Path of the Vampire forum

Posted: **01 Jan 2016, 22:02**

I see what he is doing. We are right back to the rookie. I am up off the couch and taking my empty glass with me. He knows how much the topic pisses me off. I still feel set up so he could get by with the **** he did. I can call it but I let it slide because it wasn’t even good enough to remember. It was also a pathetic move on my part. One of a few. I own them but really I pretty much forgot the rookie that he didn’t mention but I know what that look is about. I look to the door where my jacket is likely hanging behind then to the wine. I ignore both and come back around where I can see him.

“I will say this Lucas Ballard…” I try to choose my words carefully but it is a little hard to do when the fourth glass of wine has found it’s way into my system. “I fucked the rookie. I fucked Neil. And surprise... I also fucked you. You take into account the years it all adds up to and I think you will agree that your scorecard is holding the most homeruns with my ***. Now the question is can you deliver what you are asking for? Can you ignore the next set of open legs that tries to greet you because you finally give a **** about commitment even when life gets routine? I am not changing but I will change how I react to things that we seem to made a pattern. Otherwise if you can’t do it then I really think this is the year to make changes all around.”

Lucas knows what I am talking about. We have both started the paperwork with the lawyers several times. I don’t want to go there again but I also don’t want to have this argument in another two months. I have learned a lot over the years and one of those things is that the stress of it alone can kill a person. We deserve better and so does the kid.

Posted: **01 Jan 2016, 22:14**

****. There it is again. She’s talking about lawyers and judges and asset whatcha-call-its and all the things that make my head ache more than any hangover I’ve ever had. Divorce. Hate the topic, hate the procedure, hate the fact she is bringing it up tonight. We’ve both pulled the divorce card throughout the years. Neither of us want it I don’t think, but we’ve been fed up enough to throw it out there on occasion. Neither of us seem to have felt good about it after the fact and I’m pretty sure neither of us will feel good if this conversation isn’t resolved with that looming threat pushed away from the foreground again. I know I won’t sleep well if that is left out there.

“No. Quit bringing that **** up. You fucked up. I fucked up. We survived through it. What would you bring that up tonight? Are we shooting for shittiest start to a decade?”

I’m really pissed now. Divorce. January 1st, 2010 Happy New Years! End your marriage! It doesn’t sound like it would catch on.

“Sit the **** down and let’s talk this out minus the ******** neither of us want.”

Posted: **01 Jan 2016, 22:30**

“Do you listen to what I said or only to what you want to hear? I asked if you are capable of what you are asking from me. I know I am. Being divorced is not my first choice or we would be by now. I want to get my life together, Lucas. Don’t make that out to be a bad thing. I want what is already in it. Always have. But you have to want it too. Enough that we both stop the games and find out how to be adults and good to each other while we do it.”

Somehow I am sitting down but I am already thinking about if that fed some part of him that wanted me to do what he wants. I outgrew that role a long time ago and that was one of our first issues. I started asking questions, demanded answers and generally grew a set to go with the rest of my attitude. Most of the time he thought it was hot when I got worked up but it lost its allure when I started packing my bags and heading out of the door instead of crying in a corner waiting for his *** to come back home. The door began working both ways early on. I look at him and know in hindsight that if I used the same door he did from the beginning maybe things wouldn’t have been to this point. Better late than never. The end of 2009 and in a stand-off we were once again.

Posted: **01 Jan 2016, 23:01**

She makes her way back to the couch as she talks. I follow her. I watch her *** sway as she moves until she has to turn to sit. My eyes meet hers like they were on the back of her head the whole time. No doubt she knows better. She is sexy as **** right now. That’s it girl, lay down the law. It’s hot because she is saying the words I wanted to hear from the get-go. It’s irritating cause she seems to think I might want something different. Between me being pissed, her being pissed, her looking hot, us both having a buzz and the topic of us fixing things, I’m pretty sure that I can manage to turn this into a good night.

“I want it too.”

Four simple words. True. All of it. I do want it to work. I want us to be a family. Hell, we are a family, just broken and dysfunctional in ways that we shouldn’t be. I’m not getting any younger. I’m not Peter Pan. Not going to stay a youthful playa for the rest of my days and even if I could, I’d still want to spend them with my wife.

