The Scene (31 page)

             
“Maybe he doesn’t remember? Maybe he has amnesia?” Mike: good cop.

             
“Maybe he just needs a reminder? I’m sure we can jog his memory.” Dylan: bad cop. We all play our roles.

             
Mike stepped forward, tightening his grip around the trigger. Cyrus backed down the three puny steps in a single bound, hands still in the air.

             
“Get your ass back up these steps. I’d rather not shoot you in public.” The tranquility in Mike’s voice was a little chilling.

             
Cyrus, reluctantly, did as he was told. He looked at me then, eyes wide and fearful. I looked at Mike as fast as my brain allowed the process. I wasn’t planning on assisting Cyrus so his helpless infant look wasn’t doing him much good - as long as I kept looking at Mike. The two of them made their way into the living room, Mike walking backward the complete distance. Instinctively, I moved to the door and shut it swiftly.

             
“Something’s fuckie. Why the fuck are you here?” It’s hard to be a badass when you’re refusing eye contact, but I did my best.

             
“Better start talking Dracula before we test the immortal theory.” Mike had his bad boy voice out.

             
“I am
not
a fucking
vampire
!” F-bomb number three.

             
“Oh, no need to get fangry.” I chuckled loudly at my own quip. I glanced at Mike to see him restraining a smile. Point for team Dylan.

             
“So these bullets will kill you just fine then. Good to know.” Mike pulled his index finger tight over the trigger.

             
“Shit…yes…okay, okay. Stop. Please.” Cyrus tucked his chin to his chest squeezing his eyes tight. Flinching in terror? Hell yeah. “God, okay…I was sent here by Malcolm to check on his lover.”

             
“Not good enough.” Mike pulled the hammer back. Not really a necessity with a semi-auto but an amazing effect.

             
“Shit, let me finish. I was driving here when I got a call. The boy, Diego…” He paused; we nodded acknowledging we knew whom he was speaking of. “Dylan, he has Tatum.”

             
“What?” Mike and I spoke simultaneously.

             
“He has Tatum,” Cyrus repeated.

             
“I fucking heard you. What do you mean? Why?” I was just a tad flabbergasted.

             
“He told me to find you, explain to you the situation, and lure you to their location.”

             
“Lure me? With what? He has my best friend what else do you need? Like I’m going to leave her there?” I thought suddenly of the beheaded corpse from my dream. My stomach turned with disgust and unadulterated fear.

             
“Where? What have they done with her?” Mike pressed on with questions. My stomach tightened with the thought.

             
“She is alive, as far as I am aware. They’ve asked I take you to a place in Mission Junction.”

Fuck me. Seriously? I fucking hate Mission Junction
.

I wished then that I was holding the gun; I would
’ve shot him just for mentioning Mission Junction.

Yes, I do shoot the messenger. Often.

CHAPTER 30

              The three of us piled in Cyrus’ car and headed off to meet a vampire about a blonde girl. Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and began to dial.

             
“If you are calling the police, I was informed to urge you against that.” Cyrus said from his place behind the wheel.

             
“No cops?” I asked.

             
“No. I was told specifically to find Dylan, explain they have Tatum, and bring her to the club. I was also told if the police are alerted they will have no problem killing both of the girls just to spite me. In fact, I am not sure you were intended to be included in the package, detective, but I assume you will not allow Dylan to go alone. Honestly, I respect that, so I will not argue the fact.” His voice held tenacity.

“Why would they call you? No offense, but who the hell are you? I mean in reality, I don’t even know who the fuck you are. I looked into you Mr. Atossa and as far as our country is concerned
, you don’t exist.” Mike loses all tact in times of peril.

             
“I was wondering when you would discover this. As far as your country is concerned, my name is not Cyrus Atossa.” He paused for a long while. I sat in anticipation eagerly awaiting his response. “I was born under the name Sher Mahin. Obviously, this is not Americanized enough for the model world. Although I never changed it legally, I am known in this country as Cyrus Atossa for all intents and purposes.” I agreed Cyrus was a much better name for an underwear model. “As for Diego, I suppose I am the link between their realm and hers.” He was talking about me like I wasn’t there.

