The Turned Page 4

  Even if I did have the means to do all of that, my biggest issue would be with Mamma. She would be devastated if some cop showed up at her door and told her that something had happened to me. I don’t think she would believe them. If anyone would fight the police for a real answer, it would be Mamma.

  Sometimes I wish I was in the position Rowan was. Since he’s the Leader of the French Quarter, he only has to change jobs and aliases every ten years or so. He just got a new alias and now he has to quit working at that Thai restaurant, but he doesn’t have to move or anything. Not that he has friends or family to leave behind. On second thought, Rowan’s life sucks.

  Anyway, another reason I don’t think I could just “off myself” is that I would end up missing times like the past few days. I still keep a few close human friends.

  A group of us went out all weekend, since I somehow managed to get the time off, and cut loose like never before. Michael even got fired for being no-call-no-show for three days. He’s not smart enough to cover his ass. Now things are winding down and I’m having a hard time remembering everything we did. Drinking the blood of a stoned or drunk human can have some pretty crazy effects on us, but I sort of remember fireworks, dancing, and getting kicked out of a few bars.

  Guess I should record as much of it as I can remember for future reference. I met up with Michael, Chris, and Tony at a bar on Bourbon. Not my favorite place in the city, but Chris insisted we start there. Apparently, he’s crazy about this stripper and wanted to see her before we went to our favorite haunts. I didn’t see anything special about her and her blood smelled sickly and thick with drugs. Something was wrong with her, and I don’t know if she was aware yet. I had to shrug it off because there’s no good way of saying, “Hey, I think you’re sick because your blood smells funny.”

  After a couple of dances, I was getting restless and insisted we move on. Chris picked his jaw up off the floor and we left. The air was thick with the smell of booze and my friends were already loosening up. I didn’t feel it yet. Alcohol doesn’t really affect me the same way anymore. It takes almost three times as much as it used to and that is why I prefer to feed from humans who already have a good buzz going on at the very least.

  Hours passed in what seemed like minutes now that I’m recalling the night. I wish I could remember more. We wandered around the Quarter all night and watched the fireworks from the riverbank. By that time, I was pretty tipsy. My friends were all glassy-eyed and singing songs at the top of their lungs. They were ready to go home by one, but I was craving excitement and talked them into hitting one more bar. I needed to feed and the hole-in-the-wall joint Artashir owns is always a great place to lure someone into a back alley.

  With my friends being as crazy as they were, drunk and unruly, the bouncer kicked us out soon after we got there. Across the narrow street we waited in the shadow of an alley. The guys occupied themselves by smoking cigarettes and waiting for the bouncer to get distracted so we could sneak back in. I was getting bored and smoked one myself. Hadn’t done that since I was human and now I understand why most Turned don’t bother. Nicotine isn’t strong enough. Anyway, I noticed this girl stumble out the door. She was obviously very drunk and very much alone. Perfect prey.

  The crowds were winding down in the area, the tourists wobbling back to their hotel rooms, leaning on their friends for support when really their companions were no more stable than themselves. It was like the universe planned it. I mean, what are the chances that no one else would be walking in the same direction she was headed? I had to take the opportunity the universe was handing me on a silver platter.

  I flicked my cigarette to the pavement when I saw her fumbling for her keys. Brilliant. She was a tourist, alone, drunk, and would no doubt have to walk for a while to get to her car. My friends laughed when I put on my sweetest face and approached her like some good Samaritan, only trying to help the poor defenseless drunk lady call a cab. For her safety, you know. If she had been sober, she would have most likely told me to screw off, but oh, the thoughts of an inebriated mind. They don’t always follow the right track.

  When she made the mistake of turning her back to me, I sank my fangs into her tender flesh. She groaned loudly, but at least she didn’t scream. Too drunk to process the pain I guess. We Turned have a sort of anesthetic in our saliva that numbs the pain completely if we bite properly. I’ve been told before that a bite can actually be very arousing to some. While most of us use this little trick to feed, as a scream would quickly call all the wrong kinds of attention, I kind of like to see their reactions if I don’t numb them all the way.

