Lucas Vaughn

Lustful Private Investigator

Description:
Last Update: XX/XX/XX

E-MAIL: vaughn.lucas.pi@gmail.com
HOME ADDRESS:

PROFESSION: Private Investigator – Falcon Investigation

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VIRTUE: Xxxxxx
VICE: Xxxxx

EXPERIENCE: X

ATTRIBUTES

Intelligence X; Wits X; Resolve X
Strength X; Dexterity X; Stamina X
Presence X; Manipulation X; Composure X
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SKILLS

Xxxxxxx (Xxxxxx) X; Xxxxxx (Xxxxxx) X; Xxxxxxx X;
Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X;
Xxxxxxx X; Xxxxxxx X;
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OTHER TRAITS

Merits: Xxxxx X; Xxxxx X;
Health: X
Willpower: X
Size: X
Speed: XX
Defense: X
Initiative Mod: X

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EQUIPMENT

Weapons: Xxxxxxx
Gear: ’67 Cadillac El Dorado, Xxxxxx, Xxxxxx
Cash: $XXX

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QUOTE

“What’s going on, guys?”
Bio:
Lucas Vaughn
By: Daerris

I mostly exist in the night. The streets of the City of Lakes clothe me more appropriately in the moonlight. As I roam the darkened alleys of the West Bank and farther north on Broadway Avenue I stalk the evening like a Jaguar in the jungle dark. This evening is no different from any other. I take a long drag off of my camel silver and finger the flask of Irish whiskey in my leather coat pocket as I survey the intersection I am stuck at. The red light coming from the traffic lamp in front of me illuminates the pavement below like a flashlight bathed in blood. My name is Lucas Vaughn and I am a private investigator of sorts. To be more specific I am a liberator. My practice consists of a singular type of clientele. I search out human trafficking and sex slavery victims and bring them to freedom. I return their liberty by whatever means necessary. It makes me chuckle to see the look on people’s faces when they find out what I do. They get a look of admiration in their eyes as their features soften. To them, they see a hero when my demons are far from that. My jaded inner psyche lives in stark contrast to what I do; what I must do.

I almost became a cop once upon a time. Went to the academy, took the criminal justice courses at community college and began preparing for the evaluations to be made a boy in blue. That all changed when I met her. That porcelain skinned, raven haired goddess at the Deuce Deuce in Northeast. I’ll never forget the night I was out celebrating with my college buddies, cops to the last today. I planted myself into sniffers’ row with a wad of dirty ones and fives in my shirt pocket when she walked onto the stage, Cat Power playing seductively in the background. I swallowed hard as she came to my seat to collect the five I put on the rail. Her brown eyes fixated on mine and I saw a crooked smile creep onto her mysterious face. She danced, or did she glide, over to me in my seat. She slinked like a snake writhing toward her prey. I felt her breath on my neck as she leaned close to me and then a nibble on my ear as she groaned into it. She pulled away at the end of our time with another crooked grin and moved to the next in line. I excused myself to the alley for a cigarette and a quick sniff of coke to steel my shaken demeanor. After five or ten minutes I returned to the bar and ordered whiskey on the rocks. Softly, suddenly, I felt a hand slink up the back of my shoulder and a sweet smoky voice say, “How about one for me? I think we could both use a drink right now.” I looked and saw it again, that crooked grin, looking into me; or was I seeing myself in it? I complied with her drink request and she pulled me over to a booth against the wall. “The girls never sit in the booths,” I thought to myself as she settled on the other side. She had almost almond shaped brown eyes, jet black hair and a petite figure to her 5’3" frame. Her red lips pursed at the small glass as she put it to her mouth and drank. The elixir seemed to soothe her posture and her shoulders sank to a comfortable position, showing her ease with me. “My name is Alice. What’s Yours?” I cleared my throat and choked out my name. We talked into the night. She would return to the stage for her dances, spending five minutes here and there grinding onto someone’s lap, but always returned to me. I’d be lying if I said my lap wasn’t one of those she danced on that night.

