FSE

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A/N -Guess which part was written after a Bond marathon...Sorry for the delay. I've gotta resketch out the storyboard. Managed to lose it and got some bad block.

All characters & locations fictional.

Chapter 6 - Another Day, Another Death

"Evil is always devising more corrosive misery through man's restless need to exact revenge out of his hate." - Ralph Steadman

A kaleidoscope of shapes flew before my eyes, colors of black, brown and red flitting through the world as I just stared at them, a man apart from my body...from myself. Shapes just flew by me, bullets and the gun that fired them, cartoon bombs and dollar signs, bonfires and fireworks. As the world I stood in flashed past me, my eyes caught figures materializing in the bloody sky before me.

A small, silhouetted human figure, deep red gashes dripping down its body before the entire figure bled red.

As that figure wept its way down my vision, a second figure took its place...a brown dog...or wolf that grew, standing tall into a human shape...one holding something against its chest before that shape broke into what seemed like hundreds of droplets flying away from me.

Into that maelstrom, the black silhouette of a man purposefully strode, stopping directly in the middle of my field of vision before a darker shadow poured out of the edges of my vision. My eyes held in place, I saw the shape starting to coalesce...into the form of a wolf, one that towered over the human and just stepped over...or perhaps into the human shape, obliterating it before arching its head and opening it's maw...almost in a howl.

New London, NH

August 9, 2012

"Jesus!"

I sat bolt upright, cold sweat dripping from my fur as I panted softly, my eyes flitting about the dark room, only the scents of myself, my mate, Thomas and Loki greeting my nose.

"Mike, what is it?" A pair of soft, human hands wrapped around my furred wrists, the touch making me jump as my mind came back, confusion still whirling around the forefront of my psyche.

"Nothing, Amy. Just a nightmare." I sigh as I rubbed my temples gently, my claws scratching my skin softly as my mind started to reassert itself.

"Something about last night?" She asks as she snuggles closer, sighing softly. "Need to turn the heat up when I'm like this," She groused as she pulled my arm over her.

I just shook my head. "You Lycans are nuts...just a few days after giving birth and you wanted that?" I oofed as her elbow connects just a few inches off my tender junk before heaving a heavy sigh as I wrapped my arms around her, holding her head against me, her protests muffled in my chest. "Maybe just something about that case...I don't know. I..." I'm cut off as the alarm goes off.

"Dammit!" The growl rolls from my chest unbidden as I hold my mate to my chest, one paw reaching for the offending clock, hitting the off switch before it comes back to wrap back around Amy's back, tracing against the scratches from last night. "I'm sorry I woke you," I whispered in her human ear before I got out of the bed, grabbing the blanket from the floor where last night's escapade had sent it...

"Dammit, Again?"

I heard her laugh softly. "You rip the comforter again?"

"Damned claws." I growl softly as I place the ruined comforter over her, shaking my head as I saw her eyes roving across my body before they met mine, a sweet smile gracing her face as she snuggled under the covers, pulling the ripped, black fabric to her neck.

"Much better." Her smile darkened slowly, turning real serious, real fast. "Mike," She called, "Get that bastard for us...but..." She drifted away, that distant look plying her eyes. "Be careful. Something seems strange."

I merely nodded as I headed toward the bathroom, feeling her eyes on me as I walked toward .

"Mike, you mind changing before you shower? The fur clogs the drain."

I shook my head, still wondering how her head was as screwed up as mine was as to switch gears like that, and chuckled softly. "Yes, dear."

I hate plane flights...I really do.

Admitedly, the badge and gun always worked well for getting on without the whole molestation routine by those blue shirted idiots...although I need to get the damned supervisor's supervisor to get through, but the work that came with it also meant I really couldn't get any work done if I have someone else in the seat row with me...and with today's cattle cars in the air, that's a certainty.

I sighed as I pull the paperback out of my computer case. Hopefully some mindless action would calm my mind.

As I delved into the author's world, my own inner turmoil played itself out behind my conscious mind. A nagging thought of 'that's wrong' kept hitting me as I thumbed through page after page, the words passing before my eyes, but visions of those crime scene photos...those ripped up bodies. And throughout all of that the image of that wristband kept coming back to me...that reminder that of all the blood that coursed through my veins...at least some of it was that of a murderer.

