We’d heard that before. I moved on to my intended question after breaking the ice with small talk.

  “Have you heard of the Destiny Drac?”

  “Of course. Rumor is she works here at St. Erasmus.”

  “She?” Phin asked. “You think it’s a woman?”

  “I think it’s an urban legend. Been here half a decade, and I’ve never seen any evidence of anything. And I watch people. It’s a hobby of mine. I know who’s sleeping with who, who’s having problems with relationships or booze or drugs. Never saw anyone drinking blood. But there has been some weird stuff that’s happened.”

  “Such as?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m the custodian. I know when I lock doors. But sometimes doors I locked, I find them unlocked. Like the morgue. Your daughter shouldn’t have been able to get in there. Should have been locked.”

  “Are there extra sets of keys?”

  “A few people have them. But why would someone who thinks they’re a vampire go into the mortuary? Corpses don’t have fresh blood. It pools up and coagulates.”

  “Lividity,” I said.

  “Yeah. Can’t drink gooey old blood.”

  “Is that the only weird thing?” I asked.

  “Well, every so often people talk about blood disappearing from the blood bank.”

  That was one helluva red flag. “And you don’t think that’s related?”

  “I think it’s absolutely related. I think someone is pranking the hospital to keep the rumors going.”

  “Would a prankster impersonate a police officer and then hide in the morgue hoping to scare whoever came in?”

  Elroy shrugged. “They might. For the lulz. Or the views. Could be for some social media video.”

  I wasn’t buying it. Elroy stopped, and I’d noticed we’d reached our destination. Sooner than I’d expected. Sooner than I’d wanted.

  “Funky monkey dunkers!” Elroy’s face twitched. “I could get in big trouble letting you in here, so I’m going to stand guard at the door.”

  “Thanks.”

  Phin rolled in ahead of me. I followed, my nose crinkling at the familiar odor.

  While there were some aspects of policework I missed, visiting the morgue wasn’t one of them. The older I got, the less I wanted to be confronted by the inevitability of my own mortality. Especially now that I had a kid.

  “What do we do?” Phin asked. “Start opening these refrigerator doors?”

  My eyes darted to a dry erase board on the wall, filled with printed names. I quickly spotted Rita and Larold Goodall, and approached Larold’s with a bit of hesitation. I didn’t want to see this man again, even dead. He’d put my family through a lot.

  But even though part of me resisted, the more insistent part of me yanked open the handle and peeked inside, the flashlight on my cell phone illuminating—

  —an empty drawer.

  “Could the funeral director have picked him up?” Phin asked.

  I checked the dry erase board again. They’d both been autopsied, and unless their bodies were claimed by a relative, they’d be taken to the nearest crematorium and disposed of, usually within a day or two. But the morgue was full, and I’d heard Covid-19 was causing a backlog of cremations.

  “If the bodies were removed, they’d be taken off the board,” I said.

  “Obviously the body was removed.”

  “But we don’t know who removed it.”

  I checked Rita’s vault. Also empty. But the stainless steel shelf was glossy with fluids.

  On a hunch, I tugged the drawer out to its full length, then went to a supply cabinet and searched for the obligatory black light, often used in the autopsies of crime victims.

  I found a hand wand, pressed the power button to check the battery strength, and when it glowed faint blue I searched for a room light switch. Finding one on the near wall, I directed Phin to turn it off.

  No longer competing with the overhead fluorescents, the faint blue light became an eerie purple glow, illuminating a halo around me. I waved it over the shelf were Rita had been stored.

  There were some glowing specks at the near end, and some splotches at the mid-point.

  “What are we looking at?” Phin asked. “Blood?”

  “Blood only fluoresces with Luminol. But there are three other bodily fluids that glow under black light like this. Urine, but the spatter patterns don’t match.”

  “Do I want to know what the other two are?”

  “At the top here, I think it’s saliva.”

  “Sam was right. Fake Detective Kertis was eating her. And I can guess what the other glow is.”

