A moment in time

He smiles. All teeth and no lips.

“We’re being used,” he says. Shoving his long, spindly hands into his coat pockets.

“You say that as if it’s a new development, Max.” I reply, broken glass popping under my boots as we sift through the abandoned church. Max’s smile broadens into a grin of impossible proportions.

“Of course that isn’t new, Rebecca. I just wanted to emphasize the relevance of our situation.” He bows, crouches and effortlessly leaps to one of the intact rafters overhead. I look up and see his eyes glisten red in the faded moonlight.

“Walt’s coming back,” he calls. “And he’s got a little present for you, it seems.”

A few feet ahead Walter’s form bleeds out of the shadows. That strange movement. Whenever he moves his body it always seems to waver as if on the brink of evaporating into shadows. In his hand he holds a long shaft of wood, possibly the leg of a chair. The splintered end caked in blood.

“For me. You shouldn’t have.” I say in a flat tone.

He nods, hands it to me and steps to my side.

“Not feeling chatty tonight, Walt?” whispers Max from the open rooftop.

“Reticence. It’s a good flaw,” he mumbles.

I hear the soft gurgling and slurring sound from above which I have come to now recognize as Max’s laughter.

I regard the piece of wood. Makeshift but effective. I turn to the sharpened end deftly avoiding my white leather coat. You have absolutely no idea the dry-cleaning bills I have incurred getting blood out of this thing. Not very practical for field work but it was a gift from… well, someone special. I allow myself a brief moment of longing before focusing once again on the blood.

Recent, a couple of nights at the most. I measure the length, surmise the impact. Single thrust, high force and a direct hit. Time for some answers.

First the victim. I touch my tongue to darkened stain. The acrid copper taste unfolds the tale of the poor bastard that got stuck. Strange. Older than the previous ones. Much stronger. The game has shifted but why? The Sabbat have always had their share of in fighting. They’ve always been quick to toss shovel-heads against each other to show dominance. An almost perverse sense of population control. But this one, this one was but short of an elder. Someone’s upping the ante.

Now the attacker. I’m not expecting anything. Another blank like the time before. I close my eyes and concentrate on the wooden stake searching the item for a lingering image. Some clue as to who drove the weapon home. My eyes immediately flick open.

“There must be some kind of way out of here,” I hear Walter say to Max. Max starts snaking his head around madly.

“Something’s wrong,” he hisses.

The shock of what I’ve seen leaves me reeling. It can’t be right. But it must be. I quickly come to my senses.

“We’re leaving. Now,” I shout. “The jobs off. Everything is off. Run!”

Too late. I see a mass of shadows congeal around Max and engulf him. Walter has his shotgun out but the floor beneath his feet gives way.

Eyes. I see just a pair of eyes. And a voice. I hear that voice.

“I’ll be taking that.”

I feel the stake leave my hands and I feel it once again as it tears through my white coat.