             
“Why not call Malcolm?” asked the detective, seemingly satisfied by the answer he had received.

             
“She and I have had a connection. Besides, Malcolm has no time for underlings.” His voice held spite.

“They took Tatum, why not take Dylan? I wasn’t with her all day. She was a sitting duck.”
Thanks Mike
.

             
“That would mean exposing themselves to the light of day. Those types tend to resist the notion of sunlight,” Cyrus said.

             
“You mean to tell me they didn’t nab me themselves for fear of a tan?”
Fucking ridiculous.

             
“It’s not that simple, darling Dylan. When it comes to their existence, there is more than meets the eye.”

             
“Like Transformers?” Mike burst out laughing at my little clever remark.

             
“Actually, that may be a good analogy. They appear to be harmless, different, strange or odd, but otherwise, nonthreatening. Then without warning, they are vicious, ravenous creatures of the night. Their insatiable lust for blood drives them to murder. There are some in the scene who appreciate life and choose to feed their desires with respect. Then there are others who feed under cover of darkness for fear of exposing their kind. But these particular vampires are of the insane variety. They care not who they harm or what they expose. Their actions will inevitably cause panic in the public, and thus, create danger for Malcolm and his people. It surprises me someone hasn’t put an end to their existence sooner,” Cyrus said, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

             
“One of Malcolm’s people?” I asked.

             
“His? It is possible. There are other covens in the area. In fact, Dylan encountered a sect in Fresno that was aware of this behavior far before it ever reached our city.”

             
“They
knew
Diego had killed those girls?” I was pissed at the idea those little bitches dicked me around.

             
“I believe so. If not, they had suspicions. When I retrieved Regina, she begged me to take Diego as well. His appearance and manner were not the type Malcolm would have accepted.  I left him there with his coven.”

             
“I was told he was booted out for being a nut job,” I said blankly.

             
“It is possible. There are many false truths in the scene. Every coven intends on protecting its own. The first rule is to not do harm, but the others fall to the wayside when it comes to protecting the sanctity of one’s haven.” Cyrus said this as though it were common knowledge.

             
“You act like you’re not a part of this shit too,” Mike said from the back seat.

             
“But I am not. I have a duty. A job. To assist Malcolm and portray my image in his publications. I do not dress in those ridiculous outfits. I do not believe myself immortal. And I absolutely do not drink blood.”

             
“Good to know,” I said.

             
The three of us spoke no more after that. I think we were all preparing for battle. Readying myself for the worst I prayed for strength and courage, wisdom and harmony. I asked God to keep us safe in combat and protect our eternal souls should we perish. Lastly, and most importantly, I prayed Tatum hadn’t already been gobbled up by Godforsaken vampires.

             
Amen.

CHAPTER 31

             
I knew where we were headed the second we turned onto Bakers Street. The train track runs along the side the street and is positioned directly across from a piece of shit club I had visited only once. Never did I imagine I would find myself back at Midnights Dream.

             
The three of us stood at the entrance. The oversized metal door was covered in graffiti and old gum, just as I’d remembered it. Cyrus took the lead and banged three times on the door. Secret code, I was assuming; very mature. Mike pulled his gun from the leather holster under his jacket. I fought the impulse to draw the gun I had hidden in my shoulder bag. Mike gets pissed when I carry my gun with me. Recently, he hadn’t seemed to mind. But I wasn’t taking my chances that he’d confiscate it if he knew, so I kept it hidden. Instead, I adjusted the messenger bag to hang strategically in front of my midsection and flipped the front flap open for easy access. If shit went down, at least I could protect myself. Fuck Mike. I’m not going down by vampire.

             
“Sure you got the secret knock right?” I don’t know why we didn’t just kick the mother fucker in, but I guessed I wasn’t the most knowledgeable person there.
              “Maybe they didn’t hear you?” Mike held his gun toward the ground.

             
“They heard me alright.” Cyrus stood confidently to the left of the entrance.

             
The metal door began to open. The sound of metal on metal produced a loud screeching sound that was murder to the eardrums. Opening toward us, the large space of the door forced Mike and I to move backward five or six steps. Blackness filled the space within. Logic told me there should be someone standing in the entrance holding the door open. My eyes proved to me that this situation was less than logical. Way less.

