The Guardians

Midnight. A slight drizzle was watering the streets of Detroit. Not even the rain could wash away the stench of pollution and filth from these streets, though. Atop a small Mennonite church sat a figure all alone, silently watching and waiting. Her time would come. All she had to do was remain patient. In this neighborhood, the hunt was almost always a successful one. Tess Westbrook knew these streets well.
Willie Teague and his younger brother Jamal had worked these streets before. They knew the 'hood. Even though the Teagues were strictly small time hoods, they knew where to score some good drugs. The old Crocker home was the best place to find dealers now.
On the streets below the church, Willie, known as Big Willie in the 'hood, passed a cigarette to his brother. The Crocker place stood boarded up just a block away. They dared not park in front of the place, in case the cops should do a drive by. All the Teagues needed was another bust.
The sounds of walking on the street drew Tess' attention. Her heightened senses homed in on a familiar scent. Prey. Now, Tess would go into hunt mode.
Sliding quietly down the small roof, she alighted on the ground without so much as a deep breath. The Teagues hardly even noticed. Tess followed them, watching from her position across the street.Her superior night vision enabled her to keep the men within sight while stalking them.
Just before they entered, the Teague brothers stopped in front of the Crocker place. One of them was telling of his exploits in the joint, while the other finished the cigarette.
The local dealer, Charles Thomas, had a strict no smoking policy in his presence. Thomas had been operating out of the Crocker place for about a month. The Teagues didn't really like Charles, but he did have the best weed in this 'hood.
A light breeze forced Willie Teague to turn his back for a brief moment to keep his cigarette from blowing out. As he turned, something shot across his field of vision.
"Rats," he miuttered. "Damn big ass rats around here." He sucked in another breath of nicotine flavored air.
Jamal fidgeted, waiting his turn to get a drag. "Yo, Willie?"
Willie grunted a reply.
"We got company."
Willie turned, ready to run if it was the police. Whoever it was stood just outside the light, back in the shadows, tauntingly.
"What the hell?" Willie asked himself. There were alot of freaks in this 'hood, but no Peeping Toms, at least as far as Willie knew.
A woman's laughter, light, but with a sinister edge could be heard over the faint breeze.
"What you want, woman?" Jamal asked.
The figure didn't move. Some crackhead, Jamal thought.
Tess remained in the shadows, waiting. Long ago, she'd learned patience was the key to a successful hunt. One ill timed move could result in a failed hunt. And Tess hated failed hunts. She would watch for now, and wait.
Willie pulled his younger brother back toward him, never taking his eyes off the woman. She appeared to be tall and thin. No other details were visible from their vantage point.
Willie passed the cigarette to Jamal.
Time.
Tess rushed them. In that instant, the Teagues were frozen with indecision. Surprise was the key to this attack. Tess covered the roughly fifty feet between herself and the young thugs with remarkable quickness. In an instant she was airborne, tackling both Teagues in one move.
Jamal hit the ground hard, the gun in his pocket bouncing along the ground and out into the street. His arms were pinned down before he could reach for it.
"Oh, hell no," Willie growled, rushing to his brother's aid.
Willie approached, unarmed, closing in on the woman who was now on top of his brother.
As he came closer, she looked up at Willie and he froze. The nearly two hundred pound gangster stopped dead in his tracks.
The woman's mouth was dripping blood. Willie didn't get it. Maybe he didn't want to get it. Tess growled at him, a primal, predatory growl. It was a growl that said "Get back."
"Jamal?" Willie said, barely audible.
Jamal Teague didn't move. He would never move again.
Tess sank her fangs deep into his neck and drank lustily. As his lifeblood became hers, she locked in her grip even tighter. It took about fifteen minutes to drain a healthy adult male, but she'd learned humans usually became too weak to fight back about halfway through. Thus it was with Jamal Teague. His arms got weaker and finally went limp. His heartbeat began to slow. This was how the hunts went.
Tess' eyes rolled back in her head as she drove her fangs in deeper for the final thrust. The body jerked once then lay still. Once the kill was complete, Tess stood and wiped the blood off her face with a towel she always brought with her. She left the body where she'd killed it.
Willie stood back a few feet, trembling in fear, not sure what he'd just seen. Jamal was dead, that much Willie could figure out just by looking. But who was this crazy bitch that had killed him?
"Naw, girl, you can't be hurting my brother like that," Wille said, suddenly snapping out of it.
Willie rushed her. Without the least bit of panic, Tess sidestepped him, sending him sprawling across the lot.
When Willie got back up, the woman was gone. She had simply vanished. No one could be that fast, Willie told himself. Visually scanning the streets, he found her nowhere in sight. Damn.
Rushing back to his brother, Willie found his worst fears confirmed. Jamal was, indeed, dead. He also had obvious marks in the side of his neck. Willie fell to his knees, weeping. What was he gonna tell his momma now?

Back on top of the church, Tess watched until the police sirens chased her away. She had a gala to attend in the evening and she'd need sleep before then. Such was the life of Contessa Westbrook. She wondered if anyone else in the Fortune 500 was also a vampire.

