Hunter's Legacy

2011, One year later...

I opened the bar door, and the scent of alcohol and cigarettes greeted my nose. Stepping inside, fully, I saw that it was packed with bikers and truck drivers--both very easy to get information out of. I unzipped my leather jacket, and let the chilled air of the bar, hit my bare arms, as I exposed the tank top that I wore. Doing my best top look innocent, I sauntered over to the bar, keeping a smile to myself, as I felt eyes on me. I slid onto the seat, and looked up at the bartender; long hair, muscles covered in tattoos.

“What can I get you?” the man asked, his voice low, as his eyes raked over the upper half of my body. I put, what I hoped was, a seductive smile on my face.

“Jack Daniels,” I said, making my voice come out as a husky purr.

“Gonna have to check your ID, sweetheart,” The bartender said, with a smirk. I sighed, as though it was a big deal, and dug my wallet out of my pocket, and pulled out my ID along with a fifty dollar bill. Setting my ID on top of the bill, I pressed it onto the bar top and slid it over to the bartender.

“What do you say? Do I look old enough?” I asked, noting how he pocketed the fifty, and then stared, hard, at the ID in his hand; the ID that said I was twenty--a few weeks away from being twenty-one.

“Looks fine to me,” he said, with another lopsided smirk, as his eyes roved over my body again. He walked away, and I turned on the bar stool, surveying the crowd before me.

I had spent a year in the bunker, with other Hunters, watching as they came and went, while I stayed put, training with weapons, exerting myself in physical work-outs, and researching every monster that the bunker’s library had information on.

I jumped at the first opportunity that a hunt came up; just a vampire problem, north of where the bunker sat. I hadn’t even caught the name of the town, I was just so eager to get out of the bunker, that, when I was given the assignment, I packed my 1968 Chevelle with the duffle bag full of clothes and an extra for the weapons that I stored in the trunk--I was able to find a place to store my weapons and hide them , easily--and then I was on my way.

I had glanced at the file that Piper had given me, I hadn’t opened it yet, and, about a mile away, I had decided to pull off for a few minutes, at least to know where I was going.

I found out that I was going to a town called Irving, and it was a small town on the outskirts of Arkansas. In the time living at the bunker, I had deduced that we were somewhere in Branson, Missouri. And, from there, Irving was only three hours away.

I dipped into my jacket pocket and pulled out the cell phone that Eddie had given me. It was an HGTC Inspire 4G, and, apparently, it was one of the newest on the line. I pressed the button on the bottom and the screen lit up, showing me that the time was four in the afternoon. I had set it on top of the file, and continued on my way.

Which is how I ended up in this seedy-looking bar.

There were round wooden tables, with two to four wooden chairs, surrounding them, where men dressed in jeans and t-shirts, with leather vests over said t-shirts. Some sported bandannas on their heads, others had their hair either slicked back or, those with longer locks, had then pulled back. Studying them, I came to the conclusion that they were probably all part of the same Motorcycle Club. A few feet away from the tables was and arch, and in the arch was another room. From where I sat, I could see one pool table, with more jean-clad, vest-wearing bikers. I also noticed that they were immersed in a game.

A thud behind me, made me turn to see that the bartender had set my glass of Tennessee Whiskey in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said, shortly, as I brought the glass to my lips. Tipping the contents into my mouth, I winced at the burning sensation that ran the length of my throat, and down my chest, settling with a warm feeling in my stomach.

“Do you know who they are?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the table of bikers that sat behind me.

The bartender leaned forward enough to rest his arms on top of the bar.

“They’re the Irving Pistols,” he said, and I noticed he had a slight southern drawl “Our residential MC, here in Arkansas.”

“The Pistols,” I repeated, and the bartender nodded.

“I would advise you stay away from them. They’re not the type of people a pretty little thing like you would like to get involved with,” he said, smiling at me.

“Thanks,” I said, but I wasn’t about to take his advice; I’d get involved with them enough to learn about the goings-on in this tiny town, and then I’d be able to get myself out and finish my job.

Sliding off my stool, I sauntered over to the other room, where some of the others were playing pool.

“Hi boys,” I said, shoving my fingers into the front pockets of my jeans as I plastered a small smile on my face.