             
“Umm…okay.” I shoved my hand into my bag and caressed the cold steel of my gun.

             
Mike lifted his arms, aiming into the darkness. Cyrus moved smoothly through the open space into the abyss that lay ahead. He was only a few steps in before he was swallowed by shadows. I glanced at Mike who was standing steadfast, gun still aimed into nothingness. Shrugging to myself, I took a deep breath, and followed Cyrus through the open doorway.

             
“Dylan, what are you doing?” Mike’s voice held fear I’d never heard him express before.

             
“Are you coming or do I have to do this alone?” I called from the darkness, trying to be as cool and collected as the situation would allow. My only driving force was the fact that someone I loved was hidden somewhere in the old warehouse called Midnights Dream.

             
Once my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I was able to see the basic shape and outline of the objects that cluttered the room. Although there was no light, I had a good idea of where everything was located, including Cyrus. He had worked his way through the scads of tables and tall wooden stools to a door at the very back of it all. I could hear Mike’s soft footfalls at my rear; maybe four feet away. He had chosen to follow me into the unknown. The door we were approaching was smaller than the one at the entrance. Wooden and not covered in graffiti, it seemed nondescript in comparison. The vampires’ lair was just beyond that door. I found it hard to believe that this was their evil hide out. Honestly, I was disappointed. I had expected to one day burst into an underground crypt filled with shiny coffins and flaming sconces. Not the employee break room of a shitty nightclub in Mission Junction.

             
“This is it?” I asked moderately disappointed, hand still holding the butt of my gun I had concealed in my bag.

             
“Detective, would you like to take point?” Cyrus was turned with his back to the wooden door.

             
“And have you at my back? No thanks. You go ahead. Open the door, slowly.” The brave detective held his hands steady, shoulders squared off; ready for a gun fight.

             
Cyrus turned the knob slowly opening the door with little effort. No groaning or creaking emanated from the door as one would have expected of a vampires’ lair. To my surprise, however, the door opened to a set of stairs that led down into a basement. Thankfully, there was a small light coming from the end of the staircase. Stairs in the dark are never a good idea.

             
“Quietly down the stairs.” Mike’s voice was hardly a whisper.

             
Cyrus nodded once and began the decent down the concrete steps. Once he had cleared the first few, I turned to Mike one last time. His face was solemn. Gun still trained, I stayed to the left of the barrel, so as to not get myself shot in the thick of it. I was moving toward the head of the stairs when Mike grabbed my arm. I turned quickly to see him shaking his head in silence. He pointed at my chest then to the ground at my feet. Silently, he was telling me to keep my ass right where I was. I widened my eyes and dropped my shoulders arguing with him without words. He tightened his lips and flared his nostrils then repeated the same pointed motion. I crossed my arms like a child and nodded my head. Without another thought, he pushed past me through the doorway. Putting his back to the wall, he glided effortlessly down the stairwell. The minute I knew he was down the first set of steps, I moved to the opening and peered down.

             
A light was on in the room at the bottom of the stairs but it didn’t make a difference. The opening to the stairwell was small and only gave way to a small patch of cement flooring below. I watched as Mike made his way to the bottom. He took the last step slowly, aiming his gun chest high. He moved suddenly side to side scanning the area. I saw him nod his head before he turned to his left and disappeared from sight.

             
I wanted so badly to go down those stairs. It was unfair. I was left alone in the darkness to wait for the men in my life to play hero. She was
my
best friend dammit. I should be able to be there to help her. I continued to stand in the entrance like a good little girl and waiting it out. Leaning forward to hear better, I turned my head slightly in each direction trying to get a visual. There was no sound coming from the room below. My mind began to race with horrible thoughts.

             
What if the bad guys aren’t down there? What if they are? What if they’ve taken Mike and Cyrus? What if they’ve drained their blood and they’re lying down there dead? What if I’m all alone up here in the dark? What if this is a trap?

