Midnight Mess

Disclaimer: Victorious and its characters are the property of Schneider's Bakery and Nickelodeon. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. No profit is intended or wanted for this story.

Note: This is a story I had finished over a week ago but held off on posting for no known reason. The next chapters of Delfiniphobia and The Tragedy and the Triumph should both be posted in a few days.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to a Victoria Vega, please?" a throaty, well-modulated, female voice asked. The sound of that voice sent a pleasant frisson down my spine.

"This is Tori. Um, Victoria," I replied.

"My name is Jade West. I'm returning your call?"

"Oh yes, Ms. West. I understand you are good at finding people who are missing?"

"Yes, I do have some experience in that field. Are you missing someone?"

I could practically feel the smart-ass smile over the phone. A small part of me was tempted to hang up but I knew I wouldn't. Instead, I said, "My sister Trina. Um, Katerina Vega."

"I may be able to help you. How long has she been missing?"

"She left about ten months ago."

"Okay. Where was she last seen?"

"I saw her the night before. We met for a late dinner, said our goodbyes and left for our respective apartments. I called her the next morning about something. I forget what but there was no answer. I tried all day and night. I got scared and went by that night. Her place looked like always except a lot of her clothes were gone."

"Perhaps she went on a trip?"

"No. She had an audition the following day and she never misses auditions."

"She's an actress?"

"Well, she wants to be…"

"I see. Can you come by my office tomorrow night? Around 7:30?"

"Sure. You're in the Bradbury?"

"Yes, on the third floor. You'll see the office down the walkway from the elevator – West Investigations."

"I'll be there."

"Oh, Ms. Vega. You might want to bring a retainer in case I do accept your case. Five hundred dollars."

I was surprised at the low amount and said, "I thought a retainer was usually more."

"I'm kind of old-fashioned," the voice said with a laugh then the line went dead.

The next evening, it was already coming on to full dark. I was on West 3rd Street when I pulled into a well-lit parking lot across from the Bradbury. I crossed in the middle of the block as there wasn't a lot of traffic that time of night. Unlike a lot of people when they're in the city, I wasn't worried. I was only a few blocks from City Hall and my dad's old stomping grounds in the LAPD's Parker Center so I wasn't too concerned. Also I had learned enough martial arts to protect myself.

The Bradbury was a relatively nondescript late Victorian structure from the outside. Red brick, sandstone and some terra cotta. I've seen the place in all sorts of movies. Probably the most famous was Ridley Scott's classic Bladerunner where Deckard had his climactic face-off with Roy Batty. I also remember seeing it in an old Outer Limits episode, The Demon With The Glass Hand, on late-night TV.

Fittingly, Ray Bradbury used it as his fictional office on the old anthology The Ray Bradbury Theatre.

I watch a lot of old TV as I don't sleep much since Trina disappeared.

Walking inside, I saw the legendary five-story lobby with ornate, wrought-iron stair cases leading up, floor-by-floor, to walkways with equally ornate, wrought-iron railings. There were also two old-fashioned, cage-type elevators that stopped at every floor. I have to admit, I was impressed to be in such a beautiful building. In the early evening, the interior lighting gave it an almost cathedral aura thanks to the interplay of the light and shadow.

I noted a plaque as I entered stating it was on the National Register of Historic Places. Another named it a National Historic Landmark. Even if only for the use of the building for movies and TV, it was well-deserved. But I knew, from some throw-away report on the KTLA News, that the building was over one hundred and twenty years old.

I took the elevator. I could easily have taken the stairs but it was a sultry early autumn evening and I didn't want to be any sweatier than I had to be when I met Jade West. Don't ask me why exactly, I couldn't tell you. I just knew I wanted to impress her.

The door of a corner office suite on the third floor was marked:

West Investigations

Since 1931

A family business, I decided. I knocked and heard a distant "Come in!"

Just inside the door was a typical, albeit old-fashioned waiting room which was vacant. The old oaken desk had a phone and an incongruous-looking computer workstation. Along two walls were several empty chairs. The walls had a scattering of black-and-white pictures of Los Angeles, mainly in the pre-war years.

The voice repeated, "In here."

I walked past the desk and entered the next room. It was paneled with light wood. There was a couch along the far wall, two chairs facing an obviously antique desk, with a scattering of papers, another PC and a telephone. The windows above the sofa opened out over Broadway.

