ROGER FISHER

A cold Thursday November night and I was sitting in Old Maulder’s having a drink. The pub has been a mainstay in Stowe for as long as I can remember and now, it’s closing. I figured it was only right, me being one of the Mayoral candidates and all, to show my face and give my best wishes to Jude Maulder. He had a good run. I hear someone else had put in a bid for the place. It’ll never be the same.

Sipping Coors Light, I managed to do all my smiling and hand shaking earlier and finally got some time alone at my favorite back table. The focus was Jude anyway, and that was fine with me. Everyone knows I’ve got far more experience and longevity in this town than that Boy Scout, Biebe, and come election time I’ll be fine. I looked at John with all his friends, smiling and shaking hands. I wasn’t up for political debates. That night I just felt like thinking.

It wasn’t what I was thinking that had all my attention, it was what I was feeling; an old sensation I’d almost forgotten. A kind of black electricity that shoots out of my guts and almost blinds me. Last time I felt like this …

I shuffled and raised a hand for another beer. Patsy Gilmore brought it over. Poor Patsy, she was one of those barmaids who started out fifteen years ago as a real beauty and has since become as worn and used up as the upholstery on the old leather booths. She too wasn’t full of chatter that night so that was good. I could get back to trying to control my own thoughts.

Things were getting hairy. People were asking questions and looking way too closely at me. My books were examined, my personal finances; even my college background was being rummaged through. My business was being watched. It’s all coming from that fucking Fed, Cooper. But he hasn’t gotten in my face yet, so maybe it’s just standard information gathering regarding a mayoral candidate. If I was friends with Biebe, I’d have a talk, real subtle; ask if he’s facing the same shit. After the big bust regarding tampering with voting machines during the Sheriff’s election a few months back, maybe I need to just relax and assume this is standard practice.

A cool million dollars each has kept Slade and Water quiet, even though they’re both sitting in a prison cell for ten to twenty. I grinned into my beer. Good thinking. But I couldn’t shake the idea that I might’ve missed something. Something important.

Well, yeah, I did miss something important … and it goes way, way back.

When I was a kid in high school, looking at a football scholarship with SCU, (a dream opportunity for a small town Vermont boy), I got myself missed up with a little chemical entertainment. Hell, it was the early seventies; we had that hippy commune at the dilapidated mansion near Mansfield. Me and a few friends started hanging out there every chance we got. All that peace, love and dope was intriguing. At first I just watched. When I participated, it affected my quarterbacking skills but the football season only lasts so long and so did my willpower. By that time, my buddies were so deep into it I had some catching up to do. We’d all hooked up with Bob Sawicki. Man, that dude was the epitome of the culture we wanted to be a part of. He had the look, the attitude; he even got himself arrested a few times … once with me. But in retrospect, I never once saw that man toke a joint or pop a pill. He just always looked like he was five steps ahead of us. I disconnected with my friends and hooked onto Sawicki, big time. In my mind, he and the others were missing the boat. There was money to be made in this shit, and I wanted to make it.

When I got arrested for possession, (one joint, mind you), my father went off the deep end. I got a bloody nose and grounded for a month. It was summer and that left me with a mess of time to think things over, see how I could make it all work. I was going to be a senior the next year then off to college. I knew that if I was going to turn the corner, become a drug mogul, I had one year to do it in. Period. The right connections would follow me to sunny California and I’d be made for life. Medicinal recreation was here to stay and I planned to ride that gravy train.

Dad was a pillar of the community, a man who probably should have been a preacher but that would have limited his open love of money. He was gone to New York most of the time; mom was just an average mom, raising kids and keeping house. She woke at the crack of dawn and was sound asleep by ten PM. By eleven, I’d sneak out and be at the commune.

Sawicki was never open, never said a thing, just grinned and bobbed his head and closed his eyes like he was singing Hari Krishna to himself or something. So I watched and I learned and I usurped a contact I saw and started a conversation. I was a small town kid, but I was a rich one too. Stealing money from my folks for the initial investment wasn’t all that hard, cash was always lying around. Took me months to pull it all together. Whenever I got caught, I’d just explain I needed it for books or a research project and once I even lied about a football excursion to Penn State University to work out with the Pittsburgh Steelers. I was really in Miami. That was the weekend I made my first big deal; the biggest deal that ever brought a shipment into the state of Vermont. I was established.