2am came early and when I went to leave she was lost to my eyes. Drunk and a little high I dejectedly walked into the late summer night. A light rain had fallen during the evening, casting a damp luminescence to the street. My friends had long since moved on without me, and that was fine. I never really connected with them anyway. They wanted to be on the force for different reasons than me. I actually wanted to help people, for me law was about aiding victims more than catching criminals. As I got to the alley halfway down the block I saw a puff of smoke rise from behind the dumpster at the back of the bar. I pretended to ignore it, but as I passed by I saw her leaning against its frame. She smiled at me again, “Well there you are. I was hoping you would come this way. I thought we could finish what we started. How about some coffee?” she said and then looked me directly in the eyes, “I’m about to get off.” She touched my arm when she said that. I drunkenly nodded in agreement, too choked up by her presence to answer with words. We pulled off into the night, her in my passenger seat, and made our way to the late night den of the city, The Hard Times Cafe. We shared some breakfast, nothing healthy, and drank a few cups of coffee as we chatted. The more we talked the more her facade changed. Alice wasn’t only a dancer. She was also a call girl, she said. She grew up in Walker and moved to Minneapolis when she was 19 for art school. She discovered that living on your own was harder than she thought. When she turned 21 she got a job working at Déjà Vu downtown. She quickly realized that wasn’t her place. She moved to the Deuce Deuce because they had no house fees and paid an hourly wage plus tips, that and she could make whatever hours she wanted. It was perfect for college. I didn’t care what she did. She was an angel, an angel sent right into my world. She had this innocent confidence about her that made you feel like a man without ever allowing you to feel completely in control.

The next eight months were a whirlwind between us. At 25 she was a year younger than myself, but we were the perfect match. We rented an apartment in the North Loop. It was of a coldly concrete decor, but somehow she made it feel like home. I worked for a local private investigator named Frank Ament while waiting to hear back from the MPD. Her work didn’t bother me at first, but as we grew closer her call girl gigs ate away at me. One night it all poured out. While she was getting ready for a meet and greet with a new client I told her I wanted her to quit, that I needed her to. I said that I loved her and that I couldn’t share her in that way with someone anymore. I told her she was my angel and that I needed her salvation for me alone. She just smirked at me with that crooked grin and nestled into my arms. She assured me it would be ok, that she would be home soon and we would talk about it then. I was angry when she left. I didn’t say goodbye. The front door closed so quietly I could hear her sigh on the way out.

She didn’t come home soon like she promised. She didn’t come home at all. Days turned into weeks, which became months. I filed a report with the police and received lip service about how hard these cases were to crack. I knew the truth, though. I know how cops work. She was just a hooker and a stripper, why waste resources on someone who probably OD’d in an alleyway. My disgust for the system caused me to withdraw my application to the department. Justice belonged to everyone, in my opinion. She may have been a whore to them, but she was an angel in my kingdom.

One night I was going through her things for the hundredth time when I came across a card I hadn’t noticed before inside a light coat she rarely wore. The front of the card was from a business called Red Elixir Business Solutions. The name on the card was Dimitri Notolov, Marketing Manager. On the back side was a date, the last day I held my Alice. I went to my computer and found the company site. A social media house for businesses to ramp up corporate image. I needed more. I went to my boss’ office and searched for this Notolov. He was a Russian who came to America about 15 years prior. He was a man in his early fifties, mostly grey hair with touches of black around his well styled quaff. He had priors on his criminal record. Assault, theft, grand larceny and solicitation were among his most common offenses. As I looked at his mugshots I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. This man knew where she was and he was going to tell me or regret it with every fiber of being.

