar ran his hand through his silver hair and rose from his stool at the bar. He was at her booth in a flash and smiled down at her. She looked more human than many, much as he did. Except for his eyes and hair, he appeared human...when he wanted to. When angry or in need, his finger nails became claws, and his teeth extended past their already prominant length. He had even learned within the past two hundred years to sprout wings when the occation arose that made it necessary. Jakar did not consider himself anymore powerful than the others in this club. He had simply delved more deeply into his mutation. He had embrased it. He had lived with it for more than a thousand years.
"Hello, what is your name?" Jakar asked, focusing again on the female vampire. His orange eyes trained in hers.

Detective Monica Saunders

" What do we got?"

Monica slipped under the yellow police line as some uniforms were keeping back the lookie-loos. The alley was dark and quiet, almost a relief from the street.

" Another cutter victim it looks like", the assistant M.E. said crouching over the yellow tarp covered body .

" Jesus..." Monica hissed and lit up a marlboro.

4 victims in 2 weeks. Throat and wrist slashed if not ripped open by some sort of serated blade. The first victim looked like it was bitten of all things and mauled with a blad after. But now they were all the same MO. Some one fucked them up and then butchered their throats and wrists again.

The street was fresh from a rainfall, most of the blood had drained away already. But she had her doubts too, so did the ME. No matter how bad it rained, nobody could lose blood that fast.

There was a clop clop clop behind her and Monica turned to be blinded by a flash.

" Detective , detective!..is this another Vampire Killer attack"

Fucking 'National Tattler' reporter

" Get that fucking thing out of my face" she said pushing back hard on the reporter


" Hey, thats police brutality" the mortified retort came.

"And this is a crime scene and unless you want to spend the night downtown..get your ass out of here!"

The reporter got up and hustled away cursing, " I'll have your badge for this, Detective--"

" saunders. Monica Saunders. Thats S-A-U-fuck off-N-D-E-R-S!!!"

Acouple uniforms dragged the the reporter out of her sight.

$ drug dealers. Dealers of some of the nastiest fucking black tar and china white to ever hit the street. They were already bastards that deserved to burn in hell..but to die like this.

The ME whispered up to Monica " how the hell did they know about the blood drain?"

" Just that hack, lots of lips get loosened after a few bought drinks"

Saunders didnt like this. She didnt like this one bit.


Det. Monica Saunders

37 yrs old
blonde short hair, blue eyes
pale skin, freckles on nose
slim but very toned build
smokes way too much

Plato the hunter

Plato stepped further back into the shadows as the police surrounded the body of yet another victim. He'd seen the sort of carnage many times, too many times over too many years to even feel sorry for what used to be a human that was now sprawled out in the center of the alley. "Either a recent turn or an elder turned blood simple." Plato thought to himself as he saw a female detective arrive. It was one of the many risks his kind lived with; as the years passed they could devolve into nothing more then blood hungry animals, their thirst driving any coherent thought from their minds. It was this very risk that had drawn Plato to this cesspool of humanity from his retreat high in the mountains. He was a hunter, one of the few left that remembered the old rules and his duty for many years had been to quiet any blood simple rogues. They had survived in secrecy and the shadows far too long to let humanity know of their existence now.

Shifting his heavy coat on his shoulders, Plato watched the human police go through the motions of searching for clues. Even from this distant his preternaturally sharp eyes could tell him that there was no trace for them to find, only the faintest hint of the killer’s scent was still lingering in the alley. The too long fingers of his hands tapped a rhythm against his thigh as he memorized all the nuances of the murder scene and what little trace the killer had left. They were one of the many changes he had experienced on changing, that fateful night many centuries ago. His body had grown, grown painfully over the course of the night so that he now stood taller then most humans, his body giving the impression of one stretched to its limits. His head was completely devoid of hair, his dark violet eyes peering out from eyelash-less lids.

Plato froze in place as the female detective stood up, her eyes scanning the dark corner where he stood even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to see him unless he wanted her too. She seemed to be extremely alert for a human, Plato thought to himself as she returned to her inspection of the corpse at her feet. He’d have to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t learn anything she shouldn’t. That was the other duty of a hunter, to ensure that no human learned too much of their existence. Plato still remembered the trouble he’d had with that Swiss doctor after the bungled Carfax Abbey affair. Another case of an elder going simple but one that had garnered national attention although now humans all assumed it had been nothing but fiction.

Plato turned from the grisly scene, knowing there was nothing more he could learn there although he did note the detective’s name. “Saunders.” Plato spoke softly to himself as he effortlessly climbed the steep side of the building, slipping into a half opened window and walking down a dirty hallway. He heard the sounds of the humans fighting, feeding, and fucking through the doors of this apartment building as he glided over the floor. He couldn’t remember what it had been like to be a human; he had trouble remembering his true name it’d been so long. He’d been dubbed Plato many years ago by another Hunter who had told him he thought too much. A cat hissed at him as he passed, its hackles raised and teeth bared in blind panic at the sight of him. Plato ignored it, used to feline’s aversion to him as he stepped out onto the street his nose searching for the trace of the killer’s scent.

Andrea Emmanuelle Garcia

She stood on the roof, in the cover of an alcove, looking down into the alley a block away with a scowl on her face. The place was crawling with police, milling around down there like ants. The carved up carcass of the filthy mortal poisoner was being examined by an M.E. Wrapped tightly in its sheath and hidden under her coat, her blade hadn’t a speck of blood left on it. She knew how to take care of her tools. His blood had tasted foul and had made her gag a few times. Who ever said you can’t taste a man’s soul in their blood, had obviously never tasted a drug dealer. This was her fourth poisoner in 2 weeks. They had all died on their knees, begging for mercy. Thinking of their pitiful pleas sent her blood boiling. These degenerates prowled the streets – Her streets – Her neighborhood – and peddled their poison to the kids. To children! She’d grown up in that neighborhood. Granted, it had been in the 30’s, and she’d traveled a lot since being transformed at the age of 35, all around the globe in fact, but these streets were still her home.

She’d set up a half-way house for kids who had nowhere to go. She’d also taken in a few recovering junkies in her time, and a large section of the house was allotted to a safe-house for paroled female cons. Technically, the whole complex wasn’t just one house, it was practically an entire block. She had a lot of people who helped her manage the place. A lot of them were people she’d helped in one way or another.

No one knew about her unnatural situation, but she did have somewhat of a reputation in the neighborhood. Emmi, as people would call her, was kind and generous, and people liked her. She stood at around 5’7”, half Caucasian-half Latino, had the darkest chocolate brown eyes people in the neighborhood had ever seen, and had long, curly, dark hair. Her facial features were angled, like you’d see in one of those fantasy drawings of elves. The fact that her ears had an ever so slight point to them only enhanced the likeness. The guys in the neighborhood would say she had a body to die for and legs that just wouldn’t quit. It made her laugh. She’d never thought of herself as beautiful or hot. Her skin was naturally tan, even though people hadn’t seen her outside in the sun much. The truth was that she could, despite her ‘condition’, go outside during the daytime. Provided she kept out of the sun, and kept her eyes covered with very dark sunglasses. If she didn’t keep her eyes covered, they would ‘overload’, as she chose to call it, and she could go temporarily blind. Her eyes would heal, but it usually took a day or two. People bought the medical explanation she’d come up with and respected her ‘disability’.

She could spend a very limited amount of time in direct sunlight and would retreat to the shadows when it got to be too much for her. People who knew her took that as a part of her ‘disability’ and respected it. She was unnaturally strong, had an incredibly acute sense of smell and hearing. She was also unbelievably fast, even for one of her kin. But her canines, aside from being small, were also very fragile. If she bit something – or someone – and hit bone, even if it was just a light brushing against it, they were almost guarantied to break or at least chip. Like her eyes, they would heal or grow back in about a day or two, but it hurt like hell when they got damaged. That was why she carried the knife with her when it was time to feed. But the kids in the neighborhood got a kick out of the fact that "it looked like she had fangs", and she would often play with them, running around pretending to be trying to catch them, making really fake growling noises and calling herself a ‘Chubacabra’. Their squeals of joy and laughter warmed her heart. She mostly fed on rats, since they were around in abundance.

Another ability she had was ‘connecting’ with people. She could sense people’s emotions, their fears, their desires, likes and dislikes, as long as they were on the surface and were strong enough for her to pick up. She couldn’t read minds or telepathically order people around, but it was a good ability to have. It aided her in her daily life, of helping her community. She also found that she could ‘project’ her emotions to an individual, but again, only if her own emotions were strong enough.

She stood there and watched as the police did their job. She had seen the news coverage on TV, read the stories in the papers, the tabloids and heard the rumors on the streets. She knew what the media was calling her, “The Vampire Killer”. The name made her want to laugh. She knew the police wouldn’t stop until they found something. Issued some kind of justice. She didn't care. The poisoners were going down, all of them. They were vermin.

It had been 3 weeks since it happened. 3 weeks since she came across Nicole in the alley. Nicole had been one of her neighborhood kids, intelligent, sweet, kind. Everything a proud parent could ask for. Lately Nicole had been hanging around some kids that just stank of trouble. When Emmi had tried to reason with her, Nicole had gotten in her face and stormed out. She’d gone missing for several days and Emmi had gone out to look for her every night.

She could smell the faint whiff of the Crack-cocaine Nicole had been smoking and could hear Nicole’s heart trying desperately to keep her alive. Emmi had picked the girl up in her arms and taken off towards the hospital, her body pushing towards her goal with every ounce of her un-natural strength and speed. Never in her existence had she run so fast.

Nicole’s heart had held out for almost an hour after arriving at the hospital, before finally giving up. Nicole had been 13 years old.