Things went real well, nice and smooth and nobody was the wiser … then one afternoon, just before I was to leave for SCU, I was walking with my girlfriend and wanted a little privacy, if you get my meaning. I pulled her, squealing and giggling into the alley between the drycleaners and what’s now a coffee shop. We went at it, and I mean big time. Felicity Marsh. Damn, she had great tits. Anyway … all finished and readjusting our clothes, I heard a noise. I pressed her back against the bricks behind the dumpster. Something was going down and I thought for sure it was going to be another lead for another contact and visions of sugar plums danced in my head.

Sawicki was talking real quietly to another man. He was passing papers over, I thought it was cash until I slithered closer, listened harder. The other man was a narc … and Sawicki was talking about me. That was the last time I felt all this black electricity. I don’t know any other way to describe it.

Late that night, I took one of my father’s pistols to the commune and killed Bob Sawicki. I buried him pretty far from the old mansion, figuring that someday soon the place would be flattened. After all, Heffner’s Farms was running milk cattle and old man Heffner had always coveted that land. It was just a matter of time and the place would be quiet except for mooing, right? Needless to say, I had a wave of delight knowing Sawicki would be sleeping off eternity under a mountain of cow shit.

Twenty years ago I quit the drug market, slipped out of it as silently and easily as I slipped in. All my money has been hidden in banks overseas. My business headquarters is in New York, I’m an investment councilor. For years I’ve had a broker in my pocket. He makes trades on insider information under fictitious names and has managed to more than quadruple my cash. I’m fifty-five and already thinking about just plain disappearing before I turn sixty. Poof. Gone and living on a beach in the south of France with two, maybe three beautiful young women at my beck and call. Shit didn’t work out like I thought, though.

Old man Heffner died before he could gobble up that property and six years ago the Biebes came in to buy it. At first I was in a fucking panic, scrambling to figure out what I could do to get them to turn and run. I thought nature was on my side; that the 2003 avalanche and Biebe getting all busted up was good enough to solve my problem, but those people are resilient bastards. They stuck around, opened and the place started really taking off. I had to do something.

Knowing through my political friends that Colorado State Senator, Bill McCullough was making a visit to the 1876 Manor In at Mount Mansfield two years ago, I put my brain to work. Wasn’t too hard to create just the right situation. My broker knew a man who had an axe to grind with McCullough and it was supposed to all work out just dandy. A hostage situation at the fancy new inn should ruin business and send the Biebes packing, right? It couldn’t have gone down better, either; Riley Biebe being taken. That should scare the shit out of her. It didn’t. Nothing seemed to shake those people.

After that, I decided to just ignore it for a while but something in back of my mind kept poking at me. So I moved my satellite office to Stowe to keep close to things. I also figured running for Sheriff might put me in just the right place should the worst happen.

Who the hell is that Ben Wade guy? Where’d he come from and how could I have lost to him?

Ah well, I figured I’d just been blindsided that time. Biebe, I knew. I could campaign better against an opponent I understood.

Then … like my luck had run out … Sawicki’s body was found. I thought I’d made it free and clear when the construction crew building the addition to that damn inn hadn’t bumped into Bob. Turned out Bob Sawicki was a Fed, deep under cover and working years at breaking narcotics rings in the north east. How the hell was I to know? Rumor around town has it that the pretty blond bartender at the Inn Pub stumbled across a buried body. How? Why? What the hell? What was her name? Oh yeah … Daisy. Daisy Cox.

I was steeped deep into being so angry I couldn’t see straight anymore. The black lightening was flashing all through my body and I sat at Old Maulder’s trying to make heads to tails of everything. The first thing I did after the body was discovered was throw in my hat for Mayor. That was a stroke of genius. I’m a smart man, dammit. Who in their right mind would make himself so visible if he was guilty of murder?

And now … every tiny bit of my past is being scrutinized by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This wasn’t good … not good at all.

I was high on the rage, higher than I ever was on drugs and it felt good, like nothing could stop me. It was time for revenge and there was no time to make a perfect plan. I was moving with the flashes, twitching. I looked at my watch. Two AM. Old Maulder’s would be open all night, a last hurrah tribute to a long time business. But that little pub at the Inn would be just about ready to close.

It was time to exact a little vengeance. Granted, Daisy Cox wasn’t really the focus of my fury, but killing her would go far to making me feel better … and feeling better was all I cared about at the moment. I left cash on the table and walked out.

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE …
GLENDA

I stepped into Fangtasia and looked around. The vampire bar was hopping but Pam, stationed at the door, didn’t scrutinize me too harshly. She knows who I am; all vampires know who I am. I’m a witch and stop chuckling out there. I’m not the Good Witch of the North, even though my name is Glenda. The owner of the bar, Eric Northman, and I have history … a thousand years of history. He was a Viking. I lived in the village where he grew into maturity. I became a witch; he became one of the undead. Eric and I have crossed paths a hundred times over the years. He’s still a beautiful, strapping man with rippling muscles and long glowing blond hair … I’m still a sixty year old crone. A lifelong fantasy was about to happen for me … if I played my cards right.

