Snipers in the Moonlight

A Starry Wisdom, an old cult, or a church that worships the dark rather than the light has now pre-occupied the attentions of Nicole Collins and Collins Investigations. Esther Friedman’s friend, Noah Mankowski has given them a cryptic clue – a clue that may very well lead them to an artifact that should not exist in this time or space. A clue that Esther has been diligently trying to translate. But, as their attention has been directed toward the poem written on a scroll of unknown origins, perhaps there are other dangers closer at hand.

Madam Vadoma was not her name, Lucy Whipple was what she had been christen by her parents 42-years ago – only, upon opening her salon, she had decided that in combining not only her skill as a beautician but her fascination with the occult, she would become the rather whispered about Madam Vadoma. At first, the ladies of Collinsport had merely laughed at the idea that not only could they have their hair styled, but they could also have their palm read or their future foretold by the cards. The humor was quickly lost as discussions soon turned to not only her extraordinary talent as a hairdresser, but the uncanny accuracy of her divinations.

None of which figured into Nikki Collins decision to make an appointment with Madam Vadoma – she had done so because her salon was open on Tuesday and Thursday nights until nine. The woman had smiled as Nikki entered the shop – suddenly aware of what a mistake she had made – seeing all the mirrors. Only Madam Vadoma explained that she had “a chair over here for you, my dear.” A station separated from the others, owing to the construction of the building, so that it was isolated – away from the mirrors . . . and it had none itself.

Nikki looked at the woman, her blue brilliantine eyes inquiring of the hazel irises of Madam Vadoma, the woman smiled – “I have certain clients that come from as far as Providence, “ The woman explained. “And so, Miss Collins, what can Madam Vadoma do for you this night?”

Nikki smiled sardonically, “ I would have thought you would have already known.”

“Ah—“ Madam Vadoma nods seeing Nikki’s comment less for the humor but as the test it really was, and she stepped closer, her deft fingers touched Nikki’s hair, “You seek something new – something less, what you were, and more of what you are – what you are becoming . . . “ “

Becoming?” Nikki had asked.

“Yes—” Madam Vadoma motioned to the chair at the isolated station, ‘If you please.”

When she was done, she handed Nikki an old, pearl handled hand-mirror, “I know you have the gift.” She stood watching as Nikki concentrated and the blurred image on the silvered surface began to coalesce into an image in which Nikki saw herself as a blonde – with dark roots. She touched her hair – she loved the color – the imperfection, what with the dyed blacken roots purposely visible . . . yes, Madam Vadoma had captured in the color of her hair the duality of her struggle. “Yes, “ Nikki said.

As Nikki prepared to depart, the woman handed her a business card— antique linotype printing on a sepia card stock, ‘The Mercy Brown Tea Society and League of Resurrectionists ’ it read. “Benefit Street, in Providence. You would so enjoy their company,” Madam Vadoma told her.

Nikki looked at the card quizzically.

“One needs at times to speak to one’s own kind.” Madam Vadoma said as she handed over her credit card.

Her own kind, she thought as she drove away. The Mercy Brown Tea Society and League of Resurrectionists. What ever could that be? It piqued her interest.

Sleek, low, and black the Ferrari made it’s way past the darken windows of antique stores, narrow souvenir shops, cafes, a Starbucks, a lonely Shell station, the traffic lights blinking yellow as they sway in the wind.

Nikki drove from Madam Vadoma’s back toward the central rotary of the downtown business district. With the windows down and the cold Maine night whipping through the car, through her newly coloured hair, Nikki made her way along Warwick, turning onto Stoddard, the car descending and rising in the dip at the end of Stoddard, just as it ran into Broadway, which eventually dumped into the central rotary of Downtown Collinsport.

The Ferrari downshifts around the rotary and pulls to a halt in front of the old law offices. As she walks toward the front doors, she stops a moment to look around. Something feels odd – she’s not certain what, but something. Something does not seem right.

She shrugs and turns to open the office door.

Above and to the left, the door to the converted storage area opens ever so slightly as Samantha Brook peers out to see who has just entered. “Good evening, Sam,” Nikki says removing her overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack.

Samantha smiles seeing Nikki, opening the door wider. “Evening Miss Nikki. Oh, my God – I love your hair!”