In the last year at the bunker, even though I hadn’t ventured outside, for fear of being dragged back to Rosling, I had heard stories from the other female Hunters, and, I had learned the art of manipulation. So, as I stood there, feeling as some of the men’s gazes raked over my body, and some scantily clad women pressed themselves tighter to some man’s side, shooting dirty looks in my direction.

“Hi Beautiful,” one of the younger guys was quick to greet me. His hair was jet black and he had it slicked back, and he had on a white t-shirt under his leather vest, and dark jeans. He had a colorful tattoo down his arm--the same hand that held the pool cue, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?” his voice was smooth, and he approached me, after setting the cue on the pool table.

“Just felt like going out tonight,” I said, shrugging, nonchalantly.

“Well, how about I let you hang with me and my guys?” he said, as though he was offering me an opportunity. I nodded, shyly, and followed him, as the small crowd parted, letting us through.

“Cool,” I said in a wondrous voice, like I was a naive young girl, who had just gotten picked to hang out with the coolest guy around.

“Do you play?” he asked, turning to the pool table. He put a hand on the small of my back, as though to secure me to the spot.

“I’ve played a few times, but I’m not very good,” I replied, shrugging, and looking at him, innocently. That was my right-out lie. At the bunker, we had a rec-room. We often played pool, thrown darts, or just chatted. I had learned to play pool, and I had become quite good.

“Come here, sweetheart,” the guy said, beckoning to me, “What’s your name?”

“Camille,” I said, sweetly, as I moved in front of him.

“A pretty name for an equally pretty face,” he said, appreciatively, “I’m Tanner.” I was standing in front of Tanner now, my face schooled to make it look like I had barely any idea about the game in front of me.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Tanner said, and I wanted to roll my eyes, wondering how many women he had gotten into bed using that line. But, I plastered an innocent smile on my face, as Tanner handed me to pool cue, “Donnie, set them up.” A big guy with a gray t-shirt under his leather vest, shrugged and collected the balls that were left on the table, and inside. He arranged the balls, and then put the cue ball to the side, in front of me.

I bent down and, even though I had the ball in my line of sight, I made a sow of shoving the pool cue to hard, when it hit the ball, and sending the ball off the other side of the table.

“Sorry!” I said, covering my mouth. Donnie, the guy who had set this up, just grunted as he retrieved the ball and set it back on the table, “I guess I need more help than I thought.” I looked at Tanner through my lashes, and I saw the smirk on his face. Tanner moved a little bit to the side, his hands on my hips, brushing against the skin that had become exposed when I bent over, slightly.

“This is what you wanna do,” Tanner said, as he leaned with me, extending his hand over mine so that both of our hands were holding the pool cue. Tanner guided our hands back and then he hit the ball, making it, as well as the others, scatter around the table.

“I think I got it now,” I said, and then I moved around the table, expertly sinking shot after shot. By the time I sunk the last ball, Tanner was staring at me, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, slightly. He moved to me, slowly, and stared at me, as though he expected me to cower under his gaze. I stood tall, defiant, jutting my chin out, and I met his narrowed eyes with my own.

“Did you just hustle me, beautiful?” he said, in almost a threatening way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some of the scantily-clad women smirk, as though I was about to get into some trouble.

“There was no money involved, so, I wouldn’t say that I hustled you,” I replied, smartly. The crowd around us seemed to hold their breath, and I could tell, in that moment, that Tanner was the authority figure; he was never told “no” by anyone--yet me, this new face, just defied him in all his glory--not to mention, I probably “defied” him in front of his crew.

Tanner’s lips turned up in a smile.

“Let me buy you a drink?” he said, and I nodded, as we worked our way over to the bar. Sitting on bar stools, facing each other, as Tanner signaled the bartender for two beers.

The amber bottles were set on the bar, and Tanner grunted in thanks.

“What brings you here to Irving?” Tanner asked, as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a gulp.

“Visiting a friend,” I lied, as I took a sip of my own, “She said some strange things were going on around here. Her parents wanted me to check on her, and, because they worry so much, they don’t want her to know I’m here, yet.” To me, it was a rehearsed, lame, explanation, but, luckily, for me, he didn’t see through it.

