Elena's arriving home when a code 420 comes over her police scanner. After waiting to hear the address, she makes a quick U-turn. At the scene, the first thing that stands out is the yellow tape strung across the alley. There's a rusty garbage dumpster, a shattered light above an old metal door leading into an abandoned building, and there's a body.
It's another woman – her skin as pale as white rose petals, a stark contrast to her rainbow-dyed hair. Elena doesn't know how long the woman's been dead. She guesses a long time because, whether real or a product of her overactive imagination, the taste of death settles on her tongue. It's like a rotting piece of meat mixed with cheap perfume. Her stomach lurches. It's a battle to keep herself from ducking under the yellow tape and losing her meal next to that beat-up, old dumpster.
Elena's heart is pounding in her chest as she tries to imprint the images in her mind. The victim's laying on her back, arms spread, knees bent. Her short skirt is resting at her panty line and her top is ripped, exposing one side of her chest. While forensics is photographing the scene and collecting evidence, she notices the coroner's van pull up from the other side of the alley. Another set of headlights pulls in behind them and moments later Elijah appears from behind the van. He lifts the yellow tape and moves to examine the body with an air of both efficiency and grim acceptance.
Noticing a crowd start to gather, Elena gasps when she sees the same dark-haired man observing her. When someone bumps her, trying to get closer to the tape line, she looks away for a millisecond. Looking up again, she catches him retreating. As much as she wants to talk to Elijah, she wants to have a word with the mysterious stranger even more. Excusing herself, she pushes through the crowd but, try as she might, she doesn't see him.
"Where is he?" she mumbles to herself as she searches. She's about to give up, when - "There you are," she says aloud, noticing him sliding into a familiar-looking vintage Camaro. Determined not to lose him, she runs to her car and careens into traffic. With her foot heavy on the gas pedal, she catches sight of the vehicle when it's forced to stop at a train crossing.
Finally, the flashing bars raise and they're able to proceed. Elena tries to stay a few car lengths behind him so he doesn't get suspicious, but she suspects he's onto her when he turns out in front of someone and quickly turns onto a side-street.
Never one to be deterred, she steps on the gas pedal until her quarry is again within view. Not wanting to lose him again, Elena backs off, making sure to keep some distance between them, although it's hard in the darkness. He drives out of the city for several miles, finally turning into the driveway of the old abandoned brothel that's rumored to be haunted.
Elena's certain he's aware of her. Why else would he come here of all places? Still, her curiosity gets the best of her. Pulling her handgun out of her purse, she gets out and snaps her door shut as quietly as she can before slipping through the wrought iron gate and onto the property.
The blood moon's swinging low in the heavens, casts long, deep shadows over the property, giving it an even more eerie look. The iron gate is easily six feet tall. The latch is rusted and she struggles to lift it. He must've closed it behind him. Several curse words later, she finally manages to push one side of it open enough to allow her to squeeze through.
Even in the daylight, the place is hair-raising and, at this hour, it's actually much worse. Elena feels a chill run up her spine even as the clouds crawl across the moon, creating ghostly shadows that dance in and out of the overgrown bush and shrubs. Her flashlight picks up little wisps of dust that swirls across what's left of the driveway.
Moving in the darkness, Elena takes deliberate steps, holding her breath and straining her ears as she walks while trying to ignore the thunderous beating of her heart. Eerie sounds echo from the trees surrounding the property, making the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. Sucking in a breath to steel her spine, Elena grips the rusty knob and turns, the door opens with a creaky sound that's a little unnerving. With her flashlight illuminating the foyer, she moves forward and enters a room with a huge bay window. Glass is scattered on the floor; threadbare curtains are blowing through the jagged edges of the tattered window frame.
She can already tell something's amiss. The feeling of dread in her gut intensifies as she eases into the room, heart in her throat. Just then, she hears a screech! She whirls around to find a small, dark figure hurtling through the air towards her. A bat! She ducks in the nick of time, letting out a relieved breath as the creature flutters away, nearly laughing at herself as she rises from her crouch. She turns and startles, coming face-to-face with the darkly handsome man, his piercing blue eyes glimmering smugly.
He's standing right in front of her, invading her space. He's incredibly handsome, that much she knows. His hair looks soft; she almost feels compelled to run her fingers through it. No matter what she's feeling right now, no matter what she thinks she knows, the fact of the matter remains. She's alone with a man who may be a killer...
"Who are you?" Elena splutters, fingering the pepper spray in one pocket and her revolver in the other.
"I might ask you the same thing..." Damon replies casually.
Not wanting him to pick up on her nervousness, Elena stiffens her spine, squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. "I'm, uh, I'm a reporter."