“Really, do you like it?” Nikki asks looking up to the second floor landing where the barefoot Miss Brook stood looking down at her.

“Oh, I love it – you are gorgeous as a blonde,” Samantha says and blushes.

Nikki smiles touching the crown of her head, “She dyed this black and then blonde so the blacken roots would show – I do so like it.”

“It’s wonderful,” Not at all certain, based on what she knows about vampires and mirrors how Nikki can really know what it looks like – and it does look so wonderful, she wants to race down and touch it.

“Did you read the report I made?” She asks instead.

“A report?” Nikki asks. “No – I have not.”

“It was about going to Boston to find Pickman’s camera for the Snow case,” Samantha explains.

“Pickman’s camera,” Nikki’s interest piqued, “Is it here on Esther’s desk or on mine?”

‘There, on Esther’s.” She points down to the desk.

Nikki saunters over and sees the report, a pale blue folder, and picks it up.

“I even narrowed down on a map the neighborhood his studio would be in.” Samantha now descends the narrow steps from the second floor to the main lobby.

Nikki opens the folder, her fingers idly stroking through her newly coloured hair.

Samantha, watching her, crosses the room and settles into her usual chair in front of Esther’s desk. She can’t help but take note of Nikki’s hand playing with her hair and she smiles.

Nikki lost in the report walks over reading it as she takes the seat opposite Samantha.

“Rhyaad seemed to think it was a good idea,” Samantha adds, eager to hear Nikki’s comments, “But, we will need to find Pickman’s Beacon Hill painting for it to work completely.”

“Sam, this is good work.” Nikki says, turning a page. She pulls out the printed copy of a section of the city map and her long, slender finger touches one of the circles Samantha had drawn upon it with a Sharpie, “Is this the general area of his old studio?”

Samantha nods, “Yes, Charter Street, the cemetery and the wharf . . . it has to be between the three of ‘em. That’s the only neighborhood fitting the descriptions.”

Suddenly the doors to the office rattle open and Esther bursts into the main office, her pistol drawn. She swiftly closes the doors and leans against them. She looks over at Nikki and Sam as she takes several short, shallow breaths.

Samantha instinctively jumps from her chair startled and assumes a defensive crouch, hissing much like a cat.

“Esther,” Nikki jumps up, “Whatever is the matter?”

Esther moves from the door to crouch under the window, her pistol still drawn. She quickly pulls out a piece of paper as she peers out through the storefront window and hands it to Nikki.

Nikki rises from her chair and hurries over to take the paper from Esther’s slightly trembling fingers and reads:

Epitaph of an Alchemist.
If you follow the river downstream, you will find an Island.
On the Island, look for the shore the two will tell you of.

Samantha sidles over close to Nikki so she can read over her shoulder.

There sleeps the key to the Gleaming Gem.
He who lays hand upon the key shall commit the acts below.
At the first hour, you shall collect the six chosen by the key, and place them about in protective branches.
At the second hour, the population must tear apart the two who are close.
At the third hour, the population shall praise my horrible name on high.
At the fourth hour, gouge the head and kill.
At the fifth hour, gouge the chest and kill.
At the sixth hour, gouge the stomach and kill.
At the seventh hour, gouge the knee and kill.
At the eighth hour, gouge the leg and kill.
At the ninth hour, the Witch shall be revived and none shall be left alive.
At the tenth twilight, the journey shall end and you should reach the cursed island of the Gem.

Sleep peacefully, my most beloved witch, Mason.

Esther once again lifts up and peeks out from her crouched position, and then leans back, sitting against the wall.

“The translation?” Nikki asks.

Esther nods, “The Cantor . . . dead . . . a sniper . . . got . . . this . . . translated first . . . “

“Oh, my God – you mean . . . they shot the Cantor?”

Esther nods again, “It’s—Aramaic.”

Nikki moves quickly over to the opposite window and looks out into the street. It seems deserted, save for a single car progressing through the rotary. Aware that Samantha has followed her to the window as she looks at the paper, her curiosity obviously piqued with the translation—Nikki hands the paper to her as she looks out the window.

Samantha takes the translation and rereads the note,” So, who’s the witch gonna give shit too if no one’s left alive?”

“Couldn’t hit’em . . . not with a pistol.’ Esther explains looking over at Nikki.

“Were you followed?” Nikki asks, her blue eyes scanning every inch beyond the windows.