“Look, we fucked up. We’ve admitted it, we learn from it. We move on. Together. We are a family. I love you Roxie. Always have.”

As I say the words I make a note to cancel my dental appointment I had scheduled for a week or so from now. I need to find a new dentist.

Posted: **02 Jan 2016, 11:49**

Finally there is a truce between us. We have had them before but this one is a bit different. We dropped our halos and quit pointing fingers for once. He didn’t have to say it. I felt it. It has always been there and always will be. We love each other and our kid. The rest we have to take time and work on.

“I love you.” I find my way into pressing up against him while my hands meet at the small of his back and interlock at my fingers. “I am glad the for better or worse is back to better again.”

My head may be a little on the fuzzy side but my heart is full of hope. As for the rest of my body it is hungry in a way that Lucas’s casserole can't satisfy. I want to go at him like a castaway who has just been returned home. I want to make the next 24 hours I have left free from work to rediscover what I had taken for granted, missed. I want to reclaim it.

I take the liberty of leading by kissing his chest then pulling away. I know what we both need and it isn't the big tree I still haven't figured out or the blue creatures once again gathering around it. I can pick it up later and figure it out. When the New Year arrives I want to feel it and I want to feel him too.

I make my way to the bedroom. I figure we will be back to packing and moving one of our places into the other. For now I am feeling too good to think about boxes or what will go where. I peel off my clothes and tug back the blankets on his bed. He doesn't need the invite. He knows where he belongs and I recline comfortably and wait for him to arrive.

Posted: **18 Jan 2016, 00:55**

Chapter Two

~this RP is backdated to January 17th 2010~

It’s a rotten day in a rotten town and I’m out at a crime scene caused by a rotten dad. Double homicide-suicide. Wife, kid, self. The kind of thing that makes families look around at each other if there's been tension within the ranks while they are watching the news together. The kind of thing good wholesome and decent families mutually cringe at. The depth of madness or evil or whatever they want to call it is unfathomable to them in their perfect lives. I was one of those. I was never really close to my family but I never thought about 86ing them either. Might have screamed something like “I wish you would just die” when I was six or seven, but once true cognitize thought emerged in my brain I wouldn’t have dreamed of saying anything like that.

The place is a mess. There was a struggle. This wasn’t clean. There was an argument that led up to it. My job is to put the pieces together. There’s no glory in this. No one will be convicted. I’m just here to gather the evidence, get the facts straight and hand the bodies over to Roxanne and her people to confirm what we already know. Or to find out we were wrong. I don’t think that’ll happen this time. Why? Cause the guy hung himself. and everything looks legit. Unless they find some type of poison in him in the toxicology reports, this is a no-brainer. The ligature marks around the wife's neck are from the phone cord. It’s 2010, no one should have a house phone with a cord, but there it is. Kinda fancy too. Looks like the thing is made of brass and ivory. Nice and put-together upper-middle class family. I can’t even begin to imagine what set this off. Actually I can from the size of the guy. Steroids. Depression. Psychosis caused by the drugs. I’m betting that’s what we hear back from the autopsies.

I can picture them now. The all-American family. He’s an athlete, semi-pro, but the looks of his hands he works in an office the rest of the time. She’s a secretary. Her nails are trimmed pretty close. She uses her hands a lot. She’s pretty, but she’s no trophy wife. Either he didn’t make enough to keep her at home or she had an independent streak like Roxanne. I feel for them.

The kid, that’s the real tragedy. Young, four years old. Hadn’t even gotten to fall in and out of love with school. Smothered. I would guess that the kid went after the wife. She was a crime of passion, he was a mercy killing. Then the hubby, he was pure cowardice.

That type of guy is the scum of the earth. They'll find little traces of blood on one of the pillows in the kids room from where the capillaries in the lungs burst as he was helplessly overpowered and retching for air.

I wish daddy would come back to life so I could re-kill his ***.

