This is it. The hiss of air brakes was the signal to action. Irene gathered up her resolve and stepped down off the bus. Less than a block away was her final destination. Her heart pounded with every step until she stood outside of the police station.

It was Irene's intention to reveal herself, but now that she was faced with the reality of inevitable probing questions, her resolve crumbled. She looked at her trembling hand. She was not ready to tell them how this had happened. Not callous strangers who just wanted the facts. She needed to confide in someone first. She needed more time to prepare.

The hospital isn't too far away...

“Hello, I’m here to see Jordan Fisher,” Irene stated as she went to grab the chained pen, knowing she’d need to sign in. She struggled with the writing utensil, having used a lateral quadrupod grip all of her life. Without her middle finger, it was cumbersome.

The desk attendant lifted her plump, red face and stared. Here it comes. She'll notice the finger, or recognise me from the news and make a fuss. Irene had not anticipated that there was another reason for the woman's consternation.

“Jordan Fisher was transferred to another hospital.”

Blood contracted from Irene's extremities, rushing to her delayed heart. Her mouth became dry, and she tried to speak, but only interrupted syllables came out. Why would Jordan be transferred so suddenly? The only conclusion that made sense was that greater complications arose that the local hospital was not equipped to deal with.

Irene looked around as though expecting to see someone walk over and correct the receptionist and inform her it was a clerical error. When no such person came, she stared down at the woman's hands, which hovered over a keyboard.

“But they said he was getting better!”

The woman just shook her head. “I am sorry. I don't have more information than that." Indifferent to Irene's dismay, the receptionist went back to typing.

Irene wanted to shake her and demand more information, but even in her distress, she knew this lady could not tell her. The flabbergasted teen hung her head, feeling her legs and hands trembling.

What if I never see him again?

Irene was so drawn into her own miserable worries that she did not hear the whispering all around her, nor did she notice people pointing and staring.

“Is that you, Ms. Locklyn?”

Like lightning piercing the sky, the voice struck through the darkness Irene had receded into. She blearily raised her head, staring at the people all around her. She cautiously nodded her head and instantly the whole room became animated. There were voices and faces, but she could not focus on them. All she could manage was nodding or shaking her head to their questions and instructions. Everything was a blur right up until there were police speaking with her.

“We just need to ask you a few questions in a more private place… and process you, alright?" Again, all Irene could muster was a bereft nod to the uniformed man standing in front of her.

"There’s a good girl, just come along,” a middle aged man said as they walked into an examination room. A nurse and a younger officer accompanied him. Irene remained quiet as the two officers exchanged a few words among themselves. The younger man glanced at Irene, and then walked out of the room.

“Are you alright?” the broad-set officer asked.

Irene nodded dismally, still processing the shock she'd received. Never had she wanted to need anybody, not even Jordan. Foolishness. When she needed him most, of course he would be gone. Does he think I left him? Does he think I'm dead? What if he dies?

"As I said before, I'm Sergeant Emmerson from the MCU." He then gestured to the swarthy nurse accompanying him. "This is Marci Simmons, she is a forensic nurse. She'll collect personal evidence and make a record of your injuries."

"Oh..." This was the closest to a word Irene had been able to form. She looked between the man and the woman in the room with her, playing back the last few things they had said while she had been lost in her own grief.

"We'll need your clothes for evidence. Please take them off and put them into this paper bag and then put on this gown," nurse Simmons instructed.

Irene closed the screen and quickly removed her clothes. Robotically, she handed the bag containing her clothes to the nurse when she was ready. "What now?"

"I take some samples. Just let me mark this..." the nurse said, quickly writing something on a seal. "Do you have any injuries?"

"I..." Irene rubbed her wrists. They still felt raw. The nurse put her hands out. Irene didn't want to be touched, but after an entreating glance from the nurse, she shakily offered over her hands for examination.

During the processing another woman entered the room, carrying a briefcase. She was middle-aged with her dirty-blonde hair twisted into a bun. "You couldn't wait for me to arrive?" Critical glances were exchanged between her and the sergeant. She then turned to Irene, forcing on a smile. "Hello Miss Locklyn, my name is Mrs. Gloria Evans. I am a social worker, and will be acting in your interests since we have been unable to reach your father. If at any point you become uncomfortable, let me know."

