Chapter 6
"Hey, Ben. How's life?" chirped a happy voice over the phone.
"Honestly, I think I nearly lost mine two hours ago," divulged Talbot, flinching at the headache that had battered his brain since being locked in that lab. How had he kept his plans from that psycho pathologist? Being a lawyer, he'd learned how to fib convincingly.
"What happened?"
"No. We're done talking. Time for a face to face," grunted Ben.
"I was thinking the same thing. Even got a place in mind."
"Shoot, and I'll be there." And you're going to tell me everything. Come hell or high water, this fruitcake would be questioned properly.
"Only if you bring Beth. She needs to hear the voice of reason."
"And you're it?" snorted Talbot.
"Naturally. Poor Ben, what's real and who to trust. Lost yourself down the rabbit hole? I've got the truth. But we have to make this quick. I'm leaving town."
"Where'd you want to meet?"
"The Arbour. Be there in an hour... And have Beth dress nice. She looks terrible in your clothes." Gus tisked before hanging up.
"Finally," said Josef, tapping his Rolex as Zahra rushed into the headquarters of Kostan Investments. "The phone's been ringing off the hook. I need you to calm the community. Tell anyone who calls that the hospital meet is a fake. Send an email to the rest as discreetly as possible."
He had briefed the Cleaners and his personal security team on the situation. The women were racing to St. Agnes, while the guards interrogated his Freshies at the mansion.
His secretary nodded, her face flushing fuchsia as she sat down at her desk then pulled her laptop from a cream leather satchel and opened it. "Sorry, sir. I was cautious coming to work, with the situation and all." She unlocked a three-drawer file cabinet and grabbed his info only to have it slip from her fingers. Multi-coloured papers fluttered to the floor like dry autumn leaves. "Oh my!" she gasped before kneeling to gather them.
Josef grimaced. "When's your sister back?" he asked tiredly.
"Tuesday," she answered, rising with a fistful of documents before spreading them over her workspace.
"Not soon enough," moaned Josef under his breath. "Hold my calls," he said aloud then turned to head for his office. He tapped a finger absently on his cheek, adding, "Get me the file on Valentina Mendez. I want to look at it personally."
"Yes sir," replied Zahra.
"What's that?" Kostan's eyes narrowed as he caught the message flickering on her computer.
Zahra glanced at the screen. "I had my email box open before I left. Must've forgotten to close it."
"Is that the new one?"
"Yes. It's the first time I've seen the stuff about the psych hospital. This hunter is sneaky." The secretary frowned. "Am I ever glad to be going back to England."
"It'll be over soon," he assured before twisting the knob to his office and slipping inside.
After being unoccupied for decades, St. Agnes Hospital for Mental Wellness looked poorly.
Weathered plywood covered the olive framed windows stretching up and out from the wide chartreuse doors of the main entrance. Antique pipes twisted down from the roof, streaking oatmeal grey plaster walls sickly orange.
The copper smears matched the jagged pieces left of its Spanish-style roof. Torn off terracotta tiles had left rusty starbursts below in a dustbowl courtyard of dead shrubs and crumbling masonry. Of the solitary, outdoor space, two meek iron benches with broken armrests remained, their rotted plank backrests embellished with various shades of fluorescent graffiti.
Mick and Marceline swept the chain-link barrier skirting the facility's centre building and arm-like east and west wings. The main block and west artery were quiet as the grave in both the front and back. During a scan of the east section, however, they found the rear security fence had been ripped and pulled back.
Several dark hooded forms were slipping gracefully through the ragged gap, blending into shadows cast by overgrown hedges.
Thirty feet beyond, rickety metal doors yawned wide, allowing the intruders unfettered access to the hospital.
Only a few yards away, Mick observed the horde gather inside despite the low light of morning, their earthy scents permeating the air. They paid him no mind, filing in with little care for potential dangers. He looked at Marceline. She seemed uninterested, ever watching her high-heeled step.
"Do you think there're rats in there?" she asked, as they reached the makeshift opening.