Her fury, her sorrow, her feeling of failure, all of it drove her forward in her quest for vengeance. She wouldn’t stop. She would never stop. Not until the very last of the poisoners was dead. If she had to go to the next galaxy to take out the very last one of them, she would do it. She would kill them all. She would feast on them. The last sight any of them would see on this earth, before the Devil claimed their filth ridden souls, would be her furious face glaring down at them, her mouth dripping with their own blood. She would avenge the death of the 13 year old girl that their kind had murdered.

Then she saw her. The blond woman. She looked like a cop, someone in charge. The way she commanded the scene and everybody just seemed to fall into pace with her. It was fascinating. The woman intrigued her. Dashing down from her hiding place unnaturally fast, Emmi slowed to normal speed before entering the alley. She slowly walked as close to the scene as they would allow any spectators to go and just starred at the woman. The gory scene beyond the yellow police tape didn’t interest her in the least. After all, she was the one who’d caused it.

The woman was beautiful. Rough and hard nosed, but feminine all the same. Emmi found herself captivated by her. Her silky blond hair, her icy blue eyes that burned with determination, her ivory skin. Emmi knew the feeling that was coursing through her body like a wild fire. Lust! Pure, unbridled lust! It had been so long since she’d last taken a lover, male or female, and she found her body yearning. Every fiber in her being was screaming at her to stop, to leave. This woman was a police officer. A member of the very force that was hunting for her.

Before she had even realized what she was doing, she had made mental contact with the blond and had projected her feelings to her. The need inside her flowing through the one way connection like fire up an oil drenched fuse. Emmi had no idea how hard the projection would hit the blond and now that it was on its way, she had no way of stopping it or even slowing it down. But its content was clear. The need for her to know that she was there. The desperation of having her notice her. To know that she was watching. And that she wanted her and her alone. It all carried through in 2 words sounding like they were being whispered by the very wind itself, audible only to the blond woman alone. “Feel me.”

Valik

The club had an unusual feeling it tonight, a haze of fear. She had read the papers and it made her sick. Death claimed people soon enough without someone adding to it. She knew the trouble it would cause, and felt the ripples all through the club. She had known hunters, and the blood insane. It was a stage that usually happened soon before death took over, though not always. She sensed she did not know the killer, and put it out of her mind. Right now she had more important things to deal with, such as the interesting man approaching her, she sensed he was old, perhaps even the oldest of their kind.

His eyes flickered like a flame and she wondered where his interests lay. She wondered about a lot of things, an endless curiousity kept her from boredom. Valik had not been a flirt even when she had been mortal. There was something about the change that made primal instinctive instincts come out. She could almost smell his interest.

"I am called Valik," English was not her first language and on occasion her choice of words showed it. She had chosen the name Valik in honor of the one who had changed her. "And your name is?" she asked feigning disinterest, even though part of her wanted to study him another part of her was interested on another level.

FYI

I have created a pesky OOC 'out of character' thread to fine tune characters and discuss other story related items

Monica

She felt like she had been slapped in the face and her head turned almost out of its own volition. It was like some one was screaming at her to look, but she couldnt see who it was.

There was someone in the crowd, one of the pedestrians.
She scanned the faces, nothing stood out. Monica felt a chill go up her spine. The killer was out there, she knew it. In a flash she knew she was being watched and she also knew the killer wanted her to know. The old timers used to talk about Berkowitz and how he'd always be in the crowd after each of his kills. Studying the police, revering and fearing them. But they caught him on a traffic ticket, it would probably take about the same amount of luck to nab this psycho too.

Monica began to step forward following this unnatural compulsion when a tap on her shoulder brought her back to the here and now. A uniform was going over the canvassing.

" You still with me Detective" the boy in blue asked.

" yeah, sorry, whats the lowdown"

Same old story, a thousand people around. No one saw anything. At least nothing valid, or didnt care. Just another dead person. Another dead dealer, many were happy for that. Monica wasnt, it was only a matter of time before the rival gangs really started blaming each other and taking pot shots at each other, then their suppliers would get involved. If not handled quickly, this could turn into a crime war. All over a fucking block clocking dealer..

The CSU arrived and went over the scene with a tooth comb. Monica read over the canvass reports, and talked to 'witnesses" which here just crackheads looking for a handout for their next fix.

She took another look over the scene. Okay, the alley ended in a brick wall. Killer didnt exit that way. Walking out into the street? No, while no one cared about the dealer, people as sure as shit would notice a blood spattered person leaving the scene. So unless they grew wings and flew away..

Monica paused. She looked up just above the crime scene. The fire escape. The ladder was down. She took a box and climbed up. She crawled up the rickety rust coated thing 3 floors to the roof. She had a great view of the alley. The roof was gravelly.

Then she noticed it, the indent. Some one was kneeling or crouching here in the gravel. Watching the alley. Hunting.

" shit..."

This was turning into a fucking redball. This was a hit, or a serial killer. She'd have the fucking feds all over her in heartbeat. Shit, shit, shit. This had to be dealt with.

She came back down and perused the scene again. All the while her eyes drawn back to the scattering lookie-loos.

And especially to her.

She was a striking woman. Pale, angular, exotic. She stirred something in her. Fear, attraction,suspicion. The woman was watching Monica with a cool hunger.

She lit another smoke.Something shook in her. This was what dragged her attention, it was her.She shook her head. An attracive woman in a crowd, so what.. but something struck her. It was her.


She wandered up to the yellow tape, adjusting her trench coat.

" Excuse me, Detective Saunders, NYPD homicide, could you tell me anything you m,ight have seen"

Emmi

She watched as the blonde’s head shot around to look in her general direction, like she’d been punched. She cringed slightly, apologizing to her under her breath. There was something in her eyes, something that she did not want to see there. Suspicion! She’d gotten her meaning wrong! Cursing herself mentally for being rash and not thinking things through, she blended into the crowd easily.

For a long time she watched the blond as she went about her work. She picked up her scent, closed her eyes and reveled in its sweetness. Opening her eyes again she saw her climbing the fire escape, her movements fluid, like a cat’s. As she disappeared from view, Emmi knew she would undoubtedly find the spot where she’d waited for the poisoner. Her unnatural hearing picked up the blonde’s voice on the roof. “shit…” Oh yeah, she’d found the spot, all right. She picked up something on the light breeze. The blonde’s scent had altered slightly. She was nervous, why? She frowned slightly in confusion.

Watching her climb down again she noticed her movements were a little stiffer than before, not quite as fluid. As the blond surveyed the scene again, she couldn’t stop staring at her. Then the blonde’s eyes locked on her. She felt like an adolescent getting caught staring at a pretty boy or girl in her classroom. But she didn’t look away. “That’s right. See me!” She thought, glad she couldn’t communicate her words to the blond telepathically. “I’m here. The one you’re looking for. See me!” As the blond strolled closer to her, Emmi’s mind kept cooing at the unknowing blond. “That’s right. Come to me! I’ll make all your fantasies come true.” Then she was in front of her. Talking to her.

"Excuse me, Detective Saunders, NYPD homicide, could you tell me anything you might have seen"

She couldn’t take her eyes off of the blonde’s lips as she spoke. The way they moved, was so sensual, so erotic. Tearing her gaze away from the blonde’s lips to look in her eyes, Emmi’s brow crinkled slightly. Lacing her voice with genuine innocence and slight confusion, she spoke.

“Uhm, I don’t know, Detective. I don’t really think I could be of any help with your case. I just got here myself, actually.”

It wasn’t a lie. She’d only just gotten here. Technically she could have added the word ‘again’ somewhere towards the end of that last sentence, but the Detective hadn’t asked about that, now had she?

“I really didn’t see anything that could possibly help you.”

“This time around.” her mind added.
She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“Sorry detective.” She finished as a small, genuine smile found its way to her lips.

Her gaze found the detective’s cigarette and she frowned slightly in disapproval. “I guess even the most enchanting ones have their faults.” She thought as her gaze found the detective’s eyes again. “I could work around it.” Her thoughts concluded.

Oriana Maria Theresa Ramirez Guerrero

Oriana sighed, although only in her mind. The day had been long, and she was tired. Never the less, she had one more card reading to do. Bills had to be paid whether you were tired or not and Oriana didn't think the electric company could be convinced to trade homemade charms and spells for another month's worth of power. Smoothing her glossy black hair back into a manageable ponytail that hung down to her slim waist, she went out into the front of the shop. There were more Tarot cardreadings to be done before she could call it a night.

"Who is my next reading, Anna?" Oriana adressed her boss, the owner of the store where she worked. The shop, aptly named "Anna's Place" had been operating in this poor hispanic neighborhood for as long as Oriana could remember. It catered to those who still believed in folk traditions and old superstitions. Here among the poor and downtrodden, many looked to the old ways as a source of comfort and hope. They did a thriving business in candles, herbs and spells, although sometimes Oriana felt that those looking for help would do better to get their lives in order on the mundane level. After all, God helps those who help themselves. Still, the majority of her customers were hard working honest folk who were making a sincere effort to better their lives. It wasn't their fault the deck was stacked against them.

The store owner looked up from the incense she was packaging in response to Oriana's query. She set down a half filled packet of frankinsence and consulted a tattered notebook. "Well, that would be Senora Alvarez, she's scheduled for seven tonight." Anna's ears, though old did not miss the sigh of exasperation from Oriana. "Come on girl, she always tips you good." The old woman went back to filling the little plastic bag with the fragrent material that always managed to make Oriana sneeze whenever she did that task.

"Yeah, and tries to fix me up with that drug dealer son of hers." Oriana had managed to stay on the straight and narrow, much to her parent's delight. She had been raised by two immigrants from mexico, descended from the Azteca, or so her mama said. She had taken some college, but dropped out due to something she had not anticipated.

