Part 13

Nothing of interest was going on behind the Chief’s door. Not unless you found lectures on common decency, respect, and acting your age to be fun-filled thrill rides. Charlie didn’t, but she sat across from the Chief trying to look contrite and nod at the right times. Her attitude was more like that of a troublesome child instead of a full-grown woman.

Bounds was too distracted to enjoy Charlie getting yelled at by the Chief. He was preoccupied by his earlier conversation with Foster. To be honest, his brain had latched onto that discussion, and refused to be rooted from it. Everything else was secondary.

It was understandable. It was a lot to throw at a guy at once. The possibility of a major promotion, all that responsibility, the Chief’s retirement, and-

No. He was not going to let his thoughts head that way. Absolutely not. That way lay madness, and Bounds didn’t believe in therapy. He didn’t want to be the next Charlie Black, an insane gibbering lunatic barely tolerated by the denizens of the town. No. Better to think about Charlie, and her endless negativity. Safer territory.

“You see what I mean? Has he been tested for cognitive disabilities? Is he drunk?” Like that – she was always so negative. Some things never changed.

“I’m listening,” said Bounds, his voice sounding very small and far away. He took off his hat and turned it over in his hands. Charlie rubbed the bridge of her nose, like everyone had suddenly become far too stupid to deal with.

“Barely,” she snapped. She paced the room like a caged tiger, hungry and ill humored. “What happened when you told him? Did he cry? Did you take pictures?”

The Chief had the beginnings of a serious headache. Bounds was looking at the rug, and his expression did seem to indicate that tears weren’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“He’s still digesting the information,” he told Charlie. Truth be told, it didn’t look like then information was going down too well. For the second night in a row, Danny Bounds looked positively green.

“What’s there to digest?” demanded Charlie.

“Not everyone is as accepting as you are,” said Foster, and if Charlie noticed the sarcasm tingeing his words she gave no hint.

“I have no time for this, Chief. I need to talk to you. Is he safe to talk around?” She was asking the question specifically to be nasty. Charlie doubted that Bounds would have noticed if she’d stripped naked and performed satanic rituals. His smallish brain was grappling with what Foster had told him, and losing the battle. The poor guy was seconds away from complete catatonia.

“Go ahead. He’ll catch up to the conversation soon enough,” said Foster with more confidence than he felt. Bounds had the glazed expression of a trauma victim.

Foster remembered what he’d felt like when he’d learned the truth about Piper Ridge. It had not been a happy time in his life. The world had ended, and nobody knew. He couldn’t even tell anyone, for fear of being put away. Everything he’d ever taken for granted had come under suspicion. Lights had been too bright, colors garish, every shadow a cause for fear, and each person he met a potential monster. He couldn’t blame Bounds for needing a few minutes to process what he’d told him.

Bounds hadn’t believed him, at first. Had laughed uncertainly, trying to figure out of this was part of an elaborate prank, an initiation of some sort. The Chief hadn’t offered any proof. He had simply repeated his earlier statements. Bounds could always spot a liar. It was a gift he had, perhaps because he rarely lied. And he’d known the Chief wasn’t lying. And what the Chief said had made sense. Then he’d stopped laughing.

Foster felt a rush of guilt for putting this on Bounds. He was a young guy, just starting a family. He was good. He took things seriously, thought what they did actually mattered. And now Bounds was stunned, and he hadn’t even seen what they were up against.

Charlie looked doubtful about Bounds’ ability to follow a simple conversation, but she didn’t push the issue. Pulling a huge, filthy map out of her bag, she spread it across the Chief’s desk. It was a map of the park, heavily heavily marked in ink and pencil, stained with mysterious and unwholesome substances. The edges were worn and tearing. It had been taped together at least a dozen times. She pointed at the newest marks she had made, the pen pressing into the paper deep enough to tear it.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “The nests were disturbed and inhabited. I got the feeling there were even more than usual. It felt full. But I didn’t see anything. And they were active during midday.”

“Maybe they were avoiding you,” suggested Foster, squinting at the map. Charlie’s notes made sense to her, but he still had to work to decipher them. She laughed, picking up a glass paperweight and inspecting it.