“Did she say what kind of strange things?” Tanner asked, and I thought I saw something like suspicion cross his features, but it was there one minute and gone the next.

“Just stuff she’s seen in the newspaper,” I said, shrugging, “Like some bodies being drained of blood, or people going missing, entirely.” I thought I saw Tanner’s face lose all color for a second, but then he shrugged and took another sip of his beer.

“What’s wrong?” I said, moving my hand forward and putting it on top of his. He didn’t move it back, like I thought he would, and I stood up so that I was standing in front of him, keeping my eyes on his, which were now lowered to the ground, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, raising his eyes to mine and putting his hand on my face; I let it happen, it was all a part of the manipulation. His touch was soft, like a lover’s caress, and I wondered, giving his stature and demeanor, if he was naturally gentle with women or not, “I’m fine, beautiful. What do you say we get out of here?”

My nerves jumped at the question. I wanted to get out of here and see what information that I could get from him, and I knew, exactly, what the phrase “you wanna get out of here” meant.

Being at the bunker, meant I had very little contact with the outside world. In the bunker, I knew a few people, but I wasn’t close to them. I did have my first, however brief, kiss, in the past year.

I had been training with a guy--who’s name escapes me at the moment--we had been training together for about three days, and I had finally bested him. Both of us were so happy that we had kissed. It had lasted around ten seconds, and then he pulled away, quickly, apologizing profusely, before he left the training room, hurriedly. Other than that, I hadn’t experienced anything else.

“Sure,” I said, putting on my best, excited, smile. Hitching a smile on his face, Tanner interlaced his fingers with mine, and he stood up. With my free hand, I grabbed my jacket, which sat a couple of bar stools away. Tanner pulled me out of the bar, and he kissed me, once we were outside the bar, and then he pulled away.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, and I pointed to the motel that was just, literally, right next door. A smile crept to Tanner’s face, as I started to walk in the direction of the motel. Within minutes, we were standing outside my room, and he was kissing me like my kiss was water and he was a dehydrated man.

“Can you hold on for a minute?′ I said, as I managed to pull myself back from him, with a smile, “I want to clean up, a bit.”

“It’s going to be more of a mess, sooner, babe,” Tanner said, attempting to pull me back to him.

“Tanner, please,” I said, putting my hands on his chest, and looking at him, innocently, through my lashes.

“Okay, Beautiful,” he said, though it sounded as though it was tough for him to say, “Not too long though.”

“Two minutes,” I said, putting on my most dazzling smile before I dipped into my back pocket, pulling out my key card. I slid the key card into the door, and pushed it open, just enough, for me to slip inside. I spotted my extra duffle bag, full of weapons, the stuff to clean the weapons on the table. I grabbed it and threw it in to the duffle bag, zipped the bag up, and then slid it under the bed. I hadn’t been there, but a day, so I didn’t have much to clean up; if I had been there longer, I wouldn’t have brought him back. When I was sure that everything was hidden, I walked back to the door and pulled it open, sticking my head out, and smiling at Tanner, who stood against the wall.

Tanner returned the smile, as he slipped through the door. He had his lips on me and had me backed into the wall. My heartbeat raced as I kissed him back, as his hands wandered up my sides, the touch leaving a fiery feeling in its wake.

Before I knew what was fully happening, I was picked up, and Tanner lied me on the bed, as he trailed kisses down my neck and across the exposed part of my chest. As his hands made for the button of my pants, I opened my mouth and feigned a yawn.

I knew it would get to be annoying, and then, a minute later, I let my body relax, as though I was about to fall asleep.

“Tired Beautiful?” Tanner asked, lifting his head up and looking at my face. Still laying on my back, partially underneath Tanner, I closed my eyes a bit and breathed in, nodding slightly, as I did. I felt the bed shift, as he shifted, and I opened my eyes to see him standing up. “I guess I should probably take off then.”

“What do you mean ‘take off’?” I asked, raising myself up on my elbows as I furrowed my brow.

“Well, I’ve got a full day tomorrow, and, by the sound of the reason you’re here, so do you,” Tanner said, with a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and I could see that he was vaguely annoyed with the way that things had transpired between us.