"Maybe," replied Mick, proceeding through. "You still hungry?"
Marceline made a face before joining him.
At the sound of footsteps, they turned in tandem.
It was Kathryn. Her team of twenty-five lined the fence in shiny, jet-black catsuits, tongues of fire twitching from back holsters and AK-47s clutched by their fancy fingernailed hands.
"Kate," said Mick, nodding a greeting. "Keep along the outside. Don't let anyone past." He turned to his partner. "We're going in for the others."
Marceline shook her head. "I'm staying here."
Mick frowned. "I need you. We've got to evacuate this place, now." He listened carefully for the sound of human hearts.
Unnaturally slow rhythms touched his ears.
But nothing faster.
Yet.
"You asked me to trust you, Marceline. Trust is earned. Help me and we'll save Coraline together when this is over." He jabbed a thumb at the doorway. "There must be fifty vamps in there. If we're fireproof like you say, we're the best ones to get them out."
"We can get blown up just the same," she griped, holding her ground. "It's stupid to run into a trap."
Angry chants for Josef's head blasted from the derelict building into the ever-lightening dawn.
"They're pissed. This won't be fun. Follow me." He barrelled for the entrance.
"Merde," she said.
Mick charged into a worn-out waiting room of vinyl, pea-coloured chairs, clear plastic tables, and overflowing ashtrays, attempting to push through the mob of seething, ghost-white eyes and nasty teeth.
Overhead, an alarm screeched.
…and the room exploded.
"Thanks again for the ride. Under normal circumstances, I'd never ask," shivered Zahra, as she walked through the parking garage with Josef.
"At least I can protect one person," droned Josef, striding hurriedly to his cherry Ferrari. He opened the passenger door, waited for his assistant to jump in, then scooted to the other side and plunked a shiny key in the ignition. Purring like a panther, the vehicle came to life. He gunned it towards the exit.
Zahra nattered banally about celebrity gossip. Josef listened, saying nothing. Forty-three eternal minutes went by, as he endured all things TMZ.
"Why won't Khloe just dump that cheating dog? Sucker for punishment, I guess—turn here." Zahra pointed then reached for her purse. "I'll be glad when this is over."
"Me too," grunted Josef, rolling his eyes then veering left into the parking lot of a closed strip mall with a defunct diner as well as several boarded-up storefronts before cutting the engine.
He looked around. Apartments stacked above the shops looked worse for wear. Most had iron bars over broken windows patched with duct tape. "You live here?" he asked in disbelief. "I pay you enough for something better."
"It's temporary. I don't need much."
"This is a rough neighbourhood. I saw a gangbanger with three pit bulls running for his life a block down. Which one's yours? I'll walk you," he said and took a closer look. A sunrise orange sign tacked to an upper door read: 'Condemned - Rezoning Application in Process'. His lips flattened, as his brows lowered skeptically.
"No need," Zahra answered, pulling a 22 Magnum from her daisy-print Gucchi bag. "Silver." She grinned, tightening her grip...
Before aiming the barrel at him.
The blast was deafening to Mick's sensitive ears.
Fragmented furniture and other objects flew in a murderous sea of shrapnel, as a mammoth wooden pillar cracked raggedly and crashed down, slamming Mick to the ground and crushing bone. He swore as his left hip throbbed in pain. Debris bit sharply into his exposed arms and back.
Screeching in terror, several vamps scampered for the exit, while others pleaded for help, similarly trapped under heavy chunks of metal, wood, and plastic.
Marceline was nowhere in sight.
And Mick was powerless to help.
There was another eardrum-bursting boom as a second bomb detonated.
Mick tucked himself into a ball as best he could as another wave of trash assaulted him. Out of one eye, the P.I. witnessed a piece of rebar whiz like a javelin, piercing a protestor square in the chest causing him to collapse, paralyzed.
Gyprock plummeted down from the ceiling, filling the room with clouds of powder. Crackling flames consumed two of the room's four walls, stretching across the floor, fed by devastation, promising death. Regardless of Marceline's tale of their fire immunity, Mick panicked, thrashing in a futile attempt at freedom as the flames engulfed an overturned seat and crept ever closer.