             
Then it hit me - a hard object over my head that is. I felt warm liquid flowing down my neck and down I went. When you hear the expression seeing stars, you never really grasp the concept until you’re bludgeoned over the head with something hard and thick. I was on all fours blinking through the white speckles that clouded my vision. My stomach turned violently with the threat of upheaving all its contents. I caught a glimpse of a pair of boot clad feet in my peripheral. As quickly as my body would allow, I scurried toward the stairs. Going for the stairs was the most cliché action I could have done at the time, but in my current state, I was only thinking of the fact that I had allies down those stairs. I tried to scream for Mike, but my voice was strangled with adrenaline.

Reaching the stairwell
, I made an attempt at standing. My legs wobbled violently under my weight and quickly gave way.  I scooted on my butt down the first two steps.  Breathing erratically, I tried to muster up the strength to stand completely. As I tried to pull myself up using the metal-pipe handrail, I risked a glance over my shoulder. Half standing, legs still partially bent and quivering rapidly, I looked behind me.

             
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My heart dropped three feet at the sight of my attacker. In that moment, three things happened. I screamed as loud as I possibly could. The heavy boot I had seen previously came crashing into the center of my chest with the force of a speeding Buick. As a result, I tumbled ass over face down the concrete flight of stairs.

Before I knew it
, someone had me by the ankles, dragging my big ass across the floor. The last thing I remembered was the wet slop noise my head made as it hit the cement floor at the end of my decent down the stairs. My eyes fluttered open then shut repeatedly before I finally willed them to remain open. I was on my back, legs lifted above my head by the hands of my enemy.  I began looking all around me trying to find Mike, or Cyrus, hell anyone at this point. To my left were stacks of five gallon buckets, the kind you could buy laundry detergent in.

Why would they need that much laundry soap?

I allowed my head to flop to the right. I was being dragged toward a larger area that opened up on the other side of the stairs. Here, I was able to see a large metal table. It looked like a metal slab they autopsy bodies on. A white sheet wrapped in rope covered a body shaped figure lying on the table. I flashed instantly on the blood soaked white cloth. I prayed that my dreams were not becoming reality. Fighting back tears and vomit, I tried to soak in my surroundings.

The room was dank and smelled of old socks. The walls were all cinderblock and a single bare bulb dangled from the ceiling.

I didn’t see Mike anywhere. My heart told me that wasn’t a good thing. I looked then to the villain at my feet. He loomed over me like a murderous human over a poor little spider. He was about to extinguish me like a bug.

His long black trench nearly
dragged on the floor as it flapped around his legs. The black jeans he wore were a step up from the cummerbund and velvet cape I had seen him in last. Trench, black jeans, combat boots, much more villainous than the damn cape.

“I will have to say you took me by surprise, Philippe.” My voice was weak from blood loss and overt expression of fear. “That was a very good show you put on the other night. I never even suspected you. In fact, you were so pathetic I assumed you’d sooner off yourself than have the balls to hurt another human being. What pushed you over the edge? When you hooked up with that psycho Diego?” It
’s very difficult to be a bad ass when you are bleeding from a head wound.

“Sweet naive Dylan.” He smiled at me sardonically and lowered my legs to the ground.

I could see only his feet and the back of his head as he turned from me. Philippe walked to the metal table and removed the ropes dramatically. I watched him intently. My eyes never left him. All the while, my mind was flipping through the Rolodex of every escape scenario I had ever seen. None of them really fit this situation. I was basically fucked. Philippe had removed all the ropes and began lifting the sheet from the bottom up. Slowly, a pair of bare feet and legs was exposed. I thought about Mike and Cyrus. I prayed they were safe and waiting to bust in and save the day. As the sheet lifted further, naked thighs and pelvis led into a midsection and bare chest.  It was then I remembered the gun in my bag. Without raising alarm, I adjusted my shoulders to make sure the bag was still slung around my body. The bag had flipped over my head at some point during my bogus journey. While the strap was still on my body, technically the bag, and more importantly the gun, was almost three feet away from my hands. I didn’t risk moving my eyes from the freak with the sheet to check on the status of the bag. I only assumed the contents were intact. Philippe’s eyes watched me intently as he lifted the remainder of the sheet exposing a soft face, slack with unconsciousness.

Thank God there’s a head
.

“I
am
Diego,” he revealed.