A/N: If you don't like the plot, characters or character pairings, then don't read. You have been warned.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fright Night 2011. Or Colin Farrel...or David Tennant... :'(

WORD COUNT: 3, 339

CHAPTER 1:

Stop.

"Crystal, do this! Crystal, do that! No, Crystal, you useless cow! You're supposed to do it like this! Fucking hell! Crystal, help me get my wig off!" Audrey mocked Peter Vincent's incessant whining.

"Is he that bad?" Vanessa asked, leafing through the clippings of past magazine and newspaper articles about Peter Vincent and about Sophia Valara -Ginger- as well as a copy of the coroner's report and the police report, which included Peter's statement and the call which was placed.

"Oh my god, Essa, you have no idea! He's awful. Only when he's drinking Midori is he bearable." Audrey huffed, falling onto the couch.

"Uh-hum." Vanessa hummed. "What about Jason? He seems to be incredibly interested in you." Vanessa said, looking up at her sister with knowing green eyes.

Audrey's irritated expression turned into a grin. "He's such a sweetheart." She said, stretching along the couch like a satisfied cat. "Oh and I got you that interview. I told Jason that an aspiring reporter wanted to get the scoop on 'Who is the Man Behind the Illusion?' or some shit like that." Audrey waved her hand, making Vanessa smack her forehead.

"Journalist, Audrey, I'm a journalist, and that is so far from what my article is about. But thank you, sweetie, I knew you'd come through. When is it?" Vanessa asked, hugging her sister happily, before starting to organize all of her crucial evidence for the interview.

"Sunset, tomorrow. Bring your evening wear, you need to impress him if you want more out of him. You want him looking at your breasts, not your face." Audrey said, making Vanessa squeal in disgust.

"Uh, no way! I am not some ho-bag journalist who thinks flashing my amazing breasts at him is going to solve this poor woman's murder. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll wear something nice." Vanessa said, refusing to meet her sister's eyes.

"Mm-hmm, nice. We'll see about that." Audrey said, staring at Vanessa with her knowing look.

Vanessa scoffed, quickly running upstairs to pull out her entire wardrobe, in hopes of finding something, professional, yet sexy, yet no ho-bag journalist.

It was going to be a long night.

(..)

Vanessa was escorted by Audr- sorry, Crystal to Peter Vincent's penthouse suite. "That's what you decided on?" Audrey asked, looking appreciatively at her sister with a soft smirk lining her lips.

"Shut up. It's all I could find." Vanessa retorted, her hair in a tight Lara Croft braid, soft red locks brushed against her cheeks as she walked. Her curvy frame accentuated in a modest, long-sleeved black dress that stopped at her knees. The back of the dress dipped until the middle of her back was showing and she pulled on a leather jacket to hide that look. The sleeves were lacy and even though they weren't visible, the dress was off her shoulders and she looked stunning in it. She wore black 4 inch Manolo Blahnik's with a delicate black strap attached were wrapped around her ankles.

"You look beautiful, but your hair isn't right." Audrey said.

"Huh? Why?"

"It's just the wrong look, your make up is perfect and your outfit is amazing, but your hair doesn't suit your outfit, here." Audrey said and turned to face her sister, stopping the walk in the long hallway, she took out the hair tie and started to style her sisters hair until it draped artfully over her shoulder in small waves, due to the braid. Her bangs framed her face and Vanessa smiled at Audrey.

"Good?"

"Perfect." Audrey said and they continued to walk.

"There's a lot of stuff he collects, huh?" Vanessa mused, looking around, peering in all the glass cabinets.

"Yeah, I think he's compensating." Audrey blurted, her eyes wide in shock as she turned to her sister. "Did I just say that out loud?"

Vanessa's lips started to curl into a semblance of a smile and she nodded. "Nice one."

Audrey quickly composed herself and waited for Vanessa who had her game face on. "Ready?" Vanessa nodded. "Okay." Audrey acquiesced and pushed the door open, where a costumed Peter Vincent stood, looking out the balcony, his long, leather black coat fluttered behind him. "Presenting: Peter Vincent, Vampire Extraordinaire." At his introduction, he turned.