Miami, FL

August 9, 2012

Apparently our pilot's landing training had been provided by Asiana as we bounced down the runway before settling out, my mind coming out of its 'what if' fugue, a plan of attack forming in my mind as I fished my cell from my pocket, powering it on as we finished heading in.

As I deplaned, I saw the uniform at the gate and headed straight for him.

"Agent Hart," I introduced myself. "I assumed Agent Morse would be meeting me."

"Lieutenant Witters. Morse said he wanted to take a look at the house again and figured it would be best to meet there. My cruiser's out front. What are you-"

"I already told you. FBI." My eyes locked with his in a 'shut up' gesture as I pointed away from the terminal, gently shaking my head in a 'no'. "Come on, let's get rolling. I was supposed to be on vacation today. I've gotta see what was so important that they dragged me out here."

A look of exasperation crossed across Witters' face before he grabbed my wrist and rotated my arm, and the rest of me away from the front entrance, down the terminal. "This way. Just follow me." He shrugged as he started toward a door marked 'employees only, leading me through some of the back corridors of the airport until we ended up on the tarmac, the hot, sticky humidity of the Miami heat slamming into my face, almost like I had walked into a heavy, wet wall of air.

"Ugh..." I grunted. "One thing I don't miss about living down here. Little Creek was bad enough."

My griping was met with a chuckle and smirk as he reached the white and green Charger, blue and reds still strobing atop it, motioning toward the side door. "Sorry for the accommodation. They don't build these things for a passenger. Don't worry." My eyes meet his smirking face, a slight scowl gracing mine. "I left the AC on."

As I opened the door, I felt the cold air from the air conditioning in the car as I sat, squeezing myself and my travel bag and laptop into the passenger seat of the cruiser as my temporary chauffer shifted the car into drive, heading toward the nearby tunnel and heading outside the airport.

"So...what the hell is going on, Hart?" My driver's gaze remains fixed on the road as he pulled onto the highway toward the scene, driving quickly with traffic as he questioned me, my mind diving back into the cover stories we always told before I was interrupted again before even opening my mouth. "A pretty damned green detective, Morse, is involved in a shooting that the papers call the 'zombie case,' and then he's pulled off to the bureau in a heartbeat. Meanwhile the bodies are grabbed and buried deeper than Blackbeard's damned treasure. I think I could get more information on the damned Roswell crash than a damned murder that involved one of our damned officers. What the hell are you bastards hiding?"

I sighed, figuring I could try the cover story, but he had done his homework. This would be a tough sell. "I already told you. I'm a special agent assigned to the Special Crime Task Force. Agent Moore was picked up because he showed significant promise in a case we became involved in multiple homicide, possibly involving a drug that had been found in cases in the Northeast earlier. We wanted to take a look at how it had migrated down here and one of our members..." I paused, taking a short breath, one that I assumed was not missed as I kicked myself. "One of our more experienced agents just retired and our SSA wanted to grab Morse for his knowledge and abilities for the case. I can't say anything more. Hell, I barely know any more. I just got transferred from the Boston field office myself." I answered as I shrugged, my damned nose picking up my falsity, in addition to the disbelief of the officer next to me.

A noncommittal grunt escaped my chauffer as he quieted, undoubtedly not believing me, but not fighting as I smelled a twinge of anger and resentment filling the car. I made a mental note to talk to Jerry. Contacts were always helpful, and...well if we didn't tell him the truth, I had no illusions that he would find out. And if I hadn't told him when he learned, that could really hurt us. I just hoped it went better than the last time I had to explain the reality of mythos to someone.

He had refused to believe me...until I released my secret weapon. Sometimes the ability to shift can be really persuasive.

"Fine," Came the subtle grunt. "I've been doing this long enough to know when someone's blowing smoke up my ass, but we're almost there. You're lying...that much I know, but I don't care. We need all the help we can get." Witters sighs as he pulls up in front of a rather nondescript house, a dark Charger parked in front, yellow and black tape still decorating some of the openings, as well as red stickers across the doors.