I wish I could spare my wife having to deal with the wife and kid. I wish I could be there when she pulls the heart out of the father’s chest to weigh it. Even more than I feel for the wife and kid, I feel for Roxanne. Yeah she’s total pro, but this type of thing is something that leaves a lasting mark on everyone involved.

Whatever made the guy go off on his ‘roid rage is irrelevant at this point really, but the paperwork has spots to fill in so until it’s brought to light I’m going to be on this case. I’ll rehash the painful facts to a bunch of relatives and friends who will all be even more traumatized by the details until I find the truth that will traumatize them further.

It’s a wonderful world they say.
Me, I say it’s rotten to the core.

Posted: **20 Jan 2016, 14:11**

I watch the cars go back and forth in the congested intersection. The soft beams of light bounce off the windshield in front of me and I am reminded I forgot to shut off the lamp in my office. It is not a huge thing really but it weighs on my mind. I want it to. My other option is thinking about the call that has me en route to investigate why a young family was found dead. I have seen every type of case imaginable but it is the ones with a child involved that I will never get used to. If that happens I decided long ago that I will be taking my medical license and switching fields. It sucks but that is how it is in this line of work. First sign of burnout is when you no longer see the value of the life lost while you are looking on the body it left behind.

A flash of high beams behind me brings my attention to my rear view mirror. The glow of green at the top of the windshield is a sign that it was time to move along. Coffee in one hand and a gradual turn of the steering wheel has the car I am in heading eastbound into the nicer side of Harper Rock. I catch the improvement in real estate property with my peripheral vision. It is time to make a few changes. I need to get out of the apartment we are in. We both do. We should be in a house by now but still have not made the commitment. I wanted one then he wanted one. We just never decided on it at the same time. We never seem to. The fact we could sync enough to have wound up married and having sex is baffling.

The aroma of a brilliant barista’s creation fills my nostrils as the insulated to go cup comes closer to my lips. Espresso and rich white chocolate is the reward once the flaming hot liquid cools in my mouth. I let it fill up then quickly close my lips to let the pool of caffeine charged treat find its way down my throat. I will need it. What is left of the sixteen ounces I will hand over to Lucas who will predictably complain. ‘Girly drinks’ as he calls them aren’t his thing. I know this and yet there is a small hope that he will share the simple pleasure with me at least once. The ginger twenty-something college coffee wizard makes it that good.

The annoyance of random calls echo in the interior of the car while I have no choice but to stop at the fifth intersection I have to clear since leaving the office. Seven more and I am finally going to be there. I drink from the cup while I wait. The police car in the lane next to me is just like any other until I do a double take and check out the back. The dark haired male suspect is bouncing up and down like his *** is on fire despite being buckled in and cuffed.

I realize despite the barriers of two sets of windows being up and the conservative space between our respective vehicles I can hear pretty much what he is saying. It isn’t too hard. It appears the car ahead of the squad car can too. He wants a lawyer. He wants to shoot the arresting officer in the back of the head. He was framed and his worthless cheating woman is a lying *****. I smile when the officer looks over and recognizes me. I lift my cup and shrug. Must be a new one to the force as I never met him. Likely a buddy of Lucas that has yet to be mentioned. He usually waits until the new ones do something spectacular before they are brought up in our off the clock conversations.

The driver of the car in front looks back to the officer who in turn quickly nods and smiles as if the day couldn’t be any more pleasant. I wonder if he wants to trade jobs for about two hours until the male restrained in the back lets out a roar then spits what appears to be a generous amount of phlegm. Increased fluids would relieve that inconvenient condition but I will leave that for his primary to divulge. What the police force has to go through is a far cry from the glamor of the profession portrayed on television or in the movies. I think of that and I think of Lucas. What we do is no picnic and certainly isn’t fun.

Ten minutes later I walk up to the door of the house that is the location of the crime scene. My team is arriving as I look over my shoulder. I shift my carry along field kits by moving the canvas strap towards my neck and tighten my grip on the handle to the hard case in my hand. I spot Lucas when the door opens and admittedly I smile a little watching him on the job. I would much rather be chilling on our sofa wrapped in his arms. Instead we were pulled to this home without choice to take view of a scene that will inevitably bring us to sorting out something so far from what we share with each other and our daughter. The scent of death pulls me to my senses that I rely on professionally. The wife and mother roles that I take pride in is left at the door as I finally step in. I can tell right away this home is no place to bring them.