His long black hair spun with his quick movement, kohl ringed her brown eyes, a gleaming piercing in his left eyebrow and perfectly groomed facial hair. He looked like a complete dickhead. His thin frame looked suffocated in leather, his pants looked as if they would have to come off with a crane, they looked so tight. Black biker boots and a whole bunch of silver jewelery adorned his fingers and neck. He clicked his fingers at Audrey. "Midori me, now." He ordered and with a soft sigh, Audrey went to do as she was bid.

Vanessa bristled at how haphazardly and just how demeaning he treated her sister. Granted if she Audrey didn't hide her identity and Vanessa wasn't in such a pickle, she would have sent him to the ER long ago. "Hello, Mr Vincent, my name is Vanessa Collins, I'm a Journalist for the Vegas Sun."

"So, you're here for some article is that it?" He asked in his English accent, his eyes darting to the monitors that showed on the far wall. It clearly showed him and Vanessa, even Audrey who was pouring the drink.

"Yes, but I think-"

"Crystal! Come on, you slow cow! It can't be that hard to put a handful of ice in a glass and fill it with some fucking alcohol! Are you that incompetent?" He roared, completely speaking over Vanessa and Audrey jumped, who was already halfway to him with his drink.

Audrey clenched her teeth and set the drink in front of him. "Here you are, Mr Vincent. Don't choke now." She said and walked off, her leather dress constricting her movements and her 8 inch heels were making it even worse.

Vanessa almost stood and threw one of his expensive trinkets at him for speaking to her sister in that tone, but she knew that Audrey would crack soon and then she would give him what he deserved. So she would wait for her turn. But she was going to say something in Audrey's defense. "You know, she can't move as fast as she could in that dress, you can tell it's restricting her movements and those heels look far too uncomfortable, plus they probably aren't easy to walk in. So, she's probably trying, you shouldn't yell at her for no reason."

Peter stared at her, his eyes almost incredulous. "She was late for my drink and I pay her good money to suffer." He said smugly and Vanessa felt as if throwing her satchel in his face. "Anyway, you wanted some article about the man behind the illusion or something along those lines?" He asked, looking bored.

"Uh no, that isn't what my article is about. Well, it is in a way. It's about Sophia Valara, also known as Ginger, she was your assistant, two years back. I'm looking into her death in more depth and I just want to get a more personal view, seeing as how you were her boss a-and her lover." Vanessa explained, seeing the instant change come over Peter, he was more human, his eyes were dark, somber. His entire face aged and he looked almost awful.

He took a long drink of Midori before eying Vanessa warily. "Why are you looking into it, even more? She slipped and fell, the Police said it was an accident. They took my statement and they left with her body. I have nothing to say to you. Get. Out." He said in one big rush before he quickly walked to the bar and grabbed the decanter full of his favourite alcoholic beverage.

"Please, Mr Vincent. I only want the truth about Sophia's death." Vanessa said, walking to the other side of the bar, still carrying her satchel. "I have found a number of anomalies that don't make sense with your statement." She appealed to him, but he shook his head and filled his glass to the top.

"You are nothing but a bitch looking to ruin my life. It was two years ago. Her family have made peace with her passing. And so have I! So leave me alone, and go ruin somebody else's life!" He roared at her, his brown eyes blazing with anger and now, Vanessa became incensed.

"I want the truth about her death. I won't twist words. I am a true journalist and I know you probably don't believe me. At least listen to my facts before you decide on your course of action. Hear what I have to say, before denying your own innocence." Vanessa breathed, knowing that forcing it upon him would only lead to his rejection again and again. She's dealt with people like this before and they always reacted better with soft coaxing.

"Are you accusing me of her death?" He growled, as his eyes flamed once more.

"I don't believe you're capable of murder. But my boss thinks differently. Let me prove her wrong. Help me save your life and your career." Vanessa appealed to his better nature, taking his hand in hers.