The pillar wouldn't budge.
His flesh was burning in an instant.
Beyond homicidal, Josef shot stakes at his temp with grey eyes.
"You're going to tell me everything or I'll mess up this fancy ride with your brains," said the woman, cocking her pistol.
Josef glowered at her, stone silent.
Zahra scoffed impatiently. "The leader of the council was in L.A., but he's disappeared. Where is he?"
Kostan shrugged. "No idea."
"Bullshit, I've been listening to your calls. You're his righthand man. So, tell me."
"I'd rather be shot."
"Tempting." Zahra ground her gun into the side of his head.
Kostan's eyes went white, vowing retribution.
"His identity," she snapped.
"I don't answer to threats," he growled, baring his fangs. "You'll never find him."
"Where does the council meet?"
"Everywhere and nowhere."
Zahra's face turned furious, her upper lip curling, exposing her own elongated canines. "Stop fucking around!"
"Why would you betray me?" demanded Josef, ignoring her.
The temp chuckled. "Not all women adore you. Revenge is more appealing. I was raped, then turned. My sire didn't stick around. No vamp cared, just Gus. He took me in back then, even though I could've killed him easily."
"He's using you," said Josef.
"Of course. But I'm too valuable to kill. I'll take my money and run."
Kostan's lip twitched. "Good luck. There'll be a bus-sized bull's-eye on your forehead."
"Shut it! Angus wants Derek. Without him, there'll be a fight for top spot…and instability. An easy time to cull the flock in a big way. I'd like to put him down myself for this sham of a life. Getting sick from the sun, living like an addict for the next fix."
"You don't want to meet him, trust me. He was a fossil before La Brea. He's supremely powerful. The 'Impaler' was one of his nicer incarnations. Traitors like you bring out his brutal side. You'd put that gun in your mouth just to get away."
Zahra rolled her eyes. "So full of shit," she spat. "How do I get the truth from a baller like you?" She drummed copper nails on the dashboard. A moment later, with twinkling violet eyes, she declared, "Cut 'em off, I suppose."
Grinning, the temp aimed for Josef's crotch…and pulled the trigger.
"Beth?" called a gentle voice.
"Beth?" Ben said again, stroking her long, light locks.
"I'm okay," she answered groggily, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes. The room was dipping like a dingy in a deluge. Someone had ambushed them behind the Arbour, stuffing rags of foul chemicals over their faces.
Beth blinked until the scene stopped swaying and took a look around. They were in an odd room, empty but for a pile of linens stained like antique parchment in a corner. Eggshell foam crawled up the walls to the ceiling. The only light came from a high window on one side. There was a single door to the left. It was covered in puffy material as well, and, unfortunately, no handle peeked through inviting a tug.
"It's locked tight, I checked," said Ben, surmising her thoughts. "Did you hear the explosions? Two of them. Too close for comfort. The whole room shook."
Beth shook her head. "I was out. Lucky we're in here and not out there, I guess."
"For now, at least. What's that?" Talbot pointed to the sheets.
The mound was twitching. Pruny hands poked from the filthy fabric, pushing a man up from the mud-coloured linoleum. Head bowed, he wheezed then coughed, wet and phlegmy before brushing the cloth away.
"How long you think he's been here?" whispered Ben.
Beth shrugged. "Who is it?" she said, squinting to make out a face.
"Don't know. I woke up a couple minutes before you."
"Well, it looks like he needs help," said Beth. She rose and hurried over, placing her hand on the man's jean jacketed shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked
Turning his curly brunette head to her, his bushy brows shot up in surprise. "Beth?" he asked through cracked lips.
She gasped.
Staring at her were the sickly, jaundiced eyes and washed-out, withered face of Logan Griffen.
Something rained over Mick once more. It looked like snow, but it was sticky and smelled like roasted tires. He wiped it quickly from his face.
Standing over him, Kathryn had a fire extinguisher. She sprayed him until it was finished, and everything below his chin was downy white. Under the layer of fluff, he could feel his burns begin to heal.