"I see...now, Miss Gilbert why did you follow me?" Damon begins to circle her.
Not about to let him get the upper hand, Elena keeps step with him, in an informal dance of sorts.
He takes a small step closer, so small she would not have even registered it if not for the way her heart is racing.
"Why have you been at the murder scenes? Are you one of those killers who hangs around to see people react or play the hero?"
Damon moves closer, a little more subtly this time. Her throat feels thick now, but it isn't panic; it's something else entirely...The beat of her heart is roaring in her ears, so loud that she strains to hear his voice. It's excitement, eagerness, as if she wants him to come closer, needs him to.
"Are you doing something to me?"
He again steps towards her - this time it isn't subtle. She feels the rush of wind before the blue-eyed stranger is so close that she can feel his breath on her lips. She puts her hand out instinctively to maintain some distance.
"Are you going to answer my question?" she queries.
"Let's just say I have a vested interest in the case."
"Are you an undercover cop? FBI?"
"What!?" Damon asks, barely able to keep a straight face.
"You heard me."
"That's for me to know and for you to dot. dot. dot," he mocks her, using his index finger to dot the air between them.
"Why are you being so mysterious?"
He raises his hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. Her skin sizzles at his touch, and she steps back, nearly stumbling when her foot catches a rumpled piece of an old throw rug.
Damon grabs her, holding her just long enough for Elena to regain her balance before letting go and stepping back. "I think it's time for you to go."
"No, it's not. Are we going to talk, or are you going to continue to play this cat and mouse game?" She gives him a hard, meaningful look, and he glances away, seemingly bemused. She takes the opportunity of his distraction to give him a once-over, examining him from top to bottom. She doesn't trust him, but she needs to know what his angle is. Is he the killer? He's not too tall, he's well built. He's fast and sneaky but is he strong enough to have hurled a victim?
"You're incorrigible you know that? Now, come on, it's time for you to leave," he takes her arm and starts to lead her through the house and outside to her car. Elena's kicking and struggling the whole way, demanding he let her go.
"Get in the car, please."
"Can you just give me a minute?" Elena argues. "What is this place to you? Why did you lead me here?" When Damon doesn't relent, she sighs before digging in her pocket for the keys.
"I'll give you 10 seconds. 9, 8..." He grabs her by the shoulders and marches her the rest of the way to her car.
"Stop being such a caveman!" she shoots back and reluctantly gets in, relieved actually that she didn't need to use her gun. Elena rolls down her window and starts the engine. "I'm not done with you," she adds, then steps on the gas and squeals the tires, kicking up a cloud of dust as she leaves the old estate.
For half an hour, Elena's been mesmerized by the small dust particles swirling in beautiful patterns amidst the columns of sunlight streaming through the blinds. She didn't sleep much after her encounter with that man. And hell, she didn't even get his name! Sighing, she realizes that she should be happy she got out of there alive after her foolish venture.
With a great intake of breath, she heaves herself out of bed. Her bare feet pad over her carpet into the bathroom where she turns on the water. Her thoughts are all still coalescing on that blue-eyed Casanova. If he's the murderer, wouldn't he have tried to attack her? She served herself up to him on a silver platter but he was more anxious for her to leave than to do her any harm? So many questions and no answers that make any sense.
As soon as she arrives at work, she grabs a copy of the paper and goes to her office. Last night's murder is the headline. With all the excitement with the mysterious stranger the night before, she'd almost forgotten about the murder. The victim's name was Violet Fell. She worked as a prostitute, picking up clients from local bars and seedy downtown casinos. There had been no visible blood at the scene, but she didn't stick around long enough to have a word with Elijah about it.
"Another murder?" Ric pokes his head in the door.
"Yeah, I was there but I didn't get to talk to Elijah. I'm going to run down to city hall to see if Rebekah knows anything."
"Do that. Umm, do you still have your gun?"
"Yes," Elena replies, her brows furrowing.
"I take it you know how to use it?"
"Yes, Ric, I took lessons at Range 70. Actually, Elijah's the one who taught me how to shoot accurately."
"Just watch your back. Okay?"
"You know what a cautious woman I am," she stares at him for a minute before adding, "If there's nothing else, I'm going to try to do some digging downtown."
"Okay," Ric stands back, holding the door open.
"Thanks," Elena skirts around him, waving over her shoulder on her way out.
Rapping on his door frame, Elena smiles when Elijah looks up. Without waiting for an invitation, she plops into the chair sitting in front of his desk.
"What can you tell me about Violet Fell's murder? Is there a connection to the other victims?"
"Elena, that's confidential," Elijah grits. Standing up, he looks to see if anyone noticed her come in before closing his door.
