With the Detective's business card in hand, everything started to feel much more realistic, and she wasn't certain that was a good thing. It would have been miles easier to tuck the card back into her bag and pretend that there hadn't been whisperings of supernatural or doubts creeping into the back of her head. But while those doubts felt completely unnatural, completely unrealistic, there was a part of her that knew—vampires were real. Even just thinking it made a shiver run down her spine.
But she gripped the card tight and finally stopped pacing back and forth across the length of her room. She changed as quickly as she could, unable to get the vision of Damon's eyes, his mouth out of her head. She was torn between lust and confusion, lust and fear. Could Damon Salvatore really be a vampire? Was that what her mind was attempting to tell her? Certainly she would know if he were, right?
Elena was a perceptive individual. Something like that wouldn't be able to slip by unnoticed. Besides, Damon didn't seem like the careful type. Surely she would have caught him with at least a drop of blood on his clothes or something—especially with how often she'd been staring at him lately. And if Damon were a vampire? Well, that wasn't a rabbit hole she wanted to go down, for her own sanity.
With her hair tucked away and her feminine features hidden, she slipped out of the apartment into the warm morning sun. Using the paper map of downtown Harmon, it wouldn't have taken long to navigate to the police station. However, she took her time, meandering, looking at every flower and tree, eyes lingering on clouds, doing anything possible to prolong the inevitable. She feared speaking with the detective would bring a conclusive answer. It would be so much simpler to stay oblivious and in the dark.
Was this why Salvatore was worried for her safety? Because of Harmon's vampire problem? If she could figure this out, determine whether or not vampires truly were real, and perhaps obtain some irrefutable proof, then she would be able to confront him about it. Maybe he wasn't a vampire, maybe he just knew of them. Anything was possible. And she hoped, prayed, as she continued her slow walk—that her suspicions were wrong.
There were so many puzzle pieces, and nothing seemed to fit together without an unreasonable answer. Arthur and Celeste Harmon had been diseased in some way, in a way that also affected their friends. They'd been affected in their search for immortality. That she knew for a fact, but also, he'd used the word vampire as a code breaker, and that had to mean something. Was vampirism what they sought?
When she got to the front door of the police station, she pulled it open without any hesitation, with only a desire to have her questions answered. A polished marble floor greeted her, so shiny she could almost see her own reflection in it. In the center of the room sat a large desk, with two uniformed police officers behind it. The room was divided in the center, behind the desk, by a wall that went almost to the edges of the room, ending in archways that led to what looked like a hallway full of offices and interrogation rooms.
Any fear she had about speaking with the police had long since dissolved. She had much scarier things to worry about, after all.
"Hello," she said, setting the business card down on the desk. She'd held it between white knuckles the entire way over. "I'm looking for Detective Matthews. Is he in?"
The two police officers, one of large stature with extremely wide shoulders and a snarl of a mouth and the other slender, scrawny, with a crooked nose and beady eyes, exchanged a glance that she couldn't quite read. They looked at each other, and then back at her.
Snarling mouth said, "Unfortunately, we lost Detective Matthews in the line of duty just last month."
"He's dead?" she asked, not realizing that her phrasing wasn't exactly kind.
Beady eyes looked at her, nodding solemnly. "Is there something we can help you with?"
She barely processed what he said, but snapped back into reality after only a second to say, "Is there someone who worked closely with him? That would know of his cases? I have some questions about a case he was working on earlier this year. He'd mentioned that I could contact him if I needed anything." She tried to say these words as confidently as possible, but the fact of the matter was that the Detective's death had shaken her. First, a man who'd been threatening her, and then the man investigating the case, investigating vampires. That couldn't be a coincidence, could it?
The one with the snarling mouth, generally unpleasant to look at, sorted through some papers on the desk that she couldn't see, before saying, "What case was this?"
"Gregory Lithander," she stammered. "At Harmon College."
The two officers shared another meaningful and unreadable glance. Beady eyes cleared his throat and stood up. "His partner, Detective Mulberry should be here. You can speak with him."
Elena followed the officer through one of the archways that divided the building in half. In the back of the building was a long, wide hallway with doors set on each side. They stopped at the door with the word "Mulberry" on it. The officer leading her knocked heavily three times before the door opened.
"Got someone who had a few questions for Matthews," the officer said, stepping out of the way, already walking back to the front desk, leaving Elena alone with this new detective.
He did not look pleased by this interruption, but he took a step back, held the door open, and motioned for her to come into his office, all without saying a single word.
"Have a seat," Mulberry said. He was a large man, towering over her with ease. He had a deep voice full of grit like he'd smoked too many cigars. His dark hair was shaved close to the scalp, and though his overall appearance was intimidating, his eyes were soft and brown. He closed the door behind Elena, then took a seat behind the desk. The office was small and kind of cramped, with one desk, a large desk chair, and two simple chairs opposite it. Framed art, photographs, certificates, and more lined the walls, and manila folders were piled high on the desk. It was clear that he was overworked. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and there were even more folders in a stack on the ground. It didn't appear to be the done pile, either.