“Alright,” I said, trying to look downhearted. I stood up too, and followed Tanner to the door, as he pulled on his leather vest, the vest that I didn’t remember him taking off.

“I’ll see you later, Beautiful,” he said, as he kissed my cheek, and then stepped outside the door.

Letting the door close behind him, I walked to the window, and pulled the curtain back, watching as Tanner trudged back over to the bar, hands shoved deep in his pockets. I waited until I saw him in the parking lot of the bar, before I left the window.

Walking back over to the bed, my stomach growled and I wondered how long it had been since I had last eaten. I looked at the digital clock that sat on the nightstand between the two queen beds that partly occupied the room. The red numbers flashed ten-forty-five at night; I didn’t know if anything was open at this hour, and then I remembered seeing a vending machine, filled with snacks, by the very last room. I grabbed a few dollars, and headed out the door.

Three bags of chips, two bottles of water, and forty-five minutes placed me back inside my room, scanning through papers--both online and not--for any sign of the recent attacks.

The other bed was spread with open newspapers. I scanned the headlines and obituaries, but nothing really jumped out at me. As I shuffled through the paper, one story’s title caught my eye.

What kind of foul play? The headline read, and I quickly scanned the story, hoping to catch an idea of what I was dealing with. I know that I was given a case file that said Vampire, but sometimes, there are creatures that mimic the abilities of other creatures.

On September 19th, the body of sixteen-year-old Samantha Griffin,was found in the alley behind Hot Shot’s Bar, on Alder Street. Police say that the victim had two puncture wounds in her neck, and didn’t seem to have any other trauma.

That was it? Really? This little town couldn’t give anything more to go on? I sighed in frustration and tossed the paper to the floor. I searched through the others, and found two more descriptions of the same kind.

I looked at the digital clock and saw that it read two-forty-five in the morning. I felt my eyes droop, and I leaned back onto the other bed, figuring that I would get three or four hours of sleep before I started my day again.

At six forty-five, I woke up and headed for the shower. I adjusted the temperature before stepping under the spray of hot water.

When I was finished, I walked back to my duffle bag, and pulled out the garment bag that lay at the bottom; I pulled out the pantyhose and high heels too. I unzipped the bag and pulled out the official-looking suit that Piper had given me.

We couldn’t go into these cases and get the in-depth information that we needed without looking like a federal agent.

When I was finished dressing, I pulled in the trench coat that I was given, plus my holsters, which I put my guns in, and then I walked out of my room, taking care to put the room key in the pocket of my pencil skirt.

When I pulled up to the police station, I rummaged in the glove box before I found one of the Federal ID badges that Piper had given me, memorizing the name, before I stored it in the inside breast pocket of the blazer that I wore.

I rummaged again, and found a clip, which I used to clip my long hair into a twist, that looked professional.

When I was sure that I looked the part of a federal agent, I got out of my car, and, sticking my hands in my pockets, I walked into the police station.

As I suspected, there weren’t very many people there, and there was only one guy, sitting in a chair, handcuffed. I walked up to the desk, and stood on the other side of it.

“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter was stout, with a crew-cut and his blue cop uniform was stretched slightly across his round stomach; he looked at me, with kind, curious, eyes.

“Agent Cassidy, FBI, I’ve heard about strange things going on, here, in Irving,” I said, the well-rehearsed speech coming out beautifully, despite how nervous I was; I flicked out my badge so that the cop could get a better look at it.

“FBI?” the officer asked, his eyebrows furrowed, and I saw his eyes glance out the window and settle on my car. I knew not many government officials drove Chevelles--if any did at all--it was mainly nicer or newer models of Cadillac or Buicks, but not Chevy Chevelles.

“Yeah,” I said, and then I pulled an official-looking business card from my pocket and handed it to him. It was a business card with a phone number connecting to Piper, who told me that if anyone ever looked suspicious of me, I was to give it to them so that they could “call my superior.”

“Go ahead, call my superior, I’m sure she’ll sign off on it,” I said. I looked at the officer’s name tag, which said, Kawalski.

