The Murderer

Walter Nictwalk walked into the police station at eleven forty-seven on a Thursday night and waited patiently for someone to notice the blood on his shirt.

It took longer than he expected.

The station was quiet at that hour, although never entirely still. A telephone rang somewhere beyond the front desk. A printer worked steadily in an adjoining office. Two uniformed officers stood beside a bulletin board discussing where they intended to eat when their shift ended. Neither paid much attention to the tall man who had entered from the cold and now stood beneath the fluorescent lights with his hands folded in front of him.

Walter waited.

He had become very good at waiting.

Sergeant James Peters finally looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk.

“You need something?”

“Yes.”

Peters waited for the rest.

Walter removed his dark overcoat and folded it across one arm.

The front of his white shirt was stained dark red from collar to waist.

The sergeant’s expression changed.

Walter placed the coat carefully on the counter.

“I would like to report a murder.”

Peters pushed his chair back.

The two officers near the bulletin board stopped talking.

“All right,” Peters said. “Whose?”

“A man named Oliver Jennings.”

“You witnessed this?”

“No.”

Peters looked at the blood again.

Walter understood what the sergeant was thinking. He had watched human beings arrive at conclusions for a very long time. Some reached them faster than others.

Peters reached his conclusion quickly.

“Whose blood is that?”

“Mr. Jennings’s.”

One of the officers moved toward Walter.

Peters raised a hand.

“How did his blood get on your shirt?”

“I killed him.”

Nobody moved for several seconds.

Walter glanced at the clock mounted behind the desk.

Eleven forty-nine.

He had expected the process to move faster.

“Sir,” Peters said, “I need you to keep your hands where I can see them.”

“They have been there since I entered.”

“Keep them there.”

“Certainly.”

The officer approached.

Walter did not resist when the man took his right wrist. He did not resist when his arm was pulled behind him. The handcuffs closed tightly enough to pinch the skin.

“Other hand.”

Walter gave it to him.

Peters came around the desk.

“Do you have any weapons?”

“No.”

“Anything in your pockets that can stick me?”

“No.”

“Identification?”

“Inside pocket of the coat.”

Peters retrieved an old leather wallet.

He opened it.

“Walter Nictwalk.”

“Yes.”

Peters studied the driver’s license.

“You live on Halston?”

“For the moment.”

“What does that mean?”

“I do not expect to return home.”

Peters looked at him.

Walter offered nothing further.

The sergeant handed the wallet to the other officer.

“Get Halligan.”

Walter was taken through a locked door, searched, photographed, and placed in an interview room that smelled of disinfectant and old coffee. The room contained a metal table bolted to the floor and three chairs. There was a camera in one corner and a large rectangular mirror on the wall.

Walter sat.

His handcuffs were secured to a steel ring on the table.

He looked toward the mirror.

“I assume you can hear me.”

Nobody answered.

“I would prefer that we begin.”

The door opened twelve minutes later.

Detective Gertie Halligan entered carrying a folder and a paper cup.

Walter immediately liked her.

That did not happen often.

She was dressed plainly, and she did not waste time attempting to intimidate him. She sat across from him, placed the folder on the table, took a drink of coffee, and studied his face.

“Walter Nictwalk.”

“Yes.”

“You walked in here and told Sergeant Peters you murdered Oliver Jennings.”

“Yes.”

“Who is Oliver Jennings?”

“A man I met this evening.”

“Friend?”

“No.”

“Business associate?”

“No.”

“Relative?”

“No.”

“Then how did you meet him?”

“He was walking home.”

Gertie opened the folder.

“You know where he lives?”

“No.”

“You know what he does?”

“No.”

“You know whether he’s married?”

“No.”

“Children?”

“I do not know.”

She stopped.

“You murdered a man you knew nothing about.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Walter considered how best to answer.

There was no best way.

“I was hungry.”

Gertie looked at him for several seconds.

“You killed him for food?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do, eat him?”

“In part.”

The detective lowered her coffee.

Walter could hear Sergeant Peters moving behind the mirror. He could also hear the officer beside him adjust his stance.

Gertie leaned forward.

“Start at the beginning.”

“I saw Mr. Jennings on Ashbury Street at approximately ten thirty. He turned onto Mercer and continued south. I followed him for three blocks.”

“Why him?”

“There was no particular reason.”

“You just picked him.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“It bothers me considerably.”

“You don’t look bothered.”

“I have had a great deal of practice hiding things.”

Gertie sat back.

“Where did you take him?”

“I did not take him anywhere. He entered the alley behind the old Hanover building. I followed.”

“And then?”

“I spoke to him.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him for the time.”

Gertie’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“I wanted him to turn around.”

Walter watched her understand.

“What happened next?”

“He told me it was ten forty-one. I thanked him. I seized him before he could leave.”

“How?”

“By the shoulders.”

“Then?”

“I bit him.”

Gertie stared at him.

Walter remained still.

“You bit him.”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“The left side of the neck.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“He struggled.”

“I imagine he did.”

“He struck me several times. He attempted to call for help. I held him until he became unconscious.”

Gertie’s voice had changed. There was less fatigue in it now.

“And then?”

“I continued drinking.”

“Drinking what?”

“His blood.”

There was silence in the room.

Gertie rubbed one thumb slowly against the side of her coffee cup.

“You drank his blood.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“To kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“I checked for a pulse. There was none. I remained with him for approximately five minutes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to be certain.”