"Alright," Irene intoned. What evidence would they find? She recalled that Merle was fond of crime mysteries, but Irene didn't watch a lot of them. Did Merle have to go through this, too?

"Is something the matter?" Mrs. Evans asked.

Irene shook her head 'no'.

"Could you tell me what happened to your finger?" The questions had begun. Irene didn't mind them collecting evidence, but the questions made her insides churn. She was silent for a moment, but the officer stood there patiently.

"It was removed…" Irene muttered. Emerson pulled up a chair at the foot of her bed and leaned closer while Simmons snapped pictures.

"By who?" Emerson prompted. Irene sighed, looking at her hand with the missing finger. A shiver shot down her spine; she hated the sight of it.

Gently, Nurse Simmons asked her to hold out her hands palms up, then palms down, taking pictures of both positions. Irene chewed her lower lip. Emerson never took his eyes off of her. Mrs. Evans kept circulating glances between Irene, Marci, and the detective, but she remained silent and took notes. "It… I can't… telling you is pointless."

"No it isn't. We'll find whoever did this, and we'll make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else," Emmerson said softly, his eyes glancing over at Marci. She looked up and nodded, giving a reassuring smile. She was back at her kit, grabbing some small paper envelopes.

"Don't push her. She doesn't have to tell you everything if she isn't ready," Gloria cautioned.

Emmerson sighed and nodded.

"How long ago did this happen?" Marci looked over the scar tissue where Irene's finger had been with evident confusion on her face.

"…I…. Um… I'm not sure..." Irene stammered.

"How about we focus on when you and your friend were taken from the Vice Cream," Emmerson requested in as pleasant a tone he could muster considering the circumstances. That was a point of reference that Irene could work with.

"Okay." Irene paused, lowering her chin and eyes darting about as she organised her thoughts. "Merle and I walked to the Vice Cream after school."

Marci quietly requested her hands again, and began to scrape beneath Irene's fingernails.

"As we were leaving I heard a gunshot. I saw a man with a rifle, and he fired again, I think. I know he fired a couple of times, but I don't think he hit anyone. He ordered Merle and I into a car."

It amazed Irene how she could talk about the encounter so calmly. Pressure was felt on her shoulder; Gloria was patting her reassuringly. At first, Irene wanted to slap her hand away, but she let it be.

Detective Emerson rubbed his chin. "Could you describe the man?"

"He had dark hair. Caucasian male. He wore a long coat and a shirt with a skull on it. Matthew."

Emerson leaned forward, eyebrows lifted attentively. "Matthew? You knew the attacker?"

Irene put out her hands. "No! I'd never seen him before. Wait. No. I think I saw him following us, but... I'm not sure. I remember seeing a man in a coat a few times but, I'm not even sure it was the same guy." Her nerves tangled as she stumbled over the facts, trying to return to the calm she had started with. Questions. It was the questions that made it harder.

"Then how do you know his name?"

"I heard someone call him 'Matthew'… please don't ask. I'll get to that." Irene looked at her hands as she held them out, and watched them shake. "We were taken to an empty church parking lot. I'm sorry, but I don't remember which one. Maybe one of the First avenue churches? But there are so many."

Emerson wrote a few notes in a small flip book. "Yeah, there are. But that still narrows it down a bit. Continue."

Nervously, Irene adjusted the ties on her hospital gown. "Then we were blindfolded and forced into a different car. It was something sporty with four doors and a dark red paint. I don't know one car model from another, sorry. I didn't get a license plate number, either."

"Well, we'll work with any details you do remember," Merson grumbled. "Go on."

"He then took us into some sort of warehouse. I remember hearing the way footsteps echoed, and how the air felt so cold and damp. We were led down some stairs into a warmer room. That is where I heard his name," Irene recounted. She was starting to finally feel the anxiety as she brought herself to the part of the story that Gabriel was introduced.

"Thus far that matches your friend's description. But, her account isn't entirely…"

"She's not crazy, sir," Irene interrupted.