“I need an audience with your boss, Pam,” I said as curtly as I could manage; it was difficult, my heart was racing with possibilities and unsatisfied excitement.

Pam, Eric’s second in command, was devoted. He was her maker and vamps are strong on the loyalty chromosome. She eyed me with hard, dead eyes and asked for the cover charge. Handing over five bucks, I grinned viciously. “Eric?” I said sharply.

“I’ll see if he has time for you, old woman. Have a seat, enjoy the music.”

I cringed, brushed off the chair and sat at a small table. Mainstreaming is the name of the game with vampires. I suppose it made sense, the bar had to be raking in the money and Eric was always a sharp thinker. I personally hate Louisiana. Too many vamps and far too many politics for my liking. I spend most of my time in the far north; Alaska, Northern Russia, Greenland. I’m a little sentimental, I prefer the cold and snow … and the sharp, chilly elements so close to the magnetic pole of the planet hold my spells strong. I haven’t physically aged one day since my sixtieth year when I cast the spell to keep me well and alive forever … but that could be compromised if I spent too much time in Shreveport humid summer heat. An hour tops was all I had to play my hand. If it didn’t work, I’d do the do myself. It might prove helpful … although not accomplish what I really want.

I refused ordering a drink, imagining that the glasses were probably dirty and the alcohol sub-standard for my tastes. Within minutes Pam, fast as a vampire, was again at my side. “He’s busy, old witch. In a meeting with Bill Compton.”

I stood to stroll back toward Eric’s small office and she positioned herself in my path. One glare was all it took. Pam might be an old and a very strong vampire, but she wasn’t a stupid one. She knew the ramifications of fucking with me. She stepped aside and I walked right through the closed door.

Eric looked up from his desk; he was deliciously slouched and obviously having an important conversation with the dark vampire, Compton. Blond brows rose.

“Glenda. I’ll be busy for another hour or two; please enjoy a few drinks on the house until I have time for you.” Eric’s grin was maniacal. He knew I didn’t have a few hours and I sometimes wonder if he’d chosen to station himself in the poor, southern state of Louisiana just to steer clear of me. I sat in the empty guest chair and Compton actually gave a growl of contempt.

Eric rolled his eyes and finally spoke after several minutes of tense silence. “So, to what do I owe this unexpected … pleasure?”

I smiled prettily and let my mind put it all into words. “I have a very unique opportunity for you …” I glanced toward the brooding Compton, “and your associate.”

“What opportunity and what will it cost me?” snorted Eric.

“A remarkable opportunity, since you and Mr. Compton are deeply interested in making this mainstreaming concept work.” I grinned to the other vamp, taking a leap of faith that I was on the money. I was. Compton’s brows rose and Eric’s gorgeous body tightened, actually straightened in his seat.

“Go on,” he said in a hiss.

“I have, quite serendipitously, stumbled upon a set of Portals to another universe.”

“And?” Eric glared.

“And, I would like to offer you and Mr. Compton a special opportunity to pass through to that universe and get a good look at another world, one extremely similar to this one and as far as I can tell, devoid of your kind. I thought that perhaps it would be helpful to take a good look at how mainstreaming can work in a stable, far less … infected … society.”

Another growl came from Compton before he turned to Eric. “No,” he spat and Eric bestowed a superior scowl that shut down even Compton’s expressions. I’d played this hand well so far. Eric was the sheriff of Area Five of Louisiana and this rather young (my guess was no more than a hundred, hundred-fifty years old) vampire was his underling. Perfect. So perfect I almost laughed aloud. My eyes trailed Compton’s body and my plan expanded. I smiled kindly, appropriately ignoring Compton’s refusal.

“What do you say, Eric? A chance to advance your cause, learn everything you can. Gain knowledge and power over your peers? One glorious night of exploration sure to immensely benefit you in the long run?”

“And what do you want in payment for this … kindness, witch?”

“Ah,” I chuckled. “Always the businessman. It’s really nothing. Nothing big at all. Since you can’t possibly return the favor in like, I simply ask for a few nights … alone … with you,” my eyes moved to the other vamp who was shaking with anger, “and Mr. Compton, of course.”

“You would do all this for sexual favors?” Now Eric was laughing but after so many centuries of knowing this vampire and recalling him fondly as a mortal in my memories, I clearly recognized the interest in his blank blue eyes. Interest for the adventure, not me … but I would change that.