I took a job for a messenger service that delivered to their company. It was a small business that rented space in a building located by the Nicolet Mall downtown. Within a week I was able to find the man. I tailed him for another few with nothing out of the ordinary to go on. It was mid May when that, and my life, changed forever. On a hotter than usual Friday night he came out of the office late, around 8pm. The night sky had fallen on the city as he got into his black BMW. I followed him from a distance. Frank had shown me the tricks of tailing a suspect without being seen. I thanked god I had gotten my conceal permit the month prior as I felt my pistol inside my dark coat. Dimitri drove into North Minneapolis and stopped at an abandoned warehouse. The building looked ancient compared to his office downtown. The structure was a at least three stories high with large windows on the ground floor peering out into the street like an old man glaring at a child on his lawn. There were other cars outside that night and I could see a guard at the door as Dimitri went in. I parked a block away and snuck through the alley in the now dark night. The building looked empty through the dirty windows in the back. I pried one open and snuck inside, locking it behind me. The room was filthy. It appeared to at one time be a slaughterhouse of sorts, but there was no way any work had been done in this place in my lifetime. Dust covered the moldy window sills and a musty smell from more rotten wood hung in the air. Once in the building I heard some commotion coming from upstairs. Whatever was happening was definitely some type of celebration. I could hear men cheering and glasses clanging through the floor. Suddenly I heard two sets of feet coming down the stairs, one heavy and the other shuffling. I saw the form of a large man and a woman come down and head through a doorway that led to the cellar. After a few minutes the man came back upstairs alone and rejoined the festivities. I crept to the cellar door and descended the steps into the dark beneath. The temperature dropped significantly when I got about halfway down the tall stairwell. The sound of my own breath was deafening in the silence when I got to the cement floor. The area was dimly lit, but I could make out a large door at the far side. To my right I saw a garden hose looped over pipe in the ceiling and a drain tile directly underneath. There was a brown bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the drain. I turned on my flashlight and walked to the portal. A heavy lock on the door kept the room secure. I again thanked Frank as I pulled lock picks from my jacket and opened the door. What I found inside that room nearly made me throw up. The sultry odor of sweat and human waste rolled up on me like a tidal wave. The room appeared to be an old storage freezer, now just a windowless cage. All along the wall were women chained to the floor. Malnourished, strung out and broken they sat next to plastic buckets looking at me weakly in fear. They were of all ethnicities: white, black, Asian; you name it. They had needle tracks on their arms and bruises all over their bodies. Some of them were still children, barely past puberty. I looked on in horror as I walked further into the room. Then I heard it; a whisper, “Luke? Is that you?”
It was her.

I frantically searched for where the sound came from and in the corner, huddled on the floor was my broken winged angel. “Alice,” I said, “We are getting you out of here.” I turned and looked at the rest of the women and said, “All of you.” I quickly went to work with their chains, the smaller locks were easily picked and, when needed, the chains pried from the floor with little effort from my crow bar. There were ten of them in total. I helped Alice up, as she was too weak to walk, much weaker than the other women. We went to the door and as I came out with her in my arms I could hear the creaking steps as the large man came back down the stairs. I motioned for everyone to stay inside the walk in. As he turned when he got to the floor I stepped out into the room. He yelled and grabbed his gun. With a subconscious reaction I went for mine and we shot at what seemed like the same moment. Apparently my academy training was good for something because he fell to the floor lifeless, while I was unscathed. Then I heard the sound at my back. Alice was on the stone floor. I went to pick her up and I saw she had been shot in the chest. She was badly bleeding. I pressed on the wound as the other women ran to the upstairs to claim freedom. “Please,” I said, “Hang in there angel, I’ll get you to the hospital. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.” Alice looked up at me with her brown eyes and smiled that crooked smile. “We both know that isn’t going to help. It’s ok, though. I’m ok. You are here with me and that is more than I ever imagined.” Tears rolled quietly down her cheeks as she spoke. “I love you Lucas. I have never loved a soul the way I loved you. I will be waiting for you, watching over you if I can.” I began to weep in protest to what she was suggesting, but she put her bloody hand to my cheek and pulled me in to kiss her already paling lips one last time. “It is for the best. What they did to me here, to all of us, it clipped my wings. I need this peace, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have to leave. Remember that your angel loves you.” With that, her eyes trailed off into emptiness. I wept into her, kissing her again but it was too late. I knelt on the floor with Alice’s body cradled in my arms and I unfastened the chains I had pried from the floor and saw them. There were restraint bruises on her wrists. They drew my eyes to more, bruises on her face, needle marks on her arms, more bruising on her hips, legs and ankles. In the rush of the moment I had not taken in her physical state. In this small moment of clarity I saw it all. I felt a fire ignite in me like a match. I picked Alice up and carried her to the top of the stairs and took the chains that bound her from her hands. The other girls were huddled in the darkness. One approached, later I learned her name was Olivia, and said, “The guard is still outside. What do we do?” I put Alice on the wooden floor and walked to the entrance with her restraints in my hands. I quietly opened one of the large double doors and wrapped the chain around the man’s neck, pulling him to the ground on top of me from behind and locking his body between my legs. He struggled under my grip, but my position was too great and eventually, with a last strained gurgle, he struggled no more. I motioned for the women to follow me out and we ran to my Lincoln a block away. I told them to wait there. I placed Alice on the damp grass, opened my trunk and grabbed my emergency gas can.

