"It's not him."
If Nick and Natalie were taken aback, Schanke was flabbergasted.
"Whaddaya mean 'it's not him'?" he protested. "Take another look."
"I don't have to take another look, Sherlock, it ain't him!" Maura's mood had ramped up in the past half hour from desperation to hope; now it arced into wild frustration that "Toronto's finest" could be fooled twice by the same asshole.
Nick quieted Schanke with a hand on his arm, and his partner stepped back. "Maura, it's just that he seems to fit the description. I know Schank only saw him once and me twice, but you have to admit, even though he's pretty beat up…"
The body on the slab was the same height and build as Jerry, same longish black hair and remnants of well-trimmed beard still clung to the remains of the face beaten to a pulp, along with the crushed skull that killed him. But she had lived with Jerry for over a year, and she knew.
"I'm telling you it's not him! Don't you think I'd know someone I lived with and slept with for a fucking year?" she snapped at Nick, not caring what images she conjured for him or anyone else. Schanke made the mistake of stepping up again.
"But he's got i.d. on him, for christsake!"
In a flash Maura had snatched Schanke's badge wallet from his pocket and whipped it open for display, covering her face. "Oh, look, I'm Detective Don Schanke, I have i.d.!!" She all but flung it back at him in a rage.
"She's got a point, guys." Natalie finally spoke up, and quietly asked Maura, "Why don't you tell us how you know for certain." This reasonable request, as opposed to Schanke's stubborn insistence, got Maura to focus. She pointed at the corpse's chest where the covering sheet had been drawn to waist-level.
"Jerry has a birthmark, an inverted triangle, just under his left nipple." She snorted in disgust. "He thinks it links him with dark powers or some such shit." The other three looked at each other and then at the body. Duh. "Well you didn't ask me, did you? 'Any tattoos, any distinguishing marks', all that shit you're supposed to do when you're looking for somebody who's killed two out of three of his recent companions! And it looks like you can add this notch to Jerry's psychosis, along with his two friends from Vancouver, whoever the poor bastard really is." Somewhere inside Maura knew her fury was both out of proportion and misdirected but she couldn't bring herself to care. If her mind were clearer she might also have had a second thought about having been so eager to find Jerry dead, though he hadn't cared much more for how he'd left her, but all the way to the morgue she had felt a lightening inside, this might just be the end of all this hell, once he's gone I won't be scared anymore. "That place", she believed, was controlled entirely by Jerry Remillard and his ability to return her to it. She was barely aware she was hyperventilating, hands clenched like stones. Nat and Schanke exchanged concerned looks with each other and Nick.
"Look, sweetheart I'm sorry, okay?" Schanke spoke in a placating tone, hoping to calm Maura down a little. "It's just that we were really hoping this might be over, you know? We know what this is putting you through."
Maura's voice was as cold and dead as the body on the slab when she responded, "No you don't." Without another word she left the cold room and returned to Natalie's lab to wait for Nick. Having convinced herself emotional rescue was at hand, to have it jerked away left her feeling physically ill. She could hear Nick talking quietly with Nat and Schanke, could hear the remorse in Schanke's voice and knew his friends were trying to tell him not to blame himself. She didn't have to hear the words, she knew all of these people well enough to know exactly what they would say and how they would connect with one another. The way she used to be able to connect to them, before she began backing further and further inside of herself. She could also hear that the dejection in Schanke's voice remained undiminished, and felt the hint of some deeper echo inside her memory, something about him, some impression from between the time she was trapped in Jerry's hell and when she became lost in her own. It wasn't sweet or tender, in fact it seemed harsh and even angry, but she couldn't shake it any more than she could remember what exactly it represented. When Nick and his partner emerged from the cold room Maura approached Schanke with a quizzical expression he misread as an unformed apology.
"It's okay, Maura," he paused to give her quick one-armed hug as he headed for the door. "We're gonna find this asshole, I'm telling you, we're gonna find him. And until we do, between your man here and me, he won't get within ten miles of you."
She felt like she should say something, but nothing came to her burnt-out brain, so instead she smiled weakly and patted the pocket that once again held the badge she'd yanked away a few minutes ago. After he left Natalie announced "I'll just close everything up in here," and returned to the cold room, leaving Nick and Maura alone in the lab.
"There's just nothing to say, is there," Maura told him sadly. He opened his arms.