“Yes, my dear. Two nights in the frozen cold of the far north,” I said, knowing that Eric’s dead heart was melting deep inside his cold chest. “Two nights to enjoy the hospitality of a willing woman’s bed. Nothing more.”

“Eric,” Compton choked but this time the sheriff of Area Five never took his eyes from mine and his grin did not fade.

“Why not make the journey yourself, Glenda? Explore a universe where you can settle and be the most powerful thing walking the planet?”

My eyes sparkled at Eric’s comment. So expected, but I was prepared. “Me? Ah, no. I have everything I need. Beside, not even I could sustain existence there. The Portals won’t permit that. No,” I sighed, waved a hand frivolously. “I just figured a chance like this was earmarked for you, my dear friend. So, I offer it graciously.”

If air could vibrate without witchcraft, it was doing it at that moment. Compton was violently against it but Eric was chewing it over.

Suddenly he leaned back. “Fine,” he said and I watched the other vamp almost crumble. Compton might be far more pragmatic than Eric, but his leader was ready for an adventure. It was a delightful accomplishment, made more enjoyable as it forced the hand of a lesser vampire in the process. Eric could not let himself appear to be kowtowing to an underling. “What are the ramifications of this … favor?” Eric asked and I could see his dead mind spinning.

“You and Mr. Compton will have one night, a long winter night, in a small town in Vermont, Other Universe. It will end just before sunrise when you will be returned with ample time to find a safe sleeping place … in my compound, of course.”

Eric grunted. “And you will release us when payment is extracted?”

“Have you ever known me to cross you, Eric of the North?”

He blinked, responding to the name he had used even before joining the undead. “I have not. But should you imagine this to be your first time … Pam will know of this and take vengeance, you know.”

I grinned. “Of course she will. She is most loyal and I would never risk such a political blunder. There are rules to be obeyed on this excursion too, Eric … and you must follow them all or your opportunity will end rather abruptly.”

“And those rules?”

“You may not hurt a mortal, may not kill a mortal, you may not drink from one. Also, you are duty bound to convey everything you learn to me upon returning. Is that agreeable?”

Eric was still. I knew his dead, silent heart was wishing for a chance to once again plunder the human race without detection, but he was a man with a mission. Mainstreaming was the only road to survival now that the vampires had ‘come out of the coffin’. He clearly understood the great opportunity I was offering. “It is agreeable,” he finally said.

“Good.” I stood and pulled two bottles of TrueBlood from the small refrigerator near the desk and set them in front of the vamps. “Drink up while you can. You leave in,” I looked at my wrist. Of course I didn’t have a watch, no self respecting witch needs one. “You leave in exactly five minutes.”

The vampires guzzled.

DAISY

Another long quiet night. With Old Maulder’s closing, everyone, (even the tourists), had left for the old bar, all wanting to see a bit of history end. That left me with a quiet pub to tend. Well, not exactly quiet.

Brian was there with a few friends, some wearing combat gear and all as dead as he is. Bob Sawicki, too, was sitting at the bar, tossing peanuts into his mouth, spitting them out and doing it again.

“Stop that, it’s gross,” I said with a huff. Some ghosts never grow up.

On quiet nights like this, my focus was to get the bar and storage room in order. I bopped in and out of the expanded storage space behind the bar. Man, I’m so happy to have more room for everything. Since they moved Antony’s security headquarters over to the cottage near the pond, I was now free to spread things out so I could see them on the shelves. I wasn’t too worried about missing a customer; Brian would let me know if a live one came in.

After a few hours back there and pleased with the results, I returned to my post behind the bar. Bob was still tossing the same damn peanuts and Brian’s buddies were getting rowdy as if they were really getting drunk. I wonder how many of them died DUI or something. Since I’d be spending the last few hours behind the bar, polishing the wood and mirrors and cleaning glasses the day bartender conveniently left for me (how nice of him, the prick) … I just shrugged and got to it, after all, what else did I have to do?

I grinned to myself and reached into my pocket, switched on the tiny tape recorder I snarfed from Cory. It was one of his high tech ways of proving spiritual activity, right? I was sure that if I could record some of the ghosts talking, I could prove once and for all that Brian, Bob and the rest of them were really bugging the shit out of me.

Twenty minutes before I was ready to close, the bar sparkling clean and smelling like detergent and Windex, I noticed that everyone suddenly got quiet. All I had left to do was the glasses and I looked up from the sink.

Brian’s friends were gone; guess they had equally dead wives expected them home. Brian had a strange look on his face and Bob stopped his ridiculous peanut tossing. They both turned and I looked where they were looking.

