Though they had a confession from Arlene Dennet, they still had not been able to explain who had bled Amy. That question was answered the very next day when a distraught Mrs. Irvin came into the station house to inform them that Mr. Lane was the man responsible and that he had killed her son. When they searched his premises they discovered a large amount of blood in an ice box and all the tools necessary for such a thing. Needless to say, Mr. Lane was arrested for the harming of innocents.

Brackenreid interrogated him, trying to find out why the man had needed so much blood or what he had done with Daniel's body but he would not say a word to him, not even after some forceful persuasion.

"That's one tough bastard," he said to George who had been watching the proceedings. "The only reason why he'd continue to hold out on us is if that blood is very valuable to him."

"Or someone else."

The inspector stared at him for a bit. "I never did congratulate you on a job well done. There must be more brains in that noggin of yours than I gave you credit for."

It was funny how Brackenreid could always make a compliment sound like an insult. He had a real talent for it. George suspected this was because his boss didn't like to show his true feelings about anything or be perceived as a nancy.

"Faint praise, sir, but coming from you, I'll take it as the highest compliment."

The stockpile of blood had reawakened his imagination and George could only come up with one explanation for it, that of vampires!

So when the inspector left, he slipped into the interview room and told Mr. Lane, (real name Dr. Harwick) about his theory. The man simply stared at him while the blood from his cuts and bruises dripped into his eyes.

George sighed and went about the rest of his day, all the while trying to concoct scenarios in which vampires could be added to his adventure novel. Despite his best efforts, he didn't see how it was going to work. Cursed mummies, the Queen and a devastating bomb were plenty enough for one story. Next time, he thought, smirking to himself.


All the other lads had gone home but George stayed behind in order to put the finishing touches on his book. It was just him, the cell guard and Dr. Harwick (Dennet was allowed to stay at home until the trial because she was a minor and her attorneys had been very persuasive).

He leaned back in his chair and must have begun daydreaming because he awoke to a loud thumping sound. It had come from the cell block!

George jumped up (knocking his chair over again) and whipped out his baton as he rushed to the scene. When he got there, it was to find Constable Dickens slumped against a wall and the prisoner gone!

After checking the mans pulse to find that he was still breathing, he sprinted out the side door to try and reacquire Dr. Harwick. However, a few minutes of running around was all he needed to know that the criminal was long gone, along with his accomplice.

Gritting his teeth, he marched back into the precinct in order to call the inspector. It was after eleven at night, he would not be very happy to receive this call.

Why is it always me?


The news of Dr. Harwick's escape spread like wildfire, as did his proclivities for blood. The constabulary had searched the city all last night but had been unable to locate him. When they went to the coach house, thinking he might have gone back for his precious blood, it too was missing and there was no sign as to where it could have gotten to. Mrs. Irvin claimed to know nothing about it and with no leads to go on, the trail went cold very fast.

Murdoch would not get involved unless expressly asked to. And if he did, he knew that he would not really try to find any clues. All the vampires had cleared out of their den, going so far as to burn their beds. It was obvious who had broken Harwick out, and since they had a deal pending, it was not his place to interfere.

So with no other reason to stay in town any longer, he packed his bags, and headed to the train station. Ever since Liza's death, Murdoch did not like saying goodbyes. Besides, he didn't want to have to deal with all the fuss George was likely to make.

Malcolm was already waiting for him at the train station, sitting on a bench with his few possessions retrieved from the vampires den. Afterwards they had sent telegraphs to many of the other hunters of note within Canada, telling them that there was something important to discuss. The meeting place would be the usual one, that of Paxton's cabin in Montreal. The man himself had died some years ago but one of his apprentices had kept the place in fine condition and since it was isolated, there was little chance of drawing too much attention to themselves.

