Anderson, Fields, and Sanctuary

Molly Holden had been cleaning the Writeman bank building for five years now and she'd gotten to the point where she moved through her work without much thought. Her job was far from glamorous and the sheer monotony was enough to bring her to the edge of insanity at times. So, when she found the four dead bodies on the floor of Mr. Writeman's office, her shock was accompanied by a shameful feeling of glee at the prospect of some excitement in her otherwise dreary life. She still managed a scream as she ran from the office to the receptionist area to dial 911.

Detective Gloria Perez of the Triloville Police Department arrived on the scene an hour later, when the forensics team was well into their investigation. Her partner, Detective Eric Peterson (who was still a little wet behind the ears in his second year as a detective) was currently combing the streets for Mr. Frank Writeman and his two sons, who, as it so happened, no one had heard from since Saturday afternoon at the conclusion of Benjamin Writeman's wife's funeral.

Detective Perez went through the violent mess with the proverbial fine-tooth comb, taking great care to search every inch of the large office. When she had finally finished, nearly four hours had passed and she was left with more questions than answers. When she saw the security tapes, things began to become clearer. Unbelievable, yes, but clearer nonetheless.

She was in the middle of combing the crime scene for a second time when her partner showed up. "Gloria," he called, stepping off the elevator.

"Hey, Eric, did you find out anything useful?" she asked.

"I don't know if it's useful, but there's definitely some weird shit going on in this town."

"I'm going to have to agree with you on that one. You go first."

"Okay, first I sent a squad car to each of the Writeman's houses. No one was home at any of them, but Frank and Ben's trucks were found parked at Jack's House."

"And Jack's car?"

"According to his secretary he had a 'pimped out' hearse in the garage, it is the only vehicle missing."

"I'm sorry, did you say pimped out?"

"Yeah, you know, customized. Flames down the side, cool rims."

"Alright, I got it."

"Also, Ben Writeman's house had been disturbed since his wife's murder investigation."

"Burglars?"

"Doubtful, nothing of value was missing, mostly just clothes, strangely enough, a lot of them were Autumn Writeman's clothes."

"Do you think the husband took them for sentimental value?"

"It's a possibility, but after I arrived at the house, other evidence was found that pointed to another…possibility." Detective Peterson looked unsure of how to proceed.

"Go on."

"There were very faint, muddy shoe prints inside the house, coming in from the front door, into the kitchen, and finally up the stairs to the master bedroom, which is where we found the muddy shoes."

"And?"

"Size six, women's dress shoes. From there we entered the master bathroom where we found the muddy dress that Autumn Writeman was buried in."

"Strange," Gloria said.

"Yeah, it gets worse. We then proceeded to track the prints back to the source. As we walked down the sidewalk the tracks became more and more defined, and there was more and more mud around them. The tracks took us to the foot of Autumn Writeman's empty grave."

Gloria Perez looked horrified. "He dug up his wife's body?"

"Oh, no. No, it was pretty obvious the grave was dug from the inside out. Remember the shoes."

"Right," Detective Perez said, dreamily. "The shoes."

"I know it sounds crazy," Eric said "but that's what we found. I thought it may be possible she wasn't dead, but she wouldn't have been able to break through the coffin plus six feet of dirt."

Gloria gave him a sympathetic grin. "It doesn't sound that crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"Follow me, I'll show you what I found."

Eric followed his partner to a shattered window at the front of the office.

"This window was busted from the inside," she began. Looking out the window, Eric and Gloria could see the broken glass lying on the pavement below. "There's no evidence as to what busted it, but there was no glass found on the inside of the office and no foreign objects below. It's as if something or someone went through this window and just floated away."

"Stray bullets?"

"Come over here."

Gloria led him to the left-hand wall, which was riddled with bullet holes. "9mm slugs," she said, "the most this caliber would have done to glass that thick is cracks, maybe a hole, they wouldn't have shattered it like that. Now, look at this. Do you notice anything strange about this bullet?"

She held up an evidence bag containing a slug that was dug out of the wall. Eric looked at it for a moment then shook his head.

"It's made out of silver," she continued.

"Oh yeah," the younger detective said in awe.