"I'll be staying here, though. As far as I am concerned, this is still a Miami case. Come on."

I sighed as I pulled open the door, a figure in a dark, ill-fitting suit walked out of the front door, ducking under the yellow tape as he came toward us, a camera slung over his shoulder and a notepad and sheaf of loose paper in his hand.

"Agent Hart, I take it?" Came his questioning greeting as he shuffled his handful around to reach out toward me.

"Yep," I responded quietly. "Agent Morse. First day on the job and you're already dragging me into messes." I grinned as I grabbed his hand. "I'll forgive you for now. Just toss me your keys so I can put my shit in the car before you walk us through the house." I tried to quietly emphasize the 'us' as I motioned toward the house before catching the keys in an outstretched palm, quickly placing my bags in the trunk, the black bag nestling next to the vest and rifle as I pulled the notepad out of my pocket.

'Watch for ears. Loose lips can kill.' I tore off the paper, handing it to Morse as I turned toward the house. "Let's head inside. Just answer my question for now; I want to get my bearings and see what this all looks like before I hear your thoughts. Helps me keep my mind clear and lets me make my own opinion." I headed toward the door, my eyes wandering across the exterior of the house, knowing that the relatively pristine exterior of the house, where not a blade of grass had seemed out of place only half a day before, hid a scene that would not have been out of place in the release of Saw 45.

I traced my eyes along the walkway, trying to stay on the gravel path, eyes catching the trodden grass that had suffered under dozens of boots in the mad rush of that first response. As I pushed the door open, a blast of hot, coppery air met me, my mind reeling from the strong stench of death that blasted into me and something else. Staggering back gently, I walked into Morse, grunting an apology as I caught myself and took a sharp breath through my mouth, avoiding some of that damned sensitive nose.

"Sorry. Just a bit off balance; vacations aren't always relaxing." I cut off their response as I stepped inside, keeping my eyes on each step to stay out of the blood pools still filling the floor. "Morse, you have a copy of the photos?"

"Yeah. Here." A sheaf of papers was offered through the door, my hands wrapping around them.

"You two wait here for a bit. Less disturbing everything this way."

I closed the door behind me as I walked inside, turning around to see the clean back of the door. Turning back toward the front hall, I looked down toward the rear of the house. The front hallway ran straight from the front door all the way to the back yard, the dog door in the back door swinging gently in the cool breeze. Off to the side of the small hallway, I turned toward the kitchen, pools of blood still staining the floor. My eyes roved up the walls, the kitchen walls still pristine from just a few inches off the floor.

No way was this a feral. Would have never been this clean. But a vampire wouldn't have left that much blood. Not when it could have...

"Oh, shit!"

The kid went into the hospital with severe blood loss...Please, let me be wrong.

Each quick step landed me closer to the boy's room down that second hall. The blood was less down here, some splatters here and there at the start of the hall, and plenty of bootprints, some just dirt, others marred with blood. I gulped softly as I entered the boy's room, crimson still staining the bed, some of the pillows littering the floor.

As much as I hated to admit it, a not insignificant part of me felt good to see that there was almost no chance of the killer being a Lycan. No way a feral would have done damage as precise as was done to these three, left the kid alive, and not left a print or claw mark anywhere in the house. A psychopathic Lycan perhaps could, but why? There was no reason for it to happen.

I headed toward the back door with a heavy sigh, opening it and stepping out of the stifling stench of death that filled the house. Stepping carefully to the side, I saw the body of one of the family's mutt, dead next to the house. My guess was poisoned meat, but wouldn't know for a few days. Moving toward and following the fence, I could find no opening in the tall fenceline. Maybe our killer climbed over the fence.

I sighed softly as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Or if it was a vampire, he could have just jumped. I needed to get full control of this case; there was too much suggesting that there was a mytho involved in the case. Pulling a phone number from my email, I set the phone to dial.

"Miami Police Department. Captain Becker's office."

"Miss, this is Special Agent Hart. I need to speak with Captain Becker."

"Please hold." A sharp click and burst of electronic static played through the speaker before a gruff voice answered.

"Becker."

