Beyond Nocturne Ch. 06

The creature made to move against Lydia and Michael fired a warning shot into the ceiling. The report was painfully loud in the small hallway, and Michael knew they were running out of time. Someone was bound to here the gunshots. The police would be here soon.

"Don't," Michael cautioned.

What remained of his brother looked at him carefully, studying him trying figure out if he was bluffing. The creature knelt down again.

Michael fired again. The bullet zinged by the creature's pointed left ear and lodged in the living room wall. The creature stood back for a moment, its head cocked at a deadly angle.

"Steve," Michael said evenly, "Don't do this. You don't want to die..."

There was a moment of complete silence between them, the only sound being the rush of water spraying up in the shattered kitchen. It was a stand off. Steve was challenging Michael, daring him to pull the trigger.

Michael gently squeezed the trigger.

The creature ducked down and grabbed Lydia before Michael could respond. It roared with anger and held her soaked body in its arms. Michael held his gun on target, but knew he didn't have a clean shot. With a massive growl, it hefted Lydia up above it's head, turned and pitched her into the living room. She sailed the distance as though she were shot from a cannon and crashed into the far wall. The drywall gave way and crumbled as the two-by-four supports cracked by her passing. Michael watched Lydia disappear through the hole in the wall and fall to the ground outside.

It snapped its head back to Michael.

"She killed me!" it roared.

"Please, Stevie..."

"SHUT UP!" the creature bellowed and lunged forward. Michael instinctively pulled the trigger again and again. The shots were deafening in the enclosed space, the darkness lighting up with each blast. It was like a strobe light flashing, making their movements jerky and erratic. Michael saw the glowing red eyes of his brother pass close to his own, and the carrion stink of its breath invade his nose as he fired his last round. He was crazily aware of the hot spent shells hitting the water and hissing.

A spray of black blood soaked him and he knew he going to die. Instead, he was left shaking in the hall, alone and completely out of ammo. He waited for the attack, but it never came.

The creature was gone. He flashed his light to the walls and saw the black, thick blood spattered everywhere. It seemed he had hit the creature with every bullet he fired, and it still was not slowed down. Michael looked back in the bathroom and saw the window had been busted out. The creature was gone again.

Michael holstered his gun and hurried back down the hall. Before he could leave the hallway, he heard a muted moan coming from the bedroom to his right. He hesitated, worried about Lydia and yet needing to know where Maricel was. He tried to open the door and found it was locked. He jiggled the handle once more and then kicked the door in. The hollow core door splintered and fell apart.

Maricel lay on the bed, naked and covered in blood. It's horrible oily semen was stained on the bed and her legs, a stench not unlike rotted fish curling up from it. He knelt beside her and put his fingers to her jugular vein. She was still alive her pulse weak yet steady

"Maricel?" he yelled and shook her shoulders, the sounds of sirens coming close. If someone hadn't heard the commotion here prior to him firing his gun, it was a sure bet the whole neighborhood knew something was going on now. He slapped her again, "Maricel LaVoy?"

Maricel stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

"Miss LaVoy?" Michael sat her up gently. She looked around, her eyes darting about wildly.

"Help me, please..." she said, her voice drained.

"Can you walk?" he asked, but was sure she couldn't. After having that baseball bat of a cock inside her, he doubted any woman could walk in the aftermath of that. Maricel shook her head and leaned against him. She held onto his neck as best she could as Michael wrapped her in the bedspread she had been raped on. He reached under her legs, trying not breath through his nose. The oily semen dripped down onto his hands as he picked her up and hurried to the living room.

Lydia was standing at the door, looking solemn and defeated.

"They're almost here," she said.

"I know," he huffed as he stepped outside, "Take her real quick."

Lydia took Maricel from Michael and held her there, looking at her face and thinking of what she could possibly that would be of any comfort. Sorry you got raped by a monster from beyond the grave? Sorry I bit you and fucked up your life? Lydia only smiled as best she could and held her friend. Maricel, for her part, rested her head against Lydia's breast and promptly slipped out of consciousness.