Peter's eyes flew down to the soft touch of her fingertips and felt a pleasurable sensation work through his hand to the tips of his toes. "Fine. You have twenty minutes." Peter grounded out, before moving his hand away.

Vanessa didn't waste a moment.

They both sat on large, dark chairs and she started going through her information. The police reports, his statement, the coroners report and her own theories.

"Fuck. ." He whispered before pulling off the wig, letting his short brown hair be seen. He ran his fingers through it, scratching his irritated scalp before pulling off every accessory on his face.

Vanessa looked on in shock and wonder. He was actually really handsome without all that added facial hair and piercings and the long black hair.

"And how did you get a hold of all of this?" He asked, looking at her inquiringly.

"Uh. ." She stuttered, still shocked at seeing him, normally. "I have my sources." She answered cryptically, not wanting to say her Editor provided her with the coroners report.

"Brilliant. So, your theory is that somebody had broken into my home and murdered her?"

"It's the only theory where it doesn't put you as the murderer." Vanessa rummaged through various pages of information until finding the desired paper. "This is what Dr O'Mallay had to say. 'Signs of sexual penetration before death, yet no traces of any type of genital fluid (man or female) apart from lubricant solution often found on common sexual devices, i.e: condoms, diaphragms. . . Victim said to have struggled, as proven by multiple lacerations on wrists and throat, including three broken fingers on left hand: forefinger, index finger and ring finger. . . Cause of death is extreme blood loss, yet puncture wounds are elevated, which suggests intense suction, a bite mark to be exact, sharpened canine teeth for exact measurement. No match to any kind of man-made implement having been used. . . Measured blood remaining in body: a glass and one eighth remaining in the veins.'" Vanessa stopped reading the snippets she highlighted and looked up to see Peter's broken face.

"I know this is hard, but you can see what it'll look like. Dr O'Mallay found all this out and she never spoke a word. Granted she probably never knew your statement and the Police probably didn't think to investigate because they thought it was an accident. But I can help. Trust me, I can find whoever did this." Vanessa vowed.

"You can't." Peter whispered shakily, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Please. Stop investigating this story. Please don't dig any further. You'll get hurt." He advised.

"Is that a threat, Mr Vincent?" Vanessa asked, her shoulders pulled back and she sat straight, preparing herself.

"No, it's a warning. Stop investigating this story. Because you won't like the outcome and it will only ruin your life in a world ruled by what you do, what you wear, what you become in life, what your past does to define your future. Please. For your sake, just stop. Leave me alone." Peter begged, looking at her. She was too close, even though she didn't know it. She was delving into a world she didn't want to be a part of. A world he can never leave.

"Are you the killer, Mr Vincent? Did you kill Sophia Valara, in a fit of sexual passion, or do you believe you are a vampire and you murdered Sophia. You bit into her neck, pierced the main artery in her neck, expertly, and you left a glass and one eighth of blood left, not including the amount the spilled onto the ground, you broke three of her fingers, bruised her neck and her wrists as you held her down as she struggled silently, hoping you wouldn't hurt her." Vanessa explained, looking at him in all seriousness.

"What? No! I never touched her, apart from the sex! I'd never have abused her and I certainly didn't kill her!" Peter vehemently exclaimed.

"Then what are you trying to hide from me? I'm trying to prove your innocence and bring Sophia's killer to justice. Let me do that-"

"STOP! Please! Just STOP!" Peter roared, standing up suddenly, making Vanessa jump back in fear. "You don't understand! Please just drop it! Just leave her rest in peace, please!" Peter yelled.

"Mr Vincent-"

"CRYSTAL! Get her out!" Audrey came running around the corner and ran to her sister, helping her pack everything up.

"Time to go." Audrey whispered and took her sister by the arm and lead her to the door.

"You'll thank me, Vanessa."

And with that, Vanessa was thrown out of Peter Vincent's penthouse and escorted by her sister, who held her close, whispering soothing words which she couldn't hear.

(..)

