made her way to the stairs. How would she get down now? Since the arrow tip was in front, Storm decided to lie on her back and slide down the carpeted stairs. She would use the banister posts to hold onto. Storm died a little more inside and the pain nearly caused her to black out, but she managed to roll on her back. With only the strength in her arms and hands to help, Storm started her painful trek down the stairs. “Keep going,” Storm spoke words of encouragement that only she could hear. She strained with all her being to keep from sliding down unchecked, which meant certain death. For what seemed like hours, even a day, Storm finally came to rest leaning against the last step!
Her heart was beating slower now and Storm rested for a little. The hallway was dark except for the moonlight peaking inside with very little light. Storm saw a dark, huddled mass lying motionless in a broken pile of the hallway table. She sniffed back the tears and started to drag herself towards it.
When Storm reached the broken table and shadowy mass, she saw that it was her mother. With hardly any breath left and unable to cry out loud, Storm still wept. She pulled herself up closer to her mother. Storm saw the arrows and her mother’s blood stained face. What kind of monster could do this? They had done nothing wrong to deserve this kind of pain. Storm grimaced as she bent down and kissed her mother goodbye. Storm knew she needed to get help. She touched her mother’s cheek one last time and started to crawl towards the open front door.
The night air was bitterly cold and it made her shiver. Storm scooted this time down the front porch steps. That’s when she saw her father. He was dead. The snow was stained with his blood. Storm crawled to him and when she got there, laid her head on his chest. His body was cold and his life-force gone. Storm grieved knowing that only the shell of the man she knew as her father remained. Storm felt weaker now, but she had to continue on. She searched the darkness around looking for any hope. Storm saw car lights winding their way up the driveway. She could relax now and feel at peace. Storm lay back on the cold, snowy ground. She couldn’t feel any of it at all, but a thin smile of satisfaction drew across her face. Storm closed her eyes.
There was no more shimmering moonlight, but instead a sea of red and blue flashing lights. The stillness of the cold winter night had been broken by approaching sirens.
A dark colored sedan came to a sudden stop once it had reached the end of the driveway. Its lone occupant jumped out with flashlight in hand.
Sheriff Delsmann ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Feeling chilled, she zipped up her blue parka.
“What have we got here,” she asked while taking in the overall horrific scene.
“Two male victims,” the CSI technician answered. He pointed in the direction of the house. “There is a female victim in the hallway. The fourth, a teenage girl, has already been transported to Bayport Memorial. She’s stable but in critical condition.”
Sheriff Delsmann knelt down next to the technician. In all her years as a detective in Chicago, she had never seen anything this horrible.
“The first victim is a male in his late forties,” the technician said. “He has slash wounds on the chest, back and neck. It appears they may have been caused by sword of some type. He also had some puncture wounds from those throwing stars we found on the ground.”
Sheriff Delsmann stood up and walked over to the younger male victim. The technician joined her. They knelt down again.
“This victim is in his teens,” the technician said.
Sheriff Delsmann grasped hold of the boy’s shoulder and carefully rolled him over.
“What the hell is going on here?” she gasped upon seeing the arrow in the boy’s chest.
“There’s more,” the technician said. With his gloved hand he lifted the boy’s top lip.
“Fangs?” Sheriff Delsmann said.
“All four victims have vampire fangs,” the technician explained.
“You said the older female victim is in the house,” Sheriff Delsmann answered.
“Yes,” the technician replied.
“Make sure you get everything we need,” Sheriff Delsmann ordered. She rose to her feet and immediately headed for the house.
Sheriff Delsmann walked up the front porch steps and into the house. Another CSI technician was collecting evidence in the hallway. Sheriff Delsmann saw that the female victim had two arrow shafts protruding from her chest and was lying amongst a broken table and vase. Sheriff Delsmann continued on down the hallway and up the stairs. She walked into the daughter’s bedroom. A third technician was collecting evidence from the area next to the bed. He was bagging splintered pieces of an arrow shaft.
“What have you found thus far?” she asked.
“Just these broken pieces of arrow and this blood stain on the carpet,” he replied.
“Is this where they found the daughter?” Sheriff Delsmann asked.
“No,” he replied, marking the evidence bag. “She was found outside next to her father and brother.”
“She managed to get outside after being shot!” she exclaimed.
“It appears she dragged herself,” he answered. “There’s trace evidence on the stair railings and carpeting there.”
“Just make sure you go through the room thoroughly,” Sheriff Delsmann said. She left the room and headed back down stairs.
When Sheriff Delsmann walked down the steps, she stopped briefly to examine the blood stains on the railings. She had a sense of admiration at how brave and determined the wounded girl had been in her trek to get help for her family. Sheriff Delsmann continued down to the first floor and entered the dining room.
An eerie feeling came over Sheriff Delsmann when she saw the empty chairs surrounding the elegantly decorated dining room table. The silverware was still wrapped lovingly in white linen clothes. The bone china and crystal glassware stood in patient silence waiting to be used by guests that would never arrive. A sense of sadness washed over Sheriff Delsmann as she took in the hopeless and despair in the room. There were no signs of the killer being in this room. She moved into the kitchen.
Just like the dining room, there were no signs of the killer being in here. Sheriff Delsmann opened the refrigerator. There were several food trays ready to serve. Bottles of wine had been placed in the cooler, chilling to perfection but none would ever be opened and consumed. She closed the refrigerator door and walked to the oven. Sheriff Delsmann opened the oven door and could see the carefully prepared roast and potatoes that were now just a dried out mass of muddy colors. Sheriff Delsmann closed the oven door and left the kitchen to go outside again.
As Sheriff Delsmann stood on the porch she surveyed the area in front of the house. She flipped on the flashlight and walked down the steps. Sheriff Delsmann walked slowly around the exterior of the house. She was looking for clues. The only footsteps thus far were her own. When Sheriff Delsmann got to the back of the house she noticed a back door. As she walked up to it, Sheriff Delsmann saw boot prints in the snow. With her flashlight, Sheriff Delsmann followed the boot prints until they disappeared at the edge of the surrounding woods.
“Send a deputy to the back of the house,” Sheriff Delsmann spoke into her radio.
A few minutes later, a deputy joined her. Together they took off in the direction of where the boot prints were headed.
Sheriff Delsmann and the deputy drew their weapons and stepped into the dense woods. Slowly and painstakingly, they traversed through the forest thicket. Sheriff Delsmann felt her heart beating wildly in her chest. She didn’t really like the darkness nor the fact that at any given moment something or someone would jump out at them. It was never like this back in Chicago. Even with all the things she’d seen working as a detective on third shift, it still wasn’t as white knuckled as right now.
The boot trail eventually led them to a road about a mile from the house. The road was smooth and showed no signs for tire tracks. If they had a vehicle waiting here, there was no way to know what kind it was, or even how long it had been here.
“Let’s head back,” she ordered. Somewhere in the blackness of the woods a tree branch snapped. The sound echoed throughout the quietness. Instantly both of them realized they weren’t alone. “Douse the lights,” Sheriff Delsmann hissed. Sheriff Delsmann and the deputy killed the lights and crouched down behind the snow embankment. They waited in complete silence. The only light was from the moon directly above them. Once her eyes were adjusted to the darkness, Sheriff Delsmann could make out the silhouettes of the trees intermixed with