This was all peripheral. My attention was focused on the stunning woman sitting behind the desk. She had very dark, almost black hair and a pale complexion. Her lips were dark and her eyes were equally dark. In the light it was hard to determine but I thought they might be a dark geeen. From what little I could see as she sat there, her figure was stunning. Then she stood, confirming my speculation.

"Hello, I'm Jade West," she said, extending her hand. When she raised her head, I confirmed her eyes were actually a beautiful greenish-blue. And somewhat mesmerizing.

I grasped her hand, the skin cool to my touch. "I... Um, I'm Tori Vega."

"I guessed. Thank you for coming in so late. My schedule is quite full and this was one of the few times I could meet with you." She had released my hand and gestured for me to take a seat.

"Not a problem," I replied.

"Would you care for something to drink? I have scotch, vodka, coffee, soda…"

"Only if you're having something."

She walked over to a small dresser and picked up a crystal decanter with dark liquid inside. She poured this into two matching rock glasses. Handing me one, she said, "I usually drink coffee but this seems more appropriate for the early evening.

"Now, tell me what I can do. You're looking for your sister, Trina?"

Accepting the glass, I could detect the aroma of a very good scotch. My father would be jealous if he were still alive.

"Yes, she just up and left about ten months ago. After I saw she had packed a lot of her clothes, I started calling her cell and kept getting her voice mail. Same when I tried texting her or emailing her. Now those accounts are all defunct. When I call, I get the automated message that her number is no longer in service. Texts come back with essentially the same result. And I get a mailer-daemon error when I try emailing her."

"Sounds like she doesn't want to talk to you or anyone else. May I ask why are you so dead set on finding her?"

"Well, Ms. West, I…"

"Please, call me Jade."

I nodded and replied in kind, "I go by Tori."

She smiled and nodded. I continued, "She's all I have left. Our mother was killed in an accident on Santa Monica Boulevard just over a month after Trina left. I'm… I was… I am devastated. And I wanted her to know. Even if she didn't want to come home, I thought she deserved to know. When I couldn't get through to her, it became almost a mania for me to find her."

My hand was shaking slightly and I took a large sip, the smoky liquor quickly coursing through me. This was a very good scotch.

"What other avenues have you pursued?"

"My…our father was a detective with the LAPD. I got his old partner, Gary Willis, to look into Trina's disappearance. He didn't have much luck. Dad had connections with the California State Police, the California Highway Patrol and the CBI. I checked with them as well and had the same result.

"Even the FBI was no help. Dad knew the Agent-In-Charge for the LA Field Office."

"Your father is…dead?" Jade looked at me over the rim of her glass. Those eyes…

"Yes, he was shot and killed during a drug raid…" I stopped and took a big swallow of the scotch, making my eyes water. But it calmed me again.

"I understand," Jade said softly.

"Anyway, Gary traced her credit cards and her debit card but, outside of huge withdrawals from her checking and savings accounts, there was no further activity. Her bank accounts contained over fifty thousand dollars. She got some cash advances from her credit cards that came to nearly twenty thousand dollars. This was all the day before she left. Afterwards, there has been absolutely no activity"

"Are her cards in arrears? What about paying those advances?"

"Dad left us both a substantial estate – the Vegas are one of the richest families on Puerto Rico. Mom's share was split between us when she…died." Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I went on, "Trina had automatic payments set up."

Jade took a sip of her scotch and asked, "What do you think of this?"

I was thrown by the non-sequitur question but I replied, "This is excellent scotch."

"It's an unusual blended private reserve from my maternal grandmother's side of the family. This was distilled sometime before the war. Actually before the First World War."

"And you give this vintage to a person off the street?"

"I'm a very good judge of character. I have a far less impressive, store-bought scotch for the landlord, the maintenance men and clients that I decide aren't worthy."

I was intrigued, "What makes me worthy?"

She flashed a very quick, but lovely, smile at me and replied, "I just have this sense about people."

"I… I'm flattered…" Jade's smile returned, a little longer this time. And it was a beautiful smile.

I almost forgot why I was there until she asked, "Do you have a picture of Trina?"

"Yes," I replied. I pulled a 5x7 portrait from my purse. I was irritated to see the corners were slightly folded but I had no one to blame but myself.

"Very pretty woman." Jade lifted her eyes from the picture and looked at me, "But not the prettiest Vega sister."

I know I blushed. Something about this woman was so… I felt like I'd follow her into hell itself if she asked.