“I think so. I tried to lose’em . . . on Market Street. But I think they still followed me.”

“I don’t see anyone.” Nikki’s eyes now scanning along the edge of the rooftops across the way.

Samantha puts the note on Esther’s desk and then hurries into the bathroom, where they hear her moving things around before she returns carrying a mop upside down. She steps over to the coat rack and then taking a coat from it puts the coat over the mop.

Esther, looking at Samantha as she moves over toward her, says, “I recommend . . . everyone . . . gets down.”

Nikki steps back to the desk and picks up the translation, which cost the Cantor his life in order to read once again, “Well, if they know who we are, they also know where we are.”

“I’ll be taking that” Samantha plucks Esther’s hat off her head.

“Hey!” Ester protests as she tries to snatch it back, only Samantha’s moving away and placing her hat atop the mop, before holding the mop with Esther’s hat now so as to be visible in the window.

Nikki steps over and locks the front doors.

Nothing happens.

No shot at the mop – which they had all expected as Samantha had very theatrically hoisted the mop before the window.

Esther looks up at Nikki, “Oh—like the hair.”

‘Thanks.”

“I think were safe.” Samantha says.

“Or they ain’t fooled by a mop.” Esther still crouched beneath the window counters.

Samantha nods in agreement, “You’re right.”

“Or they have a powerful scope.” Nikki offers.

“Now—“ Esther rising reaches out for the mop handle, even as Samantha pulls it away and takes out a pen and from her back pocket removes a folded piece of paper, which she hurriedly unfolds and draws on it to give the mop a frownie face, “Now it looks more like you.”

BAM

A bullet through the glass nicks Esther’s hand.

“Gah!’ She yells in pain as she grabs her suddenly bloodied hand.

Nikki turns at the scent of Esther’s blood before she sees it.

Samantha standing with the mop looks surprised and then yells at the window, ”YAH MISSED YOU LOUSY SHOT!”

Esther hisses in pain, as Nikki quickly grabs her and pulls her back into the room, further from the windows.

“Godd*** that hurts!” Esther says screams –

BAM.

And Samantha suddenly wheels back and away from the window forced by the high impact as she grasps her shoulder and angrily yells at the window. “WHAT THE HELL KINDA SNIPER WASTES SHOTS LIKE THAT?!”

“Sam, are you alright,” Nikki yells – she does not have to ask if she was hit as she smells the blood.

BAM.

A miss through the window hitting the far wall. Fragments of plaster and dust pock into the air and fall in dusty debris.

Nikki turns, her eyes darkening, “Everyone get to my office – now.”

BAM.

Another miss and plaster falling.

Esther hurries toward Nikki’s office even as she reaches for the first aide kit with her uninjuried hand.

Samantha sidles as close to the window as she seems to dare, “I’m fine, Nikki” she grimaces before lifting her head and turning back to the window in order to taunt her attackers: “IT’LL TAKE MORE ACCURATE HITS THAN THAT!”

“Sam—get away from the godd****d window and come to my office.” Nikki demands.

BAM.

Another hit on the wall.

Esther hobbles into the office. And dropping the first aide kit on Nikki’s desk, she opens up the kit with her good hand, struggling to take out a roll of bandages and place them on the desktop.

Nikki looks at Samantha, sitting crouched beneath the window – her eyes now having gone midnight blue, ‘Samantha, NOW!”

She sighs and moving away from the window cautiously doing her upmost to not seem to flinch.

BAM.

Glass shattering.

Nikki puts a hand on Samantha’s back seeing the blood satin growing. She hurriedly moves her into her office, “Okay, both of you stay here – please.” She directs them.

Esther, with one hand and her teeth, starts trying to bandage her hand, while nodding at Nikki.

Nikki exits the office.

Samantha watches Esther for a moment, “Oh give me that!” And Samantha tries to bandage her hand for her.

Esther hand trembling lets her.

Nikki already aroused by the scent of blood feels the vampire predator within her rise to take control as she stalks to the window and peers around the edge to look at the rooftops.

The moonlight is obscured by clouds.

Esther grits teeth in pain as Samantha bandages her hand quickly . . . tightly, “There.”

Nikki’s nocturnal vision scans the skyline of the roofs.

“Stop whining it’s just a graze,” Samantha admonishes.