"You talked to Matthews?" he said, cutting right to the chase. It struck her then that no one had asked for her name. They either didn't care or didn't take her seriously, but she was willing to bet it was the former, or maybe both.
Elena folded her hands in her lap, one leg crossed over the other, trying to keep herself from fidgeting. Though she doubted this Mulberry would care or even notice her nerves.
"Yes, I did," she said. "He had, um, some interesting opinions," she said, careful in her words.
Mulberry's face changed at this. His placid expression turned into more of a grimace, even as he let out a deep chuckle. "Matthews was…" he paused as if searching for the right word to use for someone who had recently passed away. "…off his rocker." Well, that wasn't what she'd been expecting. "You're right, he had interesting opinions. I always said they'd get him killed."
"What happened to him?" Elena asked, but she had a sneaking suspicion she already knew exactly what he was going to say.
"He was fascinated with the macabre," Mulberry said, a sort of annoyance to his voice. Like he'd heard Matthews prattling on about vampires for ages. "He wanted all this shit to be true," he said, reaching into a drawer to pull out a cigar and lighting it without hesitancy. "I think he read too many stories."
"How did he die?" she asked again, drawing her brows together.
He took a long, slow drag from the cigar and then exhaled an equally slow cloud of smoke. "The chief didn't believe any of his claims." Mulberry refused to say the word vampire. "So he'd go out on his own. Tried to get me to join him, but I don't have a screw loose. And it's a good thing I didn't. Anyway. He was out there in the dark. What do you know about it? The wolves got 'em. Same animals that've been picking off people for months."
"That's what you believe?" Elena asked. "That it was an animal, a wolf, that killed him?"
"It wasn't a fuckin' vampire, I'll tell you that much," Mulberry said, cigar hanging from his lips. "Matthews had more than a few screws loose, kid. It's all stories, what he told people. Based on nothin', he didn't have evidence, no facts, no nothing."
She chewed her bottom lip, unable to form words in the face of this, ultimately, rude man. But she'd already mostly made up her mind, and nothing he'd said had really gotten through to her. Despite his insistence against vampires, Detective Matthew's untimely death only meant one thing, in her mind. Vampires were real, and clearly, they didn't like being hunted.
Finally, she said, "You don't happen to have any of his notes around, do you?" When he gave her an odd look, she clarified, "I'm working on a paper about the Lithander case. Anything you have would be a great help."
With a grumble and a roll of his eyes, he stood up. His chair made an awful screeching sound against the floor, but he didn't react, only pulled out a thick file from a cabinet behind him and slapped it on the table in front of Elena.
"This is all him," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, cigar between two fingers. The smoke wafted off the tip, circulated around the room, made Elena sick. "Not supposed to share shit like this. Closed cases and all that. But Matthews was a crackpot. None of this so-called evidence will ever mean a goddamn thing."
When she didn't say anything he raised both brows and said, "Take it. Just don't let 'em see you. And don't come back. I'm sick of hearing about all this nonsense."
Quickly, she stood up, stuffing the thick folder into her messenger bag. Without so much as a thank you, out of fear that he'd change his mind, she bolted from the room and out the front door of the station as fast as she could without breaking into a full run.
To say that the file was thick would be the understatement of the century. There were so many loose pages, torn out notebook paper, printed statements, photographs, that the folder could barely hold it all together. Taking it out of the small bag required a bit of force. Holding it in her hands, she stared at it for a long moment, feeling as if this information would cause a great turning point in her life. It required pause. So, she stood in the dining room of the small apartment, clenching the file tight in both hands, staring down at the hastily written script on the tab that read: Lithander, Gregory.
After the moment of silence for the great change to the rest of her life, she pulled a chair away from the table and began to spread out the information before her, leaning hunched over the table as she went through it.
For the most part, she'd already seen a lot of the information present. The same pictures the Detective had laid out for her months ago, the same horrid imagery of Lithander's neck twisted the side, and an image from hours later after it had been cleaned, revealing two pin-prick holes in the side. Staring down at this image, she subconsciously lifted a hand to her own neck, phantom pain seizing her for a moment before fading again. Too fast that it could have been imaginary.
Aside from the official case records, typed out pages on crisp white paper that included witness statements, there were also notes written in Matthew's hand. The first page read:
Chief Clark,
I understand that you and the rest of the department think I am a man mad, a man lost in fiction. But please believe me when I say that it is impossible for this case, and the many others we've witnessed like it, to be classified as animal attacks. We're overlooking so much evidence in favor of these rulings, and I beg that you reconsider, lest more lives will be forfeit.
Detective Matthews
Another scrap looked like the ramblings of someone far past insanity. Vervain: an herb that repels vampires. When worn or ingested, they are unable to control your mind. When ingested, blood is poisonous. It could save a life. Vervain testing? Offer to suspects?