Instead, I gave her Trina's particulars – height, weight, eye color, hair color, birth date and any specific features, like the scar on her forearm she got when we were little and she fell out of a tree, gashing her arm on a rock near the trunk

"I'll take the case. As I said, the retainer is five hundred. And then it's a hundred a day which includes expenses. You have the agreed upon retainer?".

I nodded and handed her an envelope with twenty-five twenty dollar bills.

"Can I ask why you aren't charging more? You know I can afford it."

"Tradition. My father never overcharged anyone. He took on many pro bono cases just to help the client. My grandfather started that practice during the Great Depression. To honor him, um, to honor them, I do the same." Jade smiled again, "Why? Are you disappointed I'm not an opportunistic money-grubber? I'm not a lawyer, you know," She laughed, a throaty laugh.

I chuckled and nodded.

"Would you care for another?"

Glancing down, I saw that I had drained my glass. Handing her the crystal, I nodded, "Please."

She handed me the glass, full almost to the brim with that excellent liquor. Leading me to the very comfortable sofa, she sat at the opposite end and said, "I suppose you'd like to know about my operation?''

"Well, yes. I tried to look you up online but only found a bunch of positive Yelp reviews."

"The website has been a work-in-progress far longer than I care to admit. Anyway, my father…rather my grandfather, who was barely out of high school, was a huge fan of old hard-boiled detective stories – Nick Carter, Sam Spade, the Continental Op, Marlowe and the like. He especially loved Hammett and Chandler. Somewhere in the house, I have copies of the old pulps like Black Mask with the original serialized The Maltese Falcon. After he saw the 1931 film version with Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade, he decided to open a detective agency. Thanks to the Great Depression, he got a deal on this office and West Investigations has been here since then."

Jade went on about her family, how her grandfather went on to help the War Department during the war and how he finally decided to settle down when in the '50s when he was nearly fifty. Her father was born late in his life and, subsequently, Jade was born late in his.

I told her about my family. How my grandfather came to Miami to set up another office for the family business – rum imports mainly. Dad, the middle son, came west to become a cop and met Mom. From that came Trina and, a little over a year later, me.

With a another strong swallow of scotch, I told her about how we had all been relieved Dad made detective, since uniforms were normally the ones in the most danger on the force. Then he was caught in the crossfire of a minor drug bust in Crenshaw. It almost tore the rest of us apart emotionally but we managed to stay together.

Then I told her about the hit-and-run that killed Mom. The driver t-boned her car with a stolen one but somehow managed to get away.

And I poured out my heart about wanting some part of my family back. I was embarrassed as I was practically blubbering at the end.

Jade stood and, to my surprise, hugged me, saying, "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry."

I felt so much better and my tears dried up. She led me to the door and said, "Once I have something, I'll be in touch."

"Thank you, Jade. I really do feel better already."

I headed home to the Hollywood Hills to wait for information from Jade.

A few days later, Gary called me. "Hey Pumpkin! I have some news."

"Trina?! Did you find her?"

Sounding chagrined, he apologized, "I'm sorry sweetie. No. Nothing new about Treen. But we did get a call about a body found up near Big Bear by a park ranger. He was pretty messed up. Animals had gotten to a lot of the exposed flesh and… Sorry. What do you call it? TMI? Anyway, he had gloves on so his hands were…intact. His finger prints matched those we found in the car that killed your mom."

"Who was he?"

"A nobody. His name was James Shimenga. No record so his prints weren't on file. Looks like boosting that car was his first crime. Well, that can be tied to him anyway. Figured he was hiding out at Big Bear and had some accident in the woods.

"Anyway, hon, I wanted you to know before this hits the papers. It probably won't make the front pages. Unless it's a slow news day, this'll end up back in the Metro section but I know how you pore over the news."

"Yeah, you know me really well, Gary."

"I should. I've known you since you peed on your dad the first time he changed your diapers," Gary laughed. I joined him. It was nice to laugh. I'd had so few chances to since Trina left. Actually, since Dad died.

"Thanks Gary. I…I really appreciate this."

"No problemo, kiddo. Hey, when are you coming over for dinner? Mickey would love to see you."

"Soon," I promised, knowing it was a lie. I loved Gary and his wife Mickey like family but I knew I would be horrible company and didn't want to be a downer around them.

A few days later, I got a call from Jade. She'd been in the forefront of my thoughts for some time. I even started to write a song about her although I hadn't been near a studio since Dad.

"Tori? It's Jade."

"Hey Jade. Do you have any news?"