There were two men sitting in the far corner booth. Sheesh, I never saw them come in. I dried my hands and pushed back my hair.

“Psst, Daisy,” Brian whispered. “I wouldn’t go over there if I were you.”

“Why not? I just might get a tip. It’s not like you guys are big on gratuity.”

“Seriously, Daisy Chain.” Bob tossed his peanut into the trashcan behind me. “Those two are nothing to be messing with.”

I shrugged. “I’m not gonna mess with them, I’m going to serve them a drink. It’s my job, in case you forgot.”

And both ghosts vanished, Brian’s voice drifting away. “Be careful, Daisy.”

I huffed. “Lotta help you two are.”

I went over to the table. It was a very dark corner of the pub, the booth lovers usually choose for a little privacy. I eyed the two men. One was absolutely beautiful; long golden hair, deep blue eyes, a grin on his face like he knew something I didn’t. The other was dark, real dark; dark hair, dark eyes, nice straight dark brows, rather long dark sideburns and all on a very pale face. In fact, they were both pretty damn pale, but having moved to the great northern tundra of Vermont, this California girl has gotten used to pale men. I’d never seen those two before, but nothing about them made me nervous so I let Brian and Bob’s warnings slip from my mind.

I smiled; at least I think I smiled. “What can I get you?”

The golden god chuckled but the dark man returned the smile and spoke. His voice was deep and rich and for a moment I felt a little dizzy. “Red wine, if you please, ma’am.”

Oh! How nice. A polite customer. When have we ever had one of those … outside of the family? What a novelty. “Hey,” I chirped. “If you are really connoisseurs of fine red wine, I have a wonderful hybrid Bordeaux a family friend brought for the Inn. It’s not cheap. Twenty-four bucks a glass, but I hear it’s spectacular.” As soon as I made the offer I felt kinda bad. Maximus was probably dead right, it was worth the price, but I was a little against serving it in the pub. It could really fly up in the dining room, but most of my customers were beer and chips kinda people.

The blond god straightened in his seat and gave an elegant, slight bow of his head. “We’ll take two glasses.”

I like these guys. Wow, a whole forty-five dollar night for me. At this rate, I might make enough of a tip to buy a pack of gum, huh? I poured two glasses of wine and accidentally dripped some on my finger. Without thinking, I sucked it into my mouth. Man! Really good wine!

“I assume it meets with your approval.”

My eyes shot up. The dark man was sitting at the bar. Jesus! He moved fast. I blinked and nodded. I grinned back only because I couldn’t help it, getting busted like that and responding to the delightful smile he was giving me.

“Pour yourself a glass.” This came from the blond one. He, too, was suddenly at the bar and they were both sitting casually on the stools right across from me. Damn, I must be tired or something, I never heard him move or walk across the floor. Weird. Maybe a little too weird.

“Uh,” I sighed. “Nah. Not supposed to drink during work hours. Besides, I can’t afford to be drinking this stuff.”

“Oh, it’s on me,” those brilliant, icy blue eyes glittered. “Please.”

I hesitated.

“We won’t tell a soul you’re drinking on duty,” he chuckled, his head tilting and that golden hair curtaining one eye.

What the hell? I shrugged and pulled another wineglass from the rack. The wine glugged into the glass and I raised it to theirs in salute and sipped, closed my eyes and moaned delight. When I opened my eyes, they were both looking at me with nothing less than … lust. Oh-oh. I cleared my throat. “It’s delicious. What do you think?”

They touched the glasses to their lips then smiled. Nice smiles. Real nice smiles.

“Tell me,” the blond shuffled on his stool and fixed a gaze on me. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh.” I know I blushed. “This place is haunted. Big time.”

“There are ghosts here?” the dark one asked, spinning his full glass on the polished wood bar top.

“Oh yeah.”

“And you talk to them?”

“Well, they talk to me. Mostly I argue with them. One wants me to figure out who killed him. Crazy, huh?” They didn’t respond. I turned to return the bottle to its place behind me on the glass shelf and noticed activity in the mirror. The dark guy reached over and poured his wine into the sink and the blond one automatically poured his wine into the empty glass, receiving a substantial glare. I grinned. These two were kinda fun. Too bad I had to close soon. I played along.

“More?” I turned and asked.

“Yes. Pour yourself another glass as well,” tall blond and beautiful said with a wicked grin and I did just that. “Tell me more about these ghosts,” he said.

“Eric,” snorted the dark guy. “How’s that going to help with our research?”

