The apartment Aden called home was on the third floor of the sixth building in the large complex. Two miles from the office, in a quiet neighborhood made up of mostly young couples and single parents. This had been home since the start of his memory, seven years ago. He tossed the keys on the breakfast bar and thumbed through the day's mail. Bills mostly and a letter from his favorite college professor, Virginia Wayson.
She had sort of adopted him as her nephew when she learned he had no family. By the shape and size of the envelope, he assumed it to be a Christmas card. Yep, including photos of her grand kids, hinting her desire to have great nieces and nephews from him. She reminded him that she hasn't heard from him in awhile and that she was worried about him. Has he found anyone special yet? When was he gonna settle down? She became more and more motherly as time passed. He set the card aside.
He didn't remember his own mother, of course. There wasn't even a hazy picture of what she looked like hovering anywhere in his psyche. No photographs, no journals, no record whatsoever to prove he even existed prior to seven years ago when he appeared in the hospital.
He'd been found in what what left of a blue Volvo where the 105 and 5 come together. The other two occupants - Wilbur and Edna Christopher - were assumed to be his parents, and unfortunately, deceased. He had no identification on him and his prints weren't in any system nor were their any dental records. No way to positively ID him.
When he awoke, he couldn't remember anything. Though his body suffered no injury and his fundamentals remained in tact, he could not recall his name. The only item from his past was a wedding ring on his left hand. He had assumed that meant he was married, but no one came forward to claim him as their husband. It didn't take long for him to realize that he would not be allowed back into society without some semblance of his memory's return, so he made up a name; it was all he needed. It satisfied the head doctors and he was released. The rest, shall we say, is history. Sort of.
He was plagued with recurring dreams that bordered the nightmarish. Just flickers of images that really made no sense. Almost like flipping through a photo album without ever stopping to really look at the pictures. He couldn't make out one face, not one. Every image doused in a darkness that couldn't be chased away by the blinding light that surrounded him in every dream. The shadows refusing to give up their secrets.
Too tired to eat, too caught up in the memory of the vampire's eyes to sleep, he pulled a beer out of the fridge and clicked the TV on. Stretched out on the couch he flipped through the channels looking for his favorite news station. It flashed the story of arrest of the medical examiner, spouting the details of her copycat killing and the jealousy behind it. He was still surprised by the outcome of that one. He'd sensed that it wasn't the work of serial killer they were looking for, but he never would've guessed the doctor. If had been able to read the report of the John Doe he might have been able to ascertain what the truth might have been. He would've been able to read the story between the lines. A talent he possessed that afforded him the ability to be as good as the red-eyed woman said he was.
The news story made it clear that the killer was still out there and urged young women to be extra cautious. He'd heard enough. The captain would let him look through the reports on the other victims tomorrow which left him confident that the killer wouldn't be allowed to continue much longer. He downed the last of his beer and clicked the TV off. He let the darkness pull his consciousness into a deep and fitful sleep.
His dreams hit him hard full of fearful excitement. Almost like the memories of a distant and unfamiliar life, slowed down to a speed that allowed him to concentrate on the images. Almost. The faces of strangers stared at him, both young and old. Each set of eyes perfectly clear though their faces remained obscured in darkness. Nothing clear but the eyes, all pleading, begging for some unknown favor. The red irises of the so-called vampire came into full view. Her face was perfectly clear surrounded by the ghosts of his nightmares.
Those red eyes bore into him invoking emotions he hadn't experienced before. He desired her. She had vexed him; he was sure. Maybe that was part of her power or maybe he was just falling for her naturally. Either way he didn't care. He was drawn to her; or drawn by her. He felt he as if he belonged to her somehow. His attraction to her outweighed his fear of what she could do to him. His mind retraced the scene in the conference room and the morgue searching for the innuendoes he thought he'd seen before. Her eyes danced when they looked in his direction and steeled when they focused on the others. Was that a smile of familiarity she gave him when she noticed him in the room. And was that a shock he felt to his temple when she reached out to him? Is that why she withdrew her hand, seemingly sparing him from the obvious humiliation of her ability? Did he really have anything to hide? Would she be able to access the past he can't remember? That was an intriguing thought. For a moment his dream showed her with violet eyes, not red. A soft dark shade of violet, hidden behind long brown bangs, reminding him of another Rose. A younger version maybe. The younger, violet-eyed girl in his dream was suddenly whimpering before him seated at a lunch table in a small high school. She was begging him not to let her touch him. She didn't want to hurt him, invade his life. It was safer if he left her alone. He insisted. She continued to beg. He told her to ask herself what he thought of her, to give her a question to focus on. To focus on the question only. To think of nothing else.
"No" she whined. Fear lacing each protest. "I'm a freak, I'll hurt you."
"You're not a freak. Look at me. It'll be fine. Just focus on the question," he told her and then grabbed her hand. A a cold jolt of electricity ran through his brain. His eyes snapped open. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye burning it with its salt. He jabbed his finger in the socket to rub out the burn. His cell phone told him it was 2 a.m. His head buzzed with a familiar headache. Headaches always followed the nightmares. Or nightmare, rather. Always the same; starting with the same blurred images before moving on to the same girl, the same school, the same conversation; the same mind numbing buzz that woke him to this dull throb in his temples. No use taking a pain reliever, it'd be gone in a matter of minutes. The phoned chirped startling him. He grabbed it up quickly. "Yeah, Captain?"
"Get the vamp. We have another body."
He sucked a breath. He was actually excited to see her again.
The captain must've misinterpreted the gasp. "And don't worry, she's expecting you."