"And, silver bullets are far less dense than lead so they don't carry as much of an impact. Another reason the slugs wouldn't have shattered the glass. Then there are the bodies." She bent down over one of the dead men and her partner did the same. "The coroner had trouble placing the time of death. He said their bodies appeared as though they had been dead for years but were somehow preserved, no decomposition, the wounds are clean, no blood flow, just a black hole where the bullet entered. And finally, there's this." She pulled the man's upper lip back to reveal a small pair of incisors above the normal ones. Then, she applied pressure above the strange teeth and they came down over the others.

"There are muscles connected to these teeth. They move their faces in a certain way and the muscles push these teeth down."

Detective Eric Peterson was staring at the hideous teeth with a mixed look of shock and terror. "Vampires?" he whispered.

Gloria only nodded her head.

"That can't be," Eric continued. "Surely, this is part of some elaborate prank."

"As much as I'd like to believe that myself," Gloria returned, "our final piece of evidence is perhaps the most conclusive and most disturbing part of this case." She then led Eric to a corner of the office where a TV and VCR were set up."

"This is the security tape from Saturday night, watch closely," she said, pushing play on the VCR.

The picture on the screen was snowy for a second, and then Mr. Writeman's office came up from a diagonal angle behind the desk. Frank Writeman could be seen rummaging through his drawers and packing things into a small satchel as if he were preparing for a short business trip. Suddenly, the door opened and Frank Writeman stopped what he was doing, looked up from his desk, and began to hold a conversation with someone who, as far as Detective Eric Peterson's keen eyes could tell, wasn't actually there.

"Keep watching," Gloria said, "it gets better."

Eric watched the old man as he pulled a gun from his belt with astonishing quickness and fired in four different directions, flipping his desk and rolling around the room in the process. Then he leveled the gun at the door and appeared to talk a little more before he started firing again.

"See," Gloria said in Eric's ear, "he doesn't fire at the window, but it shatters anyway, for no reason at all. Unless there was a fifth man, a vampire who jumped through that window and…"

Eric watched the bank owner pull a second gun and fire double fisted around the room, then the window shattered, seemingly on its own.

"Turned into a bat and flew away." Eric finished with an astonished look on his face.

"Maybe."

Gloria and Eric stared at each other in stunned silence that was only broken by a uniformed officer urgently bustling through the door.

"Detectives, more bodies have been found."

"Where?" Gloria asked.

"We entered Jack Writeman's house with just cause, where twelve more men were found shot and killed. There's also a report that just came in from a farm just outside of Omaha, Nebraska. A farmer discovered what could only be described as a massacre deep in his cornfield and in the graveyard behind it."

"Is there anything that would connect those murders to the ones here in town?" asked Detective Peterson.

"Sixty-eight bodies were found; men and women," the officer continued, "all of them were naked, a few were cut into pieces, but the rest were shot with silver bullets."

The two detectives exchanged a surprised look.

Gloria Perez thanked the officer and dismissed him. Once he was gone she turned to her partner and asked; "What should we do?"

"Isn't it obvious? The Writeman family is on a murdering spree the likes of which this country has never seen. We have to stop them one way or the other."

"But, look at what they're killing. Vampires! And in what story in your entire life have you heard about nude vampires attacking anyone?"

Eric thought about it a moment, "I can't really think of any."

"That's right. Now, what about werewolves?"

"Oh, come on, Gloria, this is getting a little ridiculous."

"Those bodies in Omaha were found outside in the sunlight. If they were vampires they'd have been fried, but instead, they reverted back to human form. The bodies that were found here in town were all indoors. You're saying you don't believe all of the evidence that you've seen."

"I'm saying, before we go and jump to conclusions about mythical creatures, we should eliminate any other possibilities. Regardless of the reasons why the Writemans are killing people, they are still killing people and it is our job to stop them."

Gloria sighed through her teeth. "Your right."

"Besides," Eric continued, "when it comes right down to it, there's probably a perfectly logical explanation for all of this."

"Your partner's right, ma'am," a deep voice bellowed from the doorway.

The two detectives jumped and turned to see a pair of large men in sharp, grey suits standing in the doorway.

"Sorry if we startled you," the black man said in a slightly higher tone than his friend. "I'm Agent Anderson and this is my partner, Agent Fields, we're with the FBI, and we are officially taking control of this case."

The two detectives exchanged a disappointed look.

"Is there nothing we could do to help?" Gloria asked.

"I'm afraid not," Agent Fields said in his deep tone. "We're with a special branch of the FBI that deals specifically with these types of strange cases."

