I don't know where I'm going with this.

:::

Tom had never once considered the possibility of ghosts until he met Annie. Vampires, he could deal with. McNair taught him how to snap necks when he was 13, the second time they encountered vampires.

(Because the first time they were too busy running, Tom too busy crying.)

The elder McNair reached for the body of the only vampire he hadn't staked, lying on the ground, eyes open, unable to move because it was technically paralyzed. It would take a while for the vampire's body to heal, for it to adapt and for the corpse to finally adjust, just like it had adjust to a non-beating heart and lack of blood flowing through arteries and veins.

For good measure, McNair had shoved a metal pole (not stake, not yet) through the vampire's chest, right into the ground to hold it in place. The vampire tried to say something, but blood just poured out of its mouth, staining his fangs as its eyes faded in and out of that black oily color. Tom could remember watching, fascinated, wondering offhand when he would soon have his own necklace of vampire teeth just as his father had. The vampire looked to be only 20, young. Maybe just changed, maybe not.

"It's simple Tom, but pay attention," said McNair, crouching near the vampire's head, not giving the monster a second look as it continued to choke on blood. "Staking is always best but sometimes you might be in a tight situation without the proper equipment." (Thinking about it now, Tom realizes it parallels the talk McNair had with him about girls when he turned 16).

"Hold its chin." He placed one hand on the vampire's bloody chin, the blood getting in the creases of his fingers. "The other hand should be on the back of its head." As McNair placed his other hand in the proper position, the vampire started to gurgle, more blood spewing from its mouth, dripping down its chin and onto McNair's right hand, staining it. Its arms started to shake, a futile attempt at some movement.

"Tom." Tom glanced at his father, taking his eyes off the heaving vampire. McNair gave him a look, one that often precluded a necessary lesson in being an English werewolf. "Pay attention, son. You want to push its head in one direction, it doesn't matter which." He slowly turned the vampire's head to the right, the bones in its neck making some sort of disgusting sound that Tom remembers frightened him at the time. "Then, you just quickly push with the hand on its head and pull with the one on its chin so that its head snaps in the opposite direction." This action was done a bit faster, but obviously it was difficult to show exactly how to snap one's neck when the example was already broken. McNair did it again, just as the vampire's hands began to tremble, its body finally able to cope with the damaged neck.

Getting up, McNair brushed some of the blood from his right hand on the vampire's shirt.

"It takes a bit of effort. Maybe when you're a bit older I'll let you have a go at it. It's best to do near the full moon at your age now." He smiled, ruffling Tom's hair with his clean hand, his other reaching to grab the stake in his belt loop. Just as the vampire let out some sort of hiss, the bones in its neck making that awful sound, and its hands already pulling out the pole, McNair turned and plunged the stake through its chest.

Tom had seen vampires die before, but somehow, watching this one gasp, head unnaturally positioned because of the still healing neck, the pole falling from its hands as it sunk to the floor, it was…unnerving.

"What do you think happens to me now?" It was John who interrupted his thoughts, slouching against the caravan as Tom finished filling up the gas tank. They were in the woods, in the same area that McNair had left the vehicle before Tom had carried him off to Honolulu Heights. Tom shrugged, not really quite sure of what to do now. He didn't exactly know what happened if you didn't go through your door (he was sure Annie mentioned something about those, but she was vague, not wanting to "ruin the mood" as she said) and Tom wasn't quite up to going anywhere near George and company. He just couldn't. Not yet.

"I mean," started John, glancing at Tom, "I saw the light and…Christ, I don't know why I didn't go through. I was so scared and I…I just couldn't leave." Tom shrugged, tossing the gas container inside the back of the caravan, closing the doors.

"How did you die?" he asked bluntly, unaware of such a thing as tact. John furrowed his eyebrows, pushing off the caravan.

"I was called in with a special police force to a B&B. We were told the Box Tunnel 20 killer was in there…he was apprehended, a crazy looking guy, and some of my mates took him off. I was supposed to stick around with five other officers and two forensics guys…" he trailed off now, looking at the ground. Tom frowned, something about the story sticking out to him, something familiar.

"We heard something from upstairs. One of the detectives who was leading the case said she was going to get one of the household members who was dysfunctional. We waited in silence and one of our guys, Jack, went upstairs but something…something threw him down. This thing, this man, came flying at us, ripped our guns away and tore off our body armor like it was nothing." Unconsciously, John reached to rub his neck, causing Tom to narrow his eyes before widening them in realization.

"Herrick attacked you," Tom said quietly, eyes wide. John gave him a puzzled look.

"What? We were taken down like…like cattle. I barely remember much after I hit the ground, just this pain in my neck…he bit it clear off…" Once again, he reached for his neck. He then laughed humorlessly.

"I felt myself fading in and out of consciousness. It almost felt like an hour there, trying to scream, nearly drowning in my own blood." He paused, contemplating. "Then the oddest thing. I remember hearing a woman groaning, then some shuffling by me. I was bordering total unconsciousness at that moment, but I heard something clatter to the floor, then some man's voice. It was an accent I couldn't quite place…" Tom shook his head, everything finally falling in place. John had been after Mitchell. He was one of those near-dead officers at the B&B when he had walked in on an injured Nina. Nina, who was stabbed by Herrick.