"Nothing concrete. I have some leads I'm following. But I saw the article in the paper about the man who killed your mother. I just wanted to…" Her voice trailed off as if she was at a loss for words. Even with my limited time with her, I doubted Jade West was ever at a loss for words.

"Yeah, it's definitely a relief. But what a horrible way to go, dying in the wilderness and attacked by animals."

"He deserved nothing better," Jade stated. I found myself agreeing. After all, this was the lowlife who killed my mother.

Jade's voice sound slightly tense. "I just wanted to touch base with you and let you know I might… And I repeat might. Have something for you soon."

"Thank you, Jade." I was about to hangup when I asked, "Have you eaten yet?"

A short chuckled followed by, "No. Not yet. Why?"

"Well, I thought we could meet for dinner somewhere?" I couldn't believe I was asking her to dinner. I hadn't had anything even close to a date since Dad was killed. Much less with a woman. But there was just something about this detective…

I could feel her nodding over the phone as she said, "Sure. Why not? There's a great old Chinese place on First Street. The Far East Café? It's across from the entrance arch for Little Tokyo. Say eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

I found the place easily. The Far East Café was an old-fashioned Chinese restaurant with old heavily lacquered partitions creating small dining areas, old 1941 calendars on the wall and the aroma of well-cooked Chinese meals.

I had actually done my hair, something I hadn't bothered since Mom passed. And I wore a lovely dress. I hoped Jade would like it.

Then Jade was led to our booth. She was stunning in a jade-green, Oriental-style gown that hung to her feet with a slit up each side almost to her hips. Her raven-black hair was softly curled and she had just enough makeup to emphasize her natural beauty.

I have to admit I was falling for her. Almost immediately when I met her in the West office, I felt like she had cast a spell on me. Now I knew it wasn't just a passing fancy. I wanted her. And I wanted her to want me. And there was nothing supernatural about it.

Rising to greet her, I was thrilled by her quick peck – her lips pressing mine for a too-brief moment.

Then we sat. I wanted to learn what she had learned about Trina but I also wanted to just be with her.

We chatted and Jade seemed to have a phenomenal knowledge of Los Angeles and it's history. It was like L. , Chinatown or some hard-boiled 1940s detective story. I loved it but I was curious.

I asked, "How do you know so much about the city?"

"I like history and my father – and my grandfather – were more than willing to tell me all the ugly secrets they had unearthed while they were working.

"Are you familiar with Dragnet?"

"Yes, it was an old TV series about the LAPD detectives. It was on back in the 1960s. Dad loved it and…"

"Correct!" I felt like I won a prize at that comment. "There was an earlier version in the '50s. Jack Webb, the star/creator/producer got all the stories from the files of the police department. He and Chief Parker were actually very close. Many cases he gleened from that research weren't allowed to be done in those early days of television. He used many of those older stories in the newer version. And many of the stories couldn't be used even then.

"Even hear of the Black Dahlia?"

"Of course, the great unsolved murder in the LAPD files. Betty Smart or something like that. She was found dismembered in a vacant lot in 1947 or 1948."

"Actually, her name was Elizabeth Short and it was 1947. Her body had been cut in half and left in Leimert Park. And you're correct, the murder has never been solved. Webb had access to those case files but couldn't do the story on TV, even in the 1960s. Too gruesome. And he wanted stories that had a conclusion that showed the police in a good light. Especially after Chief Parker had cleaned up the department.

"The Black Dahlia was a chapter of it's own in his book The Badge. The other stories included ones he couldn't use on TV in the original series but did show up in the '60s show."

Jade went on about LA's more sordid past and I was fascinated. As I listened, our dinners arrived and she stopped talking about sordid deaths and we just chatted about the usual things people would talk about over dinner – the latest fashions, movies and such,

After dinner, I offered to drive her to her car or home. Jade told me she walked from her office. She accepted my offer of a ride but, before I knew it, we were at my house in the Hollywood Hills.

We shared some wine and, before I knew what happened, she and I were making out on my couch.

Her kisses were so soft and sensual, her tongue so supple as it caressed mine. Again, I noted how cool everything about her was and that heightened the thrill.

The attraction I already felt had now become a need for her. Without a word, she stood and took my hand. Jade led me to my bedroom as if she knew the way already.

The night ended in ecstasy! Her mouth and hands were so cool on my heated flesh but so knowing and skilled. When her tongue slipped into me, I nearly passed out.