I walked back to the warehouse, took the keys off the guard, and walked to his white Mercedes. I opened the gas cap and siphoned out the five gallons the large can held and went back inside the building. I snuck up to the third floor where the commotion had died down a little. I peaked in through a crack in the door and saw them, about five in all lounging in chairs, shirts unbuttoned halfway and belts on the floor, apparently spent from whatever they subjected that poor girl to. I found a chair in an adjacent room and braced it against the door handle, making escape more difficult. I then proceeded to pour the gas on the door, down the chair, the hallway, covering the steps in the fluid and out to the front door. The fumes distorted my already darkened vision as it wafted upward. like waves of pure water. When I reached the front door I pulled a match from my coat and put a camel silver in my mouth. I took a long drag and closed my eyes. I made a void in my mind, and in that place I saw her. Beautiful brown eyes, black hair falling into my face. I could smell her fragrant shampoo and the hint of perfume from work on her clothes. I went to reach out to her and she pulled away. As she stepped back she lit another match and smiled at me. She blew me a kiss and in unison we let our fire fall to the ground. The flames danced around her frame, licking off her back and dancing in her hair. She turned and walked into the inferno, pausing just before she was out of sight. The last thing I saw before the flames swallowed her whole was her crooked smile. I opened my eyes and turned from the blaze I set. The flames quickly roared into an volcano that lit up the night sky like a noon day sun. I heard the screams upstairs, but I didn’t care. I knew what part of town we were in, and the police wouldn’t get here in time to save them. I know how cops think. They weren’t that important.

A car behind me honks and snaps me back into reality. I step on the accelerator and the car lurches forward. I take another drag from my camel. “I miss you,” I mutter to myself. I shake away the memory as I pull the flask from my coat and take a pull. At the next light I take a snort to sharpen my thoughts and wipe the powder from my nose. I have an appointment tonight. Olivia is waiting for me, like she has every night since that black evening in May. The fight isn’t over, and I refuse to let any more angels suffer at the hands of beasts.

I arrive for our meeting at Donny Dirk’s Zombie Den. It’s a small bar that used to be called Stand Up Franks. At that time it was a rough place. Today it is a bit of a gimmick, but it’s small, out of the way and nobody asks questions when Olivia and I meet. I see her at the far end of the bar chatting with a waitress while she sips a drink in her tall captain’s chair. I quietly shuffle in with a nod to the bouncer and slide into the chair next to her. Olivia is a well toned African American woman that stands around 5’9". Her soft facial features are belied by her hard eyes, eyes that have seen more than any person should in their life. She has the type of physique that could stop traffic on a rainy day, a wry grin that could melt stone and New York accent that can let you know in a moment’s notice that she is not to be fucked with. She and I have been close ever since that black May night. “I was wondering when you were going to get here,” she said as I sat down. As our eyes meet I can tell she recognizes where my thoughts had been on the drive over. She takes my hand softly and leans in close, whispering, “I wish you wouldn’t dwell on the past so much. It is eating you away. You don’t have to be alone.” As her last sentence trails off she kisses me on the cheek and sits back into her chair. I smile absently at her, letting her know I appreciate her concern. Olivia and I have shared more than words, I admit, but my heart walked into the flaming void that night. I can never be what she hopes of me. Not for her; not for anyone. I order whiskey from the bartender. He is a twenty something man with an exaggerated moustache that almost looks comical on his thin face. His clothes look more like something a grandfather would wear: sweater vest, brown slacks and a button shirt. He chats us up as he gets my drink, clearly more interested in gauging Olivia’s reactions than mine. I can feel the drip roll down the back of throat from my exploits during my car ride over as they banter with each other.

