Blood Mother. A Vampire Tale

Ch. 4: Hoyt

Hoyt closed the door to Charlie's room and stood in the center of the carpet. He could smell the lingering scents of lotion and soap. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the scene. Little Charlie in his big boy bed sleeping tucked beneath his rocket quilt. Stars dotting and illuminating the ceiling above. His brother Dixon, just a year older, sleeping across the room under a Captain America blanket. The house is quiet. No dog to bark at an intruder.

Charlie, in the middle of a dream is picked up. His pajamas are shorts and a tee since the upstairs holds the heat of the day. Cradled in a strangers arms his shoes are put on without socks and he is carried sleeping out the door.

"Dammit, that's not how it happened." Hoyt spoke to himself. He opened his eyes and looked around. The room was messy, lived and played in by two young energetic boys. Boys with action figures and Toy Story replicas thrown around the floor.

Charlie's quilt was covered with scattered old fashioned army men and a giant stuffed giraffe sat with its head on the pillow. No one unfamiliar with it could have maneuvered around that room silently. No one could have willingly made a four year old leave his family in the middle of the night. And yet, it happened. Right under the safety of the rocket quilt that will no longer carry dreams of space travel and super heroes.

Dixon, the 5 year old brother had slept soundly in the bed no less than four feet away. No memories of noises or visions until his mothers frantic shaking at five am looking for Charlie.

The mother states she had awakened from a bad dream, went to the bathroom and had an urge to check on her children. After a frantic search of the house and yard, police were called. The lapse between the last time she saw him and the time she made the call was six hours.

Hoyt examines the door of the room. Hooks on the back of it held storage bins that housed Legos and numerous items of electric toys that would make noise when it opened and closed. He opened and closed the door for assurance, and the thuds and clunks were there. In the middle of the night they would be as loud as an alarm to a listening mom. But maybe not enough to jostle a sleeping brother after a day of play.

Whoever came for Charlie had to have used the window. The room was on the second floor, and faced the street. Plain view of the neighbors. No trees to hide behind or climb up. Seemingly a safe haven from intruders. Last night had been warm and muggy so the window would have been open. The crime scene that responded when the boy had been reported missing found no footprints or ladder marks. No dents in the metal blinds, no footprints in the carpeting except for those that belonged in the house. No hair or fibers so far from processing.

And yet, somehow, Charlie had left his bed. Somehow he had ended up in the park at night with a stranger. Someone who had drained his blood and left him out in the open to be found.

Hoyt didn't know of he had been lured to the window or carried out, but he knew this case would end up with the cold case division. Sitting in a box on a shelf years from now, no closer to being solved than it was today.  He knew everything he had hoped to find here was futile. No matter how the vampire got into the room, it would never help him catch him.

And if he didn't do something about it, that box would be one of many. All young children. All forming a matching set of silent, bloodless victims with no justice. Someone had developed an appetite for children, and it wouldn't end at five. Of that, Hoyt was sure.

Crossing the boys room his head throbbed in protest. His stomach knotted and bile rose up threatening to eat the last remaining layer of his throat. He turned off the light and went to the window.  His training had taught him the second story of a house would be no challenge for a vampire. And no silence was needed for the undead who could easily lull a sleeping person deeper into sleep.

Looking down toward the street he could see children playing in their yards. Bikes and balls and tiny shoes running toward adventure. Safe in the knowledge that their parents were always there for protection.

How many of these kids would fall before he found his man, if ever. The last time Hoyt had went underground it had cost him a career, his family, and almost his life. What would the price be this time?

He walked back into the kitchen where Montross sat with the grieving parents. The remaining siblings had been shuffled out away from the yellow barrier tape and questioning policemen. They would come home only to find a crime scene that outlined the partial remnants of the mom and dad they left this morning.

Hoyt intentionally had made no promises to the parents, he knew they would never be told the truth of what had happened to the boy. Explanations would be rational and that was its own mercy. They would never know what had really happened to the boy, and not hear a single true detail of his death.

But Hoyt knew. And someone was going to die for this. Be it him, or the bloodsucker. Someone would pay. And soon.