“That he was dead?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve done this before.”

Walter looked directly at her.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I cannot give you an accurate number.”

Gertie’s expression hardened.

“Try.”

“I would rather not.”

“You walked into my station and confessed to murder.”

“I confessed to one murder.”

“You just told me there are others.”

“There are.”

“How many?”

“I stopped counting a long time ago.”

Gertie pushed away from the table.

Walter heard movement behind the mirror again.

She stood.

“Where’s Jennings?”

“Behind the Hanover building. There is a service alley on the eastern side. Approximately thirty yards from Mercer. You will find a green commercial waste container. Mr. Jennings is behind it.”

“You leave anything with him?”

“His wallet remains in his right trouser pocket. His telephone is in his coat.”

“You take anything?”

“No.”

Gertie went to the door.

“Detective.”

She stopped.

“I am telling you the truth.”

“I’ll decide that.”

“That seems reasonable.”

She left.

Walter waited.

At twelve thirty-eight, the door opened again.

Gertie entered with Sergeant Peters.

Neither sat.

They had found Oliver Jennings.

Walter knew before either spoke.

Peters placed both hands on the table.

“You want to explain something to me?”

“I have been explaining things for almost an hour.”

“Patty Ambers found the body exactly where you said it would be.”

Walter nodded.

“Then Officer Ambers has saved us some time.”

Peters looked ready to reach across the table.

Gertie stopped him with a glance.

“His wallet says Oliver Jennings,” she said.

“Yes.”

“His throat is torn open.”

“Yes.”

“There isn’t much blood at the scene.”

“No.”

“So where is it?”

Walter looked down at his stained shirt.

Gertie followed his eyes.

“No,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You expect me to believe you drank enough blood to kill a grown man?”

“I do not require you to believe anything.”

“What are you?”

There it was.

Walter had wondered how long it would take.

He looked toward the mirror, then back to her.

“A vampire.”

Peters released a short breath through his nose.

Gertie did not laugh.

Walter appreciated that.

“You’re telling me you’re a vampire.”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“One hundred and eighty-seven.”

Peters looked at Gertie.

“He needs a hospital.”

“No,” Walter said.

Peters turned toward him.

“You don’t get a vote.”

“I am not insane.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I came here voluntarily.”

“After murdering somebody.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Walter’s attention returned to Gertie.

She was watching him carefully now.

That was the question he had been waiting for.

“I am tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of being hungry.”

His answer removed the remaining irritation from her face.

Walter continued.

“I have tried animals. I have tried stolen medical blood. I have gone weeks without feeding. Once I managed nearly three months. None of it lasts. Eventually there is a person in front of me, and eventually I decide that my continued existence is worth more than theirs.”

He looked at the blood dried beneath his fingernails.

“Tonight I decided it was not.”

Gertie slowly sat down.

“Oliver Jennings was your last victim.”

“My last meal.”

Peters shifted beside her.

“You’re confessing because you want prison?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Morning.”

Gertie frowned.

Walter looked toward the narrow window in the interview-room door.

“There is one request I would like entered into whatever record you are keeping.”

“What?”

“Do not move me somewhere without windows.”

Gertie understood first.

“You think sunlight will kill you.”

“I know it will.”

“And you expect us to let that happen?”

“I expect nothing from you, Detective Halligan. I have surrendered myself to your custody. What you do with me is now your decision.”

Gertie’s telephone rang.

She answered.

“Halligan.”

Walter listened to the voice on the other end.

Human hearing would not have caught the words.

His did.

Patty Ambers was speaking.

The medical examiner had arrived.

Dr. Carl Finnigan had examined Oliver Jennings at the scene and wanted the body transported immediately. The wounds were unusual. Blood loss was extensive. There were additional details he wanted to discuss in person.

Gertie ended the call.

Walter looked at the clock.

One seventeen.

Sunrise was several hours away.

For the first time in many years, the thought comforted him.

By six thirty, Walter had been transferred to a holding cell at the rear of the station. Someone had given him a gray blanket. He folded it neatly and placed it beside him.

At seven fifty-eight, Sergeant Peters checked on him.

“You still with us, Dracula?”

Walter looked up.

“Unfortunately.”

Peters almost smiled.

At eight twelve, Gertie Halligan arrived carrying fresh coffee and a report from Dr. Carl Finnigan.

Oliver Jennings was dead.

There was no uncertainty about it.

At eight thirteen, the front doors of the police station opened.

A man entered and approached the desk.

James Peters looked up.

The man was pale and neatly dressed. There was no blood on him. There were no wounds on his throat.

“Can I help you?” Peters asked.

“Yes.”

The man placed his driver’s license on the desk.

“My name is Oliver Jennings.”

Peters stopped moving.

Oliver looked toward the secured hallway beyond the desk.

“I believe you’re holding the man who tried to murder me last night.”

Sergeant James Peters looked at the driver’s license, then at the man standing on the other side of his desk.

The photograph matched.

Oliver Jennings stood five feet ten inches tall, weighed perhaps one hundred and seventy pounds, and had thinning brown hair combed neatly away from his forehead. His face was narrow. His nose had been broken at some point and had healed slightly crooked. A small scar crossed the point of his chin.

Peters had seen all of those details before.

He had seen them in the photographs Patty Ambers brought back from the alley.

The dead man in those photographs had the same face.

“Wait here,” Peters said.

“I would prefer to speak with whoever is handling my case.”