  I confirmed his guess. “Semen.”

  For the sake of being thorough, I also ran the black light over Larold’s drawer. Nothing glowed.

  “Put the lights back on.”

  When Phin did, he questioned whether we should check the other coolers. “Maybe someone switched the bodies.”

  “Covid deaths. You want to start opening fridges?”

  “Probably not. What’s our next move? Call the police?”

  “And say what? That the bodies of two mass murderers are missing? No one is going to put out an APB on a corpse. Plus, do you want to make Sam describe what happened to her, over and over?”

  “Can’t they send in some lab rats, swab the blood and semen? Get DNA?”

  “DNA is important when there is a suspect to match it to. But what’s the crime here? I don’t know the criminal code in Colorado, but I don’t think they send out a crime scene team for boinking a corpse.”

  “And cannibalism isn’t a crime,” Phin said. “Larold taught me that one.”

  “Fake Kertis wanted us to investigate the Destiny Drac. All the evidence points to him being Blood. He must have wanted to see how much we knew. See if he’d left any evidence or trails behind that would lead to him.”

  “And now we have a path that leads right to him,” Phin said. “Our daughter.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “Yeah. But we don’t know who he is. And even if we get an ID, what crimes has he committed? The cases against Blood, most of them are from years ago. The Colorado statute of limitations on assault and battery is three years. Blood couldn’t even be tried for those.”

  “So why would Blood even get in touch with us? Why risk us figuring out who he is?”

  “That’s a good question. A person who sneaks into houses to drug people and drink their blood is someone who wants to avoid confrontation. Fake Kertis was full-on confrontational.” I closed my eyes, trying to tune into my instincts. “Also, drinking blood and cannibalism are two different things. Using an IV on a sleeping victim to steal a pint of blood is a much different MO than raping a dead body and eating her face.”

  “You’re thinking that there is more than one perp?” Phin asked.

  “When Harry and I were in those bags, and Blood was bleeding us, they seemed under control. Almost serene. But then we got beaten with a bat.”

  “So it’s two different people.”

  I frowned. “Maybe. Or maybe, for the first time ever, we’ve got an actual case of split personality disorder.”

  “Like Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll,” Phin said.

  “Yeah. Except in this case it would be Mr. Hyde and Mr. Hyde… both of them monsters.”

  BLOOD

  I swear I sometimes think that Flesh was how I would have turned out if I made different choices. Violent and impulsive and out of control.

  He drove me nuts sometimes.

  And other times, I loved him more than I ever loved anyone. Even more than I loved myself.

  After hiding the bodies of Rita and Larold, my insides were drying out faster than a wet cat in a microwave. I could smell the moisture leaving my cells, diffusing through my body tissue and vaporizing out of my pores.

  I had missed my snack earlier, but I needed it now more than ever. I patted my uniform, making sure I had the blindfold, and then took the elevator to my designated break room.

  Mr. Manx was sleeping, which was perfect. I closed the privacy curtain, double-checked to make sure his wrists were still bound to the bed frames, then I slipped the blindfold over his closed eyes.

  “Ugs!” he moaned, thrashing his head back and forth.

  “Shh. I’m going to help you with the bugs, Mr. Manx.”

  I reached down and removed the Velcro straps on his left leg compression stocking, peeling the side open.

  The dozen medical leeches I’d placed on his skin were latched on and pleasingly plump. I grabbed a fat one right behind its head and used my fingernail to break the suction.

  Then I slurped it into my mouth, getting a nice bubble-burst of Mr. Manx’s blood.

  Delicious.

  I spit the stringy bits of the leech into a napkin—the taste and texture were unpleasant—and moved on to the next one.

  After four I was feeling a lot better. My organs were moist again, and I was sure I’d lowered my blood pressure.

  I decided I had time for some dessert, and I rewrapped Mr. Manx’s left leg and opened the bandage on his right leg.

