Work Text:
One Early Morning
The police sergeant was a tall, muscular woman who had thought she had seen damn near everything there was to see on her beat. However, as the attendants loaded the man into the ambulance that bore the name of a local psychiatric hospital, she reconsidered. His drug-muffled ranting made her shudder. The sergeant, Emily Hoskiss, walked over to the two men who stood near the remains of what was once a human being. The two men, a uniformed Lieutenant and an older detective, were watching a young female detective question three nearly hysterical co-eds. A fourth woman, who appeared to be in her mid 30s, sat on a low window ledge, holding her glasses; She was starring at the taped off area where the forensics team and photographer were working. She was crying softly, unconcerned with what the tears were doing to her make-up. The morning was still young, but the events that had lead up to this scene had taken place hours earlier. The female detective had finished with the young women and had released them into the care of a trauma therapist and some medics. She then joined the group near the woman, who began to speak. Throughout her statement the woman never stopped her slow, soft crying. “I am Amanda Gilmore, professor of history.” began the woman, “I teach several courses on Western Culture and European History, as well as a course on local history. Being a native of the area, as well as it being a hobby of mine, it was a natural subject for me to teach. I am, or rather, was,” her voice quavered here, “ engaged to professor Justin Roebear, who taught night classes to adult high school and part-time collage students. He taught on a wide range of general subjects. His students thought the world of him. So did I. We were all worried about this stalker, the ‘Campus Vampire’. Justin and Dr. Walters, the head of the psychology department, thought that they could narrow down the list of suspects by comparing employment records with a psychiatric profile. Apparently they did. I had just brought my three students into the old greenhouse here, for a look at an example of notable local architecture, when Eric Potter, a janitor here at the collage, showed up. Eric began to tell us some bizarre things about blood and longevity and immortality. He frightened us terribly. When he started to move towards us, we ran. He chased us into the glassed-in atrium here. He was so intense, so sincere, and had such an evil look on his face.” Again, she shuddered and a quiver came into her voice. She took a long, shuddering breath that sounded like the beginnings of a sob, then continued. “He terrified us. The girls were crying and frantic. It was like one of those dreadful slasher movies. We got here and realized that we were cornered. Eric came towards us; the expression on his face will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. Justin came in then. He yelled at us to keep back, then pulled out a large wooden crucifix and held Eric at bay with it. He told Eric that he would hold him there until the police arrived. Justin told us that he and Dr. Walters had accidentally discovered the name of the stalker and his next victim, one of the girls in my local history class. Justin said that Dr. Walters had called the police and that he had run out to try and stop Eric until they arrived on the scene. Eric began babbling something about the dawn and its affects on vampires. Justin kept that big wooden cross held up in front of Eric; he seemed not to be able to go near it. We stayed there until dawn, when we heard the sirens in the distance. The glass wall behind Justin faces east, as you can see. The sun came up and Eric fell screaming and, and . . .” at this point Amanda broke down completely and began to cry in great choking sobs. The four police officers looked down at the outline on the floor: a pile of ashes in vaguely human form. In the suggestion of an out stretched hand there was, partially engulfed, an unburned wooden crucifix.