"What?" Elena laughs. "Is it so scandalous to be seen with me?"
"No, of course not, but I don't want to be accused of being your source."
"Always so proper, Elijah," Elena rolls her eyes.
He narrows his eyes at her, silently broadcasting his disapproval.
"Stop it. Can you at least tell me if Violet's body was drained too?"
"You insult me then expect me to give up the goods," he retorts, peering down the end of his nose at her.
"Seriously?" she draws her brows together.
"If it'll allow me to see your back walking out that door...yes, there was no blood evidence at the crime scene."
"You're the best," Elena jumps to her feet and puts her hand on the knob but before twisting it, she reels around slowly. "Do you know anything about the man who's curiously been at every crime scene? At least the ones I've been at..."
"What?" Elijah asks, obviously unaware.
"Dark hair, blue eyes, maybe 5' 10", muscular. I don't know his name or anything else about him," Elena explains, deciding to keep her own encounter with him to herself.
"Will you help to create a composite sketch? I can get one of our police artists in here..."
"Um...sure," she agrees.
"Have a seat. I'll be back shortly. Do you want something to drink?"
"A bottle of water would be nice," Elena replies, as she sets her purse on the corner of his desk and reluctantly takes a chair. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she wonders if she should've kept her mouth shut.
After a longer than expected day at the police station, Elena tiredly looks over the final sketch of the man who's been stalking her thoughts. "It does look like him," she mentions as she studies it. "I don't know if he's anything more than a curious bystander, it's just that I've seen him more than once," she remarks, handing it to Elijah.
"Don't worry. This doesn't convict him of anything. As you know, sometimes criminals like to stick around..."
Elena nods in agreement. "If you don't need me anymore, I'm going to see Rebekah," she reaches for her purse.
"She's out on a coroner's call. So, you might as well go home," Elijah opens the door and waves his hand for her to shoo.
"Bye, Elijah," she raises her middle finger at him on her way out. Since Rebekah isn't around, Elena texts Ric that she's going home to record her podcast.
"Hello everyone, hi," Elena says into her microphone. "I've had several requests for tonight's podcast. So let's get into it.
On June 27, 1996, thirty-year-old Anne Marie Fahey, who was the scheduling secretary for the governor of Delaware, had dinner with a man she had been having a secret affair with for more than two years. "Tommy" Capano, forty-seven, was perhaps the most politically powerful man in Wilmington, Delaware. Son of a wealthy contractor, former state prosecutor, partner in a prestigious law firm, advisor to governors and mayors, Tom had a soft-spoken and considerate manner that endeared him to many. Although recently estranged from his wife, he was a devoted father to his four beautiful young daughters, favorite son of his widowed mother, and the backbone of the Capano family.
But sometime after 9:15 that night, when Anne Marie and Tom left a Philadelphia restaurant, something terrible happened. It would be forty-eight hours before her brothers and sister realized that she had disappeared. Her family reported her missing on June 30, 1996. Capano, the last known person to have seen her alive, became the primary suspect.
Prosecutors alleged that he murdered Fahey at his rental house and, with the assistance of his youngest brother dumped her body into the sea. On November 8, 1997, detectives interviewed Gerry Capano who repeated the story that Tommy told him- he murdered someone who was attempting to extort him.
Gerry and Tom went to Stone Harbor, New Jersey, with a large cooler that contained Fahey's body, sailed 62 miles out to sea in Gerry's boat before pushing the cooler overboard. Gerry told police that Tommy shot the cooler in order to sink it, but it remained afloat.
Frustrated, Tommy pulled it back to the boat, removed the body, wrapped the anchor chains around it and shoved it overboard. Gerry looked away, turning around just in time to see the feet slip beneath the surface.
Gerry also admitted that Tommy asked him to help dispose of a blood-stained sofa and carpet in a dumpster.
Investigators did not have a murder weapon or a body, nor any evidence that Capano had purchased a gun; however, his other mistress, Debby MacIntyre, had recently bought one. She admitted to having supplied the weapon to him.
The highly publicized case went to trial on October 26, 1998, and lasted 12 weeks. The defense claimed that Debby had burst into Capano's house and, in a jealous rage had threatened to shoot herself. As Capano and MacIntyre were wrestling for the gun; it fired, accidentally killing Fahey.
On January 17, 1999, the jury convicted him of first-degree murder, and he was sentenced to death by lethal injection.
Thomas Capano was found dead in his jail cell at 12:34 p.m. on September 19, 2011, by an officer performing a routine security check at the James T. Vaughn Correctional Center state prison near Smyrna, Delaware. The medical examiner said he died of sudden cardiac arrest. He was 61 years old.
