Forbidden Fangs

Chapter 10

Detective Myron Baker settled into his desk chair to finish up his reports for the night, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. It was nearly six in the morning, which was when he finished his shift. He'd been on since six the previous night. This was just the first in his four “on” nights, and he was not looking forward to returning home, leaving the bright lights and familiar faces of the station behind. He was not a coward; he'd been in a few firefights and held his own admirably. But he did have one weakness he could not explain, an irrational fear that no amount of therapy seemed to be able to cure.

“Alright there Myron?” You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“What?” Baker looked up from staring at his computer screen, meeting his tall, lanky partner's eyes. “Oh, hey Pete. Nah, I'm just tired.”

“Tired on the first of four?” Detective Peter Davids clucked his tongue and shook his head, failing to hide a cheeky grin. “You're going to be a zombie by the end of the week.”

“I'll be fine. Just gotta' finish up my last report and get home for some sleep.”

“Which one are you on?” Pete asked, leaning over to look at the screen.

“The murder in the woods,” Baker said distastefully. “I just need to finish typing my notes and I'll be done.”

“You sure you're alright?” Pete said in a quieter tone, his smile gone. “You've seemed a little quiet ever since you saw the body we found at that picnic site. If I didn't know you so well I'd say you looked a little green around the gills.”

“I'm fine, just haven't slept well the past few nights,” Baker lied. “Something about the fresh air just made it hit me. You head home Pete, I promise I won't stay a minute past quitting time.”

“Sounds swell to me,” Pete smirked. He clapped Baker on the shoulder. “I'm looking forward to a little shuteye myself. See you this evening.” He turned and strode out of the bullpen, pushing through the heavy doors that led to the hallway and eventually, the exit. Red sunlight was beginning to stream through the windows.

It's safe now, Baker told himself, although he knew he wasn't supposed to entertain such thoughts. Safe to go home and sleep. You'll be back at the station before it's night again. He finished his notes quickly and logged the report on their internal server, and then shut the computer down and pocketed his notebook. He took a deep breath. Even with golden light streaming through the windows he felt afraid. His partner had been right. Something about the body in the woods had shaken him to his core.

The portly detective walked slowly out of the police station, squinting in the brightness of unfiltered sunshine. The warmth felt liberating, and his steps lightened slightly as he walked to his beat up old truck. He settled in behind the wheel and fired up the engine, which started as reliably as it always had. He pulled out of the lot and drove home, listening to country music on the radio and feeling like maybe he had kicked his fear.

That all changed as soon as he pulled into the driveway of his small bungalow. He didn't want to go inside, where the sunlight could not reach. One of them might be waiting inside. He sat in the driveway for a long time, nearly dozing off twice before finally finding the courage to venture into his own home. He eased his sidearm in its shoulder holster, just in case, and unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

The familiar sights and smells washed over him, but he did not relax. Hidden from outside eyes, he drew his pistol and cleared the house room by room as if he was busting a drug den. He found nothing except his ginger cat Ruggle, dozing on the foot of his double bed. He heaved a heavy sigh and holstered his weapon, and then sat on the floor and pulled a long, heavy cardboard box out from beneath the wooden frame.

He pushed back the cardboard flaps, revealing a neatly stacked collection of books on vampire mythology and conspiracy theories. Fanged monsters glared at him from some of the covers, while others showed only embossed words. He reached out a tentative hand and began to open a volume entitled Vampires: Fact and Fiction.

No. He shook his head and pulled his hand away, and then closed the box and pushed it out of sight. Even if reading up on vampires sometimes eased his fear of them in the short term, he knew it was only feeding his phobia in the long run. Seeing that young man's body, pale from blood loss with two puncture marks on the carotid artery… it had stirred up his old fear. But there would be a rational explanation; there always was. He and Pete would be investigating local cult activity the next day, with a focus on anything vampiric. Baker was not looking forward to it, but he hoped it might at least ease his anxiety.

He changed and got beneath the covers, hanging the crucifix he always wore around his neck on the bedpost. He was not religious, but he figured the other cops would have asked questions if he showed up to work wearing strands of garlic.