"What have you got for me, Paul?"

 Detective Paul Johnson shook his head at Homicide Detective Peter Logan.  "It ain't pretty."

 Detective Logan nodded. Death rarely was.  He entered the apartment and hardened though he was, he gagged reflexively at the bloody, decapitated corpse.  He automatically began to breath through his mouth to avoid the over ripe, thickly cloying scent of blood.  Didn't help.  Now, he could almost taste the coppery, saltiness on his tongue.

 "She used some sort of trip wire system to launch the stake at her heart the same time as . . ."

 Detective Logan motioned for Johnson to shut up.  He carefully picked up a note by the mutilated corpse with his rubber gloved hand.  "Suicide?  Think it's possible someone could do that -- to themselves?"

 "I think she did.  Neighbours say she was quiet, only went out at night."

  Detective Logan nodded absently as he looked about the apartment.  It was organized, recently cleaned . . . other than the gory, bloody corpse.  He picked up a photograph and stared at her beautiful, pale face.  How could someone so young and lovely do this to herself?

"Call the clean up crew after forensics finishes.  Tell the coroner to autopsy the body. I want to know if she was on drugs."

 Logan picked up another photograph, this one was old, grainy.  It was the same woman, wearing clothing that had been out of date for over a hundred years . . .
 
 

"Lena!  It's after four!  Will you please get up?"

 Lena moaned. "Where's the fire, Cher?"

 "Look, lazy-bones, I know you weren't out that late last night!  What is this, another attempt to weasel out of your share of the work?  Come on!  I did the groceries, the laundry and I cleaned the kitchen.  The bathroom and living room wait for you!"

 Lena moaned again.  "I think I'm sick."

 "Oh sure!  Drank too much with that hunkish new boyfriend?"

 "No.  We didn't got to a bar . . . "

 "Where did you go?"

 "I . . . don't remember . . . its kind of a blur, you know?"

 Cher frowned and whipped the blankets off of her roommie.

 "Shit!"  Cher whispered in awe as she viewed the bright, purple bruise on Lena's neck and the two puncture marks.  "What did he do to you?"

 "He kissed me . . . I think."  Lena's eyes were dull, her complexion pale.  She got out of bed with Cher's assistance and looked at the mark on her neck.  Her breath whistled out between her teeth.  "Sick Bastard!"

 "You aren't going out with him again, are you?  Cher bit her lip, worried.

 "Not on your life!  Another dead beat!  Christ!  He seemed so nice, so different from the usual scum I meet."  Lena swayed dizzily.

 "I'm gonna call the doctor!"

 Lena nodded as she collapsed on the edge of her bed.  Damn!  Why did she always meet such total low lifes?  Well, so long Vladimir!  I don't need avampire, I need a man!