“Research? Is that what you guys are doing here?” I sipped and again marveled at the smoothness of the wine. I have to remember to tell Maximus how wonderful it is.

“Uh, yes. We are researching this town.”

I looked to the blond one. “Your name’s Eric?”

His smile blazed. “Yes. I am Eric and this is Bill.”

I bobbed a nod. “I’m Daisy.”

Eric continued. “Well Daisy, we’re interested in this town. We are thinking of possibly settling in here.”

“Are you two a couple?” I asked, downing the final drops of my Bordeaux. Holy cow, you’d have thought I asked them if they were murderers or something. Their heads shot up, they glared viciously at each other and their answer came fast and harsh.

“No!” they hissed in unison.

“Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “What do you want to know about the town? I hear the skiing is good.”

“Is there night skiing?” Eric asked with a playful glint in his eyes and Bill snorted.

“No. Some mountains around Vermont have limited night skiing, but Mansfield doesn’t. Sorry.”

“This is a small town?”

“Miniscule,” I chuckled, plunging a few of the mountain of dirty glasses into soapy water and washing away. “Not like I’m used to. I’m from Los Angeles.”

“Ah, the City of Angels,” Bill said sweetly.

I snorted. “Not quite, but at least it’s a lot more alive than it is here … although he have had our fair share of excitement,” I sighed, remembering the Portal fiasco, the discovery of Bob’s body, Ben’s election as Sheriff. Yeah, it may be a small town but it packs a punch, that’s for sure.

“What brought you to this town?” Bill asked kindly.

“Well, my boyfriend was a producer for a television show about chasing ghosts He came here and discovered the ghost of his grandfather. When I came to visit, we decided we kinda liked it and stayed. Nothing dramatic, just a decision.”

“You like it for the peacefulness?” Bill sounded like he really is a research analyst.

“I dunno. Cory has family here. It’s pleasant enough. Most times peaceful.” I put another glass into the soapy water and scrubbed it clean.

“And,” Eric said softly, so softly I raised my eyes to watch his. “Is it always so quiet in this bar?”

“Oh,” I chuckled. “There’s an old pub in town, Old Maulder’s, been in business forever. It’s closing and they’ve been celebrating the end of an era down there for days. Usually we’re hopping, but it’s been quiet like this since Wednesday. That place finally closes the door tomorrow at noon, thank God. They’ll be partying all night. Maybe that’s were you and Bill should have gone.”

“Is that where Cory is?” Bill fingered a peanut.

There was something really strange about those two. If he popped it into his mouth and spit it out I’d know they were ghosts, dammit. He didn’t. He just played with it, rolling it in his long fingers and watching my face. Ah well, maybe they were just two dudes who picked the wrong bar to hang out in that night. Two dudes who really didn’t like Bordeaux but were being nice about it and sticking around to keep poor, lonely me company.

“Cory’s upstairs sleeping off last night’s pre-closing celebrations. Fine with me, he’s been a grump all day.”

We chatted on, talked about the town and the weather, a little about the local government. I’m sure no expert but at least I knew more them they did. Finally I went to the floor and began lifting chairs onto the tables and surprisingly, they both joined in. How nice.

Then the not so nice job. The fucking day bartender never took his trash out and I had three full … heavy … smelly garbage bags to haul upstairs and out to the dumpster. I really gotta talk to John about that guy, he never does his job … and rumor has it he makes bigger tips than me!

I tugged on my hoodie and zipped it up. Just as I was about to tell Eric and Bill it was closing time, they both stood and each took a heavy trash bag in hand. I could get used to this treatment. I led them out the door and up the back stairs. We walked through the snow all the way around to the enclosed dumpster and suddenly they both stopped like they hit an invisible wall.

“You smell that?” Eric said and I turned to see Bill give serious nod to his associate. Their brows were all scrunched up like spiders.

“Just a dumpster, guys. They all stink to high heaven.” I pulled open the tall wooden door covering the ugly dumpster and went into the enclosure. It was freezing cold and I was shivering. I noticed they hadn’t followed me inside and shrugged. Maybe they had weak stomachs or something. At least they saved me two trips on the stairs.

Just as I raised a hand to flop open the heavy dumpster lid … I got blindsided, big time. It was like a bull had charged me. I was hit so hard from the side that I flew a few feet outside the gate and hit the packed snow with a thud. Then he was on top of me.

I was so shocked I didn’t know what the hell to do. All my life in Los Angeles and I’d never once been attacked like that. I saw his face in the security lights and gasped. It was, of all people … Roger Fisher! Suddenly his hands were tightening around my throat. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t think about anything but how nice it was to breathe and how I sure as hell didn’t want to stop doing it. My eyes searched behind Roger’s hunched shoulders. Eric was wild eyed but Bill was holding him back. Why weren’t they helping me?