  The moment her blood passed my lips, I could feel warmth flooding my veins. Turned become warm for a time after feeding, but I knew the warmth wasn’t just the difference in body temperature. A good bit of it was the alcohol in her system. Drinking from her was like taking ten shots in a row. The fire in my belly was a good burn and I didn’t want to stop.

  Luckily my friends were drunk, too, or my half dragging the semi-conscious woman into the alley might have been questioned. In hindsight, I should have lured her there first. I’m sure they all thought I was getting lucky. Little did they know, I was draining her behind a dumpster. Away from the touch of light, I held her close, enjoying every moment. She had already passed out in my arms, either from the alcohol or the shock of being bitten, allowing me to feed uninterrupted.

  I let the scent of her perfume flood my nostrils, mixing with the smell of alcohol and blood. I could hear the music from the bar mixed with the laughing of my friends as they waited for my return, calling out lewd comments into the alley. I knew they would never venture down there after me. I may be a creature of the night, but I am no monster and I wouldn’t have ever violated her in the way my companions were expecting.

  I was drunk off her by the time I was done. I vaguely recall healing her wound, but I can’t remember. It’s all hazy after that because instantly I felt I was dreaming. Small flecks of light danced through the alley and the sounds of people, music, and the city itself melted into nothing but white noise. My body relaxed entirely, and I leaned back against the cool, damp wall, feeling the music through it like the building had its own pulse. It was so peaceful. We call it the calm before the storm. That perfect moment of peace before all hell breaks loose. She wasn’t just drunk. This feeling wasn’t alcohol and looking back, I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t smelled it before I bit her. There is a good possibility that she had been drugged in the bar and my choosing her to feed from might have saved her life.

  I vaguely remember getting her a cab and I think there was a woman there. Yeah, I’m pretty sure there was a woman with short brown hair. She said she knew the girl and they got in the cab together. After that I remember realizing that I had stolen her keys. What in the hell convinced me that was a good idea, I don’t know. Most likely it was whatever drug she had been slipped coursing thru my own veins at that point. I still can’t remember what lie I told my friends to explain why I had her keys, or what had even happened to her. I do wonder what happened to her, though.

  For the next few hours all I can remember is scorching heat in every inch of my skin, cold wind in my hair and my friends so happily singing to the loud music. Oh, and the lights. Beautiful golden lights, drifting toward nowhere, leading me onward. I followed those damn lights all the way to the far end of Mississippi, almost to the Alabama line. I must have ditched the car somewhere, but I can’t remember where. Hopefully I had the sense to put it somewhere good. Our prints are all over that thing.

  The first clear memory I had was waking up later that day to the sound of a man pounding on the door exclaiming it was past checkout time. All of my friends were passed out on the floor, food wrappers and beer bottles everywhere. We had to bring our stupid asses home on a bus. I hardly had time to sleep before heading off to work and now I’m exhausted.

  Matthias closed the cheap composition journal and stretched his arms high over his head with a deep yawn. His belly was full
of fresh, sober blood, in order to help him recover from the effects of the drugged blood he had ingested before. A couple of days had passed since then and he was slowly getting that tainted stuff out of his system. Whatever it was that woman had been drugged with was stronger than most anything he had ever done before.

  Downstairs the front door closed and locked. Rowan was home. Dawn would be breaking soon. His Mentor could be heard climbing the stairs at the other end of the landing and unlocking the door to his study, no doubt to write before turning in. For some reason the older Turned had decided to take up writing in a journal again, even though it was not required of him. Matthias yawned, ready to retire for the day. No sooner had he crossed the room and collapsed on his bed, he drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

  6

  Morning came and the NOPD was flooded with people. Officers had been bringing in people left and right for disorderly conduct or helping tourists file theft reports. Nothing out of the ordinary for the officers on duty, until the doors of the police department burst open. A blond man in his early thirties, obviously drunk, stumbled in yelling at the top of his lungs about a missing woman.

