Lt. Carl Davis parked down the block and spent a moment observing the neighborhood, town house apartments built in the 90's lined the street on sides of the block. An ordinary neighborhood, modest… cars aren't trashed but they're not new either. It's a crowded and subdued crime scene—the word has already gone out that there were children involved, always hard on everybody. The street has been blocked off at both ends to keep the media as far away as possible.

"Carl," Officer Novak says, "Glad you're here, Animal Control is ready to leave. Do you want to talk to them before they go?"

"Do we have a dog attack, Novak?" Carl gets out his note pad.

"I don't think so Carl. There is lots of blood downstairs and the two kids were upstairs. Less blood, but children are smaller. The animal control guys say the dog, a pit bull is docile—they had no problem removing her from the scene."

"Yeah, I'll talk to them." Carl walks over to a modified shop truck—a rolling dog jail, individual kennels on either side. Two techs are clearly shaken up. "Hey, tough night." They nod, "This is a rough crime scene for the pros, you two are holding up pretty well, considering. What can you tell me about the dog?"

"The dog was strange," says a slender young woman. She's hugging herself while her partner a stocky young man stares at the grounds. He looks up, nods and adds, "She was glad to see us, crept out from under the bed and came to us with no problem. Just pressed herself up against my leg, the way a dog acts when it's scared of thunder."

"Was there any blood on the dog?"

"Not that we observed."

"We'll find out what CSI wants to do about the dog and then you can leave. We've got counselors available if you need them." Carl returns to officer Novak. "When animal control leaves, send an officer, those two don't need to face the press right now. What else do we have Novak?"

"The father came home after a trucking run up the coast, he called 911. He said the girlfriend was supposed to be watching the kids. She's missing."

MLMLMLMLML

"Beth, do you know Carl Davis?" Talbot called to her from inside his office. His brief case was open his desk as he sorted through the files he would need in court today.

Not sure where this is going Beth answers cautiously, "Yes," Carl was a friend, sort of, a contact from her time at Buzzwire and he had worked with Josh. Beth thinks she hadn't really talked to him since Josh's funeral.

"More importantly, can you work with him? He's running the homicide investigation on the two children." That particular crime had blown through the office like a cold wind stirring thoughts of vengeance and mortality. "You're the closest thing we have to an investigative expert on crimes involving children. No one wants this one and we need a liaison with the police department."

"Sure, I'll do it." Beth sighs, "I kind of know the territory." Ben looks up from his desk when he hears the reluctance in her voice.

"They're interviewing the father in a half hour and thanks… " Ben looks at his desk and continues going through his files, "I'll be in court until all day …fill me in when I get back."

MLMLMLMLML

The father sits in the interrogation room worn out and drained, looking like the ragged shreds of an exploded balloon…

Carl and Beth watch through the observation window.

"…the shared custody thing is a mess…I pay less child support if they live with me but because I'm a trucker I work odd hours…still Mona, my ex-wife and I usually work things out…but this last trip… Mona's mom is sick and doing some experimental treatment in Mexico… a total crap shoot… and there was no way Mona could take them. My family is in Arizona… I don't like asking Zandra to watch the kids…

"Who is Zandra, for the record?" The interviewing officer asks.

"Zandra's my girlfriend." He rubs his hand across his face, eyes red and hot, tears held back. "God, I fucked up."

"Why don't you like Zandra to watch the kids?" The interrogation continues; Carl Davis watches the man's expression intently.

"She's wild, …the kind of girlfriend you think is cheating on you… but you don't care because she's hot… you know, I come back from a trip and she's got new sexy underwear… expensive and I didn't buy it… every nickel I make goes to child support and the mortgage. " He swallows hard and his eyes fill with tears and his face contracts in pain as he realizes his children are really dead.

"I hear you there," the officer comments with sympathy more deliberate than real. It sounds forced but the father doesn't even notice as he keeps on talking.

"I can't even remember why Mona and I split up," he shakes his head, trying to clear away the memories "…actually I was paying Zandra's daughter to babysit… kind of a backup plan."

"Do you know where she is, the daughter?" The officer sits up and reaches for his note pad. "What's her name?" He looks up at the father who appears dumbfounded, "I don't know everyone called her Missy."

Outside Carl watches the interview, tight lipped and frowning. "We don't think the father is a suspect. He works for Cal-Allied Trucking and all their rigs are constantly tracked with GPS—and if that isn't enough each truck has a giant bar code printed on top so satellite pictures can be taken from space. Unless of course there is some conspiracy with the girlfriend… but there was a lot of blood… at least one other body is stashed somewhere… Oh, and good to see you Beth… glad you joined the light."