Panic gave way to super-pissed-off and I struggled. “Why are you doing this!” I croaked into Roger Fisher’s too close face.

“You fucking found him!” Fisher hissed, glaring down at me. Obviously he had no clue there were witnesses to his attack; witnesses who were big and strong and handsome but obviously too pussy to lend a hand. “How’d you fucking find him! I buried him so carefully. No one was ever supposed to find him!”

The lights in my brain were flickering and I was choking for air. Then a brief second of clarity. “You killed Bob?” I garbled.

“Yes, you bitch! I killed Bob Sawicki and now I’m going to kill you! This time, no one will ever find the body. That’ll teach you to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

My hands flailed and I raked my nails down his face. Blood bubbled then dripped down to his chin and like a light bulb went off in my Bordeaux-hating, garbage-bag carrying new friends, they finally leapt into action.

Roger howled the sound of a wounded animal. His body was violently dragged from me and I scrambled back, watching in awe as Eric and Bill pummeled and pounced my attacker. Then, suddenly they stepped back. Both had blood on their knuckles and shirts, Eric had blood on his chin and I felt bad, wondering what affect a swollen lip would have on those pretty features. He knelt at my side and tugged the collar of my hoodie, eyeing the growing bruises there.

“Are you okay, Daisy?”

I nodded, my throat still too raw for serious screaming or long discussions. “Is he … dead?” I said in a raspy hush.

Bill bent and checked Fisher’s pulse. “No.”

Roger Fisher stirred and Eric stood beside Bill, looking down at the bloody pulp. Fisher looked like he was in a train wreck. A bone was broken and sticking out of his ankle, his face was swollen and his coat was soaked from the collar to his chest with freezing blood. I looked up at my heroes, wanting to thank them, wanting to beg them to stay with me until the cops came, wanting them to be witnesses to what the man said. But before I could open my mouth, Bill turned a scowl to Eric.

“We are so fucked,” he said.

To my surprise, Eric started to laugh. “Yes, we are,” he snorted. “And payback is a witch.”

I blinked. Did I hear him right? Then, right there in front of me, they both simply, silently … disappeared. I found my voice and let out with a long, crazy scream that seemed to go on forever.

Lights started coming on behind me in the Inn and Cory charged out in sweat pants and bare feet. I stood, wobbly on my legs and ran to him.

“What happened?” he shouted, eyeing Fisher and holding me tight. Thank goodness, because I was shaking so hard I was sure I’d fall.

“He tried to kill me!”

Antony was running like a linebacker from the cottage and already I could hear the sirens of police and paramedics.

“Tried to kill you?” Cory’s arms tightened even more and Antony took off his jacket and wrapped it around us both.

My head was spinning. Where to start? How to understand what just happened? Were they ghosts? Nope, if Eric and Bill were ghosts, they couldn’t have done what they did to Fisher ... otherwise the wronged Bob Sawicki would have taken the pleasure long ago. So, they weren’t ghosts … then what were they? If I didn’t know what they were or how they could disappear like that, I had no choice but to keep my trap shut about them. Otherwise, I’d be carted off to the loony bin without a second thought. Shit. Now what?

Sheriff Ben arrived with Samantha and even in my distress; I thought that was kinda funny. Obviously all his other officers were station around Old Maulder’s, ready for trouble if it happened. He was reduced to rushing out with the only female officer at his side and he didn’t look all that happy about it.

“Exactly what happened, darlin’?” he asked after a cursory examination of Fisher that included a neatly compact slug to the jaw, bruising the only place on my attackers face left unscathed by my mysterious, vanishing friends.

“He was hiding behind the dumpster. He jumped me and said he killed Bob Sawicki! Then he said he was going to kill me!”

“I did not! Jesus, Wade, you know that girl’s crazy as hell. Seeing ghosts and stuff!” Roger was writhing and groaning but stating his case loud and clear. “I was helping her fucking carry the trash out and she fucking attacked me! I was just helping!”

“No! He attacked me and tried to kill me!” I gasped.

Samantha looked at Ben who looked at me and Cory squeezed me tighter. “You sure, doll?”

Okay, that pissed me off. They wanted to believe Fisher over me? I wanted to cry and I wanted to kick them all until they were as fucked up as Fisher then I remembered what was in my pocket.