What her mama called second sight. Just before turning 19, it was as if Oriana's mind had opened up. She had begun having odd dreams, things that would later turn out to come true the next day, or the day after. She also gained a strange sensitivity to touching things, and would get bombarded by images from it, from who the last person to touch the newspaper had been to seeing an image of the spoiled frat boy who sat next to her date rape his date the previous night. Her grades had gradually suffered, and she dropped out until she had managed to gain a modicum of control over her powers. So it was she had come to work in this occult store, serving others like her parents, those striving to bette their life. The old ladies who cmae to the shop seemed to view her single, unmarried status as a challenge, and tried to fix her up with their sons or grandsons. Like Senora Alvarez, and her son, Ramon Alvarez, charmer and local dealer of heroin.

"She keeps trying to get me to go out on a date with him." Oriana remembered the handsome young man, with cold black eyes and shuddered. Really, he was going to end up dead some day.

Blood, blood everywhere. It drips down crimson from where it gushed in a bright arterial spray. Foul, it is foul, he is foul! The words echoed in her head, driving out all rational though. Oriana did not even realize when she fell to her knees in the grip of a vision that was merciless in its detail. The smell of death rose up and choked her and she gagged from the stink of it, blood, feces and urine from a body torn apart. Anger, betrayal, FURY! I will kill the next, and the next and the next until they are ALL DEAD!

The image of a pretty woman with empty eyes flashed before her mind's eye in the time it took for her heart to beat once. Latino and Caucasian, dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin. Cold heart, Oriana's power whispered to her. The next thing she saw brought her screaming out of the trance, for in her mind she saw the butchered body of Ramon Alvarez, dead in an alleyway, his dead eyes staring back at her. See me....a voice whispered, and the name tag of a police detective flashed into her mind. Saunders....

She came out of the trance shaking and sweating, with Anna crouched over her calling her name.

"What is it, chica?" The old woman asked concernedly, worry written on her face.

Not again. Oriana struggled to her feet, shaking off the old woman's helping hands and staggering over to grab her coat.

"I just had a vision, I think Senor Alvarez's son is the latest victim of the slasher killings...and I just saw the killer." She threw on her coat, taking a moment to steady herself. "I've got to go to the police. Cancel my readings tonight!" Oriana called as she flew out the door, leaving the old woman shaking her head muttering to herself about the folly of the young.

Thirty minutes later found Oriana outside the police station, staring at the doors. She took a deep breath nd pushed them open, walking up to the desk sargent in charge, who looked at her with boredom in his eyes.

"I need to speak with Detective Saunders please. It's about the drug dealer killings. I think I saw the murderer."

Suddenly, the police were very interested in what she had to say.

Monica

“I really didn’t see anything that could possibly help you.”, the woman shrugged

“Sorry detective.” She finished as a small, genuine smile found its way to her lips

The woman seemed sincere enough, and Monica on most levels wanted to belive her. But there was something itching here at the back of her mind. She sloughed it off to too many late nights already.

" Thank you anyways, " Monica replied, " if you remember anything at all or hear anything, heres where you can reach me"

Monica pulled her card out from an inside jacket pocket and handed it to the exotic beauty. All it was, was a standard police card with her pager number and the homicide division number on it.

She extended it to the woman who took it between delicate fingers. Monica's fingers brushed hers and she felt another jolt run through her. She could feel the cold heat pouring out of this woman, the sheer sensuality. She could feel her fingers on her, brushing her cheek, tickling her nipples.

She took her hand away flushed. That was unexpected. While she wasnt a stranger to women, she hadnt been with anyone in nearly 4 years. Not since the divorce...

She just looked numbly into the womans eyes for a second, what the hell was going on here?


Her cel rang at her hip reviving her. She didnt say anything to the woman just steeped away, not even excusing herself. Saved by the bell.

" Saunders here" she spoke into the phone

" Detective, theres someone here who wants to speak to you, she claims she's a witness to your drug killing investigation"

" Has she filled out a statement yet?"

What really struck her as odd about this was that Monica had'nt been remotely mentioned in any report on the deaths so far. Yet some one new this was her call.

" No, she's insisting on speaking directly to you"

Monica looked around the scene a final time. Tonight was a bust, she wouldnt me able to get anything more till CSU and the ME office were done anyway.And she could still feel those smouldering eyes on the back of her neck.

" Alright, I'll be down in 20"

She didnt turn back to face the exotic beauty but simply wwent to the head CSU and the ME assistant and tol;d them to contact her when they wrapped up. She headed back down the alley to her unmarked unit. She passed the woman again, but could only half assed smile as she got into her car.

She breathed a bit more easy as she drove down to the precinct. Even though thoughts raced through her brain.

Someone watched the dealer from the alley. Snuck down, killed him without witnesses in a vicious manner.Taken their time to mutilate the wrists and throat to hide the origianl injuries. And then left him there, with coin and narcotics still on him.

Couldnt have been a drug hit then, would have taken the surplus.A serial killer? Someone out there had watched "Taxi Driver" too many times.Perhaps a resident..considering all the killings had been within 10 blocks of each other.10 blocks of New York,,that only eliminated the suspects down to a couple thousand.

And the girl.. just got here my ass. She had watched Monica climb the fire escape and back dwon. A good 15 minutes at least for that whole foray. There was something there that she was missing.

Missing..missing..kissing..she could almost feel her lips on her own.

Alright, stop that. Focus on the job.

She parked at the precinct and made her way to the homicide division. A few suspects in the aquarium, the name for the holding cell. A couple 1st shifters like herself. And there at her desk was the woman.

Early 20's hispanic. Very attractive. Where the hell were all these women coming from in her life. And why was she thinking about women suddenly. And especially the one she had just left.

She walked up and sat down at the chair at her desk and turned to the girl.She extended her hand.

" hi, i'm Detective Saunders, i understand you may have some information for us"

badbabysitter said:

Early 20's hispanic. Very attractive. Where the hell were all these women coming from in her life. And why was she thinking about women suddenly. And especially the one she had just left.

She walked up and sat down at the chair at her desk and turned to the girl.She extended her hand.

" hi, i'm Detective Saunders, i understand you may have some information for us"

Click to expand...

Oriana looked up at the whirlwind of a detective that spoke up. She blinked a bit in surprise, seeing that the detective was a woman. An attractive woman, with blond hair that Oriana would have to pay a fortune to get. Her air of authority was complete and suddenly Oriana wondered if this was really a good idea. She knew what people thought of her gifts, at least those outside of the close knit hispanic immigrant community. She chewed on her lip in an attack of nerves, and then reminded herself that someone was loose murdering people in her neighborhood, and there was no telling who they would target next, what kind of person they might start seeing as acceptable prey. A shiver hit her as she remembered the acid fury that she hed felt wash over her, that could only have been the killers. She met the detective's eyes squarely, ignoring the little thrill that ran through her when she realized she did indeed have the woman;s attention.

"Hi Detective, I"m Oriana...I live in the neighborhood where you been getting all the killings. I think I saw who may have killed Ramon Alvarez. I know things sometimes, uh, I mean..." She flushed under the woman's sudden scrutiny and grasped the rosary she held in her pocket, pulling it out and running the beads through her fingers in a long habitul gesture to calm herself. "I know alot of people in the neighborhood, and I hear alot of things about what's going on lately. I think it might be someone who has a least a tangential relationship to the hispanic community, her hair was dark and her eyes, but I think she had some...uh, white blood in her as well. And Ramon, he, he may have been a heroin dealer and all, but his mother loves him dearly and even if he is a traficante and killer, no one should die torn apart like that."

She shuddered hard, looking up at the detectice. "The woman is NOT going to stop until she takes out all her fury." The detective's eyes were cool and guarded and Oriana was desperate to be believed, but also hoping she would not have to divulge how exactly she knew what she did.

And what did she have, really? A face, the memory of Ramon's truly dead eyes staring at her and a feeling of anger.

"She'll take out the next one, and the next one until they are all dead. I know...I heard it in her th...." she broke off, looking away. Don;t tell them how, just give them enough to find this killer by themselves. Hopefully then they'll forget where they learned the information. "She won't stop." Oriana looked at the detective, praying she wasn't about to be laughed out of the station.

Oriana knew more than she was saying, that much was for sure.

All the while the latina spoke to Monica, she was aslo busy taking in all the information that wasn't being spoken. The rosary told her that Oriana was Catholic, and being in the neighborhood Monica knew what church she went to. That would be a place to stop by.Also whenever she faltered , she would look down a sign she was holding things back..even if it was just for a second.

And from what she was being told, it seemed Oriana knew this killer on some level. But she was also honestly scared. She had seen this before.It was one of the things being in homicide had done to her. Everyday she met people on the worst days of their lives. She'd have to tell wives, children, mothers, husbands,sons, lovers that someone they cared about was dead. She spoke for those who could no longer speak for themselves.


Oriana knew tonights victim..that was something telling in of itself. He had been dead a few hours, and she knew.

" its alright Oriana, I'm here to listen..do you know this womans name?, or where she might live or be"

The light on the phone flashed on her desk.

" Maybe we can get a sketch artist up here so you can draw what she looks like"

She picked up the phone .

" Homicide. Saunders"

" Get your ass in my office now"

It was Muldoon. Her Liutenant. Great, he was on the warpath too.

She turned to the clearly shaken Oriana.

" I'll be back in a moment, and I'm going to send a sketch artist up here to help us out"

Monica made her way into the office at the back of the hall. His blinds were done. Also not a good sign. She knocked at the door.

" Come in"

Monica stepped into the office her shift commander operated out of. Medals, commendations, notes, and random messages scraawled the walls. Muldoon was a big irish barrel of a man. He sat at his desk.

Monica pulled up a seat and sat down herself.

They both sat in silence for a moment , staring at each other. Monica pulled out a smoke and lit up.Finally Muldoon broke the silence.