Chapter 2- Meeting of Minds
Detective James Edwards arrived at the coroner's place shortly after the body did. His junior partner, Ken Runnels was behind him, staring at the ladies walking through the hospital's hallways.
"C'mon, Runnels, we got no time for the honeys today. Wait till you get off work."
Runnels smiled, cracked a bubble with his gum and watched the back of a twenty something brunette disappear down the hall.
"Too many women, not enough time, Chief."
"Time to start thinking with your other head, Runnels. We got business to take care of."
They arrived at the Medical examiner's lab shortly after ten a.m. Reluctantly, Runnels turned away from a blue eyed blonde visitor and joined his partner in the coroner's office.
The body was already uncovered from head to waist when the police arrived, as if the M.E. was expecting them.
"The late, unlamented Jamal Teague," Edwards said. "Another young victim of gang violence."
"Not exactly," a happy voice sounded from the behind a partition across the room.
Dr. Cyrus Melnick stepped around the partition, wiping mayo from the corner of his mouth.
"This guy didn't die from any gang activity, fellas. Unless there's a gang of Aztec warriors in town."
Runnels laughed. "What the hell are you talking about, Cyrus?"
Melnick pointed to the body. "This guy died from exsanguination."
"He bled to death?" Runnels wasn't surprised.
Edwards wasn't either. "So where's the gunshot wound?"
Melnick shook his head. "Isn't one."
"Okay, stab wound?"
Again, Melnick shook his head. "Not one of those either."
Runnels was getting impatient. There were probably women he could be questioning. He had no time for this.
"Get to the point, Cyrus."
Without warning, Melnick yanked the entire cover off the corpse. "What do you see?"
Edwards and Runnels exchanged quizzical glances.
"I don't see a damn thing, Cyrus," Runnels admitted. He really hadn't made much of an effort, since he'd heard females talking and giggling in the hallway. He wondered if they were single.
"What are we supposed to be seeing, Doc?" Edwards asked.
"That's just it. There are no visible wounds unless you look very closely. Take a look at the side of his neck."
Edwards took a tentative step toward the body. Peering over, he saw what appeared to be two puncture wounds on the body of Jamal Teague. Puzzled, Edwards backed away, shooting a befuddled look toward the coroner.
"Injections?" Edwards asked.
Melnick shook his head slowly.
Suddenly, a light went on in Edwards' head. But, it couldn't be. Naw. No way. Still, he had to ask. It was the cop in him.
"What are these, Doc?"
Melnick spoke slowly, as if he wasn't yet convinced himself. "I extracted saliva from them." The old man couldn't force himself to say the actual words he meant.
"No. Don't tell me." Edwards was shaking his head now, incredulous.
There was no hiding now, Melnick would have to tell all. That would be easier, anyway, since then it would become a police problem, not his problem.
"It appears as though Mister Teague's blood was drained out through these two puncture wounds."
Runnels laughed. "Please, Cyrus. Drink a better brand. And get laid sometime." No way he was going to believe any stories like this.
Melnick became indignant. "I'm not kidding. Those wounds, believe it or not, are consistent with bites."
Runnels guffawed. "So we should be out looking for Count Dracula?"
Edwards waved the question off. "You said you extracted saliva, right Doc?"
Melnick nodded.
"Was it tested?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"That's where it gets even weirder."
Great, Edwards thought. More weirdness. As if there wasn't enough here already.
"Go on, Doc," he prodded, wearily.
"Now, keep in mind, gentlemen, the final testing will take up to a week. But, at first glance, it appears to be human saliva."
Runnels stifled a chuckle. "So you screwed up, Cyrus. No biggie."
Edwards had been on the force long enough to recognize the signs of a person not telling the whole story. And Cyrus Melnick had more to tell.
"What else, Doc?"
"It may not mean anything, but the blood sample contains antibodies unlike any in the human system."
Edwards stood, sighing. "That give us any clue as to who our killer is, Doc?"
The look on Melnick's face answered the question.
Edwards headed out the door, motioning for Runnels to follow.
Cyrus Melnick was left alone with the corpse and silence again.