A glint.

A brief glint of metal.

What Nikki has been looking for—

Esther gives her a pained look, “Yeah, well th’ deer dun usually shoot back.”

Nikki smiles and moves swiftly to the front door.

Fangs begin to lengthen.

Samantha settles back into a chair, feeling now the throbbing pain of her shoulder, the dampness of the blood running down her arm.

Esther notices blood drops upon the floor.

Rhyaad, driving along Stoddard, on his way to the office, hears what sounds to be high-powered rifle shots. He leans over and opens the black Impala’s locked glove box and withdraws one of the weapons hidden inside.

Nikki grasps the door latch and in one quick movement, whips the door open—and is suddenly out the threshold, racing past the Ferrari and moving into the street.

BAM!

BAM!

Two bullets each just a mere fraction of a second off – missing her.

Esther turns suddenly at the sound of the gunshots and looks over her shoulder at the open door—“NIK!”

Nikki kicks off her shoes and runs across the street, the tarmac, the frozen blades of dead grass of the Rotary Hub biting at her nylon feet as she races past the bronze and verdigris status of Isaac Collins.

Samantha rises and starts to rifle through Nikki’s desk drawers in search of – and finds what looks like a bottle of wine.

Esther steps over to Nikki’s office door.

More shots. From the direction of the loud reports, Rhyaad is well aware they are coming from downtown – the offices. He quickly decides to pull the sleek, black Impala to the side of the road. He cuts the motor and listens. The cooling tick of the car’s engine seems loud. He opens the car door and gets out. No more gunshots. A good thing – or bad? Well aware he can clock at 40 mph on a run, he quickly jogs toward the main rotary – and the office.

A car turns to follow the circle of the Rotary as the driver is suddenly startled by the sudden appearance of Nicole Collins as she leaps up, one foot hitting on the hood of the car, while she races over the windshield and the top of the car – and down.

“What the F**k!” The driver yells, resisting the urge to turn the car into the landscaping of the rotary.

Samantha looks up to see Esther debating whether to go back out into the main office, “Stay here Esther,” She says as she opens the bottle and pours it on the whole of her shoulder.

Esther turns, looking at her as she lifts the apparent wine bottle, “No—Don’t drink that Sam!”

Nikki’s nylon feet jump the curb of the sidewalk and she slams up against the wall of Braithwaite Jewelry. She peers up but the red awning obscures her vision of the top of the building.

Rhyaad rounds the corner and stops, shocked to have watched as Nikki leaped upon and over a moving car. He can see the driver trying to look back even as he continues to make the turn.

Samantha, set to feel the hot stinging pain of the alcohol on her wound, stands with the bottle in hand, looking very baffled at the lack of the burning pain.

Esther shakes her head and rolls her eyes steps out of the safety of Nikki’s office.

Nikki looks across the street at the old Law Office, the front door she had left open. The building above gives a perfect line of sight.

Samantha looks at the Romanian label, sniffs the bottle, “Well damn….”

Esther cautiously makes her way to her father’s rifle on the wall as she keeps a wary eye on the window, thankful for the Christmas tree obscuring now a line of sight to the rifle, as she reaches up and takes it down.

With a sigh, Samantha puts the bottle down on Nikki’s desk and follows Esther out into the main office. She’s prepared to tackle Esther if need be . . . if she’s going out after Nikki.

Slowly moving along the sidewalk, her back against the dark glass of the jewelry store, Nikki decides to make her way past Kiernan Antiques to the narrow alley that is used as a service entrance. One quick glance into the darken alley and she steps into the pitch, like an abyss, and lets her lazy fingers run lightly along the rough brick wall.

“Sam. Spot for me.” Esther says as she loads the rifle.

Nikki stops.

She feels the night air stirring her hair.

The alley smells of old exhaust and garbage and someone’s vomit.

She looks up.

The overcast sky hides the moon.

Samantha hurries over to the side of the window.

He tosses the coat rack aside.

Samantha, with her back to the wall , akes a quick look out the dirty glass of the large storefront window.

Esther slips down and crawls under the Christmas tree.

Thumb touching her fingertips, Nikki looks at the space between the bricks, the depth of the indentation of the mortar, before she places the tips of her fingers into the indentation.

Suddenly, using her fingertips and her toes, she begins to ascend the wall.