" four..."

" Oh for Chrissakes!" she snapped back

" We have four dead dealers--"

"You think I dont know that?"

" We have four dead dealers..and no collars"

" Go out in the hall and look at the board Muldoon!"

" Four dead dealers..possibly a gang war in the works"

" look at that board, how many names in red and how many in black? Go count them"

" i'm not arguing that Saunders"

" Yes, yes you are" she realized now she was almost screaming at her L-T, " I've been in homicide for 6 years now, and exactly how many cases have gotten away from me?"

Muldoon sighed " a few"

"A few? Five! A grand total of five. And I took those cases as far as humanly possible. Shit, there are plenty of detectives here that lose 5 a year. i'myour fucking rabbits foot", she was angry but calmer now

Muldoon got back on track, "true enough Saunders, but this could set off a war that would make the 5 Families War look like a picnic. 4 dealers from 3 different organizations. This could get bad"

" i'll find her"

" her?"

Shit. She had blurted without thinking. Actually she was thinking. Of her. A gorgeous tanned form. She looked half latino herself. Latino.. just like Oraina was mentioning. Could it..

" its nothing..just a lead"

Muldoon looked long and hard at her " then go work it"

" you got it..and I'm going to need a sketch artist for our 'witness'

" she spilling anything?"

" i dunno boss" she exhaled a puff and stubbed out her cigrette, " all I know is..this just doesnt feel like its going to end well"

Muldoon was calling up the sketch artist, as Monica was heading back out to see Oriana..and see if this same woman she mentioned was the same one Monica was know obsessing about.

Oriana Maria Theresa Ramirez Guerrero

Oriana nodded in relief when the detective mentioned working with a sketch artist and did not seem to inquire as to how she had seen the killer. She didn't think it would go over to well if she said, "Oh yeah Detective, I saw it in a vision! Yes, yes, I'm a psychich and I can see things in my head. Feel things too, if I touch an item, I can get to any strong psychihc impressions that are left." Oh madre santa de Maria del dios, she was well aware of how that one would look. She rubbed her head slightly, the beginnings of a headache were starting to make themselves known, something that always happened after an intense vision. She sighed with relief when the lady detective got pulled away for a moment.

Looking out of the corner of her eye on the desk, she could see the paperwork relatin to the case. She saw that they were thinking about bringing in a profiler to get a bead on the killer's psyche. Well hell, she could manage that one with a little bit of time and ritual. The killer wanted, revenge, maybe? That would explain the anger and fury. She was angry about something, and if Oriana could figure out what, then that would explain the targeting of the drug dealers. Something felt ery, strange about the killer. Her mind felt old, but the visual she got in hr mind was of someone that appeared lovely, in her prime. Oriana sighed and shook her head.

She watched the woman disappear into an office and then seconds later, the yelling started. Oriana hid a smile when a couple of detectives near the office rolled their eyes and muttered,"Not again..." It seemed that Detective Saunders had a habit of taking no crap, and apparently butted heads with her superior more often then not. Heh, good for her. Several moments later the detective came out looking somewhat steamed.

"So, you ready to work with the sketch artist?"

Oriana summoned up her courage. The detective had listened to her so far. She might be getting out of this relatively painlessly at that.

"I can do that." Oriana nodded, standing up and swaying a little when an attack of vertigo hit." Crap. That meant major head pain later, in fact it was already beginning. She closed her eyes for a minute, pinching the bridge of her nose to relieve someof the pressure that was starting to loom. "Let's go." Her eyes caught the flash of concern that crossed the detective's face before the cool mask dropped back into place and she was led to a small room.

More waiting followed while Saunders fetched the sketch artist, a nice looking middle aged irish looking guy who began by gently disarming her tension with a couple jokes. Oriana smiled, a little more at ease. Several minutes later, they had moved to looking at different kinds of eyes, with Oriana offering suggestions. Taking a moment at his suggestion, Oriana sat back, closing her eyes. Her hand clicked a couple rosary beads together and she slipped into a half trance she used to recall details from visions. Her voice softened, recalling details in a accented cadence. Suddenly she felt the peculier lassitude that signaled a vision.

"She grew up in this area." Oriana said softly, her eyes closed. "Almond shaped eyes, dark like coffee. Ojos del dormitorio, bedroom eyes, a non latino would say. Legs that won't quit. All the guys in the area would love to have her on their arm. Or in their bed. Preferably in their bed." Her mind drifted, and it was like someone opened their eyes and Oriana was seeing through them. She felt sadness and fury that she knew was not her own stab her in the heart with a feel that almost physical and she clutched at her chest, willing her heart to beat.

"Are you alright Ms. Guerrero?" The detective asked, her eyes furrowing, a frown on her face.

"I'm fine," Oriana gasped, hunched over. She straightened, still seeing the peculier double image of the woman's face. The woman was looking into the mirror, enabling Oriana to see her. "Sharp features, she reminds me of Arwen from the Lord of the Rings movies, but her features are mixed with latino blood." She guided the artist in a flurry of directions, the face lingering in her mind's eye.

"Is this it?" The artist flicked a piece of paper at her. Identical to her vision.

A vision.....

Revulsion, oh he tasted foul, blood as foul as his soul. Fresh blood. I think searching out fresh blood would be an excellent idea. Desire, hunger, the hunt, Saunders....she'd be lovely. Oriana's mind slipped further, tangled in the vision until she shrieked, bolting from her chair and falling to her knees, fighting nausea.

She came to alertness with the detective supporting her as she fought not to be ill. She lost the fight, lurching over to a garbage can and tossing up what little was in her stomach. Once the tremors of illness stopped, the pain in her head was felt. Crushing like iron around her forehead, she pulled herself to a sitting position leaning up against the wall.

She glanced up at the Detective, knowing she had to tell her.

"She saw you detective." Oriana wiped away the tears in her eyes. "See me...did you talk to her? She wants you now." She willed the shaking in her hands to cease.

Monica

"She saw you detective." Oriana wiped away the tears in her eyes. "See me...did you talk to her? She wants you now." She willed the shaking in her hands to cease.

A chill ran up her spine when Oriana said this. She helped the girl to her feet and walked her to a chair.

" Somebody get her a glass of water" Monica called over her shoulder

The girls hands were clammy and wet with sweat in her own hands. Whatever just happened, it scared the hell out of her. She thought she was going to have a seizure or something.

" Who saw me, Miss Guerrero, who? " she frantically but calmly asked.

Oriana meekly pointed at the sketch in the startled artists hand. Monica snatched it from him and took a good look herself. She could actually feel the colur drain from her cheeks.

It was her. The woman. The one who was haunting her thoughts.

"What the hell is goingon" she whispered

She staggered in her spot, looked around for an anchor, something to make sense and found nothing.Her head was reeling, what the hell was going on? She turned on Oriana.

" who is she? WHO THE HELL IS SHE?" she nearly howled at Oriana

You could hear a pin drop in the squadroom as the handful of other detectives and the late night PA stopped and stared atthe outburst.

She composed herself and all but dragged Oriana into the "box"

The Box was the name of the interrogation room, a sterile biege pockmarked small room. One mirror dominated a wall on one side of the room. A table bloted to the floor in the middle, and three chairs.

She sat the dishevelled younger woman down and rolled down the blinds in fron of the mirror.She sat and smoked and tried to ground herself.

She stubbed the butt when she thought she was ready.She began to slowly calmly drawl out

" I dont knbow whats going on, and I dont know when i hear what you're going to say if I really am going to want to. But I need to know how you know her. Theres noway you could have known she was going to be there when i was..Yeah, I saw her, tonight. Whats your story..tell me..please"

badbabysitter said:

" I dont knbow whats going on, and I dont know when i hear what you're going to say if I really am going to want to. But I need to know how you know her. Theres noway you could have known she was going to be there when i was..Yeah, I saw her, tonight. Whats your story..tell me..please"

Click to expand...

Oriana looked wide-eyed at the detective. Her assertion about the killer had obviously gotten her attention. From the looks of things she had well and truly spooked the woman. Would she believe? Oriana bit her lip, looking away, unsure of how much she should reveal. She seemed sincere, but this could turn from friendly to ugly really quick. And the last place Oriana wanted to end up was jail.

"I don't know how much you know about the latino community, folk traditions and all." Oriana began, clearing her throat. When she did not see open skepticism she continued. "When I was entering college, I started to have odd episodes. Dreams, sometimes. I would dream of things, and then the next day, they would happen. Too many times did it happen for me to discount it. Occasionally I could gain, impressions if you will, from an object if the last person to touch it was feeling particularly strongly abut something when they last held it."

"I was working at Anna's Place today, when I had a vision." She looked down at her hands, seeing them clenched so hard the knuckles were white. The detective had asked, she wanted the truth. "I saw a vision of your killer, anger...so much anger! And hurt. She s feeling hurt. And I saw a vision of her face, followed by your name tag. Just now, I felt her sicknesss at Ramon, and followed by it was her desire for you." Oriana shook, remembering the feel of the killer's mind, and lowered her aching head onto the table.

"It was like seeing through her eyes detective." Oriana whispered. She looked up, pleading for the detective to believe her. "Please, please you have to believe I'm not making this up."

Plato the hunter

Turning the collar up on his heavy coat, Plato hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to hide his height and blend in with the crowded mass of humanity around him. Several times he felt the eyes of the amused passers by on his back, ogling at him as he moved fluidly across the crowded sidewalk. He’d grown accustomed to standing out in the crowd, his abnormally long limbs and bald head marked him almost instantly as a stranger no matter where he was. Pushing his thoughts aside, Plato focused on the lingering scent of the killer, following it almost blindly, knowing that any person would step out of his way.