"Captain Becker, this is Special Agent Hart, FBI SCTF. Is this a clean line?"

"Yes, Agent. It's just me here. I'm well aware of the supernatural creature task force and why you're here? Do we have another outbreak?" He sighed, his month already screwed up by the previous zombie attack a few weeks before.

I sighed before answering. "It's worse, sir. I think it was a vampire attack. The attack is just wrong for anything else. I'll need to wait on the blood test from the kid to verify this theory, but I'm at a loss as to another possibility. The only other theory I could have is someone who is aware of police procedures and has a penchant for blood and death. Assuming the kid's blood tests come back positive, I'm gonna ask that you request assistance from the SCTF. Call it a second incident from Bokor or "bath salts'.

"What the hell is happening in my city, agent? You're telling me that not only did a bunch of zombies infest one of our nightclubs and break out, attacking visitors, but now we have vampires wandering around. Next you're going to tell me that there is a werewolf on the loose, looking to find his next victim."

I choke back a chuckle. 'No. He's looking to stop the next victim.'

"I don't know, sir. Something is wrong here. Hell, something is wrong everywhere. We've been putting out lots of little fires over the past few months. Something is building. I promise you, I want to find it and put it down as much as you do."

The chief sighed over the phone. "Alright. Who's the detective in charge from our side?"

"Detective Witters. I've gotta get him cleared, though. Can you pull him away for a bit?" I knew I was losing yet another marker for the team, but didn't have much of a choice. Every piece of my gut was telling me that the killer here was a vamp, but there was nowhere near enough evidence yet to say that it could only be a vamp. There was a slim chance it was some royally fucked up human, but something inside me was saying that there was no way in hell...too much here was wrong.

"Tell you what, agent. I'll buy you an hour. You get him cleared and tell us what's going on. See you in my office in two hours." The phone clicked silent as he hung up as he finished his sentence.

"Damn. He knows how to bargain. Or I guess demand. Goes with the territory, I guess." I sigh softly as I dial Jerry. He had final say as to reading someone in, but I didn't see any other options. Putting the phone to my ear, I was greeted by Jerry's rough voice.

"Agent Simpson."

"Good to see I'm not the only one who acts like a hardass answering his phone." A wan, forced chuckle answered me.

"Whadda we got, Hart? Morse said something about butchers." Dammit, not this again.

"It's worse, sir. We may have be dealing with a stalker. A strong, smart one. Have reports of mental influence on the first responders and the damage is too damned precise for a butcher. Could be someone with a screw loose, but just seems wrong. Should have antigens back from the kid tomorrow...But that's not why I called."

"Go on."

"Got a detective here that's being real touchy. Captain wants him read in. Otherwise I'll need to pull the Cunnington passage over them again. Just don't want to burn bridges when we've got one of these guys on the loose."

"Your call, Hart." He stopped for a second. "You're a hell of a lot more affected by this than most of the rest of us. Plus you're gonna be on your own for a bit. Gonna be a bit for the debrief here. I'll text you a phone number in case you need heavy hitters. Hope you're wrong and we can wrap up soon. Otherwise that wife of yours is gonna shack up with whoever fathered that kid again." I could almost hear the smirk over the phone. "Apology accepted."

"Shut up, you." I almost growled, but slowed and took in a slow breath. "Alright. Guess the choice is made. I'll need to trust the chief, I guess and we'll send the paperwork in later. I'll touch base later."

Heading back through the house, a strange series of thoughts played in the back of my mind...a strange sense of déjà vu sitting behind my eyes. My eyes flitted across the rooms, seeing nothing, hearing nothing that should be similar to what I had seen and lived before...just a lot of blood. I shook my head as I reached the front door, figuring it was just my mind processing the stench of human blood, something my mind was just too experienced with.

"Agent Hart," I caught Witters' voice as I closed the door, my eyes meeting his. "I've apparently gotta run for a bit. Just spoke with the precinct captain The captain says you two have the lead and you'll explain later. Dunno what you bureau boys are into, but he sounded scared." He didn't look like he trusted me, and something deeper told me I was right...damn these instincts. "Apparently he wants me to pick some test results up and see him. He said you'd be around in a bit. Guess I'll leave you be." With his terse clip, it was obvious how he felt. He turned toward his cruiser with nary another word, anger and distrust almost dripping off him.