Chapter 3- Street Fighters
It was nearly 1:30 A.M. now. The deed was done and it was time to ditch this girl. Junior had told her not to test him, she should have listened. Instead, she'd try to go her own way and she had paid the price.
"I told you not to fuck with me, girl. I told you."
Each sentence made him more angry. At one point, he'd liked Jalissa, but then she got fat and stopped making him any money. He couldn't have that.
Jalissa moaned softly in the back seat, barely conscious.
"Shut up, woman," Junior snarled. They were close to the river now. Jalissa's problems soon would be all over. Junior chuckled at that thought. He damn sure wasn't going to jail for this fat cow.
Pulling into an unlit area near a bridge, Junior stopped the car and pulled Jalissa out. Her injuries now prevented her from putting up much of a struggle. She was heavy, but Junior finally managed to get her out of the vehicle and onto the ground. There would be one final humiliation for Jalissa before he was done.
Junior began to undress. With every piece of clothing he shed, Junior began to feel more powerful, godlike even. He was God now, dammit. Jalissa would learn that.
Turning her over on her back, he began to undress her as well. Her feeble resistance now served only to arouse him more. Soon, he was on top of her, pulling hard enough at her bra to cause more bruising.
Jalissa threw a wild punch, missed badly and recieved a stinging slap in the face for her efforts. Junior easily pinned her wrists down.
Jalissa knew her fate now. He would rape her and kill her. With her head still spinning from the previous attack, she couldn't even focus enough to mount a counterattack. She was having enough problems just forming coherent thoughts.
A weird, whispering sound came from the river behind them. It sounded almost like a voice calling out. He couldn't make out the words. Wait, that was silly. There was no one here.
"Just nerves," Junior told himself. "Just nerves." Still, he found himself peering around in all directions, just to be sure.
He got back to work, fondling her hard, working himself up.
There was that sound again from the river. Like the river itself was protesting, a mute witness to Junior's crime. The river seemed to roar, although there was no wind or storm causing it.
Junior turned his attention back to the helpless Jalissa again. He would get this done quick and get the hell out of here. This spot was starting to give him the willies.
Movement caught him, to his left. Out on the Detroit River, a wave formed. But this was no ordinary wave. This wave started off normal, then seemed to lift itself out of the water. As Junior sat transfixed, the wave rose a full foot above the river, dancing wickedly in place.
Junior's jaw dropped as the wave began to move slowly toward shore, still floating above the water's surface. The closer it got to shore, the faster it came. At the last second, Junior broke and ran.
He looked back just in time to see the wave leap out of the water, right at him. Junior cried out in terror as the wave wrapped itself around him and pulled him first off the ground, then back toward the river.
With Junior safely in tow, the wave roared back into the middle of the Detroit River, pulling the former gangster down under the waves. Junior fought in vain as the powerful currents kept him from reaching the surface. Exhausted from the struggle, Junior finally gave in and accepted his fate. Sinking, he gave in to the darkness.

Back on shore, Jalissa had begun to stir. A woman stood over her, dripping wet and cold. Across the river, she had found a pay phone and dialed 911. Police sirens could be heard faintly in the distance. Kristin Elsson stayed with Jalissa until the sirens got right up on top of them. Then silently, she waded back into the chilly waters of the Detroit River and disappeared.

Chapter 4

Edwards and Runnels sat silently while Captain Richard Spence read the reports of their current case. Now and then, he'd look up at the detectives suspiciously.
"Two members of the East Side Posse have been killed in the past week, gentlemen. Any ideas whose behind it?"
Edwards answered. "We don't think the killings are gang related. Neither Junior Jackson nor Jamal Teague were killed using normal gangster techniques."
Spence wasn't impressed with that assesment. Or, if he was, he wasn't showing it.
"There's a 'normal' gangster killing technique now?" The skepticism in the Captain's voice was obvious.
"Well, normally, gang hits are a lot more violent than drowning." He left out the part about Jamal Teague bleeding out.
Spence took a deep breath, laid the file on his immaculate desk, and clasped his hands.
"I want a quick end to this case, gentlemen. Like by the end of the week."
Edwards blinked. "The end of the week? That's only giving us three more days."
"Yep."
"But, sir, we don't even have a suspect in either case or a motive."
"Wrong, Edwards. You have both."
"Excuse me?"
"Your suspects are all rival gangsters with violent records and your motive is gang warfare."
Runnels interrupted. "But these murders don't seem to fit the classic gang war description."
Spence shot a dirty look toward Runnels. "Anybody ask you that?"
Runnels, humbled, said nothing.
"Make an arrest and make it stick. I don't want this city turning into Miami or LA."
Edwards started to protest, but thought better of it. To his knowledge, no one had ever won a debate with Richard Spence. It was his way or the highway, period. And he didn't mind letting his underlings know it.
"Any other questions, detectives?" Spence asked.
Edwards and Runnels both shook their heads.
"Good. Then have a nice day."
The detectives rose to leave, but Spence called out for Runnels to wait behind. Edwards gave his partner a strange look, then drifted out into the hallway. Runnels returned to his seat.
"Killed any vampires lately, Runnels?"
Great. He knew. Runnels shook his head. "No, sir."
"I heard all about it."
Runnels didn't answer, since he didn't know what to say.
"Where do you stand on this whole vampire angle, Runnels?"
"I don't think enough evidence is in to make that call yet, sir." What was he supposed to do? Argue with the captain or make his partner look bad? Some choice.
"Didn't ask you about evidence. I asked you if you are with Edwards on this vampire angle."
"I don't believe in vampires, no."
Spence slammed his fist down onto his desk. "Is the question too hard for you, Runnels?" For emphasis, Spnec repeated the question, louder this time. "Are you in agreement with Edwards on this whole vampire angle?"
"No, sir." There, he'd said it. Now he wished this guy would just shut up and leave him the hell alone.
"Good. Maybe there's hope for you yet."
Runnels felt compelled to say more. "For the record, Captain, Jim hasn't accepted any theories of the crimes yet. Including vampirism."
Spence appeared not to care. "That's nice. Should we give him a medal?"
Runnels felt his tongue lashing out, but controlled it. "Is that all, sir?"
Spence nodded. "For now, Detective."
Runnels left the room and rejoined his partner.