“You’ll wait here.”

Oliver smiled.

“Of course.”

Peters picked up the telephone.

Gertie Halligan was already coming through the secured door.

She carried a paper cup in one hand and Carl Finnigan’s preliminary report in the other. She took three steps into the lobby before noticing the man at the desk.

She stopped.

Coffee spilled over the rim of her cup and ran across her fingers.

She did not notice.

Oliver turned toward her.

“Detective Halligan?”

Gertie looked at Peters.

Peters said nothing.

He did not need to.

Gertie approached slowly.

“Who are you?”

“Oliver Jennings.”

“No.”

The man’s expression showed mild confusion.

“I assure you that I am.”

Gertie put her coffee down.

She opened the report.

There was a photograph clipped inside.

She looked at it.

Then she looked at Oliver.

The face was identical.

Gertie closed the folder.

“Patty.”

Officer Patty Ambers was filling out the last of her reports at a desk near the far wall.

She looked up.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Patty pushed her chair back and crossed the room.

She saw Oliver.

Her pace slowed.

Gertie watched the color leave her face.

“No.”

Oliver looked from one woman to the other.

“I seem to be getting that response quite often.”

Patty stopped several feet away.

“I saw you.”

Oliver frowned.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I saw you last night.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You weren’t in much condition to remember anything.”

Gertie stepped between them.

“Mr. Jennings, come with me.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“You came here because you wanted to talk to the detective handling your case.”

“Yes.”

“That’s me.”

Oliver considered this and nodded.

“Fair enough.”

Gertie led him toward an interview room.

Patty caught her arm before she reached the door.

“I checked him myself.”

“I know.”

“He was dead.”

“I know.”

“No, Gertie. I mean dead. Cold. No pulse. Nothing.”

Gertie looked through the small glass panel in the interview-room door.

Oliver had already taken a seat.

“I know.”

Patty lowered her voice.

“Then what is that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Gertie entered the room.

Oliver sat comfortably with his hands resting on the table.

There was nothing visibly threatening about him.

That bothered her more than it should have.

She sat opposite him.

“Tell me what happened last night.”

Oliver rubbed the side of his neck.

“A man attacked me.”

“Where?”

“Behind the Hanover building.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Walking home.”

“Why use the alley?”

“It saves me nearly ten minutes.”

“Who attacked you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“What did he look like?”

Oliver described Walter Nictwalk.

The description was accurate.

“What happened?”

“He asked me for the time. I checked my watch. When I looked up, he grabbed me.”

“And?”

Oliver hesitated.

“He bit me.”

“Where?”

“My neck.”

“Show me.”

Oliver’s hand stopped.

Gertie waited.

He lowered his hand.

There was nothing on his neck.

No punctures.

No bruising.

No healing wound.

Nothing.

“That’s unusual,” Gertie said.

“What is?”

“You don’t have a mark.”

“He didn’t get very far.”

“You just said he bit you.”

“He did.”

“Hard enough to break the skin?”

“Yes.”

“Then where’s the wound?”

Oliver smiled.

“I heal quickly.”

Gertie did not smile back.

“What happened after he bit you?”

“I fought him.”

“And then?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember escaping?”

“No.”

“You don’t remember leaving the alley?”

“No.”

“Going home?”

“No.”

“Where did you wake up?”

Oliver looked at her.

“At home.”

“How did you get there?”

“I assume I walked.”

“You walked home unconscious?”

“I told you I don’t remember.”

Gertie folded her hands on the table.

“What did you do when you woke up?”

“I cleaned myself up.”

“From what?”

“There was blood on my clothes.”

“Where are those clothes?”

“At home.”

“We’ll need them.”

“Certainly.”

“Then what?”

“I came here.”

“How did you know your attacker had been arrested?”

Oliver did not answer immediately.

Gertie waited.

“I didn’t.”

“You just told Sergeant Peters that you believed we were holding the man who attacked you.”

“I assumed you might be.”

“Why?”

“Because I intended to report the attack.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Oliver’s pleasant expression remained.

“I suppose I was hopeful.”

Gertie stood.

“Stay here.”

“Am I free to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Then I may.”

“You may.”

She reached the door.

“Detective?”

Gertie turned.

“I would like to see him.”

“Who?”

“The man who attacked me.”

“No.”

Oliver’s smile widened slightly.

“That is unfortunate.”

Gertie left.

Patty was waiting outside.

“Well?”

“He says Walter attacked him.”

“He’s lying.”

“About which part?”

“Being alive would be a good place to start.”

Gertie headed toward the holding cells.

“Keep him in that room.”

“You just told him he could leave.”

“Then make staying attractive.”

“How?”

“You’re a police officer. Be charming.”

Patty looked toward the interview room.

“I should have joined the fire department.”

Walter Nictwalk was sitting on the bench inside his cell when Gertie arrived.

He had positioned himself away from the narrow window.

Morning light had begun to reach the opposite wall.

Walter watched it carefully.

Gertie stopped outside the bars.

“We have a problem.”

“I murdered someone. I assumed that qualified.”

“Oliver Jennings is here.”

Walter said nothing.

Gertie watched his face.

For the first time since meeting him, she saw something change.

Walter stood.

“What did you say?”

“Oliver Jennings walked through the front door about fifteen minutes ago.”

Walter came closer to the bars.

“That is impossible.”

“I’m having a difficult morning with that word.”

“You found his body.”