Glancing up Plato was mildly surprised to find himself standing in front of a half way house for impoverished children that sat only a short distance from the scene of the murder. The scent here was rich and full, the multilayered aspect of it telling him that the one he sought spent many hours here. Standing on the sidewalk, his violet eyes running over every aspect of the building, Plato drank in the smell, analyzing and categorizing every nuance as he searched for more information about this “Vampire Killer.” He’d learned many years ago that each Kin’s scent was unique, almost as unique as their individual mutations. Stepping up the few steps to the door, Plato knocked politely and waited for someone to answer. It’s a female; Plato thought to himself, his nostrils flaring slightly as he took in more of the lingering smells. Young, at least in the terms of our kind, not even over one hundred yet.

“Can I help you, sir?” A small voice asked, startling Plato out of his reverie. Turning he looked down to see a young girl holding the door open, looking up at him with large brown eyes wide with a mixture of fear and amusement. Amusement as his height and fear of his strange eyes, Plato thought to himself as he smiled down at the young human.

“Yes, you can, my child.” Plato replied, his words thick with the Romanian accent that even the centuries hadn’t erased. “I was wondering who owned this house.”

“I don’t know,” the girl replied, relaxing slightly, her eyes showing less fear as she unconsciously opened the door wider letting Plato glance into to the darkened house. Several other children were standing behind her, still in the shadows where they would be hidden from anyone without Plato’s keen sight. “Ms. Emmi runs the house,” The girl told him after a moment’s hesitation.

“Is Ms. Emmi around right now, child?” Plato asked smiling as the girl relaxed almost completely. It was another aspect of his mutation that the longer he talked to someone the more relaxed and comfortable they’d become around him, an almost involuntary hypnosis that he’d never gained control over.

“No, she’s gone out.” The girl told him willingly, although several of the other hidden youngsters hissed at this admission. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone that we’re alone.” The girl continued on, her fear completely gone and now willing to tell Plato anything he desired.

“What’s your name?” Plato asked the girl even as several of the other children shifted uneasily in the darkened hallway. None of them were close enough for his strange power to affect them, only the girl at the door was under his influence.

“Don’t tell him, Mina.” A boy’s voice called out, a sharp intake of breath telling Plato that the boy had realized his blunder even as he spoke.

“Mina.” Plato repeated, smiling. “I want you to tell Ms. Emmi of my visit, I want you to tell her all about me and that I’m looking forward to meeting her. Will you do that for me, Mina?” He asked unnecessarily.

“Yes, I’ll do that.” Mina replied, smiling at Plato as if he was a long lost friend.

“Thank you, my child.” Plato said as he turned and walked down the steps, his mind wondering why a savage killer would oversee a house full of innocent children. Pausing on the sidewalk, he glanced back to see Mina waving to him from the door. If she intends to feed of them, she’ll feel my wrath. Plato promised himself as he waved goodbye and moved down the street. Children had always been his one true weakness, the one trigger that could unleash his violent temper. He sought to protect them, to ensure their safety for some unknown reason. Vague memories tugged at the back of his mind, faint recollections of a child of his own and an untimely death.

Plato walked down the street, people automatically stepping aside for him as he thought about what he had learned this evening and where he could learn more. Obviously the police might know more but he was reluctant to approach the human authorities yet. His own kind probably held more answers to the murders. He’d heard rumors of a club that catered to his kind and despite his aversion to crowds he decided to pay Valik a visit.

Emmi

She stood in her bedroom, looking out the window. Mina had told her about the ‘strange man’ who had shown up on her doorstep. How he was ‘looking forward to meeting her’. His scent was still lingering when she had come home. It was an odd scent. Not like any other human’s To hear the girl describing him in a voice filled with childish wonder had disturbed her to no end.

It was going to rain again, she knew it. Hell, she could smell it. Slowly twirling the detective’s card between her fingers, her gaze locked on the night outside her window, her mind took her back to when she’d talked to the blond beauty.

Detective Saunders had wanted to believe her story, she could feel it, but there was still a nagging feeling of doubt present. She had asked her to let her know if she heard anything and had given her the card. It was just a simple small piece of thick paper containing her name, pager number and her division number. Then their fingers had touched and it was like the floodgates containing the detective’s emotions had just opened up for her to feel.

She was worried. Probably worried that they were dealing with a contract hitman or a serial killer. Or about loosing control of the case to the Feds. She was appalled by what she’d seen, the bodies mutilated and drained of most of their blood. It scared her slightly and she would go to great lengths to conceal that fact. She was stressed, overworked and tired. So very tired. And there was an underlying physical need that her body was screaming for to be satiated. She’d harbored it for a long time.

Emmi had wanted so badly to help her, so she had projected a taste of her own feelings towards the detective. Just a slight nibble. The sight of the detective flushing and pulling her hand back was a mixed pleasure. On the one hand, Emmi knew she’d hit the nail on the head, so to speak. How long had it been since the detective had been intimate with anyone? On the other, the sensation that Emmi’s projection had caused her seemed to somehow upset her a bit. It puzzled her.

As she talked on the phone Emmi could hear the detective’s side of the conversation but the words coming from her phone were a bit garbled. She picked up most of the conversation, anyway. A witness? That was impossible! There had been no one around when she tore the poisoner’s worthless life from his body. No one at all! For at least a block in any direction! She’d checked! The weird smile that the detective had given her before stepping into her car had sent shivers of pure delight down her spine.

Shaking herself from her revelry, she walked over to her dresser and placed the detective’s card on it before looking in the mirror. Somewhere deep inside the very bottom of her heart, she knew that what she was doing was wrong. Nothing she could to could bring Nicole back. She felt her heart clench with sorrow at the thought of the sweet 13 year old. The mental image of the girl also brought the anger that raged through her at the memory of her nearly lifeless body, filled with the poison these cockroaches were spreading through her community. Following the sudden burst of fury, came hunger. Sweet Mary, she was hungry. No, not hungry, per se. She just wanted something to take the vile taste of the poisoner from her mouth. Something sweet. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the feeling trying to decipher it. No, she wanted something else. Her hands gripped the dresser before her tightly. She wanted something good. She felt her body heating up. She knew what she wanted. What she needed! She rolled her head back and bit her lip to stop herself from moaning as her body got warmer still and the heat seemed to center between her legs. She ground her jeans clad thighs together; producing sweet friction that sent sparks to all the right places. Her head lowered, so her chin was almost touching her chest. Her eyes opened and locked on the detective’s card lying on the dresser. This time she did moan.

An overwhelming tidal wave of pure terror assaulted her mind. It was so powerful; she was literally knocked off her feet and sent crashing to the floor. Sitting up as fast as her battered mind would let her, she franticly scanned the area. Before her mind could form a coherent thought, her body reacted and she was out of her room in a heartbeat. Moving unnaturally fast, she checked on everybody in the complex, the kids, the junkies, the ex-cons, her staff, everybody. Making sure everybody was ok. Everybody was tucked away safely and none of them had seen her or heard her as she moved through the corridors. Calming herself down, she closed her eyes and concentrated. What the hell was that?!

The experience left her antsy. She needed to get out. She needed to do something. Run, fight, jump, feed, fuck, anything! Grabbing her knife and coat, she left the complex soundlessly through the roof access and took off into the night, jumping from roof to roof.

As she ran, her mind seemed to come to grips with what had occurred this night. Another poisoner was dead, but there were plenty more around. She knew she probably shouldn’t have made her presence known to the detective, but she just couldn’t help herself. She was positive the blond would check up on her, run her name through every database they had access to. The blond might have been a bit infatuated by her, but Emmi was sure she didn’t trust her. Her kind never did. The blond could check on her as much as she wanted to. Emmi’s birth certificate was valid; the only thing that had been changed was the year, and it had fooled the authorities and the government before. Her record was spotless and she had a social security number and a valid driver’s license. There was no death certificate on file, anywhere.

If there were two things Emmi knew to be solid facts in this part of town, it was that word traveled faster then a brushfire around here, and that a good reputation never died. And hers was great! As the owner and manager of the only complex of its kind in this part of town, Emmi had made a great impression with in the Department of Social Services. She had helped them out on more occasions then she could count. Orphans, recovering junkies, the homeless, you name it, she’d helped them out. What she was doing with the section of the complex that she allotted to house the paroled female cons, earned her several stripes with in the Department of Justice as well, and to this day only 2 of her girls had gone back to the big house. Add that to the fact that her complex provided a bunch of jobs to the community, from babysitters to counselors, from cleaning crews to maintenance workers, from office staff to night watchmen, she had social workers and parole officers singing her praises as a morning, afternoon and bedtime prayer.

She was on a first name basis with the local priest and had participated in a plethora of church related events, bake sales, food drives and the sorts, but she stayed away from the blood drives. No need to fling herself into the midst of temptation. She attended mass occasionally, had been invited to dinner with the priest and his wife, and the priest had even blessed the complex. It was a good thing she had no aversion to anything holy or blessed.

The local beat and patrol cops were frequent visitors to her porch, were they would sit, drink coffee with her and chat. She knew most of them on a first name basis. It reminded her of what it was like back when she was a kid. Her complex had even been visited by the mayor’s wife! Emmi had the kind of reputation and respect in her neighborhood that rich, pompous, snobby aristocrats would kill to have with in their own circles, or anywhere for that matter.

A sound of a car cruising slowly down the street made her stop dead in her tracks. It sounded like it had the stereo blasting at close to full volume. Looking down she saw a shiny black BMW with the personalized license plate ‘DEAC’ cruising along slowly. Her blood boiled. Deacon James, she’d heard about him from some of her recover-ees. He was a loan shark, pimp and a pusher, a poisoner. And a ‘very unpleasant character’ as the reverend had put it. He’d been plaguing the streets for years. She looked around. They were in a part of town that no one really lived in any more, save for a few prostitutes and a few junkies with no intention of going straight. Her other execution had taken place very far from here, and her complex was even further away.