I place my hand on Olivia’s leg under the bar and she immediately brings her attention back to me, as if the bartender was never there. “What is it you wanted to see me about, besides the obvious,” I say flatly. She frowns slightly at my choice of words, but only for the briefest of moments. “There is a place that has popped up on my radar. It’s a garage in East St Paul that is leased to a company called Diamond Line Holdings. Further investigation has turned up that this company is a subsidiary of Red Elixir.” My attention is fixed on her when she mentions that name. “I thought that would catch your ear,” she says wryly. “Apparently Diamond Line is an import business that deals with precious stones and other art pieces. They have ties to other businesses in Seattle and Boston which are fronts for the Russians.” We share a glance with each other at the names of those cities, both fully aware of what else is imported at their docks. “Are we sure of what is there?” I ask her plainly. “I’m pretty certain. There has been a lot of talk lately about women going into the place and never coming out. Some girls that have been in the hobby for awhile now are starting tell their peers to steer clear of that place. Unfortunately, some care more about money than safety.” Olivia takes a long sip from her drink and looks at me, “Will you go there tonight?” I nod that I will as I pick my glass back up to drink. She brings her glass to mine and clinks them together for luck, “Visit me tonight, I see the dark creeping back around your edges again. Let me in, Lucas. You are my knight; let me be your Valkyrie.” Her eyes are fierce and intent with a smoldering emotion she rarely shows. I drain my glass and say, “You know I can’t promise you anything. Let’s see how tonight goes first.” She leans and kisses my cheek again when I finish speaking. We both know I will call. The difference is she will wait for me, and I will despise myself for coming to her again. She deserves better than my broken soul, she deserves a man that will love her like I did my Angel. Still, no matter how many times I tell her to find someone other than me she laughs it off. “I have been reborn because of you, Lucas,” she once told me, “it was in your wake that I was resurrected and it is in the light of your goodness that I continue to grow. You may be tarnished by grief and regret, but I have seen the goodness in you and I swear it will shine through again if I have to pull back that veil with my own hands.”

We share a glance between us as I move from the bar and get my coat back on. The bartender moves back to her end of the bar before I open the door on my way out. The poor young man has no idea what he is in for trying to sweep Olivia off her feet. I smile at the thought that at least his night won’t be boring. She loves to play the cat with mice. I start my car and feel for my pistol in my jacket. I hope to myself that I don’t need to use, at least not when the women are around. No more accidents. I put the car into drive and it rolls forward reluctantly until I spur it on with a little pressure from my right foot. I exit onto the freeway heading east. This old garage sounds promising. Probably nowhere near the heart of what I have been looking for, but the past year has yielded steady results in getting to the top of the Red Diamond syndicate. I foolishly thought that Dimitri had led me to the cause of my Alice’s demise. I was wrong, as I learned from Olivia. In fact the warehouse I set ablaze with my vengeance was her third stop in the six months she had been held by the nefarious organization. In that time she had met men of all nationalities, the last cell was the only group of Russians she had ever met.

The exit approaches on my right and I turn my blinker on to indicate where I was headed. The yellow of the light flashes in the air like a warning of caution that surrounds me. I reach the top of the ramp and head south down the street. Before long I pass by the garage. It is large, easily enough to hold a good sized establishment. The signs outside are faded on non-descript. Still, I park a few blocks away to make sure I am not seen. I have done this before and I know that just because a building looks quiet does not mean that life does not exist within its walls. I walk carefully and quietly down the street, keeping to the shadows held by trees and traffic signs. I hug the inside of the sidewalk as I approach the alleyway that runs behind the garage. As I approach the back door I feel an unseasonably cold wind blow up at my back. I shake off the chills it leaves on my skin and walk into the sickly yellow light that bathes the ground from the old light above the back door. Of it is locked, but that is no deterrent to my prying nature. I slip my lockpicks into the slot and I easily hear the deadbolt slide back into its resting position inside the door itself.

I slide the door open just a crack and peer into the building. It is dark as night inside, with only glimpses of moonlight peering in through the windows, making what small areas that are illuminated looking cold and pale. I enter and close the door behind me and begin to survey any and all exits, looking for any sign of life. After a few moments I assure myself that I am alone and stroll into the main area of the garage. I walk into the center of the room and see a door that appears to go down into a basement or cellar of some kind. If there is anyone here, that is where I will find them. I walk over to the hatch, it is a wooden portal that sits in the floor, much like a hinged manhole cover. I slowly open the door and descend into the blackness at my feet. In this underneath there is no light whatsoever. I reach into my coat and pull the small flashlight from my pocket to get a look.

“Holy shit,” I involuntarily spout out as fear and shock grips my spirit. I step back and trip on the staircase, falling and catching myself with my elbows. My breath catches in my throat as I take in what is in front of me. Gore. That is the only word that comes to my now frantic mind. Splayed all over the walls is blood thickly strewn like an angry contractor haphazardly emptied his paint buckets in a furious rage. This, however, was not paint. The sultry smell of copper and sweat fills the room and something else. Is it…fear? When I look to the floor I see bodies laid against the wall like cordwood stacked and ready for a long winter. They are all women dressed in party dresses, miniskirts and tiny shorts. Each of them with their faces frozen in what looks to be a cross between ecstasy and pure fear. All of their throats have been torn out. They look like they have been recently dispatched, as the room contains no odor of decay and the women, although immensely pale, look still near to life.

