Death Angel

Gordon Alastair sniffed the air. The smells of the night came to him- crisp air, the refuse of the ghetto, humans quaking in fear, and strongest of all was the decaying flesh of the slaughter laid out before him.

“He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t an elder. There’s a touch of age in him, and I’d say it almost rivals yours.”

“So, it was a sign of defiance from someone close to me,” Govi growled. He stared at Alastair. “How long do you think it will take to apprehend him?”

“There is no physical evidence and no eyewitnesses, because everyone that could be of help is either dead or hid when the screams began.” Alastair could hear the whispers of the mortals in their shacks. He couldn’t tell if they were more unsettled over the mass murder which had taken place or because there were now vampyres nosing around every corner of the settlement.

The bodies were spread out before him. They were the bodies of the old and crippled; they were the undesirables no longer allowed in the general population. “Are you sure you even want me to find this guy? These were the dregs. They had no value.”

“They were mine,“ Govi flared. “The fiend poached on my land. In my city. I want him found.”

“I don’t have much to go on, but that scent is one of a kind. If he’s in the city, I’ll find him for you.”

“Alright.” Govi paused as he turned to leave. Alastair could see his eyes glint in the light. “Make sure you bring him in alive.”

Alastair watched as Govi walked towards the gate. There was a flurry of movement around him as every one tried to look busy. Alastair felt unease settle over him; he wasn’t positive he’d be able to find a criminal that cleared out a whole pen of humans by himself without being detected.

Alastair knelt down to examine the remains before him. There was no point in waiting; he didn’t want the trail to grow cold. A finger drifted to his temple as his eyes squinted in thought.

The victims were scattered around the compound. They were in different states of decay; no one had discovered anything amiss until that night, and the mortals had been too wary to move them. Most of Alastair’s contemporaries never would have dreamt of making a meal of the dregs. Not when there were desirables they could choose from walking the streets.

Each body had been gently lowered to the ground after perishing. The punctures were neat, which showed that the perpetrator hadn’t been starving. There was also something strange about the scent on the bodies; the suspect was lacking the taint of the city. Alastair wondered if a country bumpkin had stumbled into the compound and thought himself lucky to have found a steady supply of food.

An average kid fresh out of the country wouldn’t have made it through the front gate, so that idea didn’t fit. There was also the smell of age that hung over the scene. Alastair leaned in to scrutinize the corpse in front of him. His hand shot out for a quick touch.

The corpse was cold and dry. Folds of skin could be pinched together; the body had been drained out in the open. It had never been moved. Whoever the perpetrator was, he was confident.

The sounds of whispering came back to Alastair’s ears. One woman’s voice stood out; she was speculating over whether or not they’d find the murderer. He strained to hear all of what she was saying. He slowly stood up and crept next to the shack the voice was issuing from.

“…heard it all,” she was saying. “Clara had the nerve to ask him who he was.”

“What did he say?” Another woman asked.

“He said he was a friend of the sick. Then, I heard her scream. Its not usual. No one’s supposed to give a lick about us. I don’t understand it.”

“Well, I got a ring this morning from my cousin in Northstar. He said some vamp’s made himself comfy over there, too. Maybe they’ve changed their minds about us. You never know.”

Alastair tuned the hushed voices out. He sprang away from the wall and strode towards the front gate. This didn’t go unnoticed by one of his contemporaries.

“What did you find?” Alastair saw Grigby running towards him. He was the closest thing Alastair had to a partner.

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a lead. Pull the car around; let’s leave this hole to the trash.” Alastair nodded towards the few inhabited shacks.

With a look of relief, Grigby rushed past Alastair through the front gate. Alastair followed close behind, yet halted as soon as he was outside the brick and wire enclosure. The clean air of the outer world was refreshing when compared with the death, decay, and human waste of the settlement. Alastair had never witnessed such filth.

Alastair slid into the car as soon as it drove near. The pristine interior made him wish for his apartment and a hot shower. “They’re animals,” he grumbled. “No wonder Govi put them there. How can anyone live like that?”