Michael tried the door handle on the nearest car, a pre-historic looking Volkswagen Rabbit. The door opened and he set about the task of hotwiring the vehicle. Lydia glanced around and saw people looking out their windows at her and Michael, people picking up phones and making frantic calls. Some of them were in their doorways, looking at her with fear as they wondered what had happened.

"We have to go, Michael," she said.

The sirens were now with a block of them, loud and accusatory.

"Come on you miserable piece of shit," Michael hissed as he sparked the wires.

The car sputtered to life and shuddered, the ancient muffler coughing and spewing blue smoke. Lydia opened the door and laid Maricel down in the back seat gently, folding her legs up as best she could to make her fit comfortably. She placed her blades on the floorboard behind the passenger side seat and got in as Michael put the tiny car in reverse. He shifted into gear and hit the gas. The tires squealed and smoked as they peeled out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

***

Chief Hollins stood in his office, looking out the window at the brightly lit city. He chewed on his cigar, his eyes filled with impatience and frustration. He hadn't really expected Michael to just stay home and take it easy. He hadn't truly believed that Michael would simply let this go and stay out of the way. Maybe that's why he was so thoroughly pissed off at that moment. He knew that he should have locked that defiant little prick up in the holding cells with the other trash of the city. But he hadn't done that. No, he had instead let Michael go and trusted him to do what he was told.

The phone rang.

Hollins sat down at his desk and looked at the ringing telephone, not wanting to answer it. On his desk were the forensic reports on Stephen Wolverton and Larry Crispin's murders. He knew damn good and well that the cases were connected. He knew that the same fucking person had committed them both. He knew all this. He didn't have to read what his experts had gone to great lengths to scientifically prove. What they didn't realize, what Michael Wolverton didn't realize was that it was his job to know.

But who could have known Michael would connect the umbrella Lydia had absent mindedly left at the crime scene? Who could have guessed that after how many years of not being caught the vampire bitch would be stupid enough to leave footprints? What were the odds that Lydia would kill one of the nations most notorious serial murderers ever? And who the fuck could have guessed that Steve Wolverton would transform into the atrocity he was now? Hollins shook his head. There were so many variables and unknowns in this mess that it made his head spin like a top. And in the middle of all this shit is Michael Wolverton.

The phone rang again.

"Hollins," he said.

"We have a problem, here Mr. Hollins," a smooth, slippery voice said.

"The situation is being contained," he replied. He wasn't sure which one he was talking to. They all sounded alike on the phone. Always over-dramatically severe and full of self-importance that only their supremacist society could breed.

"We put you in charge so that these situations wouldn't occur," the voice reminded him, "Much less need to be contained."

"Look, I can't help it if that cluster-fuck Geer can't keep your girl in line," Hollins took a deep drag on his cigar, "He lost control of her and as far as I'm concerned, the fault lies with him. You should keep your bitches on shorter leashes."

There was a moment of silence. "Our control of Lydia seems to be a strong as yours over your subordinates."

Hollins felt his face flush red. "Wolverton is a loose cannon and beyond anyone's control. He's too fucking unpredictable."

"Indeed."

"We know Wolverton and your girl were at a homicide scene tonight," Hollins said, "Based on what the boys are telling me, it was that thing Lydia accidentally created. Thirty people saw them leave the apartment and steal a car after a series of gunshots. Five people are dead, though none of them from gunshot wounds."

"The aberrant?"

"That's a safe bet."

"And what of the girl missing from Crispin's apartment?"

"Witnesses at the scene say they saw Lydia and Wolverton carrying out some woman. Nobody is sure who she is or if she was dead or not."

"And the media?"

"The media is biting at my ass as usual. I know we don't need any unnecessary attention here-"."

"Unnecessary attention is exactly what we want to avoid. The human government will not stand for this. You know that."

"Look, I've already managed to implicate Wolverton in the death Detective Rossetti. If he had just stayed put, he might've gotten out of this missing only his badge. But now that's he been seen at another murder, his credibility is shot. Wolverton isn't a problem. Every cop in the state will be looking for him by dawn," Hollins explained.

"Kill him and anyone else traveling with him," the man on the other end of line said flatly, "But I want Lydia Renee brought alive, Hollins. We will make arrangements for whatever story you need to cook up, but just get rid of Wolverton and that girl, if she's still alive."