“My reputation isn’t that impressive. If they’d attacked, I would have been in trouble.”

“Did you go into the sewers?” Foster’s finger traced the dark penciled lines that marked Charlie’s progress through the caves over the years. It never ceased to amaze him how far she’d gone into the caves, and still managed to emerge more or less intact. He didn’t allow himself to wonder what would happen on the day she didn’t come back. It wasn’t a question of ‘if,’ but ‘when.’

“No,” she answered, cutting through his thoughts. “I didn’t have time, and I didn’t want to risk being stuck down there after dark. I’ll go tomorrow at dawn.” She replaced the paperweight, much to the Chief’s relief. Charlie was fidgety, and he really liked his paperweight.

“I don’t like this,” she confessed. “They’re changing patterns, and I don’t know why. And there was no sign of people.”

“What do you mean, no people? There are five people missing, Charlie.”

“I know that,” she said. “But they weren’t in the caves. That’s where they would have brought them. It’s closer to the bar, easier to access with a group, and less visible. And they weren’t there. There were no signs of a struggle. No sounds. Nothing.”

“So they might be in the sewers,” said the Chief. He hated this part of the job: talking about people he knew, people with families and lives, like they were stolen property.

“Doubtful,” she said, tugging at her bleached hair. “That’s a hell of a hike to bring that many people, and I can’t imagine that was a quiet party. I think they have a new holding pen.”

“What do you think we should do?” asked the Chief. Charlie rubbed her temples again, stifling a yawn. She was going to crash, and soon. There were limits to what coffee and adrenaline could accomplish.

“Double the night patrol, for starters. Focus on places where people gather. Make sure the curfew is enforced. And I think we should close the park immediately until further notice.”

“You said they weren’t there,” said the Chief, his eyes on the map.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still the easiest place to get attacked, and impossible to cover the whole area.”

“I’ve already increased the number of officers on night patrol,” said the Chief, bracing himself. “And I can tell you right now that the town council won’t let me shut down the park this close to Charter Day. You know that. It will hurt the tourism trade.” Charlie made a rough barking noise that the Chief knew to be her equivalent of unpleasant laughter.

“And a spike in grisly murders will only bring the summer folks a-running.” She rifled through her bag, agitated. “Attacks always increase in August. Nest size grows considerably. Sightings become a problem.” She looked at the Chief. “That’s what normally happens. We’ve never started the season like this. It doesn’t bode well. Closing the park won’t solve the problem, but it’s the only logical plan of attack.”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Bounds and reminding both Charlie and the Chief that he was still in the room. “You’re talking about vampires.”

“Yes,” said Charlie, with what the Chief considered remarkable patience. Bounds nodded.

“Vampires,” he repeated.

“Yes,” agreed the Chief.

“Vampires,” said Bounds again, sounding out the word slowly. “Dracula. Nosferatu. The undead. Drinking blood, wooden stakes, garlic, no sunlight, the whole thing.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” said Charlie. Bounds spoke with care, thinking of each word before saying it.

“This isn’t, you know, some elaborate joke set up for reasons I couldn’t possibly comprehend, is it?” He sounded hopeful. Charlie considered the question.

“No. But it does sound like something I would do.” Bounds dropped his head into his hands.

“I think my brain just committed suicide,” he moaned. Charlie was unmoved.

“Tragic. Now, if we can get back to the dead people-“

“Vampires aren’t real,” said Bounds.

“Sure,” said Charlie, her tone sharpening. “That’s fine. But there are dead people, and people who will be dead very soon if we don’t-“

“You’re just messing with me, the both of you,” said Bounds faintly. “You’re both nuts. This is nuts.”

“Chief, please,” said Charlie. “If he needs to go scream or something, I get it, fine, but there isn’t time for this.”

“You know he won’t really understand until you take him on a run,” said Foster, and Charlie was horrified to see him smile. “Take Bounds with you when you go to the sewers tomorrow.” Charlie was aghast.