Officer Kawalski took the card to a smaller desk, that was a few feet behind the where I stood, and I watched as he picked up a phone and dialed a number. His head bobbed up and down, as he listened to whatever was on the other end, as he shot me furtive glances. A minute later, he set the receiver back in its cradle, and then walked back over, sliding the card back to me.

“Sorry about that,” Officer Kawalski said, as I put the card back in my pocket, “Since the paper came out, we’ve had a bunch of crazies in here, saying that its a whole bunch of things.”

“Like what kind of things?” I asked.

“They’re saying it’s vampires,” Officer Kawalski said, letting out a guffaw.

“Yeah, that’s funny,” I said, though I knew that it was anything but.

“So, what are you here for?” Kawalski asked, getting back on the topic at hand.

“I need to look at the Police reports from the Griffin, Harper, and Melbourne cases,” I said, making sure to use my professional voice.

“Of course Agent,” Kawalski said, as he turned, and he beckoned me to follow him. I did, and Kawalski led me to the filing room.

I stood to the side and watched as Kawalski searched through the filing cabinet, pulling out three files. He walked over and handed all three to me. I couldn’t help but notice that there were only a few pieces of paper in each file; the police reports, and the coroner’s reports.

“Why is there only a minimal stack of information in each file?” I asked, trying to contain my irritation.

“Each case was a dead end,” Kawalski said, shrugging, “All of them came down to an animal attack.”

Animal attack? Really? I grit my teeth, took a few deep breaths, and then put a smile on my face.

“Thank you, I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this,” I said.

“Bottom of it? what is there to figure out? it was an animal attack, plain and simple,” Kawalski said, speaking as though I was insane.

“I’ll be in touch,” I said, not answering his question, as I held the files and walked back out to my car.

Setting two of the folders in my passenger seat, I picked up one of them, took out the coroner’s report, and looked at the address on the top of the paper.

141 Brooke Street. I looked ahead of me, seeing that there was a green sign a block up, pointing towards the right, and saying that it was Brooke street.

I pulled forward, slowly, and turned. I didn’t have to go far, before I came to a white building, with the numbers 141 on the side. I parked, curbside, and then I got out, making sure that my badge was in my pocket.

Walking into the building, I went up to a desk, to see a bald man in a lab coat, who was siting behind a wooden desk.

“Agent Cassidy, FBI, I’m here doing a follow-up on the Griffin, Harper, and Melbourne cases,” I said, flashing my badge. Thankfully, this guy didn’t want the card to call the superior.

“Follow up?” he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion, “I didn’t think that there would be a follow-up, considering that those deaths were ruled to be an animal attack.”

“Can I just speak to whomever is in charge?” I said, feeling myself growing impatient with every passing second.

“Sure thing,” the guy said, and he picked up a phone and called someone. A minute later, the door to the side opened, and a tall, gangly, man in white lab coat, round glasses, and a receding hairline, came in and raised his head from the clipboard he was studying.

“Agent Cassidy?” he asked, and I nodded, flashing my badge again, “Doctor Harvey, I understand you are following up on the Griffin case.”

“Harper and Melbourne, too,” I said.

“Those were ruled animal attacks,” Doctor Harvey said, shrugging.

“May I see the bodies?” I asked; this was not a good way to test my nerves. Doctor Harvey and the guy at the front desk exchanged a look, before Doctor Harvey held the side door open and beckoned me to follow him.

I followed him down a well-lit hallway, and then I was led into Exam Room three.

It was cold and even more well-lit than the hallway, and a wall of what looked like filing drawers, and I knew that it was where they housed the bodies.

Doctor Harvey consulted a clipboard, and then found the right drawer, before he pulled it open.

“Here’s Miss Griffin,” Doctor Harvey said, and I looked at the girl with the honey-colored hair.

I looked on the right side of her neck, seeing two puncture marks. I lifted the sheet, looking for any other marks; some vampires liked to play with their prey. For some, it wasn’t enough to just take blood from the neck; they had to take it from the wrists, or the femoral artery as well. Some even went as far as to use their freakishly long fingernails to mark their victims, in a most sadistic way.

The Harper case was the same way; a young brunette girl, about sixteen, bitten on the right side of the neck. Unlike the Griffin girl, the Harper girl was also drained from her wrist. The Melbourne case was what threw me for a loop.