Emmerson straightened up, raising his eyebrows again. "She told us that vampires kidnapped her, and then was saved by a mummy."

"Don't distress her, Sergeant," Gloria interceded.

Sergeant Emerson leaned forward. "We don't think she's crazy, just in shock. Please, continue," he urged.

Irene glared at him, then dropped her gaze. It wasn't his fault that he didn't believe Merle. Vampires did kidnap her. But mummies? What mummy? Maybe they drugged Merle. "Fine. I recognized the other man's voice. Our blindfolds were lifted," she paused, chewing on her lip again. The thoughts of Gabriel still sent shivers down her spine. If they didn't, then she'd begin to worry that she was the crazy one. "He… he was the one who… who was responsible for the deaths of the other girls…"

"The other girls?" the officer asked. Irene looked away while Emerson and Simmons exchanged glances. "What other girls?"

"Katie, Tina, and Ashley! I was there, but I was too afraid to say anything," Irene said bitterly.

Emerson cleared his throat. "Miss Locklyn, Tina overdosed, and Katie drowned. But anything you might know about Ashley..."

"No! All four of us were abducted earlier this fall. They staged their deaths!" Irene insisted.

"Who are 'they'? Who did this?" Emerson asked, leaning forward. Gloria shook her head, shooting him a warning look, and he straightened up, giving Irene space.

"I'm not really sure how to describe the men. I didn't actually see what happened to them - the other girls I mean. But I heard them screaming while I was brought to their boss…"

"Boss…? Why don't you tell me about this boss," Emerson asked.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"His name is Gabriel. I don't have a last name."

"Why don't you describe him to us?"

As nerve wracking as it was, Irene conjured the image of Gabriel in her mind, her heart racing. She took some deep breaths until her heart began to slow back down. "He is tall, over six feet." Irene pointed to her chin, fingers splayed. "He has a squarish jaw and pale skin. Clean shaven. His hair is long and blonde and straight, it reaches past the shoulders. His eyes are pale... uh... blue or gray. He has broad shoulders. He speaks with a hint of an accent and I've heard him say some phrases in French. At least, I think it was French. I never took French past grade eight," Irene derailed herself.

"Don't worry, you've been very helpful already. So how about we back track to when you, Tina, Katie, and Ashley were kidnapped," Emerson requested.

Irene sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, not caring that she was only wearing a hospital gown. They had shaken her tree, and she just let the information tumble out. "I was on my way home. I was walking along Sleepy Hollow, uh I can't think which cross street. It was dark and overcast. A man grabbed me and..." Irene reached to her neck, remembering the vice-like grip he had. "He knocked me out. I didn't get a good look at him. I woke up in a room with Tina, Ashley, and Katie. We tried to escape, but the man guarding us, a stout, freckled man with red hair, stopped us and hurt Ashley. Later, I was singled out from the rest of the girls and brought into another room, and interrogated about things… things I didn't know anything about. He cut me and left me bleeding. I passed out and awoke in the hospital…" Irene recounted in a tone devoid of expression. How could she work Cyrus into that story without telling them that he is a vampire? She rubbed her arms. "I... I lied to the doctor about how I got the knife wound, because I was scared."

"So, were you interrogated again by this Gabriel? Is that how you lost your finger?" Emerson asked.

"Yes."

Emerson leaned back. "Irene… if there is something you are into, it's alright to tell us. If this is about a gang, or drugs, don't worry about charges. We care more about catching these people."

Irene shook her head.

"Now hold on. Before that line of questioning goes any further, Irene needs proper legal representation," Gloria butted in.

"Hey, if she wants to talk, it'd do all of us some good," Emerson responded, holding up his hands, a twitch at his lip.

"If this leads back to any organized crime, I don't want her name on record anywhere! She is vulnerable and I won't put her at any further risk!" Gloria insisted in a voice like a whip.

"It's no risk. And I'm not on drugs or in a gang. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Unfolding herself, she looked straight at Sergeant Emerson. "I've told you as much as I can. I have gaps in my memories. And what I do recall... I can't put in words."

"Are you sure? Maybe we can help you find your words. If you would just-"

"She said she is done, sergeant. And you will respect her wishes and NOT bully her." Gloria cut in.