"C'mere, it's been a bad night for everyone." He hoped responding to a gesture of invitation, rather than being a passive recipient of sympathy, would in some small way counteract the sense of helplessness that she so reproached herself for. And he was right, for the first time since returning home she went to him instead of vice versa. She pressed her face into his shoulder with a sigh as was her recent habit, but this time she reached around and hugged him tight in a way that felt more like giving than desperation.
"I love you, Bats, even when I'm such a mess I treat everyone like shit, I love you."
"Ssh, I know, I love you too. And Schanke will get over it. Believe it or not, he really does have a notion of what's happening. It's not the first time he's seen anyone struggle with something like this, but it is the first time it's happened to somebody he cares so much about."
Maura lifted her head and looked perplexed.
"What is it, Sweet?"
"I don't know. Something about Schanke, something I should remember I think, something important, but I can't put my finger on it."
Nick didn't know what she was talking about, so he offered, "It'll come to you. You want to stop by Raven and see Janette? She'd like to see you."
A firm shake of the head. "No, not when I'm like this she won't." She couldn't bear the thought of more people seeing her dissipated state than already had.
Nick gave her a gentle shake. "Come on, you think she hasn't seen way worse than this in 1100 years?"
"Nick, no," her eyes pleaded along with her voice, "you know how she is, the 'quelle dommage' may be silent but her eyes will scream 'pauvre petite'. And she'll wait until she talks to you again and demand to know why you haven't helped me overcome this 'tristesse' as if it's some base failing on your part,"
"Okay, you're right, you know us all much too well. Let's go home, then." He called into the cold room, "thanks Nat, we're gonna head out."
Natalie reappeared in the doorway to the lab, obviously having stayed scarce by design. "Okay. Maura, really, I'm sorry this upset you so much."
"Seems like everything upsets me lately, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't Schanke's fault either and I worked him over like a chew toy."
Nat offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "He's a big boy. He's heard worse."
"Yeah but he probably actually earned it then."
"Dark Ancient?" Jerry had expected the "customer" to be a bit more, well, vampirish. This guy didn't look any different than a hundred other denizens of the Goth circuit.
"Yeah. Show me what you got."
Jerry had deliberately waited until new moon to advertise for a taker. In his pocket he had a flask of Maura's blood, the remainder safely locked in the trunk of the car that had become his home. No need to take risks by being a constant presence at any one place. He pulled the flask, a black one garishly decorated with silver and gold etchings, and handed it to the stranger. "Nice wheels," he observed casually.
"They get me around." The vampire uncorked the flask and sniffed at the opening, but didn't taste, and nodded his approval. "So where's the rest."
"Uh-uh, not so fast. You can't expect me to give up my whole supply. This is a sample. You want more, you gotta pay."
A rich, derisive laugh rolled through the darkness of the docks around them. "Please. Money I have. More than you'd have in your lifetime, mortal." By now the stranger had caught sight of Jerry's most recent purchase, yet another nondescript sedan parked (he thought) where it wouldn't be noticed. Despite his posing as the man with everything to offer, the car was obviously an apartment on wheels. "Right. In the trunk, huh?"
"You wish. You think I'd bring it all here?" For someone who'd made his career on the exploration of vampire lore, Jerry was somehow stupidly unaware that his every heartbeat, breath, and opening pore could be discerned and interpreted, rendering his lame posturing lamer than usual. The vampire approached the well lived-in sedan.
"Right here in your home away from… wherever."
"Hold on, man," he was talking as if to any guy on the street. Jerry simply had never experienced the "real deal" this up close and personal, nobody but the odd carouche anyway, and it just wasn't registering how far he was out of his depth. He put himself between the stranger and the rear of the car. "Trust me, if you can help me I can help you, big time."
A repeat of the earlier laugh, now edged with disdain. "Listen, 'man'," and here the vampire gripped Jerry by the front of his jacket and neatly lifted him out of the way, dropping him on his feet so abruptly he nearly fell on his ass. "Rule one in the dark pursuits is never try to bribe an immortal with something he can take anyway." With that he gripped the edge of the trunk and jerked it open. If Jerry hadn't ducked the popped lock flying past would have nailed him. Inside the trunk lay the cooler, linked to the car's electrical system by a cable through the rear wall. "Dark Ancient" pulled the lid off the cooler, revealing a half-dozen pint bags of blood and one partly drained. Something shadowed his features then, and even Jerry could sense it had little to do with desire. "Got yourself a real investment here, don't you?" He lifted one of the bags, held it up in front of Jerry. "So you figure this would buy you something special to write about this time, instead of the kiddie bullshit you usually grind out?"