"And what about that Steve Wolverton? He's not going to stop killing just because you tell him to. He's a monster."

"We have already dispatched someone to deal with the aberrant. It need not concern you."

"This fucker sliced up one of my best detectives and has killed seven people," Hollins yelled, "It doesn't concern me?"

"Remember who you're talking to," the voice snapped, "Don't forget who put you where you are, human."

Hollins hated it when those pompous pricks referred to him as "human" almost as much as he hated the vampires. The elitist society believed they were superior to humans, and they took every opportunity to express that belief. But that didn't stop him from working for them. They had treated him pretty well for covering up and doctoring their indiscretions and mistakes within his jurisdiction.

He was their bagman, one of the many middlemen in the vast political landscape between humanity and the vampire nation. He wasn't precisely a familiar, but more of a contact for hire. And because he wasn't a familiar, he didn't belong to any of the bloodsuckers as property. So he could afford to talk back to them where others would have simply cowered.

The bottom line was no matter how much they may have denied it to themselves they still needed him.

"And no more mistakes," the voice warned, "It would be a shame if you lost your position over such simple matters."

Hollins glared at the phone. "Yeah, it would be a shame."

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Hollins."

Hollins almost hung up and then asked, "I got one question though..."

He thought that maybe the man on the other end had hung up. But then he heard, "What?"

"Why is this Renee woman so dangerous to you guys?"

"Is it important?"

"As far as I'm concerned, she deserves a medal for killing Larry Crispin. She did us all real big favor on that one. She seems like a real stand-up woman."

"And your point?"

"What'd she do that was so bad? It just seems to me that if she was such a threat, you'd have killed her and been done with it," Hollins reasoned. They were hiding something, something big they had neglected to tell him when they transferred Lydia here from wherever the hell she had been before. He had rarely seen the vampire nation get jumpy over anything, let alone one single vampire amongst millions.

"Ms. Renee is, shall we say, a unique woman," the voice bitterly said, "As much of a problem as she is, the powers that be feel she is worth more alive than dead."

"You didn't answer my question," Hollins said.

"Good night, Mr. Hollins."

The line went dead.

Hollins hung the phone up.

He smiled to himself ruefully and pondered Lydia Renee. There must have been some kind of spectacular shit that went down in order for the vampire nation to label her an extreme risk and yet keep her alive. Maybe she had the dirt on one of the elders and had bargained for her life in return for silence? Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Hollins leaned back in his chair and wondered if Michael knew what she was. He wondered if Michael had pieced together the puzzle and discovered the truth. Hollins hoped so, because his stubborn pursuit of it had already cost him his badge and retirement. Now it looked as though it would cost him life. Once the vampire nation ordered you dead, you were dead.

Still, if he had figured it all out, why would he be running around with the woman who killed his brother?

Hollins grabbed the phone.

"Officer on call?" he asked.

"Miranda here, sir."

"I need to issue a statement in a few hours," Hollins told her, "Get me the file on Michael Wolverton."

***

"Where are we going?" Lydia asked quietly, her eyes staring into space as they merged onto the freeway, heading north. The stench from the creature's semen was filling the car, and they rolled down the windows to air out. Cool, night air fresh from the Pacific hit them hard.

"I have a cabin at Mount Shasta," he said, "That's where we are going."

"I need some things from the museum."

"Yeah, I have a lot of stuff from my place that I need too, but we're just shit of luck," Michael said bluntly, "You know how many people saw us back there? If the cops aren't already at digging through our homes they're on their way."

"Do you think they'll suspect us?" Lydia asked as the lights of passing cars and lamps illuminated them from shadow briefly, and then disappeared, only to start again a moment later.

"They'll believe we did it more than they'll believe a seven foot tall monster did," Michael muttered, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, "But we have bigger problems than that."

"In know. Stephen is still out there."

"That's one," Michael nodded as he pushed the car to seventy, "But we also have the connection of those women to Maricel, and Maricel to you and then you to me. We're in a stolen car and we still have to get out of San Francisco unnoticed with a naked bloody woman in the backseat. We also have the fact that I am under suspicion for one murder right now. Those people at the complex I.D. me and I'll be all over the evening news."