"I'm not bullying her! I'm just doing my job!"

"As am I." Gloria stood up. "Now, would you please excuse yourselves?"

"Alright already." The sergeant snapped his notebook shut and tucked it away, scowling at Gloria impatiently. He then relaxed his face into a tired expression. "Ms. Simmons still needs to check a few more things. Speaking of which," he turned and caught Marci's eye. There was a look of understanding between them. "I'll leave you ladies alone." Emerson gave everyone a nod before departing.

Nurse Simmons glanced at Gloria, then looked down for a moment. She wore a faint smile, as if trying to look disarming, her voice going quiet. "I understand you are getting tired, and this is emotional for you, but is there anything else that has been done to you? Or do you have any questions, now that it's just us women?"

Irene stared at her blankly. She folded her arms over her chest, glancing away. "…No."

"I see… are you sure?"

"Yes!" Irene said forcefully, shaking her head. Simmons seemed slightly startled by her abrupt change in volume. Before she could say anything, Irene glanced up and looked her in the eye. "And I'm done being prodded. No more tests!"

"Irene… I understand it's frightening, but it would be best if we were to examine you, to help catch the offender, and for your own health," Simmons said, trying to keep a balance of firmness and tenderness in her tone.

Irene shook her head again, angry, but also confused at her sudden anger. She wanted them to see something was wrong. She wanted them to ask questions. She wanted to provide them with proof. But she didn't want it taken from her.

"Enough. You asked, she said no." Gloria chimed in, looking at Ms. Simmons crossly.

Irene covered her eyes with her hand. She felt she ought to be grateful to be advocated for, but instead just felt irritated by the two women fighting over her. No. Not fighting. That wasn't the word. She didn't quite understand what was going on, but there was tension, and she wanted to get away from it.

"It's all right now, Irene. You are safe." Gloria reassured.

Safe? Ha. I'll never be safe until I'm rid of those vampires. Rubbing her upper arms, Irene's fingers glided over a patch of goosebumps. She wanted to get into her own clothes and be in her own bed. "Can I go home?"

Gloria stood up and went behind Irene, placing her hands protectively on her shoulders. Irene really wished she wouldn't touch her, but didn't say anything. "I think it's time you left, Ms. Simmons."

After a moment or two, Simmons sighed. "I'm sorry. The doctor still needs to see you before we can discharge you." Simmons passed Irene a card. "If you think of anything, call this number. And this here is your case-file ID. Make sure you keep it in a safe place."

Irene nodded and took the card. She had little choice but to sit there and await a doctor's decision. Gloria loosened her gargoyle-like grip and sat down on a chair by Irene, while the nurse took the regular gamut of vitals before leaving. Irene looked uneasily at Gloria. One down... but I wish she would leave, too.

"I'm sorry that was so hard on you, Irene." Gloria took Irene's hands in her own, frowning sympathetically. Irene didn't like the feeling of her hands, they were cool and a bit clammy. "As soon as the doctor has seen you, I'll drive you to your house. I understand your father is out of town. We can't let you stay home alone in these circumstances..."

Irene did not like where this was going. Forgetting about what dwelt in her basement, all she could think of was being alone to sort out her feelings. "My father will be home in a few days. I can take care of myself."

"I'm sorry, but for everyone's sake I must follow protocol," Gloria said, rubbing the back of Irene's hand. She cringed, and Gloria quickly let go. Her wrists were still raw from the shackles. "This is what will happen. I will personally take you to your house. There, you can gather some of your things. Then I will take you to a safehouse for youth, where you will stay until your father returns. Victim Services will be in contact with you, providing counseling and legal support."

Irene's countenance fell into despondency. Perhaps this safehouse would keep her out of Gabriel's reach for a time. Maybe it was best. But there were other concerns weighing heavily upon Irene.

"Is Merle also in a safehouse?"

Gloria looked uncomfortable as she shook her head. "I can't divulge another minor's details. I'm sorry."

Irene dug her teeth into her lower lip. "Please. For my own sake, I need to know that she is safe."

"Merle is safe," Gloria reassured.