"Charley, it's me. Listen, I've just had a journalist here, looking into the death of S-Ginger, listen, she's close. Very, very close even of she doesn't know it and I'm worried about her. She's going to get hurt and if anybody, and you know what I mean, if any of them find out, they'll come for her. Call me when you get this." Peter ended the call and looked around, falling on his bed, drinking Midori from the bottle, thinking about Vanessa Collins.

She was a beautiful woman. Smart. Witty. Sexy. Strong. Confident. Brave.

She was in danger and it was his fault again. It was his fault that Sophia died and now it would be his fault if Vanessa or Crystal got hurt because of him.

Fuck, he needed to get drunk.

(..)

"What the fuck is this, Collins? I asked for a three page exclusive, wanting answers on Sophia Valara's death! Not three pages of obscure shit! I wanted Peter Vincent wrapped up in a little bow and served to the public as a five star, 3 course meal! What the fuck do you give me? Plain Jane's newest fucking ten ways to cook a steak! I should fucking fire you!" Joan screamed, throwing Vanessa's article on her desk.

"Well, since he didn't give me much, I had to improvise. This is better than what was first issued, two years ago, stating the facts as they are and that Peter Vincent didn't do it." At Joan's eye roll, Vanessa kept going. "As soon as I said her name, he almost broke down and then when I read out the coroner's report, he looked broken. It was a look of pure anguish. He was going through so much pain. You can't fake grief like that. It shows in the eyes. In the wrinkles. It ages you. And it's shown on him when I told him of Sophia's state. It wasn't Peter Vincent. I'll get your story. But, give me time. I need time to dig even further into this." Vanessa pleaded with Joan.

Joan huffed and crossed her arms, her blonde eyebrows pulled together. "Fine. I'll give you all the time you need. But you better fucking get this story. I'm warning you."

"I know!" Vanessa said, walking out. She sat at her desk and tried to think of ways to glean information from her resisting lead.

(..)

Charley ended up at Peter's home, after meeting his new assistant who showed him in. She was nicer and a lot less argumentative. Once she left, Charley confronted Peter. "How much does she know?"

"She has the coroner report, the police report, the photos. She even has my fucking statement and my call transcripts to the ambulance and the police. She's fucking loaded and ready to go. She could name me the killer if she wanted to, though she believes otherwise. I told her to leave me alone, to not dig any further." Peter explained, drinking straight from the bottle, only in his silky black robe and his red silk boxers.

"Well, if you're talking about Vanessa Collins, then I've already read the article." Charley said and pulled out a folded piece of paper, throwing it to Peter, who caught it deftly and opened it instantly, skimming through it.

"S-she's. ."

"She hasn't twisted anything, only stated the facts. She's put her own theory that it was a crazed fan who believes they are vampires and in her own words, 'believes to be a vampire and tried to 'turn' Sophia Valara, Ginger, by physically modifying their teeth into sharp points and was so deluded in the idea that they drank her blood. As Peter Vincent is widely known for his role as a vampire extraordinaire in his show: Fright Night, perhaps the fan thought that Peter Vincent would bring him to his end. .' She goes on to say more but that's all I remember. She's said it was a fan, but it won't stop her from finding the real reason. She's too close and no doubt Jerry made friends in 400 years. They might come after her." Charley spoke, pacing up and down the length of the penthouse.

"I can't believe she didn't accuse me." Peter said, looking over the article and the printed words that brought his innocence.

"Maybe there's more to her than her profession. You sometimes forget journalists are people." Charley said.

"I have to thank her, sometime." Peter looked up at Charley.

"Wow, you really are drunk, aren't you?" The young man asked, looking up at his friend and confidant.

"Fucking must be, if I'm thinking of thanking a journalist. I've been hanging out with you too much. You're like a girl." Peter said, taking another long drink from the bottle of Midori.

Charley chuckled, smiling at his friend. "It's called being nice. Not a dick. Try it."

"Aww. I like being a dick. It's better than being a girl." Peter retorted, though he went to his bedroom to change in normal clothes.

He was going to visit a journalist.