“Yes.”

“You confirmed his identity.”

“Yes.”

“He was dead.”

“Yes.”

“Then the person in this building is not Oliver Jennings.”

“He looks like him.”

Walter’s attention shifted toward the hallway behind her.

“How did he enter?”

“The front door.”

“Did someone open it for him?”

“It opens automatically.”

Walter considered that.

Gertie noticed his hands.

They were gripping the bars.

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes.”

That answer unsettled her.

Walter had confessed to murder without hesitation. He had discussed drinking a man’s blood with less emotion than Peters used when complaining about paperwork.

Now his knuckles were white against the steel.

“Of what?”

“I do not know.”

“You’ve lived a hundred and eighty-seven years.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never seen anything like this?”

“I have seen many things I would prefer not to see again. I have never seen a dead man walk into a police station the morning after I drained him.”

“You’re certain Jennings was dead?”

Walter released the bars.

“I heard his heart stop.”

Gertie said nothing.

“I felt it stop,” Walter continued. “I remained beside him afterward because I wanted certainty. There was no breathing. There was no heartbeat. There was almost no blood remaining in his body.”

“Almost?”

“A human body cannot be completely emptied through feeding. The heart eventually stops providing pressure.”

Gertie disliked how calmly he knew that.

Walter noticed.

“You asked.”

“I did.”

“Then do not punish the answer for being unpleasant.”

“I’m still deciding what to punish you for.”

“Murder would be sufficient.”

Gertie’s telephone vibrated.

Carl Finnigan.

She answered.

“Tell me something useful, Carl.”

“You sound cheerful.”

“I’m standing in a jail talking to a vampire.”

There was a pause.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I assume this concerns Jennings.”

“Yes.”

“I finished the preliminary examination.”

“And?”

“Your suspect wasn’t exaggerating.”

Gertie looked at Walter.

“How much blood?”

“Enough that I have no reasonable explanation for the volume remaining at the scene.”

“Cause of death?”

“Exsanguination. There is trauma to the neck consistent with an animal bite, although I have never seen an animal leave marks quite like these.”

“Time?”

“Approximately ten forty-five last night, give or take.”

Gertie looked at the clock.

“Carl, I need you to do something.”

“What?”

“Walk over to Jennings.”

Silence.

“The corpse?”

“Yes, Carl. The corpse.”

“What exactly are you expecting him to do?”

“Humor me.”

She heard movement through the telephone.

A door opened.

Metal wheels rolled.

Finnigan muttered something about homicide detectives eventually destroying his respect for medicine.

Then he stopped.

“I am standing beside him.”

“Check the identification band.”

“I put it on him myself.”

“Check it.”

Another pause.

“Oliver Jennings.”

“Look at his face.”

“I’ve been looking at his face for two hours.”

“Carl.”

“All right. Yes. It is Oliver Jennings.”

“Are you certain he’s dead?”

Finnigan became quiet.

“Gertie, what is going on?”

“Answer me.”

“He is dead.”

“Certain?”

“His heart is on a scale.”

Gertie closed her eyes.

“That qualifies.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because Oliver Jennings is sitting in Interview Two.”

Nothing came through the telephone.

Then Carl Finnigan said, very carefully, “I would like you to repeat that.”

“Oliver Jennings walked into the station this morning.”

Walter stepped closer.

“Ask him about the blood.”

Gertie looked at him.

“What?”

“The remaining blood. Ask Dr. Finnigan if there is anything unusual about it.”

Gertie relayed the question.

Finnigan sighed.

“I haven’t run toxicology yet.”

“Run everything.”

“I always do.”

“Run it faster.”

She disconnected.

Walter had become very still.

“What is it?” Gertie asked.

“Something was wrong last night.”

“With Oliver?”

“With his blood.”

“You didn’t mention that.”

“I did not understand it.”

“Try.”

Walter looked toward the growing patch of sunlight on the wall.

“I have fed for a very long time, Detective Halligan. Blood differs from person to person. Illness changes it. Medication changes it. Alcohol changes it.”

“And Oliver?”

“He tasted dead.”

“He was dying.”

“No.”

Walter looked directly at her.

“He tasted dead before I killed him.”

A sound came from the far end of the corridor.

Footsteps.

Slow and deliberate.

Walter turned his head.

Gertie looked back.

Nobody was there.

Walter stepped away from the bars.

“Where is he?”

“Interview Two.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes.”

“Keep him there.”

“Why?”

“I do not know yet.”

“That answer isn’t helping.”

“It is the only honest one I have.”

Gertie’s radio crackled.

Patty’s voice came through.

“Gertie.”

She lifted it.

“Go ahead.”

“You need to come up here.”

“What happened?”

Another pause.

“He’s gone.”

Gertie looked at Walter.

“Who?”

“Jennings. I turned around for maybe ten seconds. The room is empty.”

Gertie swore and started toward the door.

Walter grabbed the bars.

“Detective.”

She stopped.

“Do not go looking for him alone.”

“I have a station full of cops.”

“That did not prevent him from disappearing.”

Gertie stared at him.

Then she left.

Walter listened.

Doors opened throughout the station. Officers called to one another. Peters ordered the exits covered. Patty checked the interview rooms and bathrooms. Someone began reviewing the lobby camera.

Walter remained at the bars.

He could hear all of them.

He could hear their breathing.

Their footsteps.

Their hearts.

Then Walter heard another heartbeat.