  “I can’t find her! She’s gone, I can’t find her. Rachel?” he yelled, his blue eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated. Several people moved out of the way, one woman even jumped on top of a chair to get away from the frenzied man. The officers in the room quickly took control of him, making note of his torn, bloody shirt.

  “Calm down, son,” one of the older officers said to no avail. The man was still hysterical. Fighting back against the police until one of them finally wrestled him to the floor. Once the cuffs were on him, the panic-stricken drunk collapsed in tears, his face pressed to the cold tile floor.

  Lieutenant Walker yelled and cursed, storming out of his office to take control of the scene, “Kincaid!” he bellowed, addressing the young dark-haired officer who now sat panting over the drunk man. “Take him to a cell until he can sober up. We’ll figure out what the hell he’s talking about. And get that bloody shirt off of him. I want it put in an evidence bag ASAP!”

  The middle-aged lieutenant then cast his piercing blue eyes down on the drunk, his mouth set into a hard line beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. The lieutenant always had a stern, hard look to him but it was far more apparent than usual that he wasn’t in the mood for that kind of nonsense so early in the day.

  “Yes, sir,” Kincaid replied. After a moment he pulled himself to his feet and helped up the sobbing man. “Let’s go. You can tell us all about it once you sober up a bit,” he assured the drunk, trying to keep the him calm as the officer led him through the building to a holding cell.

  It took hours for the man to finally sober up and start giving them a proper explanation for his actions. Lieutenant Walker and Officer Kincaid took him into an interrogation room, gave him some water, and began asking him questions.

  “State your name for the record, son,” Walker said, sitting down with his clipboard.

  “Dustin McCain,” the man replied groggily.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Jackson, Mississippi.”

  “Why are you in New Orleans?” Walker asked, grumbling through the usual questions.

  “I came here with my girlfriend, Rachel Summers. I wanted to propose to her.”

  “And did you?”

  Dustin glanced sideways at Kincaid, then back at Walker. He bounced his knee under the table and bit his lip hesitating a moment before responding. “Yeah. Just before midnight on New Year’s Eve, out in the park. I set up a sort of picnic out there and I asked her to marry me. She said yes, but then…my ex-girlfriend called. Rachel saw that, got angry, and dumped me. She insisted we go back to the hotel and pack our things to go home.”

  Walker raised a bushy brow, his eyes shifting up to the young man. “Why’d she have such a bad reaction to your ex calling?”

  “Rachel found some e-mails a few months ago,” Dustin replied, hanging his head. “She wanted to leave me then, but I begged her and promised I’d never happen again.”

  “But it did,” Walker said flatly, and Dustin nodded in response. “Where does this ex-girlfriend live? What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Himi Satomi. She lives in Orlando now.”

  Walker wrote down what he was told and continued. “What time did you arrive back at the hotel and what happened after that?”

  “I don’t know. It was after midnight. It took forever to get back to the hotel in a cab, so I’m not sure exactly what time it was.” Dustin rubbed his eyes. “I won’t lie, we fought once we were in the room. We made the trip in her car and she said there was no way in hell I was riding home with her. She just packed her bags and left.”

  “New Year’s Eve?” Lieutenant Walker asked, as he sat back in his chair, eying Dustin carefully. “Tell me, Mr. McCain, why did it take you so long to report her missing?”

  It was common for people to call in a missing person within the first few hours when the panic was fresh and a good bit of the time the missing person returned within twenty-four hours. It wasn’t common, however, for a person to already be missing for days before someone reports it. Walker wasn’t convinced that Dustin knew nothing about her disappearance.

  Dustin looked away, sniffing snot and wiping his eyes again. “I thought she went home. I tried to call her several times after she left the hotel, but her phone was off. It wasn’t until this morning that I broke down and called her job, but she didn’t show up. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

  “Did you try to call her family?”

