Solving the Vampire Murders

two

Jones squeezed Torren's hands before placing them on his knees. The moment her warm fingers left his, the cold reality of the night crept back in.

Someone was dead.

No matter how many chakras Jones opened or relaxation techniques she used, it didn't change the truth. An innocent person had been brutally murdered.

He had put eyes on Zach—but what about Austin? Or Davey? Davey had been so vulnerable last night, so ready to drown whatever was bothering him in Lemon Drop shooters that he left the club leaning on Austin's shoulder.

Or worse, what if it was Mazia?

Without realizing it, Torren had invited her to crawl inside his chest and wrap her fingers around his heartstrings. He couldn't deny he was invested. Maybe it had been stupid to get attached to a girl he met a few months ago, but that was the thing about Mazia—she made Torren want to get close. He wanted to want more.

The kisses, the smiles, the laughs.

She couldn't be dead, because in his mind, she was the realest, most vibrant star worth chasing. And damn, as ashamed as he was to admit it, he was praying like hell Mazia wasn't the one inside the house.

Nothing about this made sense. They were all so young. So perfect. So untouchable.

The detective pulled a notebook from his crumpled shirt pocket as he approached the gurney where he sat waiting. Torren thought he looked like the type of man who routinely ate at the same diner, at the same time, sitting in the very same spot. Punctual and predictable. The kind of overly-friendly customer that waitresses only tolerate out of politeness.

"I know, right?" Jones chuckled.

Torren stared at her, wondering if he had accidentally said that out loud. Otherwise, how could she have possibly known what he was thinking? Something about her sly grin led him to believe they were sharing a private joke.

"Do yourself a favor and keep your chin out of the dirt. They don't pay me enough to be on call 24/7. I won't always be around to set you right." Jones sauntered back to the ambulance and climbed in the cab.

He was beginning to question what Jones couldn't do.

"Evening, Mr. Jacobs. I'll try to keep this brief. I know you've been through the wringer tonight. I'm Detective Wittier, but don't let the title scare you. This isn't an interrogation. I just want to ask you a few questions."

Torren listened to the detective's well-rehearsed speech, knowing full well he didn't have to say anything. Hell, he had wanted to be a lawyer since he was fifteen. But he also knew answering a few basic questions was the best course of action. Simple gestures went a long way and showed a willingness to cooperate.

"So, how long have you lived on East Fairlane?"

"Well, to be honest, I spent the summer in Ann Arbor, and I only moved back to campus today."

Detective Wittier glanced up from his notebook. He tried to hide the surprise in his voice, but Torren caught the rise in octave when he said. "Today? Alright, and where else were you today?"

"This morning, I was at an office farewell, then drove straight down to Ypsilanti."

The detective was scribbling faster now. "Can anyone verify that?"

Torren ran a shaky hand through his hair. Mazia could. She could verify everything, but where the hell was she? Panic slithered up his chest.

All these questions seemed so stupid, so trivial. Damn the process. Damn this investigation. The cops should be out hunting the streets for the real monsters who did this.

He tried to keep his face neutral as he prepared his next answer, but it was getting hard. All he wanted to do was call Mazia and hear her voice.

"Yes, my friend Mazia. And my Internship Supervisor."

"Could I get their contact information?"

Torren unlocked the screen and saw he had another missed call from his best friend, Mandy. Swallowing the invisible lump in his throat, he found Mr. Chamber's and Mazia's cell and gave them to the detective.

"Did you do anything else today?"

"I stopped at Goodwill," Torren said slowly. The memory of last night's break-in still fresh. "I don't know if this is pertinent, but I did report a theft to the Ann Arbor police this morning. My car had its windows broken and some of my personal items were stolen."

It wasn't just a few personal items...but Torren tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal. His whole life had been in those three bags. Every suit he had, every crisp dress shirt and tie had been taken. Stopping at Goodwill had been born from necessity.

The detective frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. You never know who to trust these days. Well, that's all I need from you, other than a good contact number."

Torren rattled off his number, but something strange caught his eye. Jones had hopped out of the cab and was kneeling beside the ambulance. If he didn't know any better, Torren might've believed she was having the quietest screaming match with an invisible person.

"You can tell the Guild to shove it up their asses. You know what I want. Until then, he's on his own." Jones shook her head and crossed her arms. Adding, "Do it yourself if you're so worried. I'm done busting my hump for nothing."

The detective cleared his throat. "Mr. Jacobs? Is everything alright?"

Jones rose slowly off the ground, and Torren swore he saw her eyes glowing. A mesmerizing, burning light—like dry timber catching fire. But as soon as he saw the light, it was gone.

It had been but a trick of the light, of course. Everything could be explained by fact. There were plenty of swirling lights and floodlights and flashlights illuminating the yard. Any one of them could have caught Jones' sparkling brown eyes.

Nothing unusual about it at all.

Torren set his clammy hands atop his knees and drew in a calming breath. He just needed to be logical.

"Sorry. It's been a long night."

The detective turned to leave just as Torren worked up his courage. He needed to ask. He had to know. "Could you tell me if my roommates are alright? Was one of them, you know...the victim?"

Detective Wittier wiped the sweat from his brow with a used napkin. "Well, strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to release the victim's name until the next of kin is notified, but..." he wiped his brow again, "I'm sure you'll hear it just the same. The boy's name was Luna. David Luna."