Make sure to subscribe if you want to keep hearing true crime stories. I'm Elena Gilbert and this is 'Someone Knows Something'."
Elena removes the headphones and clicks off her equipment. Noticing her phone lighting up, she answers it. "Caroline, hi."
"Just reminding you that we're going out tonight."
"Alright, I'll get ready and meet you there. Bye, bye," Elena ends the call and clicks off the phone.
"We'd like a table for three," Caroline announces, clapping her hands together excitedly. As the hostess checks her list, Elena observes the crowd. It's rather sedate for Las Vegas, but she's grateful for small favors.
"If you'll just follow me," the woman grabs some menus then leads them to a booth near the stage. Taking a deep breath, Elena follows Rebekah and Caroline, all the while knowing that she's going to regret it later. She'd much rather follow up on her sketch and see if Elijah's gotten any leads on her handsome stranger.
As she slides in, she cringes at the music playing in the background and watches dubiously as dancers of both sexes cavort on the platform.
"This is great," Caroline boasts, waving at one of the male dancers and sticking some bills in the elastic of his G-string when he gets close enough.
Elena looks at Caroline, exasperated. "Burlesque? Really, you two? This isn't what I agreed to. I just want to have a couple of drinks, go home and get some good sleep. If you had mentioned this is where we were going..."
Caroline crosses her legs and looks at Rebekah, who's giving her the eye. "Look, Elena, tonight is to celebrate my promotion at work. I thought it'd be different for a change, and, girlfriend, you need to ruffle those perfect feathers once in awhile!"
Elena furrows her brows, showing her disapproval.
"We'll have a few drinks and see where the night takes us, please?" Caroline asks, plastering a smile on her face.
Just then a waiter appears with three tankards of beer.
"Okay, since we're already here; might as well make the best of it," Elena relents.
"That's more like it," the blonde interjects, and even Rebekah smiles.
Elena squeals as the foam tickles her nose. Laughing despite herself, she takes a big mouthful and swallows it down like a pro.
"So, I listened to your last podcast. Anything more on these murders?" Caroline asks, hoping to loosen her up a bit. She looks at Elena while tapping the pad of her finger on the rim of her glass.
"I talked with Elijah. He was pretty tight-lipped today."
"What about the girl they found last night?"
"He didn't say if the crimes are related or not."
"I hope they find the guy soon. It's scary to go home after work. I've been asking the security guard to walk me to my car," She adds, picking up the bottle and refilling their glasses.
"Me too," Elena agrees, her chin resting on her palm as she eyes the growing crowd. "I need to pee," she slides out of the booth to do her business.
When she steps out of her seat, she's taken in by the ambience. People are having fun. The aesthetic is out of this world with neon lights that coruscate like an alien spaceship. Glancing back at Caroline and Rebekah, she rolls her eyes; they're both laughing like hyenas as two muscled men dance beside them.
Rather than return to their booth, she plops herself down on one of the barstools and orders a shot of tequila. Just as she's about to lick the salt, she catches a glimpse of dark hair out of the corner of her eyes, making her jerk upright in her seat.
"Is this taken?" he asks, signaling the bartender with a crook of his finger.
"Are you following me?" Elena accuses, still holding the shot glass in her hand.
"Don't flatter yourself," he teases, tossing the bartender a few bills when his drink arrives.
With the bluest eyes she's ever seen and a smirk to make a stripper blush, he's the most delectable thing she's ever laid eyes on. She reminds herself that this man could be a killer.
She has to control herself!
"What were you doing at the old hooker house last night?" Elena shoots a question at him.
"That, Miss Gilbert, is none of your business?" he raises his glass to her then takes a mouthful.
"That's another thing, how did you know my name?"
"I have my sources."
"Who are you?" Elena asks, clearly mystified.
"Give me your hand," Damon changes the subject.
"Why?" She breathes out. Goosebumps erupt on her skin.
"I'll show you."
Curious, Elena slowly slides her hand to his. She gasps as he takes it and rubs circles over her skin.
"See..." He smirks, knowing full well the effect he's having on her, "The best way to do a tequila shot is salt first..." He reaches for the shaker and flips her hand over, until his fingertips are ghosting the skin of her wrist.
"Shouldn't you be doing that over the top of my hand?"
"Nope... Now chill," Damon counters, and shakes salt on to her wet skin. "Now lick it, stick the lime in your mouth, then throw back the shot."
"No!" she snaps, befuddled by the way her traitorous body reacts to his close proximity. "You owe me some answers!" Elena slams the shot glass down, splattering its contents on the bar top.