It was very close.

He slowly turned.

The narrow observation window in the cell door was behind him.

A face filled it.

Oliver Jennings stood on the other side.

He smiled at Walter through the glass.

Walter did not move.

Oliver lifted one finger to his lips.

Then every light in the holding corridor went out.

Walter Nictwalk heard the lock turn before the emergency lights came on.

The holding corridor filled with dull red light.

Oliver Jennings was gone from the observation window.

Walter crossed the cell in two steps and seized the door. He pulled once. The lock held.

“Halligan.”

His voice carried down the corridor.

No answer came.

Walter listened.

The station had changed.

Telephones continued ringing. An alarm sounded somewhere near the front entrance. Several officers were talking at once. Sergeant James Peters was ordering someone to check the electrical panel.

Walter heard Patty Ambers farther away.

He heard Gertie.

Then he heard a man scream.

The scream ended abruptly.

Walter closed his eyes and listened harder.

Footsteps ran across tile.

“Officer down!”

Peters.

Walter gripped the bars.

“Halligan!”

This time she answered.

“I hear you.”

Gertie appeared at the end of the corridor with her pistol drawn. Patty followed close behind her.

“What happened?” Gertie asked.

“He was here.”

“Jennings?”

“At my door.”

Patty looked through the observation window.

“There isn’t anybody back here.”

“There is now.”

Gertie approached the cell.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Walter pointed toward the floor.

“Listen.”

Gertie did.

Nothing.

Patty frowned.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“I do.”

Walter followed the sound with his eyes.

“He is beneath us.”

Patty looked down.

“The basement?”

“Yes.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I can hear him walking.”

Gertie glanced toward the stairwell door.

“What’s beneath this section?”

“Evidence storage,” Patty said. “Maintenance. Electrical. Old records.”

Walter looked at Gertie.

“Release me.”

“No.”

“Then remain here and wait for him to choose someone else.”

“You confessed to murder six hours ago.”

“I remember.”

“You’re not getting released because another murderer wandered into the building.”

“That is not Oliver Jennings.”

“We’ve established that.”

“No. You have established that Oliver Jennings is dead. You have not established what is walking around your station.”

A crash sounded beneath them.

Patty raised her pistol.

Gertie looked at Walter.

“What is he?”

“I do not know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Would you prefer that I invent something?”

Gertie’s radio crackled.

Peters spoke through it.

“Halligan, get up front.”

“What happened?”

“We found Cooper.”

“How bad?”

A pause followed.

“Just get up here.”

Gertie looked at Patty.

“Stay with him.”

“Which him?”

Gertie glanced at Walter.

“The one we already arrested.”

She hurried away.

Patty remained outside Walter’s cell.

“You really a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“No.”

Patty looked surprised.

“Why not?”

“Because every proof available to me would make your morning considerably worse.”

Despite herself, Patty almost smiled.

“You could show me your teeth.”

Walter opened his mouth.

His canine teeth lengthened.

Patty’s smile disappeared.

Walter closed his mouth.

“Happy?”

“No.”

“That was my expectation.”

Something struck the door at the end of the corridor.

Patty turned.

The handle moved.

“Gertie?”

No answer.

The door opened.

Officer Patty Ambers walked through it.

The real Patty stopped breathing for a moment.

Walter moved against the bars.

The second Patty wore the same uniform. The same badge. The same dark hair was pulled back behind her head. Even the small crease beside her left eyebrow was present.

The thing smiled.

Walter spoke quietly.

“Do not let it touch you.”

Patty raised her weapon.

“Stop.”

The other Patty continued forward.

“I said stop.”

It stopped.

Its eyes moved to Walter.

“Hello again.”

The voice belonged to Patty.

Walter’s expression hardened.

“You are not very good at this.”

The false Patty looked amused.

“At what?”

“Being human.”

Patty kept her pistol aimed at her own face.

“I don’t know. I think it’s doing a pretty decent job.”

“It is standing in front of an armed police officer.”

“Good point.”

The thing turned its head toward her.

Patty fired.

The bullet struck the false Patty in the chest.

It staggered.

Patty fired again.

The second round entered beneath the collarbone.

The thing looked down at the holes in its uniform.

There was no blood.

Walter shouted.

“Move.”

Patty moved.

The thing crossed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Patty struck the wall. Her pistol fell.

Walter reached through the bars and caught the creature by the back of its uniform.

It twisted.

For one instant Walter was holding Patty Ambers.

Then Oliver Jennings looked back at him.

Then an elderly man.

Then a young woman.

Faces changed across the same head.

Walter tightened his grip.

The creature touched his wrist.

Pain entered his arm.

Walter recoiled and released it.

The skin where it had touched him had turned gray.

The creature looked at Walter’s wrist.

Then it smiled.

“Old.”

Its voice no longer belonged to anyone Walter recognized.

It stepped closer.

“Very old.”

Walter understood.

“You can smell it.”

The thing inhaled.

“One hundred and eighty-seven years.”

Patty reached for her pistol.

The creature looked at her.

Walter slammed both hands against the bars.

“Look at me.”

It did.

“You came here for me.”

“Yes.”

“Then leave her alone.”

The creature moved close enough for Walter to see Oliver Jennings’s face clearly.

“You opened him.”

Walter said nothing.

“You emptied him.”

“Apparently not enough.”

The creature laughed.

It sounded almost human.

Almost.

“You pushed me out.”