  I’d only put the ticks on the the day before, but a dozen of them were fat as berries, filled to near-bursting with scrumptious blood. I needed a special plastic tool to pluck the ticks off of Mr. Manx without yanking their heads off, since they fed by burying their heads into the skin. I gathered up a handful, their little arachnid legs wiggling ineffectively in proportion to their bloated bodies, and popped all of them into my mouth.

  They crunched like bloody popcorn.

  Unlike the leeches, the ticks were sweet and easy to swallow, so I didn’t have to bother spitting any nasty parts into the napkin.

  “Ugs! Ugs!”

  “Shush,” I told him.

  Both the leeches I used, which I got from the lab at St. Erasmus, and the ticks I raised at home, secreted anesthetic from their mouthparts so their host didn’t feel them bite or feed. I knew Mr. Manx wasn’t in any pain. He just liked to complain.

  After a few more ticks I was back to my regular self, so I wrapped his leg back up, adjusted his pillow, and snatched my blindfold after turning my back to the patient.

  Mr. Manx never saw my face. Not like anyone would believe a word he said.

  That’s why he was the perfect snack bar.

  When I left his room I had a spring in my step that hadn’t been there before.

  Tomorrow was promising to be a big day. But I was ready for it.

  FLESH

  Tomorrow was going to be a big day. But he was ready for it.

  That begs the question; is Blood ready for it?

  After getting home and taking a proper shower, Flesh decided to lift weights in his workout room above the shop to burn off all the extra energy. He wasn’t sure how to spring the upcoming surprise on his partner in crime. But he was sure that it is wiser to ask for forgiveness than permission.

  Because Blood wouldn’t give me permission.

  “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, strike like a thunderbolt,” Flesh said aloud to himself.

  Sun Tzu applied to just about everything.

  He set up two hundred and fifty pounds on his bench press, then began a set of ten reps while he imagined the scenario.

  I like to bite.

  Lift.

  I like to bite flesh.

  Lift.

  To bite and chew and swallow flesh.

  Lift.

  It’s my birthright.

  Lift.

  But the flesh for Flesh has grown stale.

  Lift.

  Blood doesn’t understand.

  Lift.

  Drinking blood because of some odd physical condition.

  Lift.

  Blood drinks blood to stay alive.

  Lift.

  But I eat flesh to live.

  Lift.

  This isn’t about survival.

  Lift.

  It’s about happiness.

  He finished the set, rested the weights on the bar catch, and added fifty pounds to the bar to crank out another ten.

  Blood thinks we’re going to kill those people, then take the little girl.

  Lift.

  Probably has a quick, painless death planned for her.

  Lift.

  Blood will drink up, and then I get the cold, dead leftovers.

  Lift.

  But I have a different plan in mind.

  Flesh grunted through the next six reps, sat up, and felt good enough to try three-hundred and fifty. He’d only done it once, with a spotter. But his muscles were jacked, and he was a whirlwind of emotions.

  I can still taste Rita’s face.

  He locked two more 25 lb. plates on the bar, then laid back on the bench.

  “Strictly adhere to method and discipline, and it is in your power to control success.”

  Flesh knew he could do that. But could Blood?

  Blood likes to use needles and tubes to drink blood.

  But I have a better idea.

  Instead of sinking my teeth into cold, dead flesh, I’m going to take a bite when that little girl is still alive and wiggling and screaming. Cut some steaks with my Japanese Yasuidesu knives while precious Samantha tenderizes her own meat with her pain and fear.

  Blood will learn the joy of drinking like a true vampire. From a gushing, open wound.

  We’ll feast together.

  So much better than a straw.

  So much better than bugs or animals.

  So much better than the dead.

  “Flesh and Blood forever. Ride or die.”

  Whether she likes it or not.

  Flesh pressed up the weight like he had the strength of two people.

  JACK

  It’s a vampwolf!” Harry exclaimed after I explained my split-personality hypothesis in our shared hospital room. “Half vampire, half werewolf. Full moon is coming tomorrow, so the wolf is taking over.”