  “Well…no,” Dustin said. “Her family thinks a lot of me and I didn’t want to have to explain to them why she ran off, or chance calling them and getting chewed out.”

  “So, you called her job instead?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How do you know she’s missing?” Kincaid interjected. “I mean, she could have just been stressed out and called in sick.”

  “No, no she wouldn’t. Rachel loves that job. She’s very dedicated, hasn’t skipped a day in two years. She’s missing! I’m telling you she’s gone!” Dustin raised his voice at the end.

  The room grew silent. After a moment, Dustin relaxed and leaned back in his chair in a shaky breath.

  Lieutenant Walker tapped his pen on the table, eying the young man carefully. He wasn’t sure what to think about Dustin. Either he was telling the truth and this Rachel was really missing or he had already stashed the body and thought he was coming up with the perfect story to justify the time it took to bring it to the attention of the police. Too bad for him, Walker had been at this for far too long to think that every guy with a plausible story was innocent.

  “Fine. We’ll assume she’s missing,” Walker said. “We’ll file a missing person’s report. But in the meantime, you’re staying here until we get to the bottom of this. Do you have any pictures of Rachel?”

  “Yeah. On my phone,” Dustin answered, nodding vigorously.

  “Kincaid, get his phone from lockup.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young officer mumbled before leaving.

  Silence filled the room until Kincaid returned, and Walker just stared Dustin down, taking a mental note of every eye shift, every twitch. The guy simply couldn’t stop fidgeting; whether it was wringing his hands, playing with his fingers, or bouncing his knee.

  Kincaid handed the phone to his superior.

  “Show me,” Walker said as he slid the phone across the table to Dustin. “Keep it in view.”

  Dustin nodded and unlocked the phone, flipping through his pictures to a photo of Rachel, smiling. When he passed the phone across the table to the lieutenant, the older man’s mouth pulled into a frown. Walker motioned for Kincaid to look and the realization on the younger officer’s face was immediate.

  The woman in the picture was bright, and full of life but there was no mistaking it. She was the Jane Doe they’d gotten an email about a few days before. The woman Dustin had come in to
report as missing was dead and had been since the early morning hours of New Year’s Day.

  “We’ll file a report,” Walker said, marching from the room before another word could be spoken. Out in the hall, however, he stormed away, calling for Officer Roberts along the way. He heard her fall into stride behind him and together they strode to his office.

  “Yes, sir?” Roberts asked, closing the door behind her.

  The lieutenant sat at his desk, regarding her as he made himself comfortable. Ginger Roberts was young, hardly thirty, with smooth, sepia skin and dark hair always pulled into a perfect bun. Her sharp features and alert brown eyes made her seem quite intimidating, unlike her partner Kincaid. That man was her opposite, with his soft, thoughtful expressions, and big brown doe eyes that almost always seemed downcast.

  “The Jane Doe from the Third District has a name,” Walker stated as he pulled a cigar from its box and chewed on it. He wasn’t allowed to light up in the station, but it made him feel better to have it hanging from his lips.

  “Jane Doe, sir?”

  “The girl they found out in City Park a few days ago?” Walker scowled.

  “Oh, yes sir. Sorry.”

  “Rachel Summers,” Walker continued. “That guy that came in ranting earlier about a missing girl showed me a picture on his phone and I’m pretty sure it’s the same girl. I want everything you can find on her on my desk in an hour.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll contact Homicide,” Roberts replied. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear that we’ve got a lead. Do you want me to request the autopsy report from the coroner’s office?”

  “No. I want to examine the body myself. And Roberts...”

  “Yes, sir?” Roberts asked.

  “Don’t contact Homicide just yet. If I get to the bottom of this first, I might finally be able to convince the superintendent that the Turned are a menace to this city. Oh, and I want video surveillance from the hotel she stayed in, then get Kincaid and meet me at the coroner’s office. I want a jump on Homicide. Oh, and Roberts? I want you to keep a lid on this,” Walker ordered.