*
It was 2:45a.m. when Aden pulled up to the crime scene. His companion had offered no conversation on the way. She was waiting on her porch when he arrived and climbed into to his truck with out comment. The silence hung in the cab like pogo nip; and almost as cold. The woman never even glanced in his direction. He pulled up next to the captain's cruiser and she bailed before he could kill the engine.
This time the body had been left on a bus bench on main street. Again no witnesses could be found. He exited his truck and strode for the scene trying to disregard the vampire, as they like to call her. It would prove to be a difficult task. There was certain air about her that demanded attention. Despite the bitter cold, she once again donned a simple t-shirt and jeans, no jacket. Her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail revealing more of her milk chocolate skin in the pale street lamps. She was cold, not in the sense of temperature, but ice just the same. He let a shiver run down his spine that nothing to do with the chilling wind.
She crossed the crime scene tape without introducing herself or waiting for permission. One officer tried to object but the captain silenced him with a hand to his shoulder. "Let her go, Joe."
She started with the obvious, of course, ignoring everyone's presence but the captain's. "No finger nails. No jewelry. But if I'm not mistaken Paul, this woman looks a little old for the profile." The statement needed no response. She knelt on the ground next to the bench and whispered to the victim. "Let's see what secrets you're hiding." She placed her left hand on her forehead and froze. She saw into the woman's last few hours, days if needed. She witnessed the job interview that led to her promotion at the university, the bracelet her husband gave her in celebration of her birthday. Felt the needle prick from the blood drive the woman went to in September, her daughter's recital, her son's basketball game, her birthday party. In a flash of a few moments, Rose obtained the woman's life's story, her name, age, date of birth, everything. Then came the moment she was here for, the killer stood full faced in her memory. A crooked grin pasted to his ivory white face. Her eyes widened in horror. Her mind reeled at the visions that now flooded her psyche. The golden eyes, the growl, the sheer terror lodged in a silent scream within this woman's throat. Then voice came from behind perfect teeth, so deep, so disturbing, so familiar. "I'm still waiting Twila. Come to Daddy you little freak!" She jerked her hand away and held it tenderly in the other as if it had been burned. It was clear her nerves had been fried. She sucked a breath, then another and another. She started to pound on her chest to get the breath to sink.
Aden rushed to her putting a hand on each shoulder. "Rose," he called. At the same time the captain yelled "No! Aden. Don't!"
Aden ignored him. "Rose. You okay?"
"I... I... I can't breathe." Her eyes rolled back in their sockets as she slumped into Aden's arms.
"Captain!" He called in a panicky voice.
An EMT rushed to his side but Paul waved him off. "She's fine, John." The man looked at him confused then reached out to her. "No!" Paul boomed. Then calmly repeated "Really, she's fine."
"But sir." Aden insisted scooping her up in his arms.
Paul's expression was one of disbelieving shock. He snapped his jaw shut to compose himself. "Just put her in your truck, Agent. She'll come around in a few minutes."
"But sir..."
"The truck, Agent. now." He stuffed his fat cigar into his yellowing teeth and turned back to the scene with his hands behind his back. There would be no argument.
Aden gingerly placed Rose in the passenger seat of his truck and reclined the seat as far back as it would go. She looked soft like this, pretty even. She was breathing which made him feel a little more at ease about her medical care. His superior's obvious disregard for her welfare flamed his anger. She was hard hearted, sure but did that mean she was to be denied the basic acts of human kindness? He didn't think so. He brushed a stray strand of her dark red hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. Her perfectly smooth chocolate skin glistening in the moonlight. "I'm sorry." He whispered to her before closing the door.
"You okay?" Paul asked at Aden's return.
"I'm fine, sir. I'm not the one who collapsed." He kept his voice hard to let his superior know he wasn't pleased.
He sighed apologetically. "Might as well take her home, Agent. She won't be telling us anything tonight."
"Sir?" Still perturbed.
"She'll wake up in a few minutes but she won't have anything to say for a few hours.
Processing time she calls it."
"But today at the morgue..."
"She didn't pass out in the morgue, did she Agent Christopher?"
"No sir."
"Therein lies the difference. I've known her a minute, Agent. Trust me on this."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to doubt you." He meant the apology, but was still angry. Almost over protectively angry. He would need to get a few things explained before too long.
"It's okay. She takes some getting used to." He patted the young man on the back stuffing the cigar back into his mouth. "And get some sleep kid. You're gonna need it."
The captain had been right, much to Aden's delight; and dismay. The man's indifference had infuriated him beyond reason. He wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into him. But like he had predicted, Rose awoke on the drive back to her house and although her face had paled and her eyes looked as if she'd seen a ghost, she didn't appear to have suffered any negative physical side effects. He let out a sigh of relief.
She remained silent for the duration of the drive and entered her house without so much as acknowledging his existence. Part of him wanted to follow her, make sure she'd be okay or just be with her while she processed. She closed the door without looking back at him, never turning on a light inside.
He dropped his forehead onto his steering wheel ignoring the jab of pain he had inflicted upon himself. He hit it too hard... Again. She was getting to him and that, somehow, felt like a bad thing. It was too fast, too soon. He didn't even know anything about her. Except for the fact that she could apparently extract whatever information she wanted from a simple touch of her hand. A disturbing, yet intriguing fact. Love at first sight isn't supposed to happen. But was it really love he felt or was it just some enigmatic curiosity? Drawing a deep breath, he put the truck in drive and pulled away hoping she wouldn't haunt his dreams; knowing that she would. Again.