"But they can't think you did that to those women," Lydia said.

"Chief Hollins thinks I had something to do with Rossetti getting mutilated," Michael said, "And now I'm placed at another crime where at least five more people have been mutilated? It looks really bad, Lydia."

"So what do we do?"

Michael thought for a moment. "First, we ditch this heap get another car, take a back road out of the city and then make our way north. We get Maricel some clothes and make sure we get all our money out of the bank before they seize our accounts."

"You think they'll freeze my account?"

"When you turn up missing they will."

"Good point." Lydia nodded, "And if they didn't, the elders would do it anyway."

"Once we get to Mount Shasta, we'll have to figure something else out."

Lydia nodded, and then put her hand on Michael's balled up fist as he shifted the tiny car into overdrive. "Michael?"

"Yeah?" he looked at her.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping me," Lydia said, and nodded to Maricel, "For helping her."

Michael nodded and smiled a little.

He was still processing the fact that it was Lydia who had caused this mess in the first place. He felt angry with her, even spiteful despite the fact that he harbored a deep attraction for her. He wanted to forgive her, to find someway of exonerating her from what she had done to Stephen.

But it was so hard to find that elusive bit of reasoning that could clear her of his wrath. She had murdered his brother, and while he wanted to comfort her, he also wanted her to pay for what she had done. And now Stephen had been condemned to a half-life as a beast that murdered everyone it crossed.

"He's starting to kill for pleasure," Michael said finally.

"I know," Lydia sighed, "It's the thirst."

"He asked me to kill him back there," he said, his heart breaking at the memory of the anguish in his brother's voice. That horrible disfigured voice.

"And you tried to."

"He's still coming after us," Michael looked at her briefly, "I can feel him moving, in the back of my mind."

Lydia nodded. "Me too."

"Is there anywhere we could go that he couldn't find us?"

"I doubt it, Michael," she leaned her head against the window, "He's linked to me in a way that I can't explain. He should have been dead after I... I finished feeding."

"There's no point in being tactful," Michael scowled, "You killed him. Why is he still alive?"

"Was there anything in your brother's physical make-up that was odd? Any diseases or genetic defects?"

Michael thought for a moment. "Not that I can recall, although he did have a brain tumor when he was seven. Almost killed him."

"Usually, a person becomes an undead because their body rejects the virus that causes vampirism and a mutation occurs. Their blood is already thick with the virus, but the body or the mind won't allow for a successful symbiosis. They're a half-breed between humans and vampires."

"Zombies?" Michael asked, "Is that were the story of zombies came from? Fucking vampire rejects?"

"Pretty much," she said as she pulled her cigarettes out of her inside pocket. Thankfully, none of them had gotten wet in the fight back at the apartment. She continued as she lit up, "But it's vampire law, so to speak, that anyone who is bitten be watched until they complete the transformation, just to be sure an undead doesn't happen."

"But you drained Stephen dry, right?" he asked, a more than subtle hint of reproach in his voice.

"Yes," Lydia took a drag on her smoke, "When you don't leave any blood for the virus to take hold of, it can't reproduce itself and dies."

"And yet, here he is."

"I can't explain it," she frowned, "All I can figure is I left some blood in his body, enough for the virus to take hold. But how it mutated him like this, I can't say. Usually zombies lose their hair and get really pale, they become emotionally unstable, almost autistic in away, staying alive for only forty-eight to seventy-two hours. They pass along their mutated strain of the virus to anyone they bite, which is why they're so dangerous."

"Night of the Living Dead?"

"Right," she said, "That's why the vampire nation keeps a close eye on them, to contain them."

"Because if humanity ever was lost to zombies, then you lose your food supply..."

"That's right," she said quietly, feeling guilty as she looked at him. His anger was radiating off him in waves.

"Fuck me running," he muttered, and then, "Wait now, what about the people Steve has killed? Shouldn't they be infected with his strain of the virus?"

Lydia shook her head, "No. He savaged those people and ripped them to pieces. Tiffany and Missy were dead before he fed on them. The virus can't take hold in a host that's already dead."