Unconsciously, Tom slammed the gas tank's panel shut, hand setting firmly on the lid, eyes narrowed. Surely, someone would have noticed dead police with their necks ripped out? This would be all over the news, wouldn't it?

"Where would they put your body? The bodies of the others?" asked Tom, making up his mind as he turned to John. The ghost just stared blankly for a moment before shrugging.

"Probably keep it in the coroner's station of the lab – the basement, you know? Since they probably consider it a criminal investigation…" he trailed off, his own eyebrows now furrowed in confusion.

"So there will be an investigation on your murder?" pressed Tom. John nodded, though unsure.

"I suppose…yes. Of course, I was murdered. Stuff like that just can't be brushed under the rug, yeah?" Tom didn't answer his question, already heading back toward town, forcing John to hurry after him.

"Where are you going now?"

"To see your corpse."

:::

"It's a good thing you got here so soon. All the bodies recovered from the B&B, including your cousin's, are shipping out to funeral parlors tomorrow. All in the hands of the family now," said the officer, moving toward one of the shelves on the wall, Tom, playing the part of John's somber cousin, and a jittery John followed, both trying to ignore the putrid smell and grim tables lined with surgical tools. The officer glanced down at his clipboard before locating a specific locker, one at his elbow level, and unlatched it, pulling the slab out to reveal and partially covered body. This John looked like the ghost John, only he had stitches all along his neck, disappearing under the white sheet placed over to preserve some sense of modesty. Ghost John had a hard time keeping an eye on his body, looking at Tom.

"Why? Ask him why are the bodies being moved tomorrow?" Tom did so, not looking away from John's dead body. The officer shrugged, starting to drift toward the stairs.

"Head office fixed up the paperwork, wouldn't give out the details. They're sorta keeping this underwraps, who knows why."

"How did he die?" Tom asked this without being prompted by John and already knowing the answer, finally pulling his eyes away from the corpse. The officer rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable as he wavered toward the stairs.

"There was this bust at this B&B yesterday, supposedly where the Box Tunnel 20 killer lived. Honolulu Hills or something." The officer paused, looking as if he was not going to say more.

"The entire squad was massacred," mumbled the officer, looking away. "At least they caught the guy. Case closed."

"There's stitches in his throat," Tom managed to get out, for what reason, he was not sure. Some part of him wanted humans to know about vampires, to wake up to realize their nightmares were real. After all, why did Tom and his father have to face such horror alone, always watching their backs, awaiting the day they will no longer be able to fight against these monsters?

"Like I said, head office did the paperwork. I'll give you some time alone. Just lock up before you leave." With that, the officer turned to leave, his withdrawing footsteps leaving the werewolf and ghost in silence. Tom slowly brought his eyes back to John's body. The ghost himself was simply staring, perhaps looking for some sort of life. Tom narrowed his eyes at the stitches on the body's neck, the skin around taut and looking unnaturally stressed. Must have bitten most of his throat out. His eyes followed the trail of stitches to the white sheet placed on bodies when family came to identify the bodies. Tom reached out and pulled it back, seeing the stitches end slight above John's right nipple. All of a sudden, John's hand reached out to smack his away, causing the sheet to once again cover him up.

"What the hell," barked the ghost, eyes narrowed—it was the first time he had expressed real emotion that Tom could finally see as tangible.

"I was checking where the wound ended," said Tom rather innocently, unsure of why John had become so defensive. John seemed to turn red, his already rosy cheeks brightening more.

"I thought- nevermind. Just please, don't touch me. My body I mean. But don't touch me as I am now either." He was fumbling with his words and Tom could only stare.

"A vampire killed you," said Tom, looking once again at the body. John gave him an incredulous look before doing a double take at the corpse.

"What? Because I died from a neck wound? This isn't some sort of story book," rambled John, unconsciously reaching out to place a hand on the metal slab his body was lying on. Tom furrowed his eyebrows, looking John in the eye.

"You don't know…" he trailed off.

"Know what? Spit it out!" John seemed to be growing angry again, fingers clenching against the cool metal of the slab. If Tom was bothered by his anger, he didn't show it.

"The Box Tunnel 20 killer was a vampire." It had to be Mitchell they were after - who else in Honolulu Heights could commit such a horrific crime? "There was another vampire in the house, probably the dysfunctional one that detective was going to get. Must have attacked you all in the house." John just stared at him, growing more and more irritated, jaw clenching. Just as he was about to curse at Tom for pulling a sick joke, there was the sound of someone pounding on metal. Then, a voice.

"Help! Can anybody hear me? Where the hell am I?" The banging continued, along with more and more frantic, distinctly feminine, cries for help, all originating from one of the square lockers near the end of the shelf. Tom and John exchanged a look, and without hesitation, Tom pulled out a stake he had left in his belt loop from when he had tried to attack Herrick. When vampires killed humans, they either came back as ghosts, or if they were truly unlucky, vampires. John simply stood in place, hands still clenching the slab of metal as his eyes followed Tom to the particular locker that the screaming was coming from. With a swift turn of the latch, he pulled the slab out.

:::

Cue start of another werewolf/vampire/ghost story.