And she had a tart, tangy taste herself. Even as her nether regions were cool to my mouth and tongue. Something I was relished and wanted to experience again and again.

I woke up to a bright, sunny day. But I was alone in bed.

Disappointment filled me. Why did Jade leave? Without saying anything? Wasn't I good enough? What could I have done differently?

As those thoughts flashed through my mind in seconds, I saw a folded piece of paper on my bedside table. My name was on it, and could detect Jade's natural musky scent on the paper. I quickly grabbed it to read Jade's words.

My Dearest Tori,

Last night was magical. Incredible. I haven't felt the way you made me feel for ages.

But, I received a text from one of my sources and had to check it out. I didn't want to disturb you, you looked so beautiful as you slept.

I will call you soon. And not just with news of your case.

With love,

Jade

My mood immediately brightened. I tried not to get my hopes up but Jade's words were so sweet and… I cursed inwardly that I had to wait to see her again.

An eternally long two days passed before I heard from Jade again.

"Tori, I have a good lead. Looks like Trina went to up to some small town in the Sierras, north of the Bay Area."

"Okay, thank you." I was glad for the news but part of me wanted Jade to call me for another reason.

I guess the tone of my voice made Jade aware of my disappointment. In a softer voice, Jade said, "I'm sorry about the other night. I really enjoyed myself. I really enjoyed you. And I'd like to… Tori, I'm not sure how you feel but I'd like to see you again."

"Oh Jade, I feel the same way. I haven't felt like this since before Dad died." In truth, I hadn't felt like this about another person ever. Was I in love?

"All those wasted years…" Jade sounded sad, "I'm so sorry, I just couldn't be there when you woke up. I… I had to check on…that lead."

"Okay. Jade, about the other night, I really… Um… I…"

I could practically hear her smile, "Me too."

A few days later, I got a call from Jade. It was just after 8 PM.

"Tori? I think I found out where Trina is. A small Gold Rush town called Cherokee just north of Oroville. I'm going to try to confirm that but the natives are very close-knit. But leave it to me."

"But if Trina is there…?"

"I really don't think you should go to Cherokee."

"Why not?"

"It's a small town and they're very xenophobic."

"Xenophobic?"

"They don't like strangers."

Slightly miffed, I said, "I know what it means. But if they don't like strangers, how is Trina there? She has to be liked."

"Tori, I'll head north myself to check. If she's there or not, I'll let you know. Okay?"

I felt better but was still a little disappointed when I replied, "I understand Jade."

"I'll speak to some of the locals. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay. And Jade?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Not a problem," came the reply. I could practically hear her smirk.

When I hung up, I grabbed an old Thomas Brothers atlas for California. They're mainly known for their extensive spiral-bound atlases of various cities but do publish several volumes of various western states. Dad had quite a few of them - for California and the major cities.

While his were a couple of years out of date, I easily found Oroville and looked at the associated pages for the surrounding area. Cherokee was less than a flyspeck on the page that showed the area to the north, as Jade mentioned.

I went on-line and found a little more. I have to admit that what I found was interesting. But I've been a history buff since I took a senior-level class when I was a junior in high school. The teacher really made it come alive for us. Well, for me at least.

Anyway, Cherokee was once a substantial mining town, named for some Cherokee Indians who filed the original claim for a mine in 1849. It was located on the north edge of the California gold fields, south of the Cascades. At it's height, Cherokee had a population over one thousand people in the 1880s and 1890s. The miners used the hydraulic system to get at the ore. Basically, they blasted a hillside with high-pressure streams of water then had some Chinese coolies, Irish and Italian immigrants pan the rubble in twenty-four hour shifts.

What was considered progressive in the 19th century is now looked on as an environmental travesty. Rightly so in this case.

Currently, the place was almost a ghost town. After hydraulic mining ended up costing more than the return, the town quietly died. Currently, one source had the population set at 69. Another at less than two dozen.

It was something like four hundred and sixty miles north through the Central Valley. A long drive but one I could do when I got the confirmation I hoped would come soon.

The next day and I had no word from Jade. The same for the next day and the one after. I tried to call her cell – I got that from caller ID – but it went straight to voice mail.

Finally, after six days with no response, I called the California Highway Patrol but they had no record of Jade West on any recent reports. Same with the California State Police and the California Bureau of Investigation. Fortunately, Dad's name still had some pull with the right people.

Not that it did me any good at that moment.