Melbourne was a young man, looked to be about fifteen, like he had just reached puberty, and he had sandy-colored hair. He was bitten on the left side of the neck and also had puncture wounds on the crook of his elbow, as well as slices across his stomach, and a gash in his chest that co-mingled with the stitching that the coroner had done when he was finished with his examination.

I shook my head, knowing that I was dealing with, not just one vampire, but two. And one being a female at that. From the lore that I read, female vampires were twice as ruthless and more sadistic than their male counterparts.

“Thank you,” I said, as Doctor Harvey slid the bodies back to where they went, “Please call me if anything has changed.”

“Yes, Agent,” Doctor Harvey said, as I slipped a business card with one of the phone number, to my phone, into his hand. I thanked him once more before I slipped out of the office.

Sitting in my car, I pulled out the Griffin file, and looked at it. I read over the police report, and something stuck out.

Samantha Griffin and her friend Annie Granger, were seen outside of Hot Shots.

The paper never mentioned that Samantha had a friend with her...the police didn’t mention it, either.

It was noon, and I hadn’t eaten breakfast, so, once again, my stomach was growling. I had seen a diner about a block up from the coroner’s office. So, slowly, I started my car pulled onto the less-than-busy street.

Looking out of my passenger side window, I noticed a gray, one-story building, with a red-and-white awning, and brick planters outside. I pulled into the parking lot, grabbed my bag that had my computer in it, the case files, and I got out.

I closed and locked my door behind me, and then started my way across the parking lot, and into the diner.

Looking around, I noticed that it resembled a diner from the fifties; pastel colors paired with chrome and leather. There was a counter towards the center, and then a few tables and chairs placed around the floor, with three or four booths sat by the windows, offering the diners a great view of the parking lot.

I selected one of the booths, putting my bag on the seat and sliding it over towards the wall, before I sat down next to it.

“Can I get you anything?" I looked up to see the friendly face of a middle-aged brunette woman. Her auburn hair was cut in a bob that framed her round face, and she wore a golden-yellow-colored waitress uniform, with a white apron around her waist.

“May I have some coffee to start out with, please?” I asked, noting how she held a coffee carafe in her hand.

“Sure thing,” the waitress said, with a smile, as she turned away and made her way back to behind the counter.

I took the laptop, that Eddie had given me, and set it on the table top. Booting it up, I waited for the home screen to load. Once it was fully loaded, I connected to the diner’s wifi, and then I pulled up some of the newspapers, online, reading through it, to see if I had missed anything about an Annie Granger being there.

“Such a shame,” came a voice from behind me, making me jump, slightly. I looked up to see the waitress shaking her head, as she set the cup down on the table, and gazed at my screen.

“Did you know her?” I asked, gesturing to the screen.

“Yeah, I knew Samantha,” the woman said, as she stared, somewhat hypnotized, by the image, “She was the friendliest kid in town, always helping people and whatnot. Such a shame that she’s gone.” The woman sniffed and I gave her a minute.

“So, are you ready to order?”

Feeling stuffed, and with my battery at twenty percent, I went back to the hotel room, to see if I could get any information on Samantha Griffin or Annie Granger.

“Hey Eddie,” I said, as I held my cell phone between my ear and my shoulder. “There’s no mention of the victims’ addresses, there are no phone books anywhere...I need the victims’ addresses, can you get those for me?”

"Sure,” Eddie replied and I heard the clicking of keys, over the phone, “Names?”

“Griffin, Harper, Melbourne,” I listed the three names that I knew, and then bit my lip, contemplating on adding the name of the Griffin girl’s friend, who was with her, the night of her murder. Well, it was a murder investigation. “And Annie Granger.”

Another minute, and Eddie read off the addresses of the victims. I opened a notepad on my laptop, as it sat, plugged in, typing them into there, saving them for later use. “Thanks Eddie,” I told him, and then we ended the call.

The next day, I donned my special agent clothes, and looked at the first address; 1801 Whyte Circle.

Putting my gun in its holster at my side, and hiding it with the official-looking blazer, I climbed into the Chevelle, started it, and drove to Whyte Circle.

Not much to my surprise, Whyte circle was a small caul-de-sac with various pastel-colored houses, each with a luscious green lawn, and white picket fence.

