Monday Evening
Clay Willis wasn't used to seeing things like this.
Sure, he'd been a cop for over twenty years and had seen a lot in his day: abusive domesticity, gangland executions, hostage situations, dead druggies in a pool of their own vomit. Long time cops see a lot of the worst parts of humanity as they are called on to deal with such situations. He'd been there to find the panorama of dead bodies left in the field as a challenge to the friendly predators who live in his towns and the collateral damage of one witch at the wine tasting.
None of that, no amount of dealing with bodies at crime scenes quite prepares a man for when a dainty little twenty something girl wearing a formal gown and sneakers strolls into the mall and starts killing people. This wasn't a Colombine-style school shooting or a terrorist attack. Those he could almost understand. Those would have pre-printed procedures in the police department's handbook. Gown-and-Sneakers literally ripped limbs from people's bodies and lapped at the arterial spray like a water fountain. While giggling.
This was supernatural and very much out of Clay's league.
When asked later by internal affairs, Detective Willis could say exactly why he thought of Dean Sharp in that moment: the warehouse two years ago. He remembered (had nightmares about) that night, about the human man who walked through everything to rescue them. Sunday night, in a cop bar trading stories, that same man gave him a phone number saying the department was welcome to call on him if they needed to.
Detective Willis made the call.
In the ten minutes it took for Sam and Dean to make it to the mall from the hotel, police concentrated on evacuating whoever they could. Their car, a glossy black thing of beauty, screeched to a halt outside the ring of police cars. The brothers vaulted the barricades, each with a gun in one hand and a machete in the other. The eldest nodded to Clay on the way through but didn't slow down enough to say anything.
It took ten minutes. The brothers walked back out; Dean carrying an unconscious woman and Sam supporting a wounded man. Paramedics rushed in to relieve both of their burdens.
At Clay's questioning look, Dean nodded. "Ding, dong, the bitch is dead."
"Someone should salt and burn the body, to be sure she stays that way," Sam added.
"We didn't think you boys in blue would appreciate the indoor bonfire. But if you want we can take both pieces of her outta here and handle it," Dean offered.
Clay nodded slowly, "Maybe that would be for the best." Then he watched as Dean grabbed a duffle bag from his trunk and vanished back into the mall. When he reappeared again, the duffle was heavy, slung over one shoulder, and dripping something. The detective fought his own gag reflex.
Sam lay a tarp open in the trunk and Dean deposited his burden there.
"Hunters." The soft voice caught the brothers' attention. Stephan stood a respectful distance from their machete reach. "How much damage did she do?"
"Several dead, at least five, maybe more." Sam fumed, recognizing him as a vampire. Only Dean's subtle shake of his head kept Sam from attacking him then and there. "It was hard to tell with pieces scattered everywhere."
Stephan bowed his head in apology. "I am sorry I was so slow. Her name was Lilly, she was already mentally ill when her maker turned her. The change did not improve her health. The local seethe took it upon themselves to keep her from causing extraneous harm. I only now found out Lilly escaped from her keepers moments ago. Her Mistress was... embarrassed and waited too long before contacting me. But she could not allow senseless death so close to home."
"Her Mistress?" Sam demanded. "There's a vamp nest here?"
The dangerous tone in the taller brother's voice sent chills down Willis' back. Or maybe it was the blood spatter across his face and jacket that Clay hadn't noticed before.
Stephan's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. "Once we were friends, her Mistress and I. She has ruled our kind here for a long time."
"Not anymore," Sam declared furiously. "Not after this!"
Mentally, Willis cheered the young man on. He liked what he heard from Dean's brother.
"I should warn you, she has one who would avenge her. The Master of Milan. The oldest among our kind," Stephan cautioned. "I doubt even you would stand long-"
"Bald, black dude? About yea high?" Dean demonstrated with a hand. Dumbfounded, the vampire nodded. "Yeah, he already hates us. Dunno why. I mean, we saved his creepy ungrateful ass from Dick Roman."
"Our grandfather did capture and torture him, Dean" Sam couldn't help but remind his brother.
"Pfft," Dean waved the point away. "Grandpa Samuel betrayed us to be captured and killed. Its not like we had a whole lotta say in what that sonnuva bitch did or did not do."
"Then we killed his mother."
"Okay, fair enough," Dean admitted. "Thanks for the heads up, Stevie, but I think we're good. Mercy likes you, so I'm guessing you're not much of a killer. But." He held up a cautioning finger. "Get in our way, and that won't save you. This," he jerked his head at the spectacle of flashing lights around the mall. "... will not happen again."
Wisely, Stephan left.
Sam looked at Clay Willis, who had been a silent witness to everything. "Detective, I need to do some research to find the vampires' nest. Do you think I could get access to your department's database? It would make things go a lot faster."
Slowly, Clay nodded. "Any chance you'll let me look over your shoulder? Teach me what I'm looking for in case weird like this happens again?"