So there I was heading north to Cherokee. Leaving extremely early, and taking I-5 north, I figured I gave myself plenty of time. It was a around four hundred and sixty miles and my plan was to could get there late in the afternoon.

What I hadn't counted on was a semi jack-knifing on the interstate south of Sacramento. Fortunately, when I got caught up in the traffic mess, it was a few hours after the accident - according to the reports on the radio. Still it was little solace when I was still stuck there for over two hours.

Finally, after a couple of hours, traffic started to move and I was soon on California Highway 70 on my way to Oroville. Cherokee was still further up the hills just beyond Oroville.

That drive from the capitol still took another hour and a half. so I stopped in Oroville at a Motel 6 just off the highway. I checked in and asked the receptionist about somewhere to eat nearby.

Oroville isn't that big but I had a small variety close by. I chose the closest, Cornucopia, which was pretty much across the parking lot from my motel.

"Hi there! My name is Sara. Can I get you something to drink?"

The cheery, brown-haired girl reminded me of one of my best friends in high school – a red-headed cheerleader who was very out-going and lovably daffy at times..

Undoubtedly this high school post-grad was angling for a good tip. I was tired and cranky but I managed to be polite, "Can I have a scotch and soda, in a tall glass please? And a glass of water?"

"Of course! Um, can I see your ID?" I passed my license to her and she responded, "Sorry, state law and everything. We even card elderlies. I'll be back with your drink in a moment."

When she returned with my drink and water, and I gave her my order. Then I asked, "Can I ask you something, Sara?"

"Sure. What can I help you with?" She was obviously expecting a question regarding the menu like 'does the cheddar cheese burger use real cheddar cheese?' or 'it says no substitutions but can I get macaroni and cheese instead of french fries?' or something equally stupid.

"What can you tell me about Cherokee?"

"Um… Uh… Cherokee?" she asked in a small voice, a look of fear on her face. "It's a… Um, it's a ghost town."

"I know but a friend of mine went there a few days ago and I haven't heard from her since. And my sister is there too, I think."

"I don't know anything about the place. Just that no one goes there. Especially after dark."

She hustled off to place my order. She barely exchanged a word with me that she didn't absolutely have to for the rest of my stay there. Her last words, as she brought my receipt and credit card, was simple, "If you have to go up there, don't stay after sunset."

The new desk clerk, who took over from the one who checked me in, was a little more direct. "Don't go to Cherokee. You…won't like what you find."

That night, I lay awake in the dark, the only light coming in from the windows and the TV which had the sound muted. I went over the abortive conversations with Jade, Sara and the desk clerk. What was the deal with Cherokee? Why was I getting the cold shoulder and even told not to go there?

My mind was full of conspiracy ideas. I was particularly focused on the idea of a secret installation funded by Spetznaz, Smersh or THRUSH hiding in a ghost town.

Before I managed to fall asleep, at nearly 3 AM (not unusual since Mom died), I decided I was going there in the morning.

After the long drive the day before, and my relatively sleepless night, I didn't wake up until after 1 PM. I cursed myself for not arranging for a wake-up call and, even worse, for not setting the alarm on my smart phone.

Sluggishly, I dragged myself into the shower then dressed. A stop at Cornucopia for a late lunch, no mention of Cherokee to the day-shift waitress this time. and I was headed north on 70 again.

Climbing further up the Sierras, I almost missed the turnoff for Cherokee. I turned right onto the rough road. Obviously the Butte County Highway Department didn't put a high priority on this road. Some of the potholes could've swallowed my car whole. I managed to miss those but I did hit a few that nearly shook my teeth from my skull.

The road headed roughly southeast from 70 into a sparsely forested area. The road curved around north past a collection of trailers – some older 'luxury' models to classic, old Airstreams along with various camper shells lying on the ground, apparently forgotten. None looked like they hadn't been moved for years, if not decades.

I guessed this was the majority of the population of Cherokee. It was a fraction of the population during, and even after, the Gold Rush.

Further up the road, I passed a scattering of buildings and even some ruins. There was a school house, a couple of houses – one had been converted into a museum – and a shed that was a memorial to President Rutherford B. Hayes, who had visited Cherokee in its hey-day, during his term in office in 1880.

One of the more obvious piles of rubble had to be the old blacksmith shop, if the large open furnace was any indication. Another, with a light-colored limestone rear wall, I knew was the old Wells-Fargo and assay office. There was even an abandoned, partially overgrown caboose sitting among a wealth of weeds. The road curved up and around before I was headed south.