The car Nikki had run over continues now around the rotary, and turns right taking Deacon Street toward Eagle Hill Road.

Rhyaad, in the shadows, quickly trying to make some sense of the situation, had watched the car pass, and watched as Nikki moved along the storefronts to the mouth of the alley. He saw her slip into the darkness. He hurries over and prepares to enter the alley just as Nikki was beginning her ascent of the wall.

Old bricks set well; Nikki is fascinated with the apparent ease with which she can scale the wall by use of only her fingertips and toes.

She feels like Dracula.

Her fangs sharp against her tongue—she hungers.
Inside the old law offices, Esther, concealed under the Christmas tree, pulls back the lever of the rifle, settling in now to wait, a huntress prepared to shoot through the window whenever she is given a shot.

Rhyaad glancing up to see Nikki climbing the wall, looks back to check the opening of the alley – not at all certain of the threat. He looks up to see Nikki scrambled over the edge of the roof. He peers back one more time . . . and so satisfied that they have not been followed, he crouches down and gathers himself for a moment, before he leaps upward as high as he can.

His leap propels him just high enough to grab the edge of the roof.

Silently, he pulls himself over the edge.

Nikki stands in the darkness of the rooftop. Her dark eyes narrowed.

The moon slips out from behind restless clouds.

A brief illumination.

In that brief glimpse of the moon she sees the two men.

One dark skinned, the other pale.

Both wearing checkered hunting caps and brown trench coats. The Light skinned man is armed with an SVD sniper rifle. The other holds a pair of binoculars.

The dark skinned man points to the window, the one illuminated with the bright lights of the Christmas, “There. Under the tree. She has a rifle. So, make it count this time Mike”

Rhyaad pulled himself over, and then kept low. He could sense Nikki’s presence somewhere nearby. “Nikki!,” he let out a hoarse whisper.

Nikki looks over to see Rhyaad silently appear.

“Yeah—yeah. I see ‘er Joel.” The sniper whispers.

The man addressed as Joel suddenly turns around, peering at the darkness, “Who said that.”

“What?’ The sniper asks.

Joel draws his .45 nervously.

Graceful, a panther stalking across the rooftop, Nikki takes one slow step after the other.

She casts no shadow.

She is silent as the grave.

“Jus’ th’ wind Joel.” The sniper replies.

The nervous spotter looks at him, “It is NEVER just the wind. Not with these SonofaB******”

‘There, to your left, at three o’clock’ Nikki casts the thought to Rhyaad as he hears her voice in his head.

“I’m warnin’ ya. I gots some ammo straight from the EUMO. “ The Spotter Joel says nervously into the darkness of the rooftop.

“Well. What they dun’ miss can’t hurt em.” Mike smiles.

Rhyaad heard Nikki’s voice in his mind.

He looked over to see her stealthily sneaking toward the men. He drew his pistol silently and let her take the lead, moving after her and off to the side, trying to stay to the shadows.

“Shut up. I’m try’n to aim at the Hebrew chick.”

“Kill her.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Then jes do it. Kill her.”

“What the hell you waving that .45 at.”

“Fangjobs—I think they might be on the roof.” Joel says turning to his companion for a moment, “You take care of the Hebrew and I’ll take care of the fangjobs.”

Nikki hearing ‘Hebrew chick’ and ‘Kill her’ completely lets go and feels the thrill wash over her flesh as she gives way to the vampire within her – now completely unrestrained.

Joel peers into the darkness – .45 ready. “We mean business,” He says into the apparent void, “Will you kill her already!” He turns his head back to the sniper named Mike.

Even in his rubber-soled boots, Rhyaad moves as silently as a cat, drawing closer and off to the side seeing now Nikki as she is closing on her prey—he knows by the way she moves that there is very little of her that is human at this moment. He has never seen her in her pure state. He keeps the gun targeted on the shadow she seems to be approaching.

Joel completes his turn, once again facing the unseen Nikki.

“Jus’ a lil’ closer….” The sniper says watching as Esther moves under the tree.

In one swift and graceful movement, like some horrid ballerina come to deliver death, Nikki glides up to the man with the ,45 and she grabs him by the chin, her palm over his mouth.

She does not think.

She does not hesitate.

She twists and the gunner hears the snap of the man’s neck.

Mike looks up to see what happened.