Dashing down to the street, she slowed down as she lazily walked out of an alley and stopped near the curb just as the rain started coming down with a vengeance. His BMW rolled up and the tinted driver’s side window rolled all the way down with a buzz. She could smell the stench of the poison he peddled coming off of him in waves as she felt his eyes roaming her body hungrily.

“Hey, mamasita! How’s’about you show me how good you are at workin’ that fine ass, huh?” He paused, maybe for dramatics, she didn’t care. “Cum’on Puta. Le’s you an’me go for a li’lle ride!”

Her voice was cold as ice. “Yes, let’s!” She said, before reaching in through the window and dragging ‘Deac’ out of the car by the lapels of his ‘hood wear’ shirt. She threw him effortlessly into the alley she had just exited. He barely had time to bounce on the street, in the puddles, before she was on him.

Consumed by fury, she tore into him, her fists flying, her knife slashing, her small fangs digging into the open gashes on his neck and wrists. His blood tasted like sewage and made her want to throw up. By the time he was dead, she didn’t care any more. She just kept on hacking into him, tearing his flesh apart. Visions of Nicole’s smiling face haunted her, the echo of her sweet laughter in her ears, the scent of her filling her nostrils. She saw Nicole’s funeral, her parents weeping, her mother, in a fit of pure grief, jabbing her fist at the sky and cursing God for taking her little girl away. As Emmi kept on tearing the body of the dead lowlife apart, the pouring rain beating down on the scene like a cleansing river, she didn’t even realize she was crying.

Another tidal wave of pure terror hit her in the head like a sledge hammer. She stumbled away from the mauled body, but quickly regained her footing. She franticly scanned the area, her soaked hair whipping around with her action. From the corner of her eye she was sure she saw something. She whipped around to look, her drenched hair falling in her face, obscuring it partly.

There, deeper in the alley, she could see a very attractive Hispanic girl in her early 20’s, staring back at her in pure terror. But there was something strange about the girl. The rain didn’t seem to affect her, it went through her. As her conscious mind tried to analyze what she was seeing, her body reacted, as if of its own accord, to the ‘threat’. Her cold gaze locked on the ‘threat’ and her head tilted slightly downward. Her forehead wrinkled into an almost inhuman scowl and her lips pulled away from her teeth like a wolf. The demonic roar that escaped her throat just before she pounced on the vision of the girl was nothing like any sound a human could possibly make.

The girl seemed to vanish into thin air just as she got close to her. Whipping her head around and scanning the area, she tried to find the ‘threat’. Then her conscious mind caught up. What the hell had that been?! The girl, what was she? A ghost? No, the terror she’d felt had been too real. A projection of some kind? A link?

Looking at ‘Deac’, the mess of his body, she felt cold. She had been vicious, brutal; animalistic. She didn’t care. He was scum, vermin. He’d deserved everything he’d gotten, and more. Dashing back to the roof she took one last look around the scene. With the rain going the way it was, there wouldn’t be much, if anything, left for the police to find. If they ever found the fuck, that is.

Taking off running, she leapt from roof to roof, letting the pounding rain cleanse her of any and all evidence of her nightly activities. Two poisoners dead in one night. She was proud of herself, in a sick twisted way. She should be, it was a job well done. Then why did she feel so cold?

Later, while soaking in a hot bath, she closed her eyes and tried to get some semblance of heat back into her body.

Detective Saunders

Just what she fucking needed. A psychic.She could actually feel her heart sink for a moment. Monica was begining to think this was just another stupid freaking hustle.

But no, this was way too elaboarate. Oriana knew way too much. She cracked her knuckles and thought this through.

No one outside of Monica, the ME,the CSU and Muldoon knew the victims name. Yet Oriana did. Oriana sketched out a likeness of the woman at the scene of the crime. Yet Oriana was on her way here when Monica was talking to the same mystery woman. It was entirely possible that they were in cahoots with each other and that Oriana was here to create an alibi for her friend.

But this was a pretty weak one, and why would have she given up her firned like that.Or was she a rival she was trying to remove. That also didnt sit right.If she were a rival, Oriana would have given her up by now.

That just left her with the ridiculous option that this woman was psychic, or just offbalance by something she knew. In either case, she did know something about this killer. And that was more than Monica had managed to whip up in the last two weeks.

" Okay, oriana..I'm going to believe you" she eventually sighed out, " I dont know if I believe in this vision esp psychic crap, but I do believe you..and I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt for now"

She could actually see the gratitude beam out of the younger woman's eyes, they were almost tearing up. Shit, this was going to be a fucked case.

" I want you to go home and get some rest, I'm going to send a police officer with you and he's going to watch over you"

Monica handed over Oriana her card and scribbled her home number on it.

" If anything should come up, or you need to talk, or need anything, call this number of the cel listed on it"

It looked like Oriana was about to say something when a knock came at the door.

" Sorry Oriana, just give me a second"

Monica went to answer the door. It was the late night PA.

" theres a call for you Detective Saunders, it sounds important"

Monica looked over her shoulder

" i'll be back in a couple minutes Miss Guerrero"

Monica wandered over to her desk and picked up the flashing phone.

" Hello, Detective Saunders speaking"


" We have another", it was the assistant ME.

Monica felt the beginings of a migraine kick in.Another fucking Vampire killing. Two in a night. This was abad sign.

"Deacon James.. a patrol car just randomly found him in the Bowery about 15 minutes ago. In his car engine still running"

Deacon , now that was a name she was familiar with. She had sent him up the river for a nickel 3 years ago for manslaughter. But he had walked out with a one year probationary custody deal. He was a scuzz.

" Do you really need me down there Doc, I need to get some shit done here pronto"

" naw, I can always get Alvarez here to cover for you"

" thanks"

" Oh, Saunders, by the way..I've got the coroners report on Ramone"

" Just send it to my home fax"

" Thanks..have a good night Detective"

Monica hung up and covered her face in her hands. It was now 5. 5 deaths. And two in one night. This was escalting. She knew from experience this meant one of three things. One, the killer was trying to get caught. Two, the killer was nearing the end of her run. Or three.. the killer just didnt care anymore and had lost it.

This was not a pretty thought. Plus Deacon was connected. To the russians and the mob. There would be reprisal.

She picked up the sketch on her desk. Those eyes. The woman still haunted her. Was this her killer?She was more than healthily obsessed with this woman. She desired her. This was not going to end well.

Monica dialed up the PA

" Heya Sandy, I'm going to need this sketch scanned and run through the database, could you get the lab to fire off anything to my home. Plus I need you to contact dispatch, i'm needingan overnight escort for a witness"

" you got it detective"

She was fucking exhausted, and there was nothing more she could do tonight. Shit, what night? It would be dawn in a couple hours. Her shift was over half an hour ago. Time to get intoa shower, into a bottle of JD and into bed. And in that order.

She went back to Oriana and escorted the woman to the waiting black and white patrol car.

" get your self home and dont contact anyone unless you have to, but you can contact me whenever you want. i'll call you first thing in tomoorw, today, whatever it is" she smirked and yawned.

badbabysitter said:

She went back to Oriana and escorted the woman to the waiting black and white patrol car.

" get your self home and dont contact anyone unless you have to, but you can contact me whenever you want. i'll call you first thing in tomoorw, today, whatever it is" she smirked and yawned.

Click to expand...

Oriana could see the disbelief written on the woman's face warring with desperation to know something, anything about these killings. She kept her peace while Detective Saunders stared down at her hard, and then saw the moment she had come to some sort of decision. She hoped it was belief. Please, let it be belief. Oriana did not want to go to jail for the suspicion of murder. Words cannot express how much she didn't want to go to jail, she thought in a corner of her mind.

" Okay, oriana..I'm going to believe you" she eventually sighed out, " I dont know if I believe in this vision esp psychic crap, but I do believe you..and I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt for now"

Those words brought tears to her eyes and she closed them, wanting to maintain some measure of dignity. Not to mention if she saw sympathy there right now after these evenings events she just might start bawling and not stop. She took the card with the Detective's number on it, putting it hidden behind her driver's license in her wallet. She was about to thank the woman when she was called away. Oriana watched her go over to her desk and pick up the phone. Whatever it was had obviously upset her, but with the chaos in the room she could not hear what was being said. Damn!

The marks of tension around Detective Saunders eyes had been evident when she handed Oriana the card, as well as exhaustion from running herself ragged trying to get some sort of handle on the killer. Oriana bit her lip, thinking furiously for a moment. Digging through her purse, she came upon and discarded several items before coming on two small candles wrapped in silk. She had made this for a friend who was getting some unwanted attention from a man in her apartment complex. The friend was hesitant about accepting a charm, but when Oriana mentioned a great aromatherapy candle she had picked up for her the friend was all too grateful. She grabbed one of the candles, wrapping it up in a clean tissue. Also, she scribbled down her name and cell phone on a small square of paper, surrounded by what looked like doodling, but was another protection charm.

If at all possible, Detective Saunders looked even more uptight and upset. Oriana's own shoulders ached in sympathy, knowing the feeling of tension you could not get rid of. As she was escorted outside to a waiting black and white, she handed the wrapped candle to the detective.

"Thank you for listening Detective. I hope I was able to help. Consider it a gift from a friend, if nothing else." She spoke softly, not knowing if her gift would get tossed back at her, offering the detective a shy smile. "The smell of the lavender helps me sleep sometimes when I'm having trouble. Much nicer then passing out from too much tequila." She got into the car, closing the door after listening to the officer's admonitions not to call anyone.