Irene squinted, not satisfied with that statement. "Is she at home? Can you take me there before we go to the safehouse?"

"I'm sorry but I can't-"

Irene cut Mrs. Evans off, abruptly standing. "I'll phone her mother and ask. NURSE!"

"Her mother won't answer!" Gloria blurted.

Irene sat down again, looking attentively at Gloria. "What do you mean, her mother won't answer?" A series of prickles tickled her stomach.

Gloria sighed and pursed her lips. "You didn't hear it from me..." she leaned a little closer, glancing to the door,"...but Merle is in Surrey, getting specialized care." Mrs. Evans' brown eyes darted side to side, her red lips tugging down into a frown. "Please don't worry, Irene. Both of you are going to be taken care of."

Everyone was being sent away. Her father left on a sudden business trip. Jordan was transferred to another facility, likely in Vancouver. And now Merle had been taken to Surrey. All of this seemed too much to just be a coincidence. Irene eyed Gloria suspiciously. Is she also with Gabriel? She sat back down on the bed, searching Gloria's face for guilt or doubt.

Seeing that searching look, Gloria raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Is there something else?"

Irene shook her head mechanically as the gears began to turn. "No. I mean, yes. I have a request." Gloria nodded to her, hands in her lap. "Could you go see if that nurse... um... Simmons was it? Could you see if she is still here? I want to talk to her." She watched Gloria's face very carefully.

Gloria's eyes widened briefly, and Irene saw a flash of lines on the social worker's forehead before she smoothed her face out. "I don't think that'd be a very good idea just now, Irene. You still seem agitated."

Irene shook her head and crossed her arms. "I'll be agitated until I can get this off my chest."

"Then you can tell me, Irene," Gloria insisted. "And if I think Sgt. Emerson ought to know, I will forward it along."

Irene shook her head vehemently. "No. I want to talk to her. Her specifically."

Gloria sighed. For just a moment, Irene thought she saw fear in the woman's eyes. But Gloria smiled, resigned as she nodded. "I'll go see..."

Irene stood up and walked past Gloria. "No, I'll go..."

"Irene, you need to wait here for the doctor!"

Irene stepped out into the hall, looking around. No longer would she sit around, analysing, but taking no action. "Nurse? Nurse! Hi." She waved her hands to get the attention of the first women in scrubs she saw turn a corner. "Sorry, can you see if Nurse Simmons is still here? I need to talk to her! It's important!" The nurse looked like a deer caught in headlights, staring beyond the patient flagging her down. At the other end of the nurse's gaze was Gloria shaking her head.

A man who had been coming from the opposite direction smiled to Irene. "I'll go and fetch her," he obliged. Gloria couldn't stop him, and the first nurse just shook her head in exasperation and continued down the hall.

Irene strode back into the examination room, readjusting the ties on her hospital gown before sitting back down. Gloria stood by the door, arms crossed, expression pensive.

Irene looked up at Gloria with a crooked eyebrow. "What have they threatened you with?"

Gloria took in a short but quick breath, shy of a gasp. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You're scared, and you have been trying to keep me from talking too much. So what are you being threatened with?"

Gloria stared at Irene a while longer. She saw a few dimples form in her chin and a quiver of the woman's lower lip before she regained control. Her eyebrows raised, but her eyes were half lidded.

"I don't know what you are implying, Irene. I am just protecting you from a system that will steamroll anyone to get answers. Minors are too often taken advantage of," Gloria waved a hand dismissively. "You're the one who is in danger, Irene, not me."

Irene stared at Gloria a while longer. The woman tried to look disarming, but as Irene's gaze remained on her, her face hardened.

"Right..." Irene cast a glance to the side. Have I become too paranoid? Still, I'm not getting a good feeling from Gloria. Maybe that's just my old fear of social services talking.

Gloria interrupted Irene's thoughts. "I know teens sometimes struggle to believe any adult has their best interests at heart. What can I do to help reassure you that I'm on your side?" She spoke warmly, but there was a small catch in her voice.

"I don't know," Irene responded blandly as she tugged at her gown to make sure it covered her knees.

Nurse Simmons returned, peering curiously at Irene. "You called?"