Nikki suddenly snatches the rifle from his hands.

“Fangjob?” She asks.

The butt of the rifle slams into the back of his neck.

His head turns from the impact smacking on the tar of the roof.

She lifts it again and slams it into his right cheek, shattering bones.

A groan and he rolls over.

She lifts again, “Hebrew Chick?”

The gun butt shatters all of his teeth.

At the violence, he rushed forward, ready to help Nikki. But as he reached her he saw she had already ‘neutralized’ the threat.

Blood gurgling in his mouth, choking and yet trying to cry out in pain at the same time, his hand weakly trying to rise to ward off the driving gun butt—

Nikki slams it down into his throat.

She drives his Adam’s apple backward, crushing his larynx.

He jerks violently and then goes still.

His eyes staring up into the overcast night sky, unseeing.

“Fangjobs indeed.” Rhyaad says looking at the man with his head turned around backwards. The bloody face of the man, lying near the roof’s edge over whom Nikki stands “Seems you didn’t need me, Nikki . . ..”

Esther seeing Nikki lifting and lowering the rifle feels assured the threat at the moment has been taken care of and so she begins to crawl back out from under the Christmas tree. She turns to see Nikki’s office door open, but no Sam. “Sam, you alright?”

A weak voice, “Sure, just spilled blood all over myself. Wanted to clean up”

She hobbles over to her desk, laying the rifle on the floor, and then collapses in her seat.

Rhyaad raises an eyebrow. “Brutal, but effective. Any more of them?”

Nikki turned, “I don’t think so – can’t hear or see anyone – do you?”

He shook his head. “No—not what I would have done . . . ‘ Looking at the dead men, “But I just ran into the situation. What happened here?”

“They shot Esther and Sam” Nikki told Rhyaad, tossing the gun aside.

“Shot! Where are they? Are they hurt?”

“Sam in the shoulder, and Esther, I’m not sure how badly—she was bleeding from her hand, but she might have been hit elsewhere the exit may have hit her hand, I don’t know . . . I didn’t have time to really check” Her voice hard, cold, filled with menace. She turns to look at him and he saw the blaze of her eyes, the sharp points of her fangs.

Nikki was consumed by the vampiric beast within her – always dangerous for once loosen it was so very hard to contain.

Carefully stepping back over the body of the man with his head turned backwards, he moves over now toward the rifle Nikki has just discarded. “Well – despite the mess – I heard a word and so I still want to see that man’s rifle.”

Nikki was bending down and going through the man’s pockets, “Sorry, I tossed it over there.” She pointed to the gun.

He walked over and snatched up the SVD sniper rifle, inspecting it, ejecting a long full metal jacket to hold up into the moonlight. Engraved on the casing he read: “contre les balles Vampire Mrk IV. Fabrique en Belgique.”. He frowned and wrapped his fist about the shell and slipped it into his pocket.

He strides back over to the dead man with the binoculars and scooped up the dropped .45.

Nikki finds pocket lint, ammo clips, $15.86 in folded bills and change, an unused condom, and a wrinkled and frayed edged business card. She looks at the card and keeps it.

“G*******d bastards – someone sent snipers!” Nikki says in anger.

Rhyaad puts his own gun away and stuffs the dead man’s .45 into a coat pocket. “Then I will check. I hope they’re not . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence as he examined the .45’s clip, taking out a shell to find similar engravings on the cartridge.

Deep in thought, Rhyaad walked over to the edge of the roof, gathering himself, he jumped off.

Nikki looked at the bloody mess of the gunners face.

She thought he still looked too good.

A roll of her head, she looks now at the aftermath of her violence.

She feels so good – the wind in her hair.

She turns her back to the dead men and slowly saunters over to the edge of the roof – Collinsport shrouded in night before her seems silent once more.

Maybe she does need to speak to one of her own kind.

She steps off and finds herself free falling to the ground below.

Rhyaad waited for Nikki to land next to him. “Be careful, in case there are others we didn’t spot.” He points with the rifle towards the office. “Let’s go”.

Nikki walks back across the town rotary with Rhyaad. Silent now as she tries to regain her composure – which is hard as the night air, the smell of it, the unique clarity of her vision, seeing colours, possible auras, hearing thoughts she normally suppressed herself from listening to . . . the desire . . . now to hunt . . . to stalk the night . . . so strong it is all but overwhelming – as is the scent of blood. Esther’s and Sam’s she can smell from even this distance.

