You Start To Freeze, As Horror Looks You Right Between the Eyes
Axel doesn't know why he feels so on edge tonight. He shouldn't. He has no reason to. Jane is safe. She just called him a few minutes ago. And while he isn't quite convinced he likes Bobby, he cares about Jane, and that's enough for him — for now, at least. His gunshot wound is healing as it should be, although his mobility is not quite there yet. He sighs. Why does he feel like this? It's a terrible feeling but a familiar one. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There's tension in his body. He keeps looking behind him at the closed windows displaying the night sky. He feels like he's being watched. But he's swept the hotel room for bugs — more than once. The people who want him dead are dead, themselves, or incarcerated. He should be fine. He is fine. But, somehow, he can't believe that.
He sighs and gets up from the couch, going towards the window to shut the curtains. A force of habit from too many experiences with snipers through windows, although the skyline view has never failed to take his breath away every time he's been in Beverly Hills. But it's not home. He misses Detroit. Somehow, the thought of walking scared shitless into a dive bar in Detroit is less daunting than even the nicest, most exclusive venue in Beverly Hills. It's about the honesty. Detroit may have its characters, but there is an authenticity that makes it feel okay. What you see is what you get. On the other hand, everyone in glittery Beverly Hills has something to hide. Nobody gets to the one per cent without selling their soul.
In the middle of his musing, something makes him pause. He doesn't know what, consciously, but his gut is ringing alarm bells. It's only when he feels his head smack against the wall and something seizing his throat like a cobra that he registers someone else is in the room. Axel blinks a few times, gasping for air, but whoever has his neck squeezes tighter, like they're proving a point. He meets a pair of familiar striking blue eyes, glowing slightly as they stare back at him. He smiles menacingly, his teeth elongated and sharp. Axel can hear the man's low growl, reminding him of a panther.
"You thought I was that easy to take down, Foley? Well, you were wrong," Grant hisses.
Axel thinks back to the last time he saw Grant, when his bullet went straight through his forehead. There had been a lot of blood. Enough blood for Axel to have not felt the need for a second shot, although he had had to resist the urge to empty his clip into Grant's body as payback for threatening his daughter's life. There is no way, no way, he wasn't successful. And yet, here he is. There is something very, very wrong here. Axel doesn't think he's ever been this scared in his life. Even as a rookie cop in his first shootout, the adrenaline and thrill overrode the fear. Not here. He has nothing. His gun is too far away, and he doesn't even think it'll help. He is hyperaware of the rise and fall of his chest, the race of his pulse, the paralysing shock consuming him. It's jarring in comparison to the stillness of Grant's body. He's not breathing. He's not moving. He's able to focus all of his energy on strangling him. Stars creep into the corner of his vision, making him fight back with everything he has, but it's no use.
"What do you want?" Axel manages to utter. "It's over. We have all the evidence."
Grant smiles in a way that makes him nauseous. "But I know your weak spot, Foley: Jane." Axel's cheek twitches. "I've been watching your precious daughter while she sleeps. I can smell the blood pumping through the veins in her pretty little neck. I want nothing more than to rip her to shreds right in front of you and bring you to your knees so you understand what a mistake it was to try to mess with me."
Axel grunts, trying to pry Grant's hand off him. "Don't you fucking dare, Grant. I swear to God, I'll-"
"You'll what?" He laughs. "Kill me? You can't."
The door swings open, and light from the hallway shines into the room. There's a silenced gunshot, and Grant falls to the ground, blood pouring through his shoulder. He's unconscious, but Axel's gaze fixates on him, knowing he will stand up again. Those words replay in his mind. You can't. Grant is never going down. He doesn't know what the fuck he is, but he knows that he is, apparently, unkillable, and that's a problem.
"You alright, Foley?" Taggart asks, his gun still pointed at Grant's body.
Axel nods. He is still panting, and that fear is still running through every fibre of his being. Taggart seems to look at him with worry, and understandably so. Axel Foley does not get scared like this. Axel is never scared. Axel also observes that Taggart seems to have anticipated this. He's very focused but doesn't seem shocked by the fangs still protruding from Grant's mouth.
"How the fuck is Cade Grant alive?"
"He's a vampire," Taggart answers with disgust.
His eyebrows raise. That certainly makes sense, but Taggart is saying it like it's no big deal.
"Grant is some kind of blood-sucking monster, and you didn't fucking tell me? When he threatened my daughter?"
"I couldn't," Taggart explains, apology in his voice. "It was too dangerous. That's why I had to act like I didn't believe your allegations that Grant was dirty. I knew. Rosewood knew, too. But we started looking into him and realised there was more to it. That's when we had to back off. That's why Rosewood went out on his own."
Speaking of… Rosewood had been in the patrol car with Taggart. Where is he?
As if on cue, Rosewood comes in through the door, gun raised. The stench immediately assaults Axel's senses, and he notices that Rosewood is brandishing a lei of garlic bulbs, a giant silver crucifix, and has a spray bottle attached to his belt. Given what he's seen in vampire movies (Jane went through a phase when she was a tween) he has to assume it's holy water.
Taggart looks at him and rolls his eyes. "For Christ's sake, Rosewood."
"I'm not taking any chances." He then looks at Axel. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Axel has to clear his throat to harden his voice. He rubs his throat gingerly, still unnerved by the phantom sensation of Grant's nails digging into his flesh. He can't stop looking at Grant, who is being hog-tied by Taggart, although he is convinced not even titanium cuffs would hold him. He injects him with something — a sedative, presumably. "What are we supposed to do?"
Rosewood bites his lip. "We don't know yet. But our only hope is to take advantage of the fact that there's a gap between when he dies and when he wakes up again."
As much as he would like to kill Grant repeatedly, that's not exactly a solution.
"Right. I've got him secured," Taggart announces. "Let's get him in the car; we'll use the service elevator."
"Where are we taking him?"
"You'll see."
They get out of the hotel without being noticed — although a flash of their cop badges would have done the trick, if need be — and shove Grant in the trunk. Axel can only pray the restraints will hold him for the drive. Grant is a silent predator, so he can't even rely on listening out for him trying to rustle around. Rosewood drives, and they end up at a loading dock. Taggart and Rosewood seem to have called ahead because the guard doesn't even blink as they drive through with an unchecked, unmarked car. There's a ship that's getting ready to depart for an overseas export. One of the shiphands mutters something about Korea. If Axel could, he would ship Grant to the other side of the fucking universe, but even that wouldn't make him feel better. But they lock Grant inside a shipping container that's locked tight and full of frozen fish (a nice touch, Axel thinks) and then get back to the dock to watch the ship leave.
"You sure he can't- I don't know, fly or something?" Axel asks warily.
Taggart snorts. "If the fucker grows wings, we're in more trouble than we think."
"So, what now?"
"We'll make sure we're ready for him when he gets back," Rosewood answers. "I've got contacts in the FBI. They'll be scanning for his face on security cameras all around the world. We'll find a way to kill him, and when he comes back to the States, we'll get him."
—
Cade wakes to find the salty taste of seawater spray in his mouth. His clothes are drenched. Heightened senses aside, the odour makes him want to gag. He can hear the loud foghorn of a boat, and the disorienting tumbling around him makes him click. He's in a God-damned box full of fish. He hates fish.
"Fucking Foley," he mutters. "I'll get you, you son of a bitch."