"What, like the X-files?" Eric asked, with a nervous laugh.

"In a way," Fields continued, "but we really don't care for that comparison. We believe there is always a reasonable explanation for these strange occurrences, and in most cases, we find that explanation."

"And in the other cases?" Gloria asked.

"Sorry?"

"You said 'most cases', what about the others?"

"I'm sorry, we cannot answer any more questions. Now if you would please leave us, my partner and I would like to proceed with our investigation."

The two detectives were then rushed to the elevators by the two agents.

"And remember," Agent Anderson said before the elevator doors closed, "this case is now officially top secret. It would be very unwise for you to talk about it or pursue it any further."

Something in the agent's eyes absolutely terrified Gloria Perez, and she and her partner (along with every other officer involved in the case) never spoke of this day to each other again. Eric was so intimidated by the agents that he decided to forget this day ever started. Gloria, however, was too intrigued by the whole thing to give it up so easily. She may have to investigate on her own time, but she still had too many questions that needed to be answered.

As she exited the building, Gloria knew there was no way she could leave the strange occurrences alone. She told her partner she would meet him back at the station, then pulled away from the bank building and drove toward Jack Writman's house.

When Gloria pulled into the dirt drive of the farmhouse fifteen minutes later, she was relieved to see a few of Triloville's uniformed officers milling around outside. It appeared as if the FBI had not taken control of the scene just yet. She threw the car into park and hurried into the house with her badge on display. Of course, Triloville was no Indianapolis, and she knew most of the officers there.

Gloria walked around the living room and over the bodies pile up there. She had an experiment in mind and she knew she'd have to be quick if she wanted to try it. "Officer Elick," she called to the young black uniformed cop who was taking notes in the kitchen. "Come here, give me a hand."

"Sure, Detective," he said, pocketing his pad. "What are we doing?"

"Help me move this body outside and into the sunlight."

Now Elick looked unsure. "I'm sorry, wouldn't that be considered disturbing a crime scene."

"This isn't going to be our crime scene much longer. The FBI is taking all this over and soon we won't be able to get a single scrap of evidence. So please, and I'm speaking as your commanding officer, grab this guy's feet and help me get him out the front door."

Elick bent and grabbed the dead man's feet while Gloria took hold of his arms, and hefted him up off the floor. Though it was a struggle, they managed to get him over by the front door, then pushed through the screen door and out into the yard.

"Keep going," Gloria instructed. "We'll drop him once we hit the sunlight."

A little further out into the grass and Gloria dropped her end. The two of them then stood back from the body and watched as the skin began to turn ashy and then catch fire.

"Holy shit!" Elick exclaimed, jumping backward away from the flaming carcass. Before long, the dead man was no more than ash and embers, suit and all. A medium suit sized outline of soot was all that remained in the grass. Several officers on the scene stared on with shock on their face.

Gloria looked at the remains with her mind running over the details of this odd case thus far. Vampires and werewolves. Others would find it all hard to believe, but Detective Gloria Perez had grown up in a family that believed heavily in superstition, astrology, and the supernatural. Her Abuela had told her and her siblings countless stories about creatures who prowled by night and the stories had persisted well into adulthood. Something strange was going on here and, FBI or no FBI, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Tires over the gravel driveway alerted Gloria to the arrival of a car. She turned in time to see the sedan stop and the same two agents from the bank building step out. Agent Anderson caught sight of her and made a beeline to where she was standing.

"Detective Perez," he said, removing his sunglasses to reveal dark brown eyes. "I get the feeling you need a briefing on the definition of the FBI and what it means when we take a case from you. We are not working together. Your help is not required or requested for this case. It does not concern you any further and your continued presence at the crime scenes will be perceived as obstruction of a federal case. Then, we'll be forced to arrest you. Am I making myself clear at all?"

Gloria stared the man down a moment. There was something about him that seemed off. Something about the entire situation was off, in fact. And it had to do with more than the involvement of vampires and werewolves. More than the insistent secrecy of the FBI. "Loud and clear," the detective finally replied.

"Good. Now gather your men and get the fuck off my crime scene."

Gloria flinched at the order. Anger flared in the agent's eyes she was sure she wanted no part of. She pushed past him and ordered her men to clear out and leave all evidence behind.

Gloria sat behind the wheel of her car and realized she was shaking uncontrollably. The threat in Anderson's voice was clear and somehow it went deeper than a mere arrest. His mouth said one thing, but his eyes said something much worse.