Walter finally understood what he had tasted in Oliver’s blood.

“You were inside him.”

“For years.”

“Why?”

“Warmth.”

The answer was simple.

Walter disliked it.

“Oliver knew?”

The creature smiled.

“Sometimes.”

Walter’s face hardened.

“You fed on him.”

“Yes.”

“And I killed him.”

“Yes.”

“You needed another body.”

The creature touched Oliver’s own face.

“I found many.”

Walter looked toward Patty.

She understood.

Officer Cooper.

Perhaps others.

Every person it killed gave it another face.

The creature stepped close to the bars.

“But none of them are you.”

Walter looked at the gray mark on his wrist.

“You do not want my body.”

“No.”

“My blood.”

The creature smiled again.

“Your years.”

Footsteps approached.

Gertie Halligan appeared at the end of the corridor with James Peters behind her.

The creature turned.

Gertie saw Oliver Jennings standing outside Walter’s cell.

“Don’t move.”

Oliver smiled at her.

Then he ran.

Gertie fired.

The bullet struck the wall.

The creature disappeared through the stairwell door.

Peters went after it.

“James, no.”

Gertie caught his shoulder.

“He just went downstairs.”

“He wants us to follow.”

Peters looked at her.

“Since when do you know what that thing wants?”

“Since I started listening to the vampire.”

Peters stared at her.

“This has been a terrible shift.”

Gertie hurried to Walter’s cell.

Patty picked up her pistol.

“What happened?” Gertie asked.

Walter held up his wrist.

“It touched me.”

Gertie saw the deadened skin.

“What did it do?”

“It fed.”

“On what?”

“Me.”

She looked at him.

“It said it wants my years.”

Gertie took out her keys.

Peters immediately objected.

“No.”

Gertie unlocked the cell.

“He knows more about this thing than we do.”

“He murdered Jennings.”

Walter stepped out.

“Yes, Sergeant. I did.”

Peters looked at him.

Walter did not look away.

“Do not confuse usefulness with innocence.”

Gertie removed Walter’s handcuffs.

“You stay beside me.”

“I intended to.”

“You try to run, I’ll shoot you.”

Walter looked toward the windows at the far end of the hall.

Morning sunlight filled half the corridor.

“I have nowhere to run.”

They moved toward the stairwell.

Carl Finnigan called Gertie’s telephone before they reached it.

She answered.

“Carl.”

“I have your blood results.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Try.”

“There are cells in Jennings’s remaining blood that shouldn’t exist.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. They aren’t bacterial. They aren’t viral. They aren’t any blood cell I recognize.”

Walter stopped.

Gertie looked at him.

“Are they alive?” Walter asked.

Gertie repeated the question.

Finnigan was quiet.

“Yes.”

Walter’s expression changed.

“Expose the sample to sunlight.”

Gertie relayed it.

“What?”

“Do it, Carl.”

There was movement on the other end.

Walter waited.

Finnigan returned less than a minute later.

His voice had changed.

“They’re dead.”

Gertie looked at Walter.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How quickly?”

“Immediately.”

Walter turned toward the nearest window.

Morning sunlight reached across the floor.

The creature had entered the station after sunrise.

It had hidden itself deep inside the building.

It had not attempted to escape.

Walter looked toward the basement door.

“He knew.”

Gertie ended the call.

“Knew what?”

“That I was here.”

“He followed you?”

“No.”

Walter looked at the sunlight.

“He came here because of me.”

Peters frowned.

“So we throw you outside.”

Walter considered him.

“That may eventually be necessary.”

Gertie shook her head.

“No.”

Walter looked at her.

“You were prepared to let me die this morning.”

“I was prepared to arrest you for murder.”

“I came here to die.”

“That was your plan. It wasn’t mine.”

A heavy impact sounded below them.

The basement door shook.

Then came another.

Walter listened.

The creature was moving through the lower level.

Not toward an exit.

Toward the interior stairs.

Walter looked at Gertie.

“Get everyone out.”

“We still have people missing.”

“Then find them quickly.”

“Why?”

Walter looked at the clock above the corridor entrance.

Nine twenty-six.

The sun would continue moving across the building.

Every hour would reduce the creature’s safe territory.

Yet it remained inside.

Walter understood why.

“It is not trapped in here with us.”

Gertie waited.

Walter looked toward the basement.

“It is waiting for the building to become a trap for me.”

Peters frowned.

“Why wait?”

Walter looked at his gray wrist.

“Because it does not want to kill me.”

The basement door opened.

Oliver Jennings stood behind it.

His mouth was wet with fresh blood.

Walter smelled it immediately.

Human.

The creature smiled.

Walter finally understood what his last victim had carried inside him.

It had spent years feeding slowly from Oliver Jennings.

Now it had found something much older.

Something filled with one hundred and eighty-seven years of blood.

And it intended to eat him.

Oliver Jennings stood in the basement doorway with blood on his mouth.

Walter Nictwalk knew immediately that it was not his.

The scent belonged to someone younger. Male. Frightened. Recently dead.

Officer Patty Ambers raised her pistol.

“Whose blood is that?”

The thing wearing Oliver’s face smiled.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

Patty fired.

The bullet entered Oliver’s shoulder and knocked him backward through the doorway.

Gertie Halligan grabbed Patty’s arm.

“Enough.”

“I hit it.”

“I saw.”

“It didn’t bleed.”

“I saw that too.”

Walter stepped forward.