He should be ash.
But he wasn't.
Marceline had been right. It hurt like hell, but fire couldn't kill him.
Marceline.
Mick scanned the room. Wherever the inferno had raged was charred, melted, and smoking. There were human-sized dust forms in various terrified poses as if Medusa herself had crafted them. Whatever the flames hadn't managed to consume was bloody and in ruins.
He tried to shift his lower body with little luck, still pinned tight. "Where is she?" he said.
"Stay still," ordered Kathryn. "Let us get it off." She motioned to several milling Cleaners who helped her push the beam away.
The instant he was free, Mick tried to rise, but Kathryn placed her hands on his chest. "Marceline, where is she?" he asked again.
"Gone," the Cleaner declared mutedly. "Didn't think Frenchie had it in her, but after the first bomb she ran in to save you. The second one hit and we tried to save her, but her injuries were—too severe," Kathryn answered, releasing him.
Mick sighed heavily, then added, "What about the others? How many escaped?"
"It's a warzone. Only a handful managed to run. We pulled out three more. Haven't been able to get further. The team beat back a swarm of McCullough's men outside…more than a dozen. Who knows if there'll be another round. We have to clear out!" declared Kathryn.
"Go. Join your team. Monitor for more surprises and get all other vamps away from here," Mick told her, wiping cottony muck from his arms as he stood. "I'm staying."
"You're injured. Come with us!"
"I'm healing, fast." Thank goodness for fresh blood. It sped up his regenerative powers considerably. "I'll sweep for survivors."
She nodded reluctantly. "You're either brave—or batshit. Good luck." With a quick parting salute, she left out the steaming hole left of the back entrance with three others.
Mick watched her disappear into the dawn, then cocked his head and listened.
There were no other vampires nearby. But there was something.
It was faint, but Mick swore he heard...
Ben Talbot scream Beth's name.
He shot through the room and down a smouldering hallway.
The gun clicked as Zahra pressed the trigger. She tried again.
It didn't discharge.
"No ammo?" said Josef, arching an eyebrow. Swiftly, he latched a hand under her chin. "Thought you could trick me? I went through your stuff before we left," he told her, clamping down.
Zahra whimpered.
"Tell me. How does an L.A. newbie know offhand that St. Agnes was a psych hospital? It's been closed for seventy years! You saw Logan crack my files and had all the names and numbers. Is that when you snuffed that gearhead? So that your boss could send an email before me? Oh, and I spoke to Simran's family. She never showed…and, according to her sire, she has no sister!"
In a fluid movement, he brought his lips close to her neck, brushing fear-jerking veins with his teeth. "Where IS she?"
"Gone."
"Let me guess." Kostan let his nails grow and dig into her mocha skin. "You threatened her. She lied. And when you'd wriggled your way into my life, you ended hers!"
"Please," begged Zahra. "Gus's mob killed her. Not me."
"You're one of them," he hissed.
He held up a thin, plastic cylinder, and her eyes went round while she trembled and blubbered, "N-No!"
"This is for Simran, Tony and Ginny. Let's see how you like it," he declared…
And thrust the needle into her arm, pushing down the plunger and watching her body spasm.
To Ben, the stranger touching Beth's sleeve looked old and harmless…
Until he transformed into a monster.
His eyes went as white as the sun-blanched whale bones Ben loved to collect, while his teeth grew…and grew. Roaring, the now-ghoulish creature latched its dry, bluish lips onto Beth's wrist and suckled like a voracious vacuum.
"Stay away from her!" shouted Talbot.
The thing glanced up momentarily with a dripping maw, then continued its meal.
"Stop! Please, you're hurting me!" Beth cried, as she tried to wriggle free.
It ignored her.
Talbot sprinted over and gave the fiend a great boot with his scuffed dress shoe.
An impossibly strong hand swatted him away, sending Ben flying backward. He hit the cushioning above the door and fell harshly to the ground.