Right about the time Benny and the others were escaping the werewolves and hours before the bodies in the Writeman Bank building were discovered, a stranger with no name (at least not one that anyone would remember) was running for his life down a steep hillside somewhere in Colorado. Though the full moon shone down from the sky, the stranger had a hard time seeing through the dense forest surrounding him. His feet kicked up hundreds of dead leaves, which slightly slowed his progress, but he knew he was near the bottom of the hill and he was hopeful for a clean getaway.

A large figure draped in shadows dropped down in front of him. The creature brought itself up to full height (which had to be close to nine feet) and glared down at the stranger with red, glowing eyes. The stranger made a move as if to run around the monster, but with a motion-blurred speed, the thing's arms shot out, revealing giant, bat-like wings.

"RAAAAAAH!" the creature screeched. The sound was like ten thousand fingernails running down a blackboard.

Terrified, the stranger screamed until his lungs were empty. The bat-thing grabbed the man's head in one hand and his left shoulder in the other, lowered its head, and sank its vampire teeth into his neck.

As the monster drank, its ears began to twitch as someone new, but not entirely unexpected entered the woods. The creature dropped his victim and turned toward the newcomer. The thing began to shrink, his bat-like wings becoming a flowing black cape, its monstrous facial features becoming the face of a handsome and wise middle-aged man. Soon the horrific monster looked more like a New York City power broker.

"Welcome, Odin Sway," the handsome man said with a kind smile. His accent was ancient and difficult to place. "I've been expecting you."

"I'm sorry to interrupt the hunt, my lord," Odin said, with a bow.

"Please, Odin, it is always a pleasure to see one of my brightest children."

"A situation has arisen, my lord. I find myself in need of your guidance and wisdom."

"Walk with me," the vampire lord motioned to his prey and Odin walked to the limp body and flung it over his shoulder with ease. "I am well aware of your current situation," the vampire lord continued, "and I am fully prepared to offer you sanctuary at my home."

"I am most grateful to you, my lord," Odin said as they walked back up the incline, "and I do apologize that things got so out of hand."

"Of course, Odin, I do not blame you. I only regret that your masters were killed, I would have liked to have been able to deal with them myself. You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you'd like. I have a meeting with Deppleo later and I will confer with him about the right solution to this problem. He is not pleased with the attention we're getting from the Writemans, and others who have discovered their handy work."

Odin Sway had never met Deppleo, but he couldn't help the shiver that rose up the spine he always got at the mere mention of his name. Not much was known about the vampire god, except the various deeds he was responsible for throughout history, and absolutely no one knows what he looks like. Only the twelve vampire lords were ever allowed to meet with him, and even then he was not seen. It was always rumored amongst the lesser vampires that he's able to control the very shadows around him, always keeping himself shrouded in darkness, his face hidden in a hooded cloak.

"The only thing that is still a mystery to me," the vampire lord continued, after a few minutes of silence, "is how they are able to track you so well?"

"It's the dead girl," Odin provided.

The vampire lord stopped walking and turned to look at his old friend. "What dead girl?"

"The one I…killed, she has returned from the dead. She has some sort of psychic connection to me; I've felt her in my mind."

"Interesting," the lord said thoughtfully. "They will eventually find their way here, and then we will see how determined they truly are."

Odin Sway had rarely been able to visit the hidden palace of the vampire lord he served. The vast, cavernous hall the entrance opened to had always inspired a child-like feeling of awe in him.

"You can drop him here. Please, follow me," the vampire lord said.

Odin did as he was told and dropped the limp body on the floor. He was led to a spiraling staircase that descended deep beneath the palace. Through a darkened hall, the torches along the walls blazed to life as they passed. The walls curved up to meet at a point above them. The architecture gave Odin the feeling of walking through the ribcage of some enormous creature. The hall opened up onto a large room that held several coffins.

"I suppose you can call these my guest rooms," the lord joked. "Take your pick. You will be safe here until we can bring this situation to a close."

"I am in your debt."

The lord placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then retreated back down the hall.

Odin opened the lid of the nearest coffin and slipped inside. With the lid closed, he was alone in the dark. It was comforting. Absolute. When he closed his eyes, the image of the girl's face swam into focus. Regardless of the outcome of the issue at hand, he will be haunted by her for all eternity.