“I can prove it! Listen!” I pulled the little tape recorder with a flair. I was more than relieved to see that being attacked didn’t break the tiny machine. With shaking fingers I rewound the tape and clicked, thinking we’d get a little of the conversation I was having with Eric and Bill and I was ready to rush past it all … but the only one talking was me. Shit, shit, shit! Then it was there, Fisher’s attack and even his confession … and his threat.

Fisher started sobbing, rolling in the snow as the paramedics dropped at his side.

Everyone was quiet. Ben took the tape player and I shot an apologetic look at Cory. After all, I did kinda steal it … well borrowed it … without permission. We all turned our attention to Georgie Platt, one of only two paramedics that worked in Stowe city proper. All the others worked at the mountain resort, covering skiing accidents.

Georgie was examining Fisher and his brows were twisted tighter than a mason jar lid. He sent his partner to the ambulance and looked up at me. “Uh, Daisy?”

“Yeah?” I cautiously stepped closer, terrified that even wearing hand cuffs, Fisher could still get me.

“Honey, how the hell did you do all this damage? He’s got a compound fracture of the left ankle, a broken clavicle, at least two broken ribs and he looks like he just escaped a lion’s den. Were there any animals around?”

“Animals?”

“Yes, large animals. Mountain lion, bear?” I shook my head and he stood with a grunt then sighed. “Frankly, I’m hard pressed to believe little old you did all this damage,” he grinned kindly.

Oh-oh, this line of questioning could be bad for me. “I was pissed … really, really … really pissed. I guess I just went, I dunno, crazy?”

Georgie crouched down and I did too. There we were, a little private threesome, the idiot going to prison for murder and attempted murder … the paramedic trying to figure out a riddle … and the liar, (that would be me). No one else was paying attention; Antony was scouring the area to figure out how Fisher got onto the property unseen; Samantha was talking to the few guests searching for witnesses who weren’t at Old Maulder’s that night. Cory and Ben were standing with Agent Cooper, playing the recording over and over again.

I avoided Fisher’s eyes. His mouth was so swollen he could hardly form words and even his eyes were nothing more than puffy squints. Finally Georgie pointed to the mangled man’s neck. “Something bit him.”

Sure enough, there were holes in his flesh, still seeping blood and I shrugged. Best to play this to the hilt. “Georgie, I saw no animals. For all I know, I bit him. You have no idea how crazy I was. All I wanted to do was survive.”

The paramedic nodded, something strangely knowing in his eyes. Hell, maybe he’d seen something like this before. I’ve heard stories of small women tossing cars to save their kids, right? I could have gotten that kind of adrenalin serge too, right? Sure, I could have.

Georgie finally nodded as his partner strapped Fisher to the body board, but something in his eyes told me he really didn’t accept my explanation.

SAMANTHA

As I listened to Daisy’s explanation and ignored the desperate ramblings from Roger Fisher, I realized that my mind was wandering. Not a wise habit to indulge when investigating a crime scene, but it was obvious that we’d caught our man, and let’s face it; he was in no condition to travel anywhere on his own accord. Whether Daisy kicked Fisher’s sorry ass on her own, or even if she had a few restless spirits step in to lend a bit of supernatural muscle, the mystery was solved and the case was closed.

I watched as Corey slipped his arm protectively around Daisy’s shaking shoulders, not missing the look in his eyes as he glanced over at Fisher. As the paramedic stabilized his ankle, I moved to stand between Corey’s line of vision, shaking my head ever so slightly in warning. Best for him to focus on tending to his lady instead of engaging his urge for a bit of old fashioned retribution of his own.

“He’s not worth the trouble and I know you don’t want to bog me down with more paperwork, Corey White.” My message was clear and he nodded in understanding, even if it was obvious that he still didn’t like it.   
  
“Enough excitement for one night, Samantha?” Sheriff Wade sidled up beside me, looking at once relieved and amused. Or maybe it was boredom; it’s kind of hard to tell with him sometimes. I thought of Agent Cooper and wondered if he’d miss this place now that his case was solved. It would be back to the city and onto his next case and the town of Stowe and all its inhabitants would become yet just another fond memory. I recalled how many times I had faced a similar situation, moving on and leaving others behind, not allowing myself the luxury of close relationships. It was always of my own choosing, but suddenly it no longer seemed glamorous or exciting.

“It was worth the price of admission, Boss.” Wade gave me a curious look and I simply smiled. 

GEORGIE PLATT

Okay. Now what the fuck do I do?

I looked around, sniffed. Didn’t smell any vamps but you never know. Jesus, this would be the first time I come across one in Stowe, Vermont. Not looking forward to that, no way, no how. After all, being a Werewolf, the last thing I need is to draw attention to myself or anything else that takes notice of this pretty little town I call home.