A few more isolated buildings before I came across what was left of a gate that led into the Cherokee graveyard. I stopped and got out to look around. I was always fascinated by cemeteries and the old-fashioned tombstones and vaults. Blame it on growing up with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Soon, I got back in my car and returned the way I came. I stopped at an old yellow house that had a sign in front stating it was the Cherokee Museum. It was locked but, as I stood on the porch planning my next move, a woman from another old house across the road called to me.

An older woman, I couldn't guess her age, was standing on the front porch of a gray, clapboard house that was partially covered with tar paper. "Ya lookin' for somethin', dear?"

I nodded as I walked across the road. I saw the old mailbox mounted on a post said Miner. "Yes. I heard my sister was here. I've been looking for her for a while."

"I'm sorry, dear. Ain't nobody new around here. Ain't much of anyone 'tall, t'be honest."

"Well, maybe you recognize her? In case she was just passing through?" I handed her another 5x7 of Trina I had.

She looked at it then handed it back. "Mighty pretty. But I ain't seen anyone like her around here. Not in a coon's age. Unless she's with some of them what live in that trailer park. Ya musta passed it when ya drove in?"

"Maybe I'll knock on some doors," I muttered.

"I wouldn't, I was ya. They're whatcha call night people. Mosta them."

"Well, I guess I can come back later?"

"I wouldn't dear. This ain't a place for folks after dark."

"Are you saying it's dangerous?"

"Could be. Could jus' be there just ain't nothin' here."

"Well, thank you, Miss Miner."

"Miner. Not me. Name's Hayes. Like the president what visited her a long time ago." She laughed, "Miner! Now ain't that a name for a town like this?"

I nodded with a smile even as my heart was heavy in my chest. After the anticipation all the way from LA, I felt the incredible weight of disappointment. Why did Trina leave? And why is it so hard to find her? And why would she be in such a place as Cherokee?

"Dear?" the older woman said.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Tori. Tori Vega."

With a smile indicating she was kidding me about the introduction, she said, "Well Tori Tori Vega, it's gettin' on to late. Ya best be headin' back where ya come from."

"Okay, I guess so. Thank you Mrs. Hayes."

I got in my car and drove back towards Highway 70 and Oroville. I slowed as I passed the small trailer park. I was tempted to wake up some people but thought better of it. If these were meth cookers, which seemed likely, I'd be better off leaving them alone.

But, by the time I reached Oroville, just after the sun dropped behind the western hills, I started to second-guess myself. Never a good thing.

I decided, after I got some food, I'd head back to Cherokee to see if I could ask some of the night owls some questions. Drug makers or not.

Again I almost missed the turnoff. But this time I had a better excuse since it was night.

I followed Cherokee Road around again and slowed as I neared the trailer park. There were a few lights on and I was about to get out when I saw a glint of light further up the road.

I drove up towards the source of the light. As I got near, I saw another flash of light. It was an open door and I could see several people walk into the building. I realized it was the old school house. Converted to a restaurant? Should publicize it and make a name for Cherokee. Well, if the food's any good.

I stopped, breaking that line of thought. As I got out of the car, I saw the old schoolhouse was brightly lit from within and several more people were walking in. It wasn't obvious until I was close – there seemed to be heavy drapes over the windows that allowed very little light.

Anyway, I decided to follow those I saw earlier. Somehow, I was sure someone inside would know about Jade and, of course, Trina.

As I walked in, no one paid me much attention. I sat at a table. A waiter came up and asked what I would like. I wasn't given a menu so I just said, "I guess the daily special is fine."

"Would you care for a drink?"

"Yes please, a scotch and soda. In a tall glass."

My drink and a bowl of soup appeared in moments. The soup, looked like some tomato bisque, wasn't hot but at least it was still warm. It was thick and way too salty for my taste. There was a definite, distinctive flavor though.

I had several spoonfuls but that was more than enough and I pushed the bowl to the side.

There was no salad, the entrée came instead. A large steak with no trimmings. And it was barely cooked. The slab of meat was swimming in a pool of its own blood. I found myself hoping the Cornucopia would still be open when I got back to Oroville.

I did try to take a bit but the taste of the blood-enriched meat was too much. I signaled for the waiter. "Can I get something else? Chicken? Trout?""

"I'm sorry Madam. We do not serve those dishes. Our clientele prefer the entrée."

Jade walked in at that moment. I smiled and she graced me a small smile as she nodded to me. Right behind her was Trina.