His pupil did not look up when he sat down beside him, depositing his things on the cold ground. They sat in silence simply staring straight ahead at the rows of trees lining the track. Murdoch noticed movement out of his peripheral vision and watched as a hawk descended rapidly on some unknown target. For most of his life, he had felt like that predator, always in the right, just doing what nature intended. His chat with Balthazar had made him change his perspective, ever so slightly. The almost crippling hatred towards the beasts seemed to have lessened and his heart was free to explore avenues long since forgotten. However, since there was no future in any potential romantic relationship he might enter, he quickly closed off the pleasant sensations and focused on reality.

"What's on your mind, Will?" asked Malcolm, who had apparently been watching him.

"Nothing, everything's fine."

"I'd say it's better than just fine. I haven't seen you smile like that since before Liza's death."

Glancing at Malcolm he said, "I was smiling?"

Malcolm chuckled. "You sure were old friend, but then that grumpy face of yours came back," he snapped, "quick as lightning."

"I am not grumpy," he said grumpily, crossing his arms against his chest. "Nor have I ever been grumpy."

His friend placed a hand on his shoulder. "Will, I know you've had a rough life and lost many people you cared about, but if there's someone out there that can make you smile, genuinely smile again, you have to go after her. You have to risk it."

Murdoch turned on Malcolm, shrugging his hand off. "How can you say that?!" he snapped. "I have no right to make that call! It's too dangerous to be around me! And besides which, she is engaged! It's already over!"

"Engaged, Will, not married. There's a big difference there."

For a second he contemplated Malcolm's words, then he too shrugged them off. "She's better off without me. I refuse to put her, or anyone else at risk, ever again."

"But things are different now, Will, the vampires won't be coming after you anymore, not if they want to have any hope of reaching a truce with us. I hate the very idea but if it means you and others like you, hell even me, can have a chance at happiness again, we have to take it."

"And what if this whole thing is just some elaborate ploy designed to make us drop our guards so that when we least expect it, they will come and slaughter everyone!"

"Of course it's a possibility, but we can't know that for sure. Just like we can't know that we will live to see tomorrow or that the rain will start to fall at any given moment. But as long as we outnumber them a hundred to one, they aren't likely to try something so foolish." He smirked. "And you're forgetting a rather important detail, Will."

Murdoch glowered at him.

"The vampires would never kill all of us or they would ensure their own destruction. They could never stockpile an infinite amount of blood. They need us to survive. That's the beauty of the parasitic relationship."

"Beauty is not the word I would use to describe our arrangement," he said sourly. "We gain nothing from their existence, only pain and suffering," he closed his eyes and softly said, "and death."

"Yes, nature played a cruel trick on us the day the vampire was created. But perhaps it was simply Her way of striking a balance."

Murdoch looked at him like he was insane.

"Every creature on the planet has a natural predator, except for us. So perhaps the vampire was actually borne out of a necessity to stop us from becoming so complacent in our hierarchy. Maybe it was a means to prevent our total and utter domination of the world?"

"What you say is blasphemous. God created man to be on top. He gave us thought and free will to distinguish us from every other creature. There was never supposed to be another. I'd hardly call the vampire part of God's plan. They are abominations and nothing more."

"You've made up your mind already, haven't you? You never intended to accept Balthazar's deal. You only agreed to spread the word in order to get out of there alive."

"So what if I did? You of all people should be the last to complain."

Malcolm stared at him. "We don't need your say so. If enough of us decide to take the deal, you will be overridden."

"And what if I decide to continue to hunt them regardless?"

His friend sighed. "Then I'm afraid we will need to stop you."

"What does that mean?"

Uncomfortably, "We would be forced to lock you up, until you saw reason."

"And if I never did?"

"Look, Will, I love you like a brother but you're being very stubborn right now and I see little point in discussing such theoretical instances any further. It's now clear to me why Balthazar had me present for your little chat. I think he knew you would be even less pliable than me given your history."

Murdoch glowered at Malcolm. "You just called 'it' a 'he'." Facing away from him, arms crossed once more, "I can see that I've already lost you."

Malcolm sighed once more and there was silence until the train arrived.