“You’re kidding!” she yelled, as Bounds exclaimed,

“You want me to go into the sewers with her?” Foster raised his hands, and they both quieted, glaring at each other from across the room. He pointed at Bounds, putting on his best, ‘I’m the goddamn Chief’ voice.

“You will do as you’re ordered, Sergeant Bounds. I understand your doubts, but you have to trust me on this. Charlie is the best guide you could hope for. She’ll take care of you and show you the ropes, regardless of her personal opinion. If you have a problem with what I’m telling you to do, you can resign right now. I don’t have time for this.

“And you,” he continued, pointing at Charlie, who flinched under his gaze, “are employed by this town. You are a public servant. It is in your best interests, not to mention the interests of the populace, to have a good relationship with the force. Bounds is my choice for a replacement. You know what that means. If you’re unable to work with him, you can’t work with the force. You’ll have to return to your old method of doing business. I don’t think I need to remind you how that went. Understand?” Charlie stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, her face unreadable.

“Whatever. Town’s going to shit anyway.” She turned to Bounds, and he was struck by her face – the circles under her eyes black and smudged like smeared makeup, the skin stretched too tight across sharp bones like she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks.

“I’ll pick you up outside your house at dawn. Eat a lot of garlic between now and then. Like, a lot. No cologne or deodorant or aftershave. Wear dark clothes you can move around in that cover your skin. Gloves, if you have them. Bring a flashlight - a good one – but no gun. Let me repeat, do not bring your gun. Any questions?”

Bounds opened and shut his mouth. He had dozens of questions, starting with, “Are you shitting me?” but Charlie was already walking to the door, her bag on her shoulder, tucking the map away, aggressively not looking at the Chief.

“See you bright and early, Danny. Sleep tight.” She bared her sharp teeth at him and walked out, nearly knocking Tobias Masters to the ground as he tried to look like he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Then she was gone.

Foster cracked his neck. That had gone better than he’d expected. Charlie was trying. He doubted very much anyone else would notice or appreciate the effort but she was doing her best, in her own way. Still, her attitude remained a problem. For an intelligent, independent woman in her early thirties, she did a damn fine imitation of a spoiled brat.

She was right about the park, though. It had always been the source of most of his misery, the scene of countless gruesome deaths. Foster didn’t relish the idea of going to the town council and telling them they needed to shut down the park without being able to explain why. There was also the chance that it would hurt Bounds’ chance at promotion.

Bounds was still sitting across from the Chief. He was pinching his wrist, hard. The only reason he was still functioning, that he hadn’t stormed off or started screaming, was because deep down he didn’t believe any of it. Foster envied him a bit.

“You can go home, Bounds,” he said as kindly as possible. “Charlie won’t be happy if you’re slow on your feet tomorrow.” He couldn’t imagine a single instance that would make Charlie happy, but that was irrelevant. Bounds, still convinced on a very profound level that he was dreaming, got up and shuffled to the door.

“Bounds?” said the Chief, and he paused, inclining his head in the Chief’s direction. “Listen to Charlie. I know she’s… difficult. But she knows what she’s doing. Do what she says. It could save your life.”

Bounds’ face couldn’t decide whether to grin or frown at this advice. His mouth twisted into an ugly shape, and he gave a sharp nod. As he left, he bumped into Tobias, who was doing a truly awful job of being discreet.

Foster reached for the Tylenol. He had phone calls to make, patrols to organize, and now even the vampires were acting nutty. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Masters had been listening at the door – even Bounds, in his addled state, had noticed. The Chief wasn’t worried about it. Nobody would believe him, even if he’d had anyone to talk to. Foster knew Master’s reputation, and the chief himself wasn’t fond of him. He inherently distrusted sneaky people. There was enough duplicity in Piper Ridge already without importing it from New York.

For his part, Tobias Masters spent a very long night on patrol. He gave teenagers speeding tickets; he fielded questions from citizens about the situation with the ‘Bar Murders;’ he avoided reporters who had suddenly appeared in Piper Ridge, drawn by the scent of blood; he filled out paperwork; and through it all he wondered why the Chief could possibly need Charlie Black to deal with campfires.