"I owe you nothing," he replies, staring at her for several seconds before emptying his glass. With a nod, he turns on his heels and walks out of the bar. Although she wants to follow him more than she wants her next breath, she pays for her wasted tequila and begrudgingly returns to her friends...
A few hours later that night...
Her headlights pierce the darkness as Sybil drives towards the city. With the humidity unnaturally high, a misty fog begins to form, rolling like waves and growing thicker by the mile.
"What's with the fog?" her sister Seline asks, looking through her window and in front of them.
"I don't know. We never get fog in Vegas. It'll clear, just give it a few seconds," Sybil explains.
"You could slow down," Seline mentions. There's nothing but white all around them. The road's almost completely shrouded. Then, as if by magic, it's gone, and they can see again.
"Told ya," Sybil chuckles.
Suddenly, Seline screams, "Watch out!" she points animatedly in front of them.
There's a man standing in the middle of the road.
Sybil hits the breaks but not quick enough to avoid colliding with the man. His body goes up and over their old Ford Bronco, rolling off the top and landing on the ground behind them. She yanks the wheel, sending the vehicle into a tailspin across the road before coming to a screeching halt. "Are you okay?" she turns to Seline.
"Oh my God, we hit someone! Please let him be okay, please let him be okay," Seline chants, rocking in her seat.
Opening the door, Sybil stammers to her sister, "St, stay here," and cautiously hops out of the Bronco to get a closer look.
Seline's shaking. She looks outside, trying to see what's going on, but she can't make out anything, not with the headlights pointed off towards the desert.
Sybil runs down the road to where the man lies, still as a stone. Slowly, she approaches and kneels down beside the unmoving body. She lifts his hand, feeling his wrist for a pulse. "Please be alive." She peers down at his face, but it's difficult to see in the dark. She flips her cellphone out and hits the touch pad to turn on the flashlight.
Before she can react, the man rises up and grabs her, yanking Sybil's head back to expose her neck. Sharp, gleaming fangs rip into her throat.
When her sister doesn't come back, Seline gets out of the car with her own cell. She doesn't understand the sense of foreboding that's sending her heart into a thundering pace. Her eyes search the darkness. Her sister is nowhere to be seen; neither is the man. She's terrified and rushes on shaking legs back to the car, making sure to lock the doors.
Out of nowhere, a body slams into the car's hood, landing with a resounding thud. Sybil's neck is ripped open, but there's no blood. Seline is paralyzed in horror. Sensing a presence, she cranes her neck from side to side, seeing no one. Hysterical now, she tries to start the car, but it stalls. Catching a glimpse of headlights in the rearview mirror, she gets out and begins to run down the center of the road toward the oncoming car. She's screaming desperately while trying to distance herself from whoever is out there. Everything becomes blurry, but she keeps moving, not daring to look behind her.
She's still running, a full-out sprint when unexpectedly her feet leave the ground, her entire body taking flight. Her screams echo through the night as something much faster and stronger yanks her out of sight. Her scream is cut short.
Deathly silence follows...
A second chapter this week is my thanks to all of you. You're the best.
Chapter title: 'Who Are You' by The Who.
Massive thanks to jmfangs and to Eva for their help. Check out her 'Quarantine Olympics' and her Buffy stories. She has a really excellent Buffy one shot that she'll be posting at some point. Eva has 'Christmas Carol' under the username siberia21.
There's also a movie starring Mark Harmon as Thomas Capano. "And Never Let Her Go" is based on the book by Ann Rule of the same name. She's the best true crime writer bar none. I've read every one of her books. Sadly she passed in 2015. Her Ted Bundy book 'The Stranger Beside Me' is my favorite. She worked with him in a crisis center in Seattle, not knowing at the time that her friend Ted was THE Ted who was killing all those women.
Danni1989 recently returned with 'Karaoke Girl' after a long absence.
'Not a cheesy rom-com' by spookylecter
'My Blue-Eyed Stranger' by BB179 is similar in dynamics to an old one of ours, 'Breathe'. It's her first DE story.
linax24 has 'Fake I Love You's and Goodbye's and 'Never Really Over'.
'A Royal Pain' by Internal Light
Justinia Korax has 'The Things She Felt While He Was Gone'.
amazing Aisha is on Archive of Our Own now. For some reason, she cannot access fanfiction anymore. Her username there is amazingAisha16387. Same thing happened to my friend Cher Sue of 'Separate Beds' fame. Her country banned access to the website.
Our dear friend, Florencia7 has many wonderful DE stories, all completed. She has written for Pirates of the Caribbean too if that's an interest.
After this ridiculously long author note, have a wonderful day, and weekend.