I pulled outside of the house numbered 1801, and took a look at it. There were a couple of steps leading up to the pastel blue house. There was a wooden planter box under one of the front window, and I saw a few white daises had sprouted in it. Wind chimes hung from the roof, swaying gently in the breeze.

I got out of my car and walked through the fence, and up the paved walkway. I raised my hand and knocked on the bright white door.

The door opened to reveal a small woman with light brown hair. Her face was tear-streaked, nose red, and her eyes were slightly puffy.

“Mrs. Griffin?” I asked, and she nodded, “I’m Agent Cassidy, I’m here to do a follow-up on your daughter’s murder.” I knew that it wasn’t the most tactful way to explain what I was doing, but there was no way to sugar-coat murder. When a fresh wave of tears erupted from her, I felt bad, and I waited a minute. I was surprised at how quickly she had regained her composure, as she stepped aside, allowing me entrance into her home.

“Can I get you anything? I have some tea brewed, if you would like some,” she said.

“Yes, that would be great,” I said, and I followed Mrs. Griffin, as she padded into the kitchen. She took two tea mugs out of a cabinet, and set them on a round, wooden, dining table that sat near a window. I sat in one of the seats as Mrs. Griffin came over and set a cup in front of me.

“I didn’t think anything would be followed-upon,” Mrs. Griffin commented, as she carried a pot holder and a mug in one hand, and a steaming kettle in the other.

There was already a teabag in my mug, so when Mrs. Griffin poured the boiling water over it, I watched as the water immediately began darkening.

“Why did you think that?” I asked, as she sat across from me, and set the steaming kettle on the potholder that was now between us.

“Because it was ruled as an animal attack, and then the case was dropped,” she said, shrugging, as she put her hands on the sides of the mug.

“Mrs. Griffin, was there any changes in your daughter, before? Any moods swings, strange abnormalities for your daughter?” I asked. The woman shook her head.

“Raising a teenager is part dealing with abnormalities,” she joked, but I could tell her voice wavered, as she spoke, “she did change, before...”

“Changed how?” I inquired, as I put my own hands around the mug in front of me, absorbing its heat.

“Can I show you something, detective?” Mrs. Griffin asked, and I nodded.

“Of course,” I responded. If she had anything that would help my job, it’s worth it.

Mrs. Griffin got up from the table, and walked into the living room, and then she walked back in, carrying a book of some sort. When she got closer, and set it on the table, I realized that it was a photo album.

Mrs. Griffin resumed her seat, and then opened it.

The first page was a few pictures; some of a younger-looking Mrs. Griffin, a man who I assumed to be her husband, and, in her arms, a newborn baby. The next page showed pictures like Samantha’s first birthday, Samantha’s first day of school.

“When did you start to see changes in her?” I asked, looking up at Mrs. Griffin, when we had come to a page that had photos of Samantha on a cheer squad. Samantha smiled, widely, as she and a friend stood cheek-to-cheek. The girl next to her had blonde curls that fell to her shoulders.

“A few months back,” Mrs. Griffin replied, “It was just little things; she wasn’t participating in as many activities, she was constantly arguing with her father and me, she was very distant, spent a lot of time in her room and almost no time with her friends...” She shook her head, as though she could rid herself of the memories.

“And she never did things like that?” I asked, clarifying what I thought was normal teenage behavior.

“No, never,” Mrs. Griffin said, shaking her head, sadly, “She always listened to us, and we never really argued, maybe disagreed, but never had a full-blown argument.”

“Who is that?” I asked, pointing to the blonde girl beside Samantha.

“That’s Samantha’s best friend,” Mrs. Griffin said, looking at the picture with a sad smile, “Annie Granger.”

“Does Annie know what happened? Why Samantha was acting the way she was?” I asked, hoping that my answers lied with this Annie Granger.

“No, as far as I know, Annie was just as baffled as the rest of us were,” Mrs. Granger said.

“Do you know if your daughter had been talking to anybody online? Or started hanging out with a new group of people?” I inquired.