"So you have a hunch, Carl?"

"You may be on working for us but you're the same old Beth. Let's walk down the hall," he smiles as he notices Beth's obstinate expression when she is asked to leave the observation window "…don't worry I will get you a transcript of the interview."

"I'll take that as a complement." Their conversation goes forward in fits and starts as they negotiate the corridor, detectives, techs and others have crowded into the hall, hoping that the father is the killer, they want an arrest and quick justice.

"I think we're going to come up empty."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"My guys are going to be busy with the immediate stuff, crime scene evidence, finding the girlfriend's daughter and so on. Would you look for similar crimes? Look up and down the coast, if the father is involved …we might not find anything here in LA… but since he's a long distance trucker. What do you think, did he kill his kids?"

"No. He's rambling on and answering every question."

Arriving at the end of the hall, Carl holds the door for Beth and follows her. On the other side of the door he stops her with a touch to her arm, "Beth…"

"Yes."

"The grapevine says you're dating St. John… be careful."

"Why, do you disapprove?" Beth says eyebrows arched and chin tilted defiantly, as if it's a dare. "Talbot did say he was eight different kinds of weird."

"Only eight? How'd you hear that? I'm just saying that if Mick were a cop, Internal Affairs would have a field day. He's not as far below the LAPD radar as he thinks and you can't always count on us to look the other way."

"Thanks, Carl. If I'm a little defensive I still feel like some people around here blame me for Josh's death."

"Only if they were crushing on Josh… C'mon Beth all those reporter's instincts and you haven't figured out that Law Enforcement is a gossipy soap opera."

"This is how you know that 'threesomes never end well.'"

"No comment. Damn it Beth, play nice. We're on the same side now."

"I just had to hear it once for old times' sake. Thanks, Carl"

MLMLMLMLML

"Hey Mick, this is Beth, I'm working late tonight pulling case files for Carl and Talbot. I'll call you when I'm done" Beth sets her phone down after leaving a message. She smiles thinking that Mick will be getting up soon. A pleasant thought but research is a different kind of fun. She trusts Carl's instincts. Right now a lot of resources are committed to this crime, so if she finds some leads quickly while this case has priority…

MLMLMLMLML

Guillermo was pacing on the roof top across from the morgue waiting for Mick drinking occasionally from a closed stainless steel container.

"Hey, Guillermo, why did you want to meet me here?"

"It's a bad night Mick. I got two little kids over there—killed by vampires. I don't even want to be in the same room, I vamp out with rage."

"Shit."

"Yeah shit, it's too damn easy to get dead at any age without some greedy bastard having you for dinner… Adults can make their own mistakes, be in the wrong place at the wrong time but kids…" His voice trails off as he thinks about the duties facing him across the street.

"There are limits."

"Yeah, limits, no one has to die because of who we are." Guillermo swore bitterly, "I don't know if it's better or worse but I think this thing is going to pass as a human crime."

Mick sets his jaw and says tightly. "I'll look into it, anything else you can tell me?"

I'll get you the report and when I calm down enough to go back in… I'll get in touch. Here you're going need this when you're done." Mick frowns, concerned as Guillermo hands him a second container "Some fool with the highest blood alcohol I've ever sampled met a palm tree at 90 miles an hour—how they got the car up to 90..."

MLMLMLMLMLML

Beth taps on Talbot's door. Talbot looks up from desk littered with paperwork, he looks tired. "You still here?"

With a half smile Beth shrugs, "Sure, why not. I can't think of anything else I would rather do. Well almost anything."

"Hmm almost anything," Ben mutters to himself, imagining Mick St. John showing up to put in his two cents on this case.

"What did you say?" It's an awkward silence and she thinks, Is he flirting or making an innuendo about Mick, blushing she rushes to say "Carl doesn't think the father committed the crime, so he asked me look into similar crimes."

"What do you have?"

"Remember I'm not a profiler, just an investigative reporter. This is a sensational crime the kind the media keeps going for years… so I looked for similar crimes and pulled the files. Keep in mind that this is only California."

"I have four crimes Sacramento 1978, Los Angeles 1980, San Diego 1992 and San Jose 1999. What makes them remarkable is the father, husband or boyfriend's story. It's like that old TV show The Fugitive. He comes home and there is fresh blood everywhere and he confronts either his wife, in flagrante or an intruder. In all cases this guy, like our truck driver, is someone whose whereabouts can be verified for up to 48 hours before the murders. The husband calls 911 right away and gives a full statement. The wife or girlfriend's body is never found. Children are present and sleeping in the house but not harmed in 1978 and 1980 and in 1992 the children survived with a few scratches and tentative bite marks. In 1999 the wife and their two children are missing but the blood evidence suggests they were killed at the scene. In the last case the husband killed himself after calling 911, even though it seems impossible that he killed them."