I hear a sound from above. Short and quick. I turn out my flashlight immediately and hold my breath to listen. Mostly all I can hear is my heart pounding in my head from the sudden rush of adrenaline. I move up the stairs slowly, looking for where it came from. When I get two steps from the top I feel it. With a strength I have never encountered a hand grabs me by my coat and I am lifted from my feet and thrown across the room, skidding to a halt on the floor when I hit the wall. I see a man standing in the shadows twenty feet from me. I blink as I try and breathe and when I reopen my eyes he is standing over me lifting me to the air again. “How?” I mange to choke out as I struggle against his strength. He looks into my eyes with his yellow orbs and I see him bare his teeth. Wait, are those fangs? “You should not be here friend,” he sneers out at me. “I can smell your fear. It makes me hungry. I can feel your blood straining under the surface of your skin. The sweet nectar is calling to me. It is boiling over inside of you. The unexpected feast is always best on the palate.” He bears his fangs again and moves in toward my neck. I struggle to break free, but it is in vain.

Suddenly the lights in the garage burst on and I fall hard to the floor before he can sink his teeth into me. The man, who I now can see is as pale as the poor women in the cellar below, turns to face whatever is behind him. I see a man standing in the light; perhaps a priest. “Foul spawn,” he spats loudly, “you will feast no more in this life.” He moves quickly and a flash of light comes from his side as I hear metal slide from a sheath. With incomprehensible speed the man who had me in his grasp moves to the man in anger. Before he stops to engage the priest, however, I hear him scream in agony and fall to the floor. He is writhing in pain as the priest empties a vial of water onto the beast’s curled up form. The priest walks over to the man and stands over him like a schoolyard bully terrorizing his prey. “From the shadows you lurk and spread your foul seed, but to the darkness you shall return. Embrace the long black of death. This is your fate for the abomination you have become. As you have turned your back on the Lord, so has he sent me to rain his justice upon you.” With that, and a flash of sliver to follow, the priest severs the prone figure’s head. The body falls lifelessly to the floor as the head rolls twice over before stopping. The man mumbles what appears to be a small prayer before looking to me on the floor.

“It is fate that our paths have crossed in this night. I must say that I am impressed you were able to infiltrate this place without being caught immediately. It appears you have some skill, skill that I could use in my battle. Of course some training will be required, but you will do nicely I think.” I look at the man as I stand. “What the fuck are you talking about, and what the fuck was that thing?” He bows low and says, “Forgive me. My name is ”/characters/father-john-kaiser" class=“wiki-content-link”>Father John Kaiser. I am a hunter and vampires are my prey." He gestures to the dead man on the floor when he says the word vampire. I look at him incredulously. “Vampires? I think you had a little too much wine at the tabernacle Father. This guy was most likely on PCP and jacked up. I think you need to check your commandments again. You just murdered someone. I’m not too sure your God is going to like that.” I take out a cigarette while I talk and my clearly shaky hands pull out a lighter. I take drag as I light the stick in my mouth. I swear the drag I take in could have pulled the ember all the way to the filter as I breathe in hard to steel my nerves. When I exhale I pull out my flask and take a drink as well. The priest seems unfazed, even amused by me. “Son,” he says with bright eyes, “I think we need to have a talk about the way the world really is. Let’s get some coffee and you can hear me out. I promise that when I am finished talking you will change your mind. Please. No strings attached, let me change your perspective of the world.”

We leave the garage behind, bodies and all, and head for Mickey’s Diner in downtown St Paul. True to his word he tells me things that shake my foundation. Vampires and other beasts of the night exist, he tells me. I can’t go into it. Before tonight I could never conceive of it. Still, by the time I get back into my car and pull away I have agreed to help him hunt them all down. He needs a man of my skill set and I need a cause to keep my compass pointing north. I must truly be out of my mind. I pull back onto the freeway headed for south Minneapolis. Olivia will still be awake and after what happened tonight there is no way I am sleeping alone.

Lucas Vaughn

Minneapolis: Behind the Veil Daerris