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From: Phillip and Cynthia
"She's dead, and there's nothing I can do about it," Cynthia said aloud to herself.
Phillip put his hands on the table in front of him. He understood well that feeling of helplessness in the face of a friend's death. "It wasn't your fault."
"I don't blame myself. I did my best for her. She was very unstable, and I wanted to hospitalize her. But her father... I blame him." Cynthia stopped for a moment, calming herself before going on. "In so many ways..."
"Because he didn't want her in a mental hospital? Those places don't all have a very good rep." Phillip thought he hardly blamed the father for that, even if it had turned out to be the wrong decision.
"That, too. But that's the least of it." Cynthia shook her head. "No, her blood is all on his hands, now."
Phillip wondered what the man had done, but thought it best not to ask. If Cynthia wanted to tell him, she would. If not, he'd just have to keep on wondering. He smiled a little, but did not say anything. A silence drew up around them and wrapped them together, oddly comforting.
Cynthia's mind crept back through the crazy fears of her young, now dead, patient. Laraine Niel had been only ten when her mother had vanished without a trace. Laraine had told Cynthia several contradictory versions of her mother's abandonment or death. All had one thing in common -- the motive, that she had discovered Laraine's father prefered his daughter to his wife, and she was jealous. In one she told Laraine she could have him, never to contact her again, and left forever. In another, she had killed herself after saying she could not live knowing her husband did not love her anymore. In the last, her father killed his wife and told Laraine he'd had to do it, because she was jealous of the closeness between him and Laraine, and would have tried to kill Laraine if he hadn't killed her first.
Laraine had originally come to Cynthia's practice after her first suicide attempt. She told Cynthia she'd tried to kill herself because her father no longer loved her. This was when she told the psychologist that her mother had committed suicide for the same reason. Cynthia talked to the father, and of course he'd assured her he loved his daughter just as much as ever. He gave Cynthia the creeps, though she was not sure if this was due to what Laraine had told her or not. There was just something about the man that repelled her.
Laraine vividly described her father's sexual advances toward her, and it was the abrupt stopping of these that had convinced her she'd lost his affection. Cynthia had tried to convince Laraine that such things were inappropriate between a father and daughter, and that their end did not imply an end of paternal love, quite the contrary in fact, but Laraine did not seem to let this alter her fixed ideas. Now that she was dead, there was no way left to help her, except the possibility that she'd be avenged.
Ending the comfortable silence between them, Cynthia said softly, "Remember when we went to that club, what we did? I mean, of course you remember it..."
"I'm not about to forget that," Phillip said with a crooked smile.
"I know... I mean, you said you did that kind of thing..." Cynthia wasn't sure how to continue. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.
"Yes. And you said you didn't." Phillip glanced at Cynthia's eyes, wondering what she was trying to say. Something about their hunt. Alarming speculations came to his mind, and he tensed.
"Just that this guy, her father, I mean...I'd like to... he deserves it. You know?" Cynthia found she couldn't bring herself to say the words.
Phillip relaxed again. "If you think so, I do too. You'd be the one who'd know if the kid was just born crazy, or he did something to make her that way." He smiled at Cynthia. "I'm happy to help you, if that's what you want to do."
Cynthia nodded, a knot of anger and guilt inside her easing. "Yes. I'll show you where he lives."
They stood outside a suburban house, one among many. Most people were asleep in this quiet neigborhood, cars safely tucked into garages or roughing it on driveways, street lights dropping pools of light intermittenly along the sidewalks. Cynthia and Phillip stood outside the house where Laraine had died by her own hand, and conversed in quiet tones.
"Here we go. If there's any trouble, get yourself out, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." Phillip slipped a flexible steel shim between door and jamb, springing the lock easily. People were not particularly security conscious around here, it seemed. He kept an eye and ear out for silent alarms. They often had a telltale hum, barely audible, and a small blinking red light.
All the lights were out, save a faint one that shone from upstairs. They walked up, heard a snoring sound and found the man lying sound asleep in his bed. Phillip whispered to Cynthia, "Find the bathroom and run a bath. I'll bring him in to you in a second. We don't want any blood in the bed."
She nodded, nervously wondering what was about to happen. She told herself that Mr. Niel... no, he didn't warrant the respect of "Mister"... just Niel... was about to get what he deserved, that was what was about to happen. She was about to avenge Laraine. She felt much worse about it than she had earlier. He looked so innocent asleep, helpless. Not like a monster. Just a regular guy.
For something to do, she went and ran the water in the tub. When it was halfway full, Phillip came in, Niel over his shoulder. Phillip had a secure grip on the man's throat, which he did not release as he lowered Niel into the water. He let go after he let the man's head slip underwater for a moment, and Niel came back up sputtering. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house..." his choler seemed to cool as he noticed Cynthia. "You? What's this about?" he addressed to her.
"It's about your little girl," Phillip said. "She's dead, and it's your fault. Right? You got anything you want to confess? Cause this is your last chance." Niel tried to get out of the tub, and Phillip pushed him back down with effortless strength, smiling viciously.
"I don't know who you think you are," Niel began.
Phillip cut him off. "Then I'll show you." His fangs extended, and he bit deeply into Niel's forearm. Niel spasmed as the vampire drank, thrashing in the water. Scattered droplets splashed as far as Cynthia, patterning her clothing like rain. Phillip was half-soaked by the time he stopped. Niel lay limply in the water, his head starting to slip under.
Cynthia moved forward, took Phillip's place beside the tub, as Phillip dried himself off a bit with a towel, then left the bathroom. She did not even wonder where he was going. She held Niel's head above water, and waited until his eyes opened again. "Niel. Listen to me. Why did Laraine die?" She wished with all her might that he would answer. She had no idea if it would work, did not expect it to, but it might have, or maybe it was chance that he was still aware enough to answer but no longer strong enough to hide his secrets.
"She thought I didn't love her anymore... so sorry, Laraine... I love you. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry about your mother, Laraine. I didn't mean to hurt her either. I'll bury you next to her, I promise..." He looked up at Cynthia, but seemed to see someone else. "You were always a good girl, Laraine. My best girl."
Cynthia felt she could take no more, that one more word from him would destroy her. To stop him she pressed her lips to his damp skin and bit, tasting his blood, drinking it, letting it feed her. The blood washed away the sorrow and the anger for the time it was coursing down her throat, at least. Food was only temporary joy, but vivid in its brevity.
After she stopped, she stood, dazed. Phillip took a wooden handled knife he'd found in the kitchen, put it in Niel's hand and used it to slice open the man's forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood swirled into the water and Phillip pulled up the drain, letting it flow out and into the sewer. He threw the towel he'd used into the water as well, where it clung to the side of the tub, soaked in pale pink.
The police found Niel's body, ruled it suicide. While investigating, they found the body of his wife, who'd been on the missing persons roster since four years previous, buried under the garden. The newspapers took up the story. Coroners were unable to determine her cause of death. "No survivors," the headlines read. "Suburban family dead in four year nightmare." The nightmare was over for the Niels.
Not so for Cynthia. Niel and Laraine haunted her dreams, and a ghost of Mrs Niel, in Cynthia's mind looking just like her own mother. They were dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.