"So basically lots of blood, missing wife, husband with alibi and mysterious intruder. "OK, let's look at the files. Talbot reaches out to take two files from Beth. I have to admit I don't like murder scenes with lots of blood and I only have to look at the pictures."

Beth looks at him for a moment before continuing. "I've got 1978 and 1980. The State successfully prosecuted Franklin Smith in 1978, Andrew Royce-Givens in 1980. Smith died in prison four years ago.

Talbot speaks noting, "There was an acquittal in the case of James Philipson in 1992, bite-marks matched the ex-wife's," he glanced at the pictures in the latter case file only to sharply look away his eyes focused in the distance.

Beth completely engrossed in reading files fails to notice Talbot's distress. She looked up and noticed the pain of his expression. "Ben," she asked gently, "How old are you!"

"33, why?

"Your sister, how old is she?"

"29, why are you asking these questions? What does this have to do with the case?"

Beth ignores the question looking at him with sad eyes, "Is your middle name Andrew and your sister's middle name Marie?"

"Yes."

"I think I just found your parents."

MLMLMLMLMLMLML

Music: Let the Drummer Kick

Blood speaks. The vampire sense of smell sometimes leaves me feeling that no separation exists between me and the victim. I know too much. Like that sorry bastard Guillermo poured into a to-go cup for me—that guy died feeling invincible. I've seen the insides of too many people's lives. Josef would say I obsess about humanity and I need to focus my attention on something else. Taste aside; experiencing the boredom of someone donating blood in a high school gymnasium can be kind of relaxing.The blood at the scene is excessive. More than twenty four hours later it's still oppressive like watching violent porn.

Blood and sex, this sire is all about seduction. He likes to watch and hear humans bleed to death—he drinks very little of their blood. No wonder it passes as a human crime, the police never calculate that a pint or two is missing. He's old enough to have worn beaver hats and frock coats, zoot suits and platform shoes although lately he prefers a hip hop styling, clothes over sized but crisply pressed, everything absolutely new like money straight from the mint. I hear his words, "C'mon baby, do you want what I have, all of it?" Of course she does bling and blood.I see this newly turned vampire rising from a pool of her own blood. The fine patterns of formerly white lacy lingerie blotchy with drying blood. Giggling she announces "I'm such mess, but I'm so hungry. I must have the munchies." "I've got something for you upstairs."Is this what this sire wants, a vampire whose first memory is drinking children's blood?

"You don't have to do this." Beth and Ben say to each other simultaneously as they stand outside the door to the townhouse.

"Seriously, Ben there is no forgetting, no magic rewind if you go in and remember what happened to your parents."

Inhaling deeply, Ben holds his breath and exhales. When Beth told him she found his parents he had automatically stated, "My parents live in San Diego." Then he had angrily asked, "How do you know I was adopted?" Beth gently told him she knew because his sister had gone to Mick St. John, apparently picking his name at random out of the phonebook. Proving once again that fate had an ironic sense of humor; it irked Talbot that St. John had the grace to turn his sister down...

"Beth, would you go back to forgetting, that is, if you could?"

Morgan/Coraline, Coraline/Morgan, Beth thinks, I staked that bitch. "No, there's just a different kind of fear and the dreams are just as bad. But, Mick he's there for me and… he understands."

Ok, so there's more to that relationship than I thought. "Let's go in."

Memories force themselves upon him as he looks across the blood stains which spread across the floor. His mother had been soaked in her own blood, at the time he remembered thinking, "Mommy's hurt."

Now Ben remembers her resurrection.

"Ben, listen you have to talk about it—if only because what you remember is evidence!"

Without looking away from the bloodstain on the carpet he says, "I woke up and started to come downstairs and I saw my Mom. In a pool of blood, like that, I thought she was hurt. It must have been a head wound or something that bleeds a lot because she got up. She saw me and started coming up the stairs to get me… I thought it was going to be alright… then I was really scared. Maybe it was the smell of blood… I felt as if every hair on my body was going to be shocked by electricity. …my father came in… and there was a really big fight. "

Ben and Beth stand in silence until Ben breaks the silence, "I need to see the upstairs."

"Ok, but let me go first, I'm not the one looking at this from the perspective of my childhood."

Mick is there at the end of the hallway, eyes silver, mouth partly open, fangs visible, breathing in the smell of blood and murder. Beth sees him as she steps into the hall and then he is gone. This is a vampire crime.