"What the hell was that about?" Questioned Morse's voice.

"Sometimes jurisdictions get painful. Especially in our group since we have a relatively odd area of events that we cover. We'll put that fire out later. Let's walk thru. Let me see how you came to your conclusions."

"Well, first, there is no sign of forced entry here, but the door was unlocked when the police arrived." We stepped through the door. "The front entryway is pretty clean. For a family with a kid, it looks a bit too clean, but not sure whether that is a well kept house or a clean-up. The two adults and one of the pets were found dead in the kitchen off the hallway. With the amount of damage and wounding, I'd say it suggests a werewolf - lots of damage done and went for the soft organs. Just like you'd see with a coyote. The damage to the kid was similar. Figured the werewolf got full or got startled and ran. Kid got lucky." He slowed and turned around. "But you said you suspected a vampire...Why?"

"You did fine. There are a couple things wrong with your thought process, though.First, the floor is too clean. Lycan claws will rip into this thin linoleum. For the general Lycan, they have enough control to not cause extreme damage to the floor, but something with this much blood is either protecting its young or feral. Neither one would be able to not do damage to the floor. That's not there. Second, while a feral Lycan would go for the neck first and then the abdomen, these victims had their organs damaged, not eaten. A feral Lycan would not have done that. Same with the kid. A feral Lycan has lost all capability for reason. They don't have the same fears we do."

"But why does it have to be feral? What about the one that you ran into last year?"

"He held back, but he was feral. It's possible, but rare. My concern is more the mistake the medics made and the dog dead in the back yard. My guess is that the dog was poisoned and the medics, and the adults killed, had their mind toyed with. It's not unheard of for vampires. Pretty common, actually. The victims act all sort of screwy and don't always make sense."

Morse just nodded, somewhat crestfallen, although more than a hint of anger showed around the defeat.

"Don't worry. I had a crash course in a lot of this stuff over the last year." I headed toward the passenger seat of the Charger. "You drive. You know the city, I don't."

"How do you get used to it?" Morse's voice inquired as he pulled the car out into traffic.

"Get used to what?"

"All the weirdness. I mean, growing up means accepting that these fairy tale creatures are non-existent. The only place to find them are pages of Weekly World News and fantasy books and movies. And now...not only are there the zombies of the human variety but they really exist. They really eat brains...and it is scary as hell when they do. I know you saw the results of one of those evil wolves. Still scares the hell out of me that we let them live."

"What?"

"Werewolves..." He shuddered softly, a faint smell of fear filling the car. "An evil combination of animal and man; human intellect, animal instinct and inhuman ferocity. And the superiority and abilities have to drive them mad. That's why I expected it was a wolf."

"There are hundreds of thousands of Lycans in the United States. Of those, only a few thousand end up on the wrong side of law enforcement. Even fewer for anything that looks similar to the stuff you're talking about." I sighed softly. "But when a Lycan goes wrong...it's hell. You'll figure it out. Believe me.It's really a screwy thing to wrap your head around. I'm still trying."

"Perhaps...perhaps not. I still can't trust them. Not after they spend their whole lives living a lie. They are just as evil as these vampires I've read about."

"Believe me. Vampires are a lot worse." I shook my head as we pulled into the parking lot at the police station, a white shirt and Witters coming out the door, Witters coming toward us as the second went for another unmarked sedan.

"Got a call of a hostage situation. Hot run. Captain says to come with us. Wandering Estates on fifty fourth. Morse knows the place."

"Meet you there." Sharply reversing back onto the streets as I hit the controls for the lights and sirens, blue and red LEDs flashing off the signs as the car took off down the streets, Morse driving like a beat cop again. "What's Wandering Estates?"

"It's an apartment complex. Pretty common to go for drunks or drugs. But never something major...And why us?"

After the day, and the last few weeks, I really didn't have a witty answer for any of it.

"I've got no clue."

A/N Please R&R. Gonna work on storyboarding this weekend so I can get back into the groove, as opposed to being lying dead in the ditch.