This vampire had heard of him. Jerry felt a ridiculous and utterly inappropriate twinge of pride, and responded equally inappropriately. "That's the plan. You want in?"
Jerry suddenly found himself seized by the shoulder with such violence he could feel his clavicle crack. The vampire squeezed the bag of blood in his other hand until it burst, then ground it into Jerry's face. "This is what you really want, isn't it? Well enjoy." He waited until Jerry was gagging and heaving, then released his shoulder.
"What's this about?" Jerry doubled over in pain, wondering how he'd explain the injury and the blood to an ER doctor. "I thought you wanted to do business. Okay, no deal." He was grabbed again, and howled in pain, as the stranger slammed him against the hood of the car and leaned over him, eyes as red as the blood that was smeared on them both.
"Oh I'd say we could have a deal, mortal," fangs descended and the voice turned to a guttural hiss. At this Jerry dropped his head back.
"How about if you make me one of you, I'll help you get all the prized blood you want, we can do business with anyone who'll deal." He still didn't get it.
"Junk food makes me puke," the vampire snarled, "I was thinking more like maybe we cut open all those bags right here in the dirt, and I won't slice your fucking throat from ear to ear," he pulled a wicked-looking dagger from his jacket and pressed it under Jerry's left ear.
This wasn't making any sense at all. Why wasn't this one interested? Was he some kind of vampire narc or something? Suddenly Jerry was shoved to his knees in the dirt, and the stranger handed him a bag after slicing it.
"Go ahead, give it a squeeze. Or do you only like draining live blood?"
In spite of the extremity of his situation, Jerry stopped cold and looked up at the vampire. "You know her."
"You have no idea. Now squeeze," he cut another bag and held it ready, "I could make you but it wouldn't be as satisfying."
Jerry dumbly took each bag and squeezed the blood out until there were none left. Shit, he should have considered Maura had friends in the Community who'd know what happened. He planned so carefully, but was too stupid to leave Toronto to do his business. He'd wanted to impress the Night Crawler before he met him. Now he realized that he probably wouldn't live to impress anyone. He knelt in the bloody mud, surrounded by empty plastic bags, and looked up at his tormentor, who wore an oddly non-otherworldly expression of rank disgust.
"I guess there is a mortal equivalent to carouche after all," he spat. "Go 'home', you're not worth getting my blade dirty." He jerked Jerry to his feet and shoved him into the car after opening the door. Now Jerry was pissed off. He'd spent much of his adult life begging for entrance into this select circle, he'd written endlessly to keep the legends alive, and he was sick and tired of being treated as less worthy than even a food source. He fumbled in the glove box and grabbed the beat up .38 calibre he'd taken off that guy in the park after he'd ambushed him with a rock and rearranged his face. Since then he'd loaded it with the silver bullets he'd carried with him for years, more as talismans than weapons, but tonight he was going to use them to shut this immortal up for good, to maybe make an example.
"Immortal is a relative term," he advised cockily, but the vampire reached out in a flash, took the weapon, and opened the chamber, peering inside, and snapped it shut again with a dismissive hiss.
"Silver bullets. How quaint." He turned the muzzle against his own chest and fired five times without flinching. As Jerry stood dumfounded he sneered, "Werewolves, asshole. Do I look like a werewolf?" He handed the gun back, grip first, almost politely. "Your turn." No comment.
"I thought not. Well cheer up, 'man', you can write another chapter about tonight, right?"
Convinced by now that this vampire, friend of Maura's or no, simply wasn't interested in killing him, Jerry blurted as he turned away, "I can get more! More than this," he gestured expansively at the wet ground. The stranger whirled faster than vision could discern, fangs down and eyes gravely lit.
"Don't bet on it."
The voice was as deep and cold as a grave, and the eyes shot straight through to Jerry's gut. He fell back into the front seat again, out of breath and blind with pain, as "Dark Ancient" climbed into his cherry red Mustang and popped several gears as he tore off in a spray of bloodstained gravel.