“If Samantha was in with a new group of people, I never noticed it,” Mrs. Griffin replied, as though she was trying to remember something, “Although, there was a boy when I dropped her off at cheer practice.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” I asked, keeping my voice from borderline urgent; I didn’t want to scare the woman, but this was critical.

“Yes, he was dressed in black--like a Goth boy--he had black hair and, from where I was, I could have sworn that his skin was the palest color,” she said, squinting into her mug of untouched tea. Skin the palest color--that was the key.

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I asked. I wanted to take a look around, but I couldn’t exactly say, Hey, do you mind if I snoop around your daughter’s room?That would be frowned upon.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Griffin said, as she got up and moved to the sink, which was filled with dishes, “Its down the hall, the last door on the right.”

“Thank you,” I said, as I moved through the living room and to a small hallway. I walked down the hallway, peeking into each room, seeing an office, a bedroom, a bathroom, another bedroom and, one more bedroom.

I opened the white door, and looked upon a room with purple walls and black metal furniture. The walls were a royal purple, the bedspread and plush floor rug were a mix of purple and lavender, and, on the walls hung posters of various bands and music groups.

On the black nightstand was a lamp, plus a couple of novels--vampire novels at that. I looked at the covers--one where a good-looking dark-haired guy stood half in shadow. The other was a man and a woman; the woman was dressed in a white dress, and the man was dressed in a black tux.

The Vampire’s Bride and In the Shadows.

Shaking my head, I put them back on the night stand, and then I moved over to the black desk, where a black laptop sat.

Opening it, the log-in screen came up, asking for a password. Lowering my hands to the keys, I typed in “Vampire”.

It started looking like it was loading, but then it said, try again.

Sighing, I walked back over to the night stand and picked up the books, reading the backs; sometimes people used the names of book characters or song titles as their passwords, thinking that nobody would be none the wiser.

I walked over to the laptop, pressing ‘enter’ and pulling up the log-in screen again. I tried the main character’s name, from The Vampire’s Bride.

Thankfully, it worked, and it opened to show that Samantha had bunch of pages open; various lore on vampires, wikipedia pages, and a couple of chats opened up.

I scrolled through the chats, and I saw that one of them had to be between Samantha and Annie Granger, talking about the book that they had been reading together, and how cool and romantic it would be if vampires actually existed. From there, the messages between the two were few and far between; Samantha had been confiding in Annie about the arguments that she had had with her parents, how school was boring, how her grades were slipping, and she didn’t understand why her teachers would say that she needed to seek help from a tutor, or she would be going to Summer School.

So far, it all seemed like regular teenage worries. Until I scrolled down further.

Samantha talked about this guy that she had met online. She talked about how he got her, how he seemed to understand the hard time she was going through.

I opened up the second chat window, seeing a conversation between Samantha and someone, whose screen name was DarkKnight 116.

Samantha talked to this person about everything; her hardships in school, the cheer team, her family and their disagreements, they even talked about the books, and vampire lore, in general.

I scrolled down to the last message, and I read about them meeting. The date said September 18, 2011.

Pulling my notepad out of my pocket, I glanced down at the date that Samantha’s body had been found; she was found in the alley behind Hot Shots bar, on the morning of September 19, 2011.

My search in the house was done. I got some information that I needed, but I knew that I would have to talk to Annie Granger, to get anymore information.

I got up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I made my way back to the front of the house, and I saw Mrs. Griffin sitting on the couch, curled up, staring off into space.

“Mrs. Griffin?” I asked. She looked up at me, as if not really seeing me, before she snapped out of her daze, “Thank you for your hospitality. I will be in touch with you, if anything else comes up. One more question. Where can I find Samantha’s friend, Annie Granger?”

“She was taken to Irving’s residential psychiatric hospital,” Mrs. Griffin answered, robotically, “Her parents thought that it was best.”

My blood ran cold in that moment, and I began to have flashbacks of my brother throwing me in Rosling because he thought that I was crazy. had Annie Granger seen something happen that she could be called crazy for? Or had she suffered an extreme mental break-down at the loss of her best friend?

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Griffin, I’ll be in touch,” I said, as I exited the house, and back to the car. Driving out of the neighborhood, I knew that I would have to either ask for directions, or Google the facility.

I guess it was off to the mental hospital I go.