Trina! My sister! My best friend and my worst enemy. My confidant and my tattler. My blood and heart.

I stood up and my feet tangled with the chair legs. I started to fall and grabbed the heavy drape, pulling the curtain down. Due to the internal light, the room was reflected in the school window's glass.

My heart nearly stopped then started to hammer so heavily in my chest, I was sure it was going to burst from my chest, like an embryonic alien. In a room full of people, I was the only one who cast a reflection in the glass!

I was staring at myself in the glass for a long moment before I turned to see the others in the room. Their faces turned slightly – not as extreme as Buffy vampires but still distorted. Fangs began to appear.

This was impossible!

Terror tore through me. My heart had never throbbed so hard and so fast.

My head turned back and forth as I tried to find a way out. But there wasn't. The demonic blood-suckers were all around me. I had nothing to use to defend myself like a cross or…

"Jade! Help me! They're all…"

"Vampires. I know, Tori. I tried to warn you but you wouldn't listen. You had to see your sister."

"Trina! Run!" My sister, the only remaining relative I have. And she was walking into the den of evil.

"Hi Tori! Sorry I didn't call. But phones are few and far between up here. And cell reception is horrible," Trina said with a small smile. "By the way, I know about Mom. It saddened me when I heard. But I was able to find the bastard. He was hiding near Big Bear. But you'll be happy to know that I made his last minutes Hell on Earth!"

Her smile widened and I saw the sharp canines! Oh no, my sister is one of them!

"Trina…" I turned to Jade, my eyes begging, "Jade?"

Then I saw her fangs. My Jade was a vampire!

I thought my heart would stop! I didn't think anyone could survive such horrors. I turned away and saw my reflection again, in an empty room.

Hands gently gripped my shoulders, cold hands. Bloodless hands. Without conscious thought, I turned as those hands urged me. Jade was gazing at me, her eyes hypnotically staring into me.

"Jade…" I whimpered.

"I wasn't planning this, Tori. At least not yet. I want you with me but I wanted to…woo you first so you would want to join me."

"Why?"

"Tori, it wasn't my grandfather who founded West Investigations. It was my father. I took over when he died in 1945. I was turned shortly after that by some ex-GI who served in eastern Europe. See, I was born in 1924. And I've been so lonely…" Her mouth opened, the fangs glinting in the restaurant's light, as she kissed my neck.

"This will make it easier for you," she said just before she licked my neck. A numbness followed her tongue's path.

Trina, her mouth bloody, came up then. "Tori, I want to help too. Here, drink this."

She held her torn, bloody wrist to my mouth. I tried not to but I found myself swallowing some of her cold, thick blood.

I gagged and passed out. The last thing I heard was, "Did she drink enough?"

I came to slowly. I realized I was hanging upside-down. And there was something sharp poking me in the neck. I didn't want to know what was going on. Didn't want to see the horrors I knew were all around me.

There was a sharp coppery taste in my mouth, like the soup. But I knew it was Trina's dead blood I was tasting. Oh my God! I had swallowed that foul substance!

"Tori? I know you're awake." Jade's voice. I was sick, demented. I had to be. Even with what I knew, that voice sent shivers up and down my spine, in a good way.

"We had to tap you. See, everyone wanted a taste and it was the only fair way. Later, you'll understand."

Tapped? On the head? Why? And why did I suddenly feel so weak?

I opened my eyes. I saw myself in the window's reflection. I was hanging from the rafters apparently alone in the room. But I could see, with my peripheral vision, the undead citizens of Cherokee crowding around me holding wine glasses full of dark red wine that they were sipping.

Then, feeling a tugging on my neck, my eyes returned to my slowly fading reflection. A floating wine glass was being filled! With my blood!

From the wooden tapper shoved into my neck!

Notes: 1) Thanks to Quitting Time's It Worked Alright – which was inspired by the 1973 Amicus Productions film, The Vault of Horror. Vault, like it's predecessor – 1972's Tales From The Crypt – were anthologies of stories based on the old EC horror comics from the pre-Comic Code 1950s. This story is loosely based on the first of the Vault tales, Midnight Mess which was originally published in Tales From The Crypt #35 (1953) written by Al Feldstein with art by Joe Orlando. I altered some of the details but borrowed just as much from the sources.

2) Cherokee, California is a real place in Butte County. As much as possible, I tried to keep the details real. But, as far as I know, there are no vampires in northern California.