Groaning from what felt like a cracked jaw, Ben saw, through bouncing vision, the creature slurp noisily until Beth's vibrant, apricot skin went dull. Her sky-blue eyes rolled back, as her body went loose, all vitality erased.
It finished, wiping the grisly evidence with a tattered sleeve, as its face perked up to a healthy pink. Yellow sclera cleared around grey-blue irises. All wrinkles and weathered skin dissolved into a twenty-something, young man. He blinked, confused, then peered down, and stared aghast at the woman in his arms. Gasping, he let go.
Beth flopped to the floor.
"I-I couldn't help it!" he exclaimed.
Swiftly, the kid bent down and pressed his hand under two tiny, circular wounds that oozed very few sluggish drops.
He exhaled, relieved, "She just passed out."
"What the hell! You fed…on her!" hollered Talbot.
"I'm s-sorry. I've never done that—n-not from a human," the stranger sputtered. "They shot me full of something that made me…hangry, I took too much."
Talbot cut a wide path around him and checked Beth's pulse himself. A steady beat tickled his fingertips. He glared at the kid. "What are you?!"
The youngster looked at his turquoise Converses. "Logan Griffen. An IT specialist, um, mostly freelance…"
"My ass," argued Ben, touching the coagulating drips on Beth's neck. He held up the red dots on his fingers. "You're a freaking vampire!"
Logan looked up, his eyelashes fluttering nervously. "Um yeah…technically. B-But it's not what you think!"
A sound of wrenching metal interrupted them.
The door was torn from its roots and tossed inside.
Still shedding clumps of marshmallowy goop, the newcomer standing there looked worse for wear. Mick's clothing was singed, his black jacket hanging on by strands. Random white flakes were speckled over soot-coated skin. He leaned wearily against the doorframe with a wince as his newly reknit hip protested his recent fifty-yard dash.
Noticing Beth unconscious, his eyes widened, and he rushed to her. "Logan, what did you do?!"
Her eyes fluttered open an instant later.
"Explain!" Mick repeated hotly, as he helped her sit up.
Talbot noticed the P.I.'s eyes were lighter, brownish hazel had become frothy sea green.
A few feet away, Logan fidgeted, opening his mouth to explain…
And the upper window shattered inwards.
Two men in night vision wear burst in with firearms poised, rappelling down on thick cables. The older of them laughed, peeling his glasses over his brow. Outfitted in slate-hued tactical gear from helmet to boots, he trained his rifle on Mick. The other, an identically dressed lanky teen, locked his weapon on Logan.
"It must be my birthday, St. John," Gus guffawed, stroking his shaggy ginger beard. "You came on your own. Didn't even have to dangle my blond little treat. You zeroed right in on her. But how come you're still kicking?"
"McCullough," said Mick, shielding Beth with his body.
"Bravo, yes!" The hunter clapped his hands. "You Hollywood types don't stick together. Had to be creative. And did I ever get a body count this time!"
"You're a lunatic!" shouted the detective.
"Have to be in my line of work. We've got a score to settle over Dean Foster. You tore his throat out."
"It was a rogue attack."
"You embarrass yourself. He had pictures of you. So, you killed him."
"What pictures?" replied Mick. Even in his exhausted state, he prepared to rush this psycho. He glanced quickly at Logan for backup. The other vampire gave the slightest nod.
"The ones of you getting hit by a car and rising from the dead. The ones Foster emailed to Turner to shake her up."
"Blackmail?" said Mick. Why hadn't she mentioned this?
"Of course!" answered Angus.
Mick's stomach lurched. His head would've been on the chopping block if those photos had surfaced. Someone had taken out the paparazzo to protect him. "Beth, what did you do?" he said.
Tears welled in her eyes. "I asked Josef to keep you safe."
Mick sighed. "He always strikes back—you know that."
She didn't answer, which was answer enough.
McCullough shook his head and clucked, "Guess I overlooked that. You weren't the only one with something to lose."
He wagged a finger at Beth…
Then pumped Mick with a spray of bullets.
The detective went down, blood seeping from two holes in his chest.