“Close the door.”

James Peters stared at him.

“What?”

“Close it.”

The creature appeared again.

Walter seized the basement door and slammed it shut.

Something struck the other side.

The steel buckled.

Walter stepped away.

“That will not hold.”

Peters drew his pistol.

“You think?”

“James,” Gertie said.

“I’m getting tired of him.”

“So am I.”

Walter glanced at her.

“That seems unnecessarily personal.”

The door shook again.

Gertie pointed toward the front of the station.

“Patty, start clearing the building.”

“What about the missing officers?”

“We find them on the way.”

Peters shook his head.

“This is my station.”

“And that thing has already killed at least one officer inside it.”

“Which is exactly why I’m not leaving.”

Gertie stepped close to him.

“You’re getting everyone else out.”

Peters looked at her.

He did not like it.

He also knew she was right.

“Fine.”

He pointed at Walter.

“You bite anybody, I’m coming back.”

Walter nodded.

“I will bear that in mind.”

Peters and Patty moved down the corridor.

Gertie remained.

Walter looked at her.

“You should go with them.”

“You should have thought about my safety before you murdered somebody in my jurisdiction.”

“I did not know where the jurisdictional boundaries were.”

Gertie stared at him.

Walter gave a small nod.

“Poor time for that.”

“Very.”

The basement door bent inward again.

Gertie checked her pistol.

“What kills it?”

“Sunlight.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.”

“Dr. Finnigan’s test gives us evidence.”

“It killed cells in a dish.”

“Yes.”

“That’s different from killing whatever is downstairs.”

“Yes.”

“You’re very irritating.”

“I have been told.”

The door burst open.

Walter shoved Gertie aside.

Oliver came through low and fast.

Walter caught him.

They struck the opposite wall hard enough to crack plaster.

Gertie moved away and raised her weapon but could not get a clear shot.

Oliver’s face changed beneath Walter’s hands.

A young man appeared.

Then Patty.

Then James Peters.

Then Gertie.

Walter hesitated.

The creature struck him in the chest.

Walter flew backward and landed several yards away.

Gertie fired twice.

The creature turned toward her.

“Gertie.”

It was using her face.

Her voice.

Gertie aimed directly between its eyes.

“I already have one of me.”

She fired.

The creature’s head snapped backward.

Walter got to his feet.

“Run.”

Gertie ran.

They moved toward the lobby.

The creature followed.

Walter heard it behind them. Its footsteps were uneven now. The bullets did not kill it, but they damaged whatever physical structure it had created.

They reached the main corridor.

Sunlight covered most of the floor.

Walter stopped.

His skin began reacting before he entered it.

Heat spread across his face and hands.

Gertie noticed.

“You really can’t cross that.”

“I can.”

“It’ll kill you.”

“Eventually.”

The creature stopped behind them.

Oliver Jennings stood at the far end of the corridor.

He did not enter the sunlight.

Gertie looked from Oliver to Walter.

“Well, that answers one question.”

Walter watched the creature.

It watched him.

“Why Oliver?” Gertie asked.

The creature tilted its head.

“You can stop pretending now.”

Oliver smiled.

“He is comfortable.”

“Oliver’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“You killed him?”

“No.”

The creature looked at Walter.

“He did.”

Walter said nothing.

Gertie glanced at him.

The creature continued.

“He chose Oliver. He followed him. He held him. He opened his throat.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Gertie raised her pistol.

“He told me.”

The creature’s smile disappeared.

Walter looked at Gertie.

“You do not need to defend me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I appreciate the clarification.”

The creature took one step closer to the sunlight.

It stopped before touching it.

Walter understood.

“You cannot cross.”

The thing looked at him.

“Neither can you.”

Walter glanced toward the lobby.

The front doors stood open.

Outside, morning had fully arrived.

People gathered across the street behind police barriers. Patrol cars blocked both directions. Peters had done his job.

Walter turned back.

“What are you?”

The creature said nothing.

“What were you before Oliver?”

Silence.

“Were you ever human?”

The face changed.

Not into anyone Walter had seen.

An old woman looked at him.

Then a boy.

Then a bearded man.

Then a woman with a scar across her forehead.

Dozens of faces followed.

Walter understood.

“Those were your hosts.”

The creature returned to Oliver.

Gertie’s expression tightened.

“How long?”

The creature smiled.

“Longer than him.”

It pointed at Walter.

Walter believed it.

“What do you want with him?” Gertie asked.

“Everything.”

Walter looked at the gray patch on his wrist.

“My years.”

“Yes.”

“You feed on life.”

“Yes.”

“And you think I contain more of it.”

The creature moved closer.

“You contain so much.”

Walter almost laughed.

“You have chosen poorly.”

The creature frowned.

“I came here because I was finished.”

It looked toward the windows.

Walter continued.

“I murdered Oliver Jennings because I was hungry. I drank from him because I wanted one final meal before surrendering myself. I intended to die this morning.”

Gertie watched him.

“So you keep saying.”

“It remains true.”

“Doesn’t make it your decision.”

Walter looked at her.

“It has always been my decision.”

“No. Murdering Oliver was your decision. What happens after you surrendered became ours.”

The creature moved suddenly.

It entered the edge of the sunlight.

Its shoe began to smoke.

It retreated immediately.

Walter watched.

There was the answer.

Gertie saw it too.

“Sunlight.”

“Yes.”

“So we keep it here until the sun reaches it.”