“What do we have?” I am in the motions of getting set up while my crew files in around me doing the same.

Posted: **24 Jan 2016, 23:15**

My wife enters the scene. She's total pro, already getting down to business. I don't blame her. This isn't the kind of scene where you take your time and shoot the **** with your co-workers. The bodies will be handled with the respect and reverence they deserve but this is definitely a somber affair.

It's mostly the kid involved. It changes things. No one likes the thought of a dead child. No one sane. Really the world would have gone on without missing a beat if the steroid freak had laid his barbell across his own throat with all the weights he had on it and just gone nighty night. The fact he took his woman and their child with him makes him an asshole. This is the kind of scene you want to be left alone in so you can kick the **** outta the dead guy and scream at him.

I head on over to Roxanne to give her our findings. They are pretty grim. I take her off the the side gently. I'm not going to get personal or be all humane and weepy here. This is the job. I remind myself this almost every scene. This one is heartbreaking. "Double homicide-suicide. Male suspect, age 30, dead from asphyxiation. Hung himself. female victim, wife, age 28, dead from asphyxiation, phone cord. age 28, male victim age four... asphyxiation... pillow. Looks like a case of 'roid rage. Nothing unusual in the house. Looks like a psychotic snap. Suspect had been under pressure at work. We are looking into a list of relatives. Press has been alerted, they are on their way now."

I watch her a moment. This scene seems so... clean. So alien. There are no dishes in the sink, only signs of struggle a hole in the drywall and the phone ripped off the wall. The wife had bruises on her face. He'd hit her, likely to subdue her. That's the stuff Roxanne will figure out though. The kid likely struggled but really, dude was a full grown man, kid was four years old. What chance did he have? It's too early for this. My stomach is in knots. There ain't enough booze in the world tonight to numb the pain of this one. "I got nothing else until you are done. Let me know when I can have the scene back... it's yours."

I never turn the scene over without making her wait at least an extra half hour just to **** with her. This time though I can't wait to get out of here. She'll do her preliminary here, then I come back, check for any evidence that might be on their persons, then she gets them again. I don't know who to feel worse for right now, her or me.

"I'll be right outside Roxie." That's unofficial. I'm letting my wife know I'm here for her, as close by as I can be. Normally I'd hand this over, go get a coffee and a snack, usually antacids, This one though... I stick around in case she just... needs me.

Posted: **26 Jan 2016, 16:25**

The warmth of the to-go insulated cup will have to be surrendered to the newest face on the tag and bag team. I release the weight of what is left to the up and coming future medical examiner next to me. Carlos is great but likely will return to New York when his time has been served learning what the courses failed to deliver in its over priced textbooks. I track his route to the front door and wonder if his parents had the natural midnight relaxed curls that he does. He wears it longer than most and pulls it back with some kind of binder that is hard to discern from his hair color. I prefer the short clean cut look. Kids these days take a little longer to figure out what is and isn't practical.

I am not the only one watching him and obviously for entirely different reasons. My girl Allison, who happens to be the senior wizard of the lab, seems to be keeping tabs on him as well. The posture of her body as she stands and the cat-that-is-about-to-eat-the-canary grin she is wearing even makes me feel a little awkward witnessing it. I nudge her with my elbow. She was being about as subtle as a wrecking ball.

“Focus.” I remind her when I am doing so little of it myself.
“Oh, I am…” She hands pulls out a few sealed evidence kits then gloves up with a little more enthusiasm than normal while checking out Carlos on the move back towards us. “Don’t you worry.”
“I do.” I lean in closer to her and whisper. “Not on the clock.”

The constant elements of danger, violence, loss and the seedier side of mortality does work like a demon of sorts on all within the collective professions currently represented. Even Allison has bargained out what would otherwise appaul her on the job of finding out who did what. We all get used to talking about what we will be doing off the clock while digging out the evidence from under a dead set of fingernails. I am looking out for the new kid though. He is supposed to be learning in a limited amount of time while on the scenes that I take him to. He can learn what Allison wants to teach him off the clock. I glance between the two and am sure it is only a matter of time.