She got home to her tiny apartment, a small studio above a bakery. She stopped off for something from the bakery, knowing that if she didn't mention something to the Senora who ran the place about why she had a cop watching her place, the gossip would be all over the neighborhood, and not in a good way. This way she could put her own spin on it.

"Oriana Maria! Why on earth did you have a police car drop you off?" Senora Constance Herrera Guiterrez hustled out from behind the corner, kissing her on both cheeks, a gesture Oriana returned.

"I was downtown and happened to see someone getting mugged. They wanted me to give a statement." She stood before the glass display case, considering her options. Food was fast becoming an option, the nausea from earlier had passed, and she knew food would help her ground her powers and provide some energy for spell casting.

"Ay, you are a credit to your parents, el pequeño (little one). You do look tired though. Here, no charge. It is getting late and I would have to throw them out anyway." The Senora handed her a bag of tortillas and assorted sweet pastries, and would hear nothing of compensation. "Now go upstairs and rest! What your mama would say if I let you by without taking care of you." The late middle-aged woman shook her head and hustled back to cleaning up behnd the counter. Oriana's task done, she went back out and took the back fire escape stairs for her apartment, locking the door behind her in a long force of habit.

She consumed one tortilla plain while starting some coffee. While the coffee brewed she collapsed on her couch, her arm over her head. Her thoughts whirled in her head and she found it difficult to focus. Once the coffee was done, she poured herself a cup and decided to go through her mail, knowing she had a pil she had been avoiding for sometime. A couple bills, junk mail. As her fingers were lingering on a flier for a benefit for a local halfway house, her phone rang. She almost dropped her coffee cup, her nerves were so shot.

"Hello?" She spoke hesitantly into the phone, wondering if the detective had already called her.

"Hey chica, I stopped by the shop but you weren't there. Mama Anna said something about you blowing out early, you weren't forgetting we were going out tonight? Remember, we're going to that funky underground club tonight." The voice of her best friend, Inez. The girl was bubbly and bright and never failed to rouse a smile, no matter how reluctant it was.

Shit. She had forgotten.

"I dunno Inez, I'm not feeling too hot tonight. D'ya think we could go tomorrow?" Oriana demurred, not sure if she felt up to it.

"Oh, come oooooon! It'll be fun! You'll see. I'm picking you up in an hour, be ready."

Double Shit. Inez rarely took no for an answer.

Finally, thirty minutes later and one annoyed friend, Oriana was able to hang up the phone, having convinced her friend that she really didn't feel well. Yes, she was sure, yes she'd go with her later in the week. No, she didn't want to go to the coffeehouse instead, really, she was fine, thanks. Oriana shook her head, smiling a little. Inez was a sweetie, but god love her she would not back down if something was not going her way. Likewise with Oriana. She really didn't know how they stayed friends, but they were.

Sitting back down on her futon/bed, she took a closer look at the flier for the halfway house benefit two nights from now. Hmm...it was not too far from here, and it was a cause Oriana had sent a bit of money towards, as it did good community work, and the padre at the parish had encouraged people to help it out. Filing it away on her tiny coffeetable, she finally propper up her feet, balancing her coffee cup on her chest as she blindly stared at the ceiling.

Dear lord it had been a strange day.

Plato

The loud music made Plato wince as he entered the darkened club, his teeth grinding together as he scanned the mass of humanity as they danced under flickering strobe lights. He’d never attuned himself to what they called music in this century, preferring to spend his days in solitude with the only sounds being that of nature. His eyes spotted Valik deep in conversation with another of their kind. He glanced around the club, easily marking the humans as they danced and talked. Plato was surprised at how many humans were there, in times past it was only the bravest or most foolhardy of human that associated with his kind. Moving through the crowd easily Plato made his way towards Valik’s booth, stopping close enough to draw her attention but keeping distant enough to avoid intruding in her conversation.

As he stood patiently waiting for Valik to notice him Plato scanned the crowd, wincing inwardly as he spotted a young woman working her way towards him through the dancing mass. She was probably in her mid-20’s, mature by human standards but seeming little more then a baby to Plato’s aged eyes. Her hair was cut short and dyed an artificially vibrant red color, her eyelids and lips painted black as she continued to watch him intently as she moved closer. The short black dress she wore was decorated with silver studs and unnecessary belt buckles that clinked together as she sidled up to Plato, looking up at him with a smile. “Hey,” The girl giggled slightly as she swayed to the rhythm of the music, “I was wondering if you’d like to…”

“I wouldn’t.” Plato replied shortly, cutting off any suggestion she was about to make.

“Oh…” The woman said, glancing up at him in shock at his abrupt refusal. “Are you one?” She asked after a few seconds of silent study.

“One what?” He replied, glancing down at the human, wondering what she was referring to.

“One of them,” The young woman replied with a nod of her head towards Valik and the stranger.

“I don’t…” Plato denied; shaking his head and wondering how much this human woman knew of his kind.

“I think you are,” The woman said eyeing him up and down as if measuring him. “I’d bet my life on it that you’re one of them.”

“Miss, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Plato told her in a dismissive voice as he turned from her, moving easily towards the bar that lined the far wall only to hear the woman following him eagerly, keeping up a constant stream of questions that skirted her real goal. Plato snarled silently as he caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a drink, turning to the eager woman as he leaned his lanky frame on the bar. “What’s your name?” He asked her after pointedly ignoring several questions from her.

“Eva, Eva Seward.” The woman replied, surprised at his question after the several minutes of being ignored.

“What are you doing here, Eva?” Plato asked, sipping at his drink with a look of disgust. Why couldn’t bartenders ever make a bloody mary that didn’t taste like battery acid?

“I’m… I’m a reporter for the Chronicle.” Eva told him, somewhat shocked at herself for revealing her true identity to the tall stranger. “I heard this place was somehow related to the “Vampire Killer” so I decided to check it out.”

“And why did you approach me?” Plato said, turning his violet eyes down to the woman. “What did you want from me?”

“I… well, you’re different… obviously different from most of the people here.” Eva told him truthfully. “The way you move and act isn’t… human. It’s like them.” She said, motioning once again towards a couple of his kind standing at the other end of the bar.

“You’re very observant.” Plato said, balancing the benefits of killing this inquisitive woman with the risk of discovery in his mind. Eva seemed to realize something of his lethal thoughts as she started to edge away from him, stopping only as his long slender fingers wrapped around her arm. She looked in astonishment first at his hand before looking up to his face, fear filling her black lined eyes as she trembled slightly.

“Please…” She almost whispered her lips trembling slightly as she watched his impassive expression carefully. “I won’t… I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” She begged, trying to work her arm free of his viselike grip. “I… I don’t want to die.” Eva pleaded, her voice soft almost like a child’s as she watched him with large brown eyes.

It was the pleading eyes and the childlike voice that finally convinced Plato, his long fingers releasing the trembling woman’s arm. A child and a death, ran through his mind as he lifting one long hand in front of the shaken reporter’s face. “Speak of what you know to no one, Eva.” Plato told her quietly, his voice soft but carrying over the loud music of the club. “Keep the secrets you know secret.” He told her as she stood there, trembling in fright as his finger gently wiped away one lone teardrop that was slowly making its way down her pale cheek. “You should go home now, child.” Plato instructed her as he turned back to the bar and downed his drink in one sudden gulp.

“Why?” Eva asked after a few seconds, her curiosity over powering her fear. “Why didn’t you… kill me?” She asked her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper on the last two words.

“I haven’t killed in…” Plato said, turning back to face her, “a long time. I think I may have lost the appetite for it, now go.” He instructed, his finger pointing towards the door. He watched as Eva hurried towards the door, glancing back over her shoulder at him several times before she pushed through the crowd and was outside. As the door closed behind Eva, Plato turned and surveyed the crowded club again, cursing at the intermingling of humans and his kind. He was supposed to keep the human’s from knowing of their existence and yet here they were dancing with each other. Valik had made his job a lot harder, Plato thought as he ordered another drink.

Valik

The mortals were well, you couldn't keep them away. She found out early that turning away customers only made them more curious, so she allowed them in. They livened the place up so to speak, and for those that became a little too observant her friend Kaden had a talent for messing with memories and he guarded the door. He was freakishly large and fit the image of a bouncer for a place like this, he was very effective. She saw him now heading for a young women who he escorted to the door, where she left with a glazed expression.

There were always those that were too stupid to leave things alone, she left the elder kin as he wanted to talk about things that could not be discussed in the loud arena of the club, after all when around other kin, the walls indeed had ears.

She could smell the faint tinge of fear in the club and she picked up bits of conversation as she made her way towards the hunter. She would have known him anywhere by the way he moved. Not that she had met him before but she had extensive connections among the Kin, and had known several hunters in her time.

She let the bartender know that she was going to take care of his tab and turned towards him. She couldn't tell his strengths right away but she had feeling he was not used to the noise.

"Let's go someplace quieter," she stated picking up a drink and winding her way to a spiral staircase. The guard at the bottom let them up and she entered her owner's room. She sat down and sipped her drink, "So tell me what you know and I'll see if I can help."

Monica

She was going to say something flippant then stopped dead with a smile. Oriana dissapeared from sight as the patrol unit drove away. She unwrapped the package, her number and a candle.

Sweet girl. It was good to see there was still some light left inthis world.

Monica punched herself out for the night and took a quiet drive home east across Manhattan. The nights events still rolling in her head. She was tired, this could wait till morning.

She got home and took the freight elevator up to her messy loft apartment. No messages on her machine. A pile of dishes in the sink. Clothes strewn. Nothing new here to report.

She shucked her jacket on the couch and started peeling out of her clothes. False dawn started to seep into the room.

False dawn. How appropriate she always came home to sleep before dawn. It was ironic in chasing down a 'vampire' killer she was begining to behave like one too. She wandred anked lightly over to the blinds and peered out at the slowly waking city.