Grigby shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know. We were chosen.” He pulled a lever in the spacey confines of the vehicle, which levitated eight feet above ground. “Where are we headed?” He asked as he shifted into drive.

“The Northstar camp,” Alastair answered.

“What’s over there? How can a bunch of old readers help?”

“It’s a hunch. I think our guy is going to be there soon for another snack.”

Alastair watched the traffic whiz underneath as they neared Northstar. The purple lights of the police vehicle let the motorists know they were there.

The highway never failed to overwhelm Alastair. The smell of gas fumes and rage excited him, and the sounds of motors and horns jarred his nerves. He could almost taste the racing blood of the drivers, salty with a gamy, feral quality. The added adrenaline helped prepare him for what he’d find at Northstar.

It wasn’t long before the camp was in view. Northstar was reserved for the elderly and sick free mortals. There was no razor wire on the wall, and pleasant trees lined the road that led to the small guard hut. This was the home for intellectuals and other strange people who had declined the gift of immortality. Most were now living out their old age in small cottages. Alastair quaked at the rage Govi would display if he suspected his pets were now prey.

After a quick flash of his badge, Alastair and Grigby were in the settlement. Cozy houses were lined up with identical, well-trimmed yards. Alastair strode up to the first house on the left, his badge still in hand.

A few staccato knocks on the front door brought a distinguished looking gentlemen outside. Alastair plastered an easy smile to his face. “Sir, this is an investigation. Could I take some of your time to ask you a few questions?”

“Of course.” The man smiled. “I’m surprised Govi didn’t send you sooner. The park has been abuzz with stories of our death angel for months now.”

Grigby took a step back. “Death angel?”

“You mean you didn’t know?” The old man chuckled. “That scamp.”

“You aren’t afraid of what he can do to you? That 'scamp' murdered over fifty of the dregs in Govi’s settlement. How do you know you won’t be next?”

The old man’s mouth turned down in disgust. “Good riddance to them. Is this what this is all about? Govi’s worried about a few of them?”

“They were all laid out from the slaughter. None of them had a chance. The other members of the camp could hear them scream into the night.” Alastair gazed steadily at the gentleman.

“They’re no better than animals,” the man replied. Then, he smiled. “I see. They’re Govi’s animals. I bet you’ve never had to sully yourself with a case like this before.”

Alastair cleared his throat. He could feel Grigby shifting from foot to foot behind him. “Whether you believe it or not, this ‘angel’ is a menace and a criminal. Do you have any information pertaining to his current location?”

“I believe I saw him walking towards the clubhouse around seven.”

There was a pause before Alastair could think to move. “Call for backup!” Alastair cried as he sprinted down the street to the one building that was large enough to hold more than five people. He tried to calm himself; he needed all his wits.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on in there,” the old man called after him.

Alastair slammed into the door as he burst through, entering a well lit room. An elderly circle surrounded a central figure: Alastair’s suspect. The suspect’s hair was a scraggle falling just under his chin; his clothes were rumpled, but he seemed to command the room. The mortals barely glanced at Alastair’s intrusion.

“My hip is paining me,” an elderly woman with blue hair remarked. “It makes it hard to move.”

“Well, Nora, that’s hardly a reason to give up.” The suspect, caught perpetually somewhere between adolescence and manhood looked to him. ”Can I help you?”

“You’re under arrest. I’ve called for backup, so don’t try to resist. You’re coming with me.” Alastair took a few strides towards the group.

“What have I done?” An audible hiss began in the small crowd of the suspect's elderly followers, but a calm look from him quelled them.

“It is believed that you have been poaching on another vampyre’s land.”

The suspect’s face darkened. “And exactly what has been my quarry? The sick and dying? I’ve been providing a service for the poor souls caught in this world.”

“We have cause to believe that you nearly wiped a camp for the impaired entirely clean of its human population. The humans in question belonged to Govi, the founder of this city. Surely, you’ve heard of him.” Alastair smirked as he waited for this news to sink in.

The suspects face was unreadable. “I have heard of him. I’d like to speak to him if you don’t mind arranging a meeting.”

Alastair’s shoulders visibly loosened. This was going to be easier than he originally thought.

1758 words