I roll my eyes and begin the process of suiting up where it is needed to keep things free from contamination. While I do this I wonder if I should just buy the twelve ounce next time. I won’t drink the cup outside now that someone else has been holding it for any amount of time. The snap of latex free gloves reminds me I am about to dive into the reality of what the world is succumbing to. Senseless waste is around me and I am trying to cling to the thought of what a crime it is that I am guilty of wasting four ounces of coffee.

It is a habit I am well aware of and now it is a welcome distraction. I don’t like where I am at and if breaking down my shortcomings will make what I am about to put my hands into any easier then I do it. I always have. I am glad there are no mind readers in this group. Everyone does what they have to in these situations. I look to the handful of faces then to Lucas when he announces he won’t be taking off like he usually does. He gave a pretty clear run down of what the hell happened and from the sounds of it and what I can see it is likely just as he says. I watch him move out but stick around at the same time. I am grateful for his moments of sensitivity.

Carlos is back empty handed and steps between Allison and I. The sounds of his preparation saws through my silent self-condemnation. He is learning fast and he likely doesn't even realize it yet.

“Carlos you get to capture the moment in this case. I want the scene covered. It is pretty apparent what went on but we need your eye to confirm it.” I hand him the case with the camera he will use to do what is expected. “Allison…”

I look to my left side where she was standing and find it empty. No surprise there. She is on the heels of Carlos and taking the field evidence kits with her. I don’t worry now that I have set them loose in the scene. They both do what is needed while I find myself making my way to the child. My stomach knots up and I feel a burn set in my eyes as I look down at the still body. I don't move and I wait. It is common with the child victims. They are supposed to jump up, yell "Gotcha!" and then dart off to some other location free from the risk of being tagged to be it in whatever game is at hand. The tiny form that would fit easily in my arms doesn't blink, doesn't stir like it should as I bend down and get in close. I want to brush my fingers through the hair and run the tips of my fingers over the cheeks as if that is all it really takes to make everything that should never have happened in this place all go away. My eyes water and my nose itches so I sniff lightly. This is no game. I feel angry and powerless. I hate it.

Posted: **11 Feb 2016, 00:47**

It's night time. The job is done and the day had been dragging it's *** since the rotten start of it. Nothing felt good right now. Everything gets tainted when you see the worst of people in the world having done the worst things they could do. It brings about a feeling of hopelessness. Like all the good has slipped away and what you are left is a view of a rotten core. To say I'm glad it's over and I'm able to just be home is an understatement.

Roxie should be getting off soon. She's always got to work later than me since the lab results take time. I get to shuffle back home after the hell that is the work day. She has to stick around a little longer. It's kind of sad looking back, but this is the time of day that really used to get me in the most trouble. I'd be off work and bored for a couple of hours. I'd be waiting to go pick her up in those early days. I'd hit a bar or a pool hall and really, I just meant to have a drink and maybe shoot a game while I waited to kill time and, it never ******* failed, there would be some hot woman in there that would give me the look.

We'd talk for a bit and I'd tell her I had to go. She would ask if I came often. And then there would be problems.

It was all meaningless. Two strangers relieving stress together. No emotional attachment. I guess that's not really 100% truth. There was the feeling of being desired. It made me feel wanted, powerful. You know? The same feeling I've always gotten from my wife.

I guess I don't know why I did what I did. I don't know why I didn't learn faster. All I know while I get dinner started is I'm glad I finally did learn. Instead of going out and getting some strange, getting busted, getting kicked out for the night, or the week, eating crappy diner food while sleeping in my car, I come home, start up a nice dinner and wait for the woman who understands me.

I get that same connection every night and I'm eating better.

I snuff out my cigarette in the running water of the kitchen and head to the bathroom. Pitching it into the toilet I send it swirling and gurgling to places unknown and wash my hands before returning to the kitchen.

I'm hoping that my spaghetti-making skills are going to be enough to start lifting my girl's spirits when she walks in. Somehow though I'm dubious.

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