Then, on the backside of the piece of paper, there was a list of names. None of which were familiar to her until the last. Her very own: Jeremy Gilbert, with a thick line drawn through it. Did that mean she had passed whatever test he had subjected her to? Had she ingested vervain without knowing? She'd thought the meeting between the two of them had been quite strange. Had there been vervain in the water that he'd offered? Unfortunately, it seemed that the testing hadn't been of much benefit, as almost all of the names were crossed off. She made note of the few that weren't in her own journal, just in case. Though she was uncertain whether or not this man's ramblings would ever be useful to her aside from confirming what she'd already been suspicious of. In writing out her own notes, she chewed her lip, cursed herself. Was she becoming just as maddened by the topic as Matthews had been before he died? Was this what put her in danger? And if so, was it, in turn, what Salvatore had been warning her about all this time? She added his name to this new list, too. One could never be too certain.
Another slip of paper read: I fear that I'm being hunted. My interest in this case has drawn the attention of an unfamiliar party, and I don't believe they like the intrusion. An attempt at mind control was made. The vervain must have been effective, for I wasn't compelled or controlled to do as they asked. I think it must have saved my life.
Elena read a few more letters, a few more case updates from the chief and Mulberry, and sat down heavily in the chair, a pain in her back growing from hunching over for such a long period of time. She rubbed her temples, resting her head in her hands, elbows on the table. Why did it feel like she was taking his place? Another person going mad in his stead. If only she'd listened to him when he'd still been alive if she'd seen what he was saying as a possibility instead of something wholly unrealistic.
Maybe he'd still be alive, and maybe Elena would have someone to speak with about the thoughts that steadily felt like they were driving her to her own kind of madness. A madness that came from not knowing the full truth, not having evidence enough to support such irrational thoughts. Because what did she have, really? Aside from Matthews' ramblings, a code word, and a few nightmares? None of that was exactly iron-clad. But the feeling in her chest? It demanded attention.
With one hand, she lazily sorted through papers and photographs before she came to a few photos clipped together. Though she'd only spoken to the man twice, she recognized him immediately. The first photograph was an up-close shot of the wound on his neck. There weren't two pin-pricks on him, but a nasty open wound that coated the rest of him in a thick layer of blood. Another image showed the placement of his body, slumped against a tree in the middle of the woods. According to the note on the back, it had happened just off-campus. He must have been investigating, maybe looking for all the vicious animals his co-workers claimed were out there. Various other pictures showed him later in the morgue, only further demonstrating the animalistic nature of his wound. Almost as if it had been on purpose. Elena didn't know much about vampires, about how they attacked or fed or anything, really. But if they wanted to make something look like an animal attack, she thought it must have looked something like this.
Setting down the stack, she let out a long sigh, dropping her head back into her hands and closing her eyes. What had she gotten herself into? Only a year ago she'd been back at home, plotting her way into this school, and now she was coming to the realization that the world was nothing like she thought it would be.
Lost in thought, mind reeling with all she'd learned, although still, nothing confirmed, she didn't hear the door open and close, the footsteps padding in her direction.
She did, however, hear Caroline's sharp gasp and feel the touch of her friend's hand on her shoulder. "Elena?" she asked. "What is all of this?"
That was the question of the moment, wasn't it? What was all of this? Was it simply the ravings on a madman? Or was it a man who encountered something other and didn't know how to describe it? Didn't know how to explain it to the people around him without seeming exactly how he feared—insane. And in that moment, with Caroline's hand on her shoulder and a mess of barely meaningful evidence in front of her, she froze. What would Caroline think of her if she went on about vampires? Would she think Elena insane just as Mulberry had thought Matthews in need of a lobotomy?
The brunette instead, only let out a sigh. A long one, a representation of the day she'd experienced. This information, whether true or not, weighed heavily on her. If she could just know, everything would be a whole lot easier. It was the confirmation she wanted, the words of another person telling her that they too believed what she was uncertain of. But taking that risk, the step forward that could only end the same way it had ended for Matthews when he'd explained his thoughts to Elena, that was what stopped her from saying anything at all.
Finally, she lifted her head from her hands and looked at Caroline—concern written all over her friend's face. "It's nothing," Elena said, gathering up the scribbled notes, the official statements, the photographs, and stuffing them back into the file they'd never fit into in the first place. "Just some research."
Caroline didn't seem to believe her. Her lips were still parted in a gasp, and she ran a hand through her curly blonde hair as she released a long, steady sigh. And maybe Elena should have read into that somehow, should have delved deeper into the look on Caroline's face, a look of fear, perhaps? But she didn't. Elena was tired. Exhausted by everything and confused. But she wasn't afraid. Despite learning nothing that pointed her in the direction of absolute truth, she was more certain than she'd ever been about anything.
Because when there were too many coincidences, too many odd things, each one something that could easily be cast aside, easily ignored, when all of those oddities added up, it was enough proof. The shock of belief didn't hit her hard. In fact, it quieted some of the madness she'd been feeling since the start of her day. It made her feel sane, if that were even possible. Because she knew, deep in her gut, regardless of the lack of evidence, the lack of documentation. Vampires, somehow, were real. That relief only lasted a moment before the total and all encompassing feeling of nausea set in.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading. It means so much to me that so many of you have stuck with me throughout this journey! There's still so much more left to happen, and I can't wait to share it with you. If you haven't checked out my other story An Autumn Duel, it features Delena in a fantasy setting.