"Darkest before the dawn.." she mumbled at took a swig from the JD on the massive window sill.The whiskey burned her throat inattempt to numb her thoughts.

She took a couple more shots before putting the bottle down and heading towards her bathroom.She ran the shower and slipped inside.

god this felt good, like at least a part of her want dirty after all this blood on the streets. The shower caressed her like a lover.

Like her.

Monica could feel her fingers on her, her tongue coldly and hotly exploring her. She masaged her body sensously in the streaming water. her own fingers going almost involuntarily to her nipples, to the hot cleft between her legs.

She shook her head and got out of the shower. Aroused. A killer was turning her on. Damn it.

She went to her bed on the elvated floor above the kitchen. Her thoughts still on the curves, the soft lips of the very same woman who may stand against her.


Monica couldnt help it and began to eplore herself lying on the bed. All the while thinking of her.

Set

3:45 AM

New York belonged to Set.

The view from my penthouse apartment was spectacular. I could see the length and breadth of all of Manhattan below me. I could hear the cars, the sirens, the horns, the voices, everything. At at this height I could even make out stars twinkilng in the uncaring universe above me.

I took a deep breath of the night air and let my senses free.

My name is Set and I am most possibly the oldest of the Damned.

I was turned by the Old God Olorun ouside the village of Mhuru in the Kingdom of Khem. What most of the mortal sheep call southern Egypt now. He took my blood and fed back to me immortality. He kept me in the blackest of caves for a decade teaching a pathetic smattering of the Gift before embracing the flames.

I was a blood drinker, powerful, quick, gifted. I was a God. I was swift and horrible and beatiful in my hunger. my original name is long gone. I only know what the builders of my temples called me and the ones who opposed me in the temples of the sand/

I am Set. God of evil, Father of Destruction.

For just over five thousand years I have walked this earth. Creating younger Gods in my passage, destroying those who would think of taking my blood or standing in my way.I am Set, I need no rules, no laws to justify my exsistence.

I smelt the blood on the air. The two out of town housevives I had broughten to my bed for a diversion and a lesson in passion were dead now. They bored me and I killed them. their blood only refulelling what little enrgy I had spent on sexual endevaours with them.

I would have my employess dispose of them soon enough. New York was such a rich world into of itself. I didnt know why I had come here before. 200 years wreaking havoc back in his native africa was amusing. But there was so much potential here.

And the gods..the Kind..the Vampires. The shallow visons of himself. There were so many gathered here. His thoughts reached out. He couldnt touch their minds. No, only mortals could he twist emotions upon. But he could sense his kind. His great-great-great grandchildren.

73 of them. 15 of them 'hidden' from the others, 1 embraced within a decade. And one...

I smiled tonight in smug satisfaction. One of my errant children. The self righteous one.What has he calling himself. Oh yes, Plato. The greeks were amusing too, they had called him Typhon or Cronos after eating his young. Maybe I should say hi.No, I will let him know of my arrival soon enough.

There was property to buy and a crime war to start.

Only through blood and war and terror and lust could there be true meaning.

I turned and went back into my suite to rest in my sarcophagus and plan my night tomorrow.


OOC

Set ( and a thousand other names)

African male appears mid 20's

Powerfully built with an exquiitelly carved phyisique. Dark dark skin. Shaved head. Coldest black eyes you have ever seen. A face of an angel.

Approximately 5 thousand years old. A myth, a bogeyman among the vampire world. Possibly the oldest living vampire.

Vast and incredible powers

weaknesses..his own incredible ego and over confidence..plus fire and sunlight. He is incredibly sensitive to them. Contact with open flame , even as much as a match will cause horrendous burns. Sunlight will outright destroy him, his body internally is pretty much dust after all.

Also..those with actual faith will instinctively repel him..plus he is not capable of harming anyone on sacred ground..ranging from a church to a buddhist shrine

I know he seems incredibly powerful, but i felt you guys could really use a villain that is capable of your talents. Fell free to ask me to edit.

As David knocked on the door, he was aware of the dilemma coming here.

Two moral dilemma's actually, neither of them better than the last, but both of them equally important in the case.

Here he stood, in front of some psychic's house, because no one else in the department wanted to take the task. It had, in the course of a few hours, become a laughing stock. No one took the psychic seriously, and no one took the assignment of watching her for her protection seriously either.

But, David thought it could help him get in good graces with Detective Saunders. She didn't have, as almost everyone knew, a partner. David, not quite a rookie, but still fresh and young, wanted to get out of regular beat work, and really do something as a police officer, but nothing came up. They would rather he drive around in a black and white busting up stupid domestic disputes.

He had been volunteering for every shit detail that had Saunders name on it since he joined the force, and babysitting Miss Cleo was just another dirty laundery list for him.

Furrowing his brow, David knocked again, harder this time.

He was dressed in plain clothes; driving his own car, a beat up Nova. Steel blue eyes and a messy flock of curly black hair made him look like some sort of new age millionaire, or perhaps an old cop who had just gotten off a long shift.

"Oriana?" God, even her name name him envision incensced tarot cards showing him a future so vague, it could be interpreted a million different ways.

But, he could at least keep an open mind. If she started opening cans or winning the lottery, he'd believe her.

"My name is detective Hardgrave. David Hardgrave. Are you here?"

A small white lie. He wasn't a detective, at least not yet. But, she didn't need to know that. Besides, if she really was psychic, she would know it already.

Emmi

She sat at the desk in her room, in a simple top and sweatpants, her hair in a messy pony tail, twirling a pencil between her fingers. On the desk lay a large drawing pad. She had just finished her work. Staring at the expertly drawn picture on the pad, she found she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It was a drawing of the girl she’d seen in the alley. Girl, Ghost, projection, she couldn’t decide. The girl’s expression in the drawing was showing every hint of terror it had been showing back in the alley. Something about this girl disturbed her.

“Who are you?” her own whispered statement startled her out of her trance. Putting down the pencil, she rubbed her eyes. She was so tired. It was the pre-dawn hours, and she hadn’t slept a wink, not that she’d tried. A small voice from the door startled her.

“Ms. Emmi?”

Snapping her attention to the door, she found a little girl standing there in her nightgown, clutching a ragged teddy bear. The Hispanic 5 year old looked a little scared.

“Liani.” The girl’s name came out of Emmi’s mouth with a smile and a relieved rush of breath.
“You scared me a bit, bonita. Are you Ok?”
The little girl chewed on her lower lip and was obviously not all right.
“Come here.” Emmi held her arms open for the little girl and her voice was gentle.
The girl barreled into Emmi’s arms, burying her face in Emmi’s shoulder. Something was definitely not all right.

“What’s the matter sweetie?” Emmi stroked the girl’s back hoping to get a response from her.
Liani mumbled something into Emmi’s shoulder. It was only thanks to her unnatural hearing that Emmi picked up what the girl was saying.
“There’s a monster in your closet?” The girl nodded into Emmi’s shoulder.
“And Linda and Mandy don’t see it?” The girl shook her head.
“They’re asleep.” the girl mumbled.
The three girls shared a room together. More for the company then for the lack of space.

“Can you describe the monster to me?” Emmi got the girl to come out from her makeshift hiding place.
“Well,” the girl sniffled, eyes downcast. “He’s big, and hairy, and has big teeth, and, and big yellow eyes, and, and, and his hair is all gray and he keeps saying he’s gonna pinch me and make me cry.” The girl looked up at Emmi, her face filled with all the fear the 5 year old’s imaginary monster could bestow upon her. Liani had always been afraid of the dark. That’s why she always had a dim nightlight plugged in next to her bed.
Emmi’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “Wait a minute. His name wouldn’t be pincher, would it?” She’d heard this description from Liani before.
At the mention of her imaginary torturers name, Liani’s eyes became as wide as saucers and she nodded her head vehemently.
“I thought I took care of him.” Emmi said with a mock sigh of resignation.
“He came back” was the girl’s simple reply.
“Why?” The mock look of suspicion was back. The little girl’s shrugged so Emmi pushed on. “Did you brush your teeth before going to bed?”
Emmi couldn’t help but grin at the little girl’s guilty look. “You know he only comes out when you don’t brush your teeth before bed.”
The little girl hung her head guiltily and Emmi sighed. “Come on, chiquita. Let’s get those pearly whities brushed. Make that monster disappear.”
As Emmi carried the little girl to the bathroom, Liani wrapped her little arms around Emmi’s neck, feeling completely safe in the older woman’s embrace.

Teeth all brushed, Emmi got Liani back into bed. The sight of Linda and Mandy, the other 5 year olds in the room, hanging half off their beds fast asleep brought a smile to Emmi’s face. “A nuclear explosion couldn’t wake those two up” Emmi thought to herself.

Tucking Liani in, Emmi gave her a kiss on her forhead and a tiny flick on her nose. The little girl giggled slightly. Saying their goodnights, Emmi made for the door, quietly.

“I miss her.” came Liani’s small voice from the bed.
Emmi froze. Turning around slowly, she looked at the little girl in wonder. “Who?” The softly spoken question left her mouth before she knew it.
“Nicole.” Came Liani’s soft reply. “I miss her.”
Emmi could feel her heart clenching in her chest and a lump form in her throat. Nicole had been like an older sister to Liani. Even though Nicole had parents and Liani was an orphan, Nicole would still treat her like her own baby sister.
“Do you miss her, Ms. Emmi?” Liani’s question was full of childish innocence.
Her eyes brimming with tears, it took Emmi all her willpower to reply without having her voice crack. “Everyday.”
Liani, apparently satisfied with the answer, rolled over on her side and closed her eyes.

Closing the door to Liani’s room, Emmi made her way back to her own bedroom. Falling on her bed and cradling up in the fetus position, Emmi cried herself to sleep.