Walter looked toward the windows.

The corridor would eventually brighten, but there were rooms farther inside the station. Storage closets. Offices without windows. The basement.

“It will retreat.”

“Then we drag it out.”

“You cannot touch it.”

“You can.”

Walter looked at his wrist.

“Not for long.”

Gertie’s radio sounded.

Peters.

“Building’s almost clear. We found Ramirez in records. He’s alive.”

Gertie answered.

“Anyone else?”

“Cooper’s dead. Everybody else accounted for.”

“Stay outside.”

“Not happening.”

“James.”

“Not happening.”

Gertie lowered the radio.

“Stubborn man.”

Walter looked at her.

“I had noticed.”

The creature disappeared through a side door.

Walter moved immediately.

“Where are you going?”

“After it.”

“Why?”

“Because it will not remain here.”

Walter crossed the shadowed portion of the corridor.

Gertie followed.

They entered the records room.

Rows of metal shelves divided the space. There were no windows.

Walter listened.

Nothing.

“Can you hear it?” Gertie whispered.

“No.”

“That worries me.”

“It should.”

A hand reached between the shelves and seized Walter.

He disappeared from Gertie’s sight.

She heard metal crash.

Gertie rounded the shelving.

Oliver had Walter against the wall.

His hand was buried against Walter’s chest.

Walter’s face had already begun to change.

His skin grayed.

His eyes sank.

The creature inhaled.

Walter screamed.

Gertie fired into Oliver’s back.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It refused to release him.

Walter seized its wrist.

He could feel strength leaving him.

Not blood.

Something deeper.

Years of feeding. Years of walking through cities that no longer existed. Years of names, rooms, winters, faces and graves.

The creature wanted all of it.

Walter stopped resisting.

Gertie saw the change.

“Walter.”

He looked at her.

“Open the front doors.”

“They’re already open.”

“Good.”

Walter wrapped both arms around the creature.

It resisted.

For the first time, fear appeared on Oliver Jennings’s stolen face.

Walter smiled.

“You wanted everything.”

He drove forward.

They crashed through the shelving.

Gertie followed.

Walter dragged the creature into the corridor.

It fought him now.

Its face changed rapidly.

Oliver.

Patty.

Peters.

Gertie.

Faces Walter had never known.

It clawed at him.

Walter kept moving.

The sunlight was ten feet away.

The creature screamed.

Walter entered it.

His coat began smoking immediately.

His exposed hands blackened.

The creature convulsed in his arms.

Walter tightened his grip.

“Walter!” Gertie shouted.

He looked back at her.

There was no fear in his face now.

“Oliver Jennings was my last meal.”

Then he carried the thing into full daylight.

Gertie stopped.

She could not help him.

Walter’s body burned quickly.

The creature burned faster.

It changed faces as it died.

Dozens appeared and disappeared within seconds.

Its screams filled the lobby.

Walter never released it.

They reached the open doors together.

Sunlight covered them completely.

The creature collapsed first.

Walter fell to one knee.

Gertie moved toward him.

“Don’t.”

His voice was weak.

She stopped.

Walter looked outside.

He had spent one hundred and eighty-seven years avoiding mornings.

Now he remained exactly where he was.

The creature beside him stopped moving.

Walter closed his eyes.

A few seconds later, he stopped moving too.

By noon, the station was full of people attempting to explain what had happened.

They failed.

Carl Finnigan arrived personally.

He examined what remained of Walter and the creature and eventually gave up trying to explain either.

Oliver Jennings remained dead in the morgue.

Officer Cooper remained dead in the station.

The other officers survived.

Gertie sat at her desk late that afternoon.

James Peters placed a cup of coffee beside her.

“You going home?”

“Eventually.”

“You’ve been here since yesterday.”

“So have you.”

“I’m older. I don’t sleep.”

“You complain enough to be alive.”

Peters pulled over a chair.

“What are you putting in the report?”

Gertie looked at the stack of papers.

“I haven’t decided.”

“You putting vampire in there?”

“No.”

“Ancient body-stealing monster?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want to testify to either one.”

Gertie opened Walter’s original confession.

His signature remained at the bottom.

Walter Nictwalk.

Above it was his statement.

He had confessed to killing Oliver Jennings.

He had described the location.

He had described the method.

He had told them where to find the body.

Every verifiable detail had been true.

Peters looked at the page.

“He was still a murderer.”

“Yes.”

“He knew it.”

“Yes.”

Peters stood.

“That almost makes it worse.”

Gertie looked toward the front doors.

Morning had passed. Afternoon sunlight filled the lobby where Walter had died.

“He didn’t ask us to forgive him.”

“No.”

“He didn’t ask anybody.”

Peters left her alone.

Gertie returned to the confession.

There was one handwritten sentence beneath Walter’s formal statement. She remembered watching him write it during the night. At the time, she had considered it another piece of nonsense from a disturbed man.

Now she read it again.

Oliver Jennings was my last meal.

Gertie closed the file.

Walter Nictwalk had entered her station covered in another man’s blood and confessed to murder.

She had doubted almost everything he told her.

She had been right to doubt him.

She had also been wrong.

Walter was a killer.

Walter was a vampire.

Oliver Jennings was dead.

All three things were true.

Gertie finished her coffee, gathered the reports, and carried the file toward evidence.

Outside the windows, the afternoon remained bright.

For Walter Nictwalk, morning had finally ended.

END