"Yes!" Irene's demeanour towards the forensic nurse improved significantly. She held up her hand where the finger was missing. "The finger that they found in the warehouse, it's fresh, right?"

Marci Simmons mouth hung partially open, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at Irene's hand. Gloria quickly looked down, her hands clasping together tightly over her briefcase handle. Marci cleared her throat. "That's what I heard, but I'm not a scene investigator, just a forensic nurse."

"How long would it take for a wound like that to heal?" Irene asked.

"Two to six weeks, depending on various factors," Marci answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"So I can't have lost my finger recently. In all the samples you took, you have my DNA, right?" Irene further asked.

"Technically," Marci placed her hands on her hips. "We have samples we could get DNA from if we found reason to."

"Irene, you really shouldn't be wasting Nurse Simmons' time. She already told you she's doesn't have all the details of the case," Gloria warned, an edge creeping into her voice. Irene gave her a sideglance, but then focused back on Marci.

Marci put up a hand. "It's fine. Go on, Irene."

"The finger will match my DNA," Irene said confidently. Marci and Gloria looked at each other. Gloria laughed and Marci looked concerned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that was inappropriate of me," Gloria said, covering her mouth with her hand. "But that's impossible, isn't it, Nurse?"

Marci frowned. "It is." Worry lines became etched across Marci's brow. "Irene, I know you've been through a lot. If you were abducted a previous time, it's very possible you are conflating the two incidents, and your finger was removed earlier."

"I was admitted here with septicemia after my last abduction. I had all of my fingers then," Irene refuted, waving her hand in the air. "You could ask the staff! There must be a record of my previous visit, right?"

Gloria drew in a sharp breath. "Perhaps we should get her evaluated, nurse. She's not making sense."

"I'm not crazy!"

"No, of course you aren't, but you've been through a lot," Gloria cooed.

"Yes, I have, and none of you have any idea just all that's happened." Irene sighed and looked around, her hands folded in her lap. "Meet us at my house, Nurse. There's some evidence there I think you should collect."

Marci's almond-shaped eyes shifted side to side as she chewed on her full lower lip. Gloria shook her head and rose to her feet. "This is highly irregular, Irene," Gloria chided.

"Please, Nurse Simmons. I need you to visit me at my house before sundown. Time is of the essence," Irene urged.

"Irene, this goes against protocol." Gloria's knuckles went pale as she gripped her briefcase handle even tighter. "I need to stick to our own schedule. Besides, Marci said she's doesn't process crime scenes, only victims. Now, if there's need to send a team to collect evidence from your house, I'm sure Sgt. Emerson-"

Irene flung out her hand, impatience growing. For someone who was trying to help her, Gloria kept getting in her way. "There's no time for that! And I don't want a team tramping through my house. I need someone who can be discreet. Please!"

"Miss Locklyn!" Gloria butted in sharply, her voice going a pitch higher. "You are making unreasonable demands."

"No, no, I can radio the boys and let them know. If Irene has something to share, a forensic team can meet us-"

"No. It has to be you, Nurse Simmons. It has to be you!" Irene insisted. Trusting anyone was a risk, but Marci seemed the least suspicious person on hand. Besides, she needed someone with a medical background, and didn't want to involve any more people.

"Irene..." Nurse Simmons sighed, her eyes dropping and brow furrowed. She appeared conflicted, but she finally nodded. "Alright, I can meet you at your house."

Gloria frowned, but did not argue further. She stared out a window for a moment and then looked back at Irene and Marci. "Alright then. But you still need to wait for the doctor..."

"Speak of the devil," Marci said as a man wearing gray scrubs walked in.

"I'm a devil now, am I?" the doctor asked, breaking the tension with a charming smile.

After rushing the gauntlet of medical questions, and a quick check up, the doctor declared Irene ready for discharge. He gave her a prescription for an ointment for her wrists and cautionary antibiotics.

"Ready?" Gloria asked once Irene had changed into some scrubs she was provided. Irene looked at Marci, who nodded to her.

"I'll meet you there," Marci confirmed. Irene then nodded to Gloria. And the three of them left the hospital.