American Fangs

The taller of two darkly-clad men reached out to grab the stainless-steel chain holding the cemetery gate shut. With one powerful tug, he snapped it in two and the pair slipped inside. There was always a night watchman patrolling the grounds, but the shorter of the two men had done his homework, so knew when and where the guard took his lunch break. He’d figured they’d need about thirty minutes to complete their task, so efficiency was paramount.

They hadn’t walked far when they spotted the watchman sitting on a bench in front of the crypt mausoleum, right where they needed access. The tall man didn’t break stride as he quietly approached the watchman from behind.

Without any thought behind it, an arm encircled the watchman’s neck as two fangs pierced his throat yet left no telltale marks. The tall man smacked his lips before moving toward the crypt mausoleum, the shorter one following close behind.

Walking down a stone ramp that led to an old copper crypt door, the tall one pulled a golden key from his shirt pocket. He inserted it into the door’s keyhole and twisted it to the left. The door popped open and began receding on its own until the entrance was no longer blocked.

The pair entered and walked over to an ornate copper coffin. Immediately, the short man started tugging at its lid. It grudgingly gave way, revealing the body of what looked to be a tall middle-aged man in Victorian dress. No decomposition was present, so he looked exactly as he had on the day he was placed inside.

The tall man bent over the dead man’s torso. Taking hold of a wooden stake protruding from the dead man’s chest, he pulled it free. Meanwhile, the shorter man had taken a ring with a heart- shaped emerald from his pocket. He watched as the golden band automatically sized itself when he slid it on the man’s right ring finger. Its heart-shaped stone began to glow, first green then finally bright red before extinguishing after changing the emerald into a ruby. Slowly the man started to come back to life. He sat up hesitantly and looked directly at the two.

“I’m hungry,” he said as two fangs emerged over his lower lip, then retracted

Jimi Hendrix Kolve looked up to see an opulent sun spill its golden treasure into a vault of heavenly blue. No one knew the power he held. No one. But, they will, he thought. They most definitely will. Twelve hours and countless heartbeats later, he again watched the sun this time slowly drowning in a pool of darkness eventually replaced by a silver grin of moon and a reckless spill of stars.

The dawn of the following morning found him cruising down the Parkway East, headed for downtown Homestead, a Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania suburb. He rocker-switched down the driver’s side window of his gold 1999 Chevrolet Blazer LS, folded his arm, and poked his left elbow into the wind. The wind. Ah, yes, the wind. Now there was something he could count on. He extended his arm, right-angled his palm, and felt the rush of the air like a shot of morphine over pain.

He drove across the High-Level bridge and made a quick left on to Eighth Avenue. 24-7 Toy and Hobby was located a half-block down on the left-hand side of the street. Not seeing any cops, Jimi made a quick U-turn and parked in front. He hoped they’d gotten the twenty-two-silver nylon kite string sticks he’d ordered after the regular kite string had failed while flying his astral body the week before. He’d ordered two for himself as well as twenty extras, one each, for the neighborhood kids in training, plus ten spares.

Lady Luck was with him as the special order had come in. For some odd reason he had to have something tangible to hold on to when he released his astral body.

Homicide detective Lieutenant Michael LaFuria watched as Pittsburgh Police Captain Dalen Winters scrambled down the mud-plastered riverbank toward the crime scene.

“What do we have?” he said lurching to a stop on one knee before righting himself.

Mike looked up at his immediate superior, then down at his mud-splattered suit pants. He would have joked about it if not for the grim matter at hand.

“Looks like a ritual killing of some sort,” he said. “A twelve-year-old boy playing in the area found the body. His mother called 911. The victim is a nineteen-year-old white female, black hair, left eye green, right eye blue. Cause of death is yet to be determined. She’s been identified as Sarah Kay Marcell from a PA driver’s license taken from her purse. Time of death has been established as between five and six this morning. Right around sunrise, I figure.”

Mike ceased talking momentarily while he walked over to retrieve the dead girl’s purse from a forensics officer. He sorted through it as he made his way back. However, he didn’t see anything of interest and was about to zip it shut when his eyes locked on to something.

He pulled it out and recognized it as a Zippo Top Hat with Skull collectable cigarette lighter. It had been a favorite of his dad’s, an avid collector of such smoking memorabilia. He flicked it open wanting to see if it worked. Curiously he found the lighter empty, devoid of its inner workings.

He looked inside and saw something.

Turning the lighter upside down, he tapped it against a supinate left palm. Out slid a necklace amulet on a gold chain. It carried a green, heart-shaped emerald. After making sure it wouldn’t be seen, he quickly stuffed the amulet back in the Zippo and into the right-hand pocket of his jeans.

“Tell you what,” Dalen said. “The first thing I’m going to do is to block the victim’s name from being released. Glancing over at a growing mob of reporters he added, “That is if it’s not too late already. Anything else to go on?”

“Well, yes and no. No sexual assault. And robbery’s been ruled out as a motive.” He pulled a thick rubber-banded roll of $100 bills from the purse and held it up for his superior to see.

“There’s two grand here,” he said. An awful lot of cash for someone to be carrying. Other than that, we don’t have much. Except for this.” He pulled a balled-up piece of purple cloth from the left-hand pocket of his suit coat, let it unfurl, and showed it to Dalen who eyed it intently. It was about two feet wide by four feet long and bore a white cross with a red rose at its center.

“Looks like it might have come out of a church,” he offered.

“Right,” Mike confirmed. “It’s an altar cloth like the kind used in a church. I can’t say what denomination; if any. I found it stretched out on the ground neat as you please under the victim’s shoulder blades. Seemingly the ground acted as an altar of sorts. Strange, isn’t it?”

Still examining the cloth, the Captain’s swarthy face tightened.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s strange enough all right.” He scratched at the mole on his left cheek.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean not a single thing. No prints, no trace evidence at all. Someone’s very good at cleaning up after himself.”

“Or, herself,” the Captain added.

“Get in touch with her family?”

“She has none.”

“No one?”

“It’s like she grew out of the ground this morning and started walking around.”

“Her Address?”

“No record of her ever having had one, other than the fake one on her driver’s license. No birth certificate, no baptismal record, no record of any bills. She’s got the cleanest slate I’ve ever seen.”

“That it then?”

“Pretty much. We’ll see what the autopsy uncovers.”

“Okay. Wrap it up.”

Mike nodded.

Seven hours later, as he sat in his car creeping out of the Parkway East toward home, the face of the dead girl haunted him. Then, solely as a distraction, he turned on the radio and settled back for the hour-long, ten-mile drive home among rush- hour traffic.