  “There’s no such thing as a vampwolf, Uncle Harry.”

  McGlade waggled his finger at Sam. “That’s what the vampwolf wants you to believe. It’s how they can walk among human beings, sucking their blood, then eating off their faces.”

  “That’s not real,” Sam insisted.

  “Weren’t you the one yelling about monsters earlier?” he countered.

  “I was exaggerating to express how scary it was. It’s called hyperbole.”

  “It’s called a creepy eight-year-old with a pretentious vocabulary who is too smart for her own good. Did you at least learn your lesson about wandering off?”

  “Probably not,” Sam said.

  “You guys need to start spanking her,” Harry said to me and Phin. “At least four or five times a day.”

  Sam giggled.

  “But speaking of brilliant ideas,” Harry continued, “do you remember that case we had, Jackie? Where the killer cut off her husband’s kneecap?”

  I nodded. Ugly case. “Yeah. The patella.”

  “I keep thinking about that for some reason. I think my brilliant subconscious mind is trying to tell me something.”

  “Hold that thought,” I told him. “This hospital has surveillance cameras in the halls. Can you see if you can hack into the security system, get a good shot of fake Kertis?”

  “I don’t need to,” Harry beamed, showing me his cell phone. “I snapped a pic of him.”

  Phin nodded. “Nice move, McGlade.”

  “I know, right? I’m bad with names and faces, because of that thing I have that I can’t remember.”

  “Aphantasia,” Sam said.

  “Let the adults talk, sweetheart,” Harry told her.

  “I’m the one who told you that you have it.”

  “Yes. You’re very smart. Now sit there quietly and draw some pictures of clowns or horseys or whatever shit you kids draw. As I was saying, even though I didn’t know I had fantasia—”

  “Aphantasia.”

  Harry frowned. “No one likes a know-it-all, Sam. You’ll die alone, likely in poverty. Anyway, I’ve known for years that I can’t remember some things. So I’ve started taking photos of people I meet and tagging them. At least, when I remember to. As soon as we figured out Kertis wasn’t a cop, I put him into a facial recognition program that our buddy Fleming set me up with. It scours the web, looking for matches.”

  “Has anything come up?” I asked.

  “I haven’t checked lately. While you guys were gone I was so vigilant guarding Sam that I never took my eyes off of her for even a second.”

  “He took a nap,” Sam said.

  I bristled. “Jesus, McGlade.”

  “Yeah, whatever, she’s fine. Sam, you stinkybuttpants tattletale, go back to drawing your horsey clown.”

  “I’m not drawing anything.”

  “Quiet. Adults talking. Where was I?”

  “Facial recognition software,” I reminded him, still irritated he had the gall to nap again.

  “Right. Lemme check.”

  Harry played with his phone for a bit, and I closed my eyes. I’d put the morphine drip back in the catheter in my arm, and it was hitting hard.

  McGlade whistled, startling me out of my stupor.

  “Not bad for a woman your age, Jackie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He held up his cell, and I immediately recognized the picture.

  Me. Lifting up my hospital gown and showing my gazongas.

  “Son of a bitch. That skeevy old pervert took a screenshot.”

  Phin squinted at the screen. “I recognize those.”

  “What is it?” Sam asked.

  “Your mother went full Girls Gone Wild,” Harry said.

  “The last guy I interviewed wouldn’t talk unless I flashed him,” I explained.

  “I’m not judging, Jackie. I’m a pornographer, remember?”

  “Where did he post it, McGlade?”

  “On about ten different MILF sites. You want to hear some of the comments?”

  I said no while my husband simultaneously said yes.

  Harry listened to Phin, not me.

  “BoneAllMoms33 wrote, ‘I’d strap those on like a feedbag and do the motorboat all night long.’“

  Sam looked up from her cell phone. “Mom, is that a picture of your boobies?”