She takes note of the markings on the street from the two shots that had missed her as she lazily stoops to pick up her discarded shoes.

As she opens the front door, Nikki sees Esther sitting at her chair, head on a stack of papers on her desk.

She hurries over – only to find Esther lightly snoring.

“Esther! Are you alright?”

Rhyaad, entering behind Nikki, confident that there are no other assailants, closed the door and as soon as he does he sees Esther, smells her blood; he drops the weapons and rushes over to her. “Esther? Talk to us!”

“Oh. Hey Nik.” Esther awakens to Nikki keeling beside her, her hands on her shoulders gently looking for a wound, “Sorry I couldn’t get a good shot . . . but I see you took care of it yourself.”

“Esther! You’re Alive!” Rhyaad roared.

‘The question is, are you all right. Where did you get shot?” Nikki still looking for a gunshot wound.

“Just a graze to the hand Sam says . . . but Sam took a bullet to the shoulder and she just shrugged it off—so hell if I know if I really am ok or not.”

Nikki looks at the bandaged hand, and checks to make sure it is secure.

“Hurts like all hell, I tell ya.”

Rhyaad nodded, trying to make out where she was wounded. It seemed to be just the hand. “What—did you pass out? You seemed unconscious.”

“Jus exhausted. It’s been a long day . . . “ Esther grins at Nikki kneeling beside her checking the bandaged hand, “Nik. I’m spossed ta be protectin’ you. Not th’ other way ’round.”

Nikki looks at her seriously, “No one shoots my Esther and gets away with it.”

“How could you just fall asleep after being shot, especially if it ‘hurts like hell?’ Rhyaad said looking concerned, “We are taking you to the hospital, Esther Friedman.”

Esther smiles, “Take me away Rhyaad. My adrenaline’s all used up.”

“And . . . I was worried.” He admits, “I thought you were dead! I am supposed to be protecting you. Some lousy job I did.”

“Yes, they both need to go to hospital.” Nikki says rising to go and check on Sam in her office.

He wrinkled his nose. “Why do I smell so much blood in here? Sam?”

“Oh, she dumped some blood on her wound. Think she thought it was wine.”

“Apparently she thought the alcohol would be good for her. Mistake. It would need to be 100 proof.”

Nikki stepping into the office, hurries back out – “Rhy, Sam has passed out, we need to get medical attention quickly.”

He nodded. “I’ll bring the car. We don’t want the show of an ambulance.”

He snatched up the guns again and sprinted out the door.

In a quick dash he raced back to his car and after stashing the guns under the seat he drove back again and pulls up as close to the door as possible.

Then he races in. “Esther, can you walk? We’ll carry Sam out.”

“Yeah. I can walk.” Esther says rising unsteadily – shock setting in.

“Esther – will you be fine to go with Rhyaad. I will stay and call St. Clair and I am sure she’s going to want someone here.”

Esther nods and walks to the car, protesting Rhy’s attempt to help her, “Front seat. I get front seat.”

Nikki steps back into her office and picks up Sam. She carries her through the front office and out to Rhyaad’s car.

“St.Clair may be able to help us, as well as deal with the obvious – bodies and such.” Rhyaad says as he snatched up Sam from Nikki’s arms and lays her in the back seat of his car.

Nikki looks at them all, then to Rhyaad. “Be careful, we do not know if there are still others out there, waiting.”

He hurried around the car, nodded to Nikki and got in. The big engine started up. Glancing at Esther, he wondered if she was really all right. Partly to test her, he asked her, “Esther, are you sharp? Keep an eye out for . . . anything. J ust in case there are more gunmen about. OK?”

“Oh, h***!” Nikki says and steps back into the office, grabs Esther’s hat from the mop, “You can not go out without your hat!”

Car into gear, he drives away towards the hospital.

Nikki steps out, “Esther! No—you forgot your hat!”

Esther nods, “I’ll keep an eye out,” but falls asleep as soon as he turns off the rotary.

Rhyaad noticing that she has fallen asleep, worries that this was a terrible sign. But he decided to let her sleep.

Nikki stands holding Esther’s hat. “Damnit, she never goes anywhere without her hat.”

Walking back into the office, she closes the door and moves over to Esther’s desk.

She picks up the phone and dials the police.

She sits looking at Esther’s hat in her hand.

The B*****d on the roof looked too good, she still thinks.

The voice on the phone is St. Clair’s:
“This is St. Clair, what can I do for you.

“Chief, this is Nikki Collins, there has been a shooting here at the office.”

St. Clair:“Shooting — everyone alright?”

‘No, Rhyaad is taking Esther and Sam to the hospital.”

St. Clair: “F***. What the H*** happened?”

Split screen, Collins Investigations Offices and Woodward Memorial Hospital

Woodward Memorial Hospital
The black Impala pulls to a halt in the emergency entrance. Rhyaad turns and gently shakes her shoulder. “Esther?”

“What?”

“We need to get out now.”

“Okay.”

Collins Investigations

“A sniper from across the way. Shot them.”

St. Clair: “A sniper, what the hell are you up to Collins?”

“Not really sure as yet.”

St. Clair: “As usual.”

St. Clair: Silent for a moment, “So, I am assuming I have a dead sniper, right?”

Woodward Memorial Hospital
Rhyaad tries to keep a close eye on Esther while carrying the unconscious Sam at the same time, wishing silently that he had some help. “Go in,” he told her, following behind.

As soon as they got inside, Rhyaad startles the small staff by shouting loudly for help. “HELP! HERE! I’ve got an unconscious woman here, shot in the shoulder. And Esther is not well. She was shot in the hand, but she seems to keep passing out. There’s something else wrong with her.”

“Rhy, stop shouting . . . “

A nurse hurries over to assist.

Esther looks at her, “I’m jus tired. I’ve been up since 6 yesterday, and spent the whole day translating something from one old language to another.”

The blonde nurse, looking at Rhyaad, then to Esther, says, “Yes, I am sure you did.”

“Bullshit, Esther. The pain should keep you awake. You will be examined by a doctor.”

The emergency staff took the unconscious form of Samantha and put her on a gurney, wheeling her away.

“I hope she’ll be all right. Don’t know how badly she was shot.” Esther says watching as they wheel her through a set of swinging double doors.

“The doctor will decide that, Esther.”

Collins Investigations
“And his spotter.” Nikki informs St. Clair looking over at the bloodstains on the floor.

St. Clair: “So—am I going to have any problems – something I am going to have to explain away?”

“Well,’ Nikki holding Esther’s hat and looking at it, “Might be a problem with how I got up on the roof in order to stop them.”

St. Clair: Sighs. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly – they going to be okay, Esther and Sam?”

“I hope so – wish I was there and not here, but I am sure you want me here.”

St. Clair: “Sorry, yes, I need you there – I will be there shortly.”

St. Clair hangs up.

Woodward Memorial Hospital

Rhyaad slips in and closes the curtain behind him finding Esther sitting on a emergency bed “Gasp… Esther in a white dress?”

“It’s a hospital gown.”

“Are they’re admitting you?”

“No, the doctor gave me a stitches and ordered me to get some rest—an order I will say I gladly will obey.

“I wish I could be in two places at one time, but that is not one of my skills.” He tells her, “I’ll have to take you back and trust Samantha to the care of the hospital. We will go back for her as soon as possible.” He looks around as Esther lies back down for a moment, “Shall I take you to the office or the Old House, Esther?”

“Esther?” He poked the unresponsive Esther again. “Esther? Sleep in the office or the Old House?”

Esther mumbles “The car is fine…”

Rhyaad nods and stands looking at her as she sleeps. He reached into his coat pocket and removed one of the attacker’s cartridges and examined it now under the bright glare of the fluorescence in the emergency trauma room. He could not hide his concern as he nods now with recognition.

“Ah! EUMO rounds. Old ones.” He says to himself.

He knew these shells were what the EUMO called ‘mark IV’ anti vampire bullets. He also knew that the EUMO were using ‘mark V’ now. Of course, he had given Agent Peeters something even better . . . but—just where in the hells did these gunmen get EUMO bullets?

Nikki charging across the street, she could have been seriously hurt or even killed.

Was it possible that the attackers were from Europe? And even if they were, he certainly didn’t think the EUMO gave out this type of ammunition.

“I’m going to have to call Daan Peeters about this.”

Cue Music End of Episdoe