Six years ago.

            “Ever hear of the Cross Killer?”

            Alice sat in a classroom, waiting for the professor to arrive as he wished the other students would stop talking so she could review the textbooks in front of her.  She’d decided to become a police officer, specifically a police detective.  If Alice got a two-year associate's degree in criminal justice, she could apply for the police academy and become an officer by the time she turned nineteen.  Alice’s time at Saint Vivia University was very straightforward for her.  Go to class, study, and avoid pointless distractions like the conversation going on a few seats away.  Their conversation had begun with alligators in the sewers of New York, gone over Bloody Mary, and had now settled on this Cross Killer.

            “No,” said one of the other students. “What is it?”

            “The Cross Killer is this guy covered in cross tattoos.  They say he’s this religious fanatic who murders nonbelievers by impaling them with a sharpened wooden cross.  The story goes that he was an altar boy at a church and the congregation he served died in a fire someone started.  He was running late and found everyone dead.  This drove him insane, and he found the arsonist, impaling him with a wooden cross he’d sharpened.  Then he got cross tattoos all over his body and set out to kill nonbelievers with that same wooden cross.”

            “Are you sure?  I thought he was supposed to use a sword.”

            “I’ve heard versions where he burns people with acid.”

            As they argued the various versions of the story, Alice decided to get up and walk to a seat on the other side of the classroom.  For obvious reasons, the subject of psycho murderers was one that Alice didn’t particularly care for.  It dredged up bad memories from her.  As she sat down again, Alice did her best to suppress those memories.

            She didn’t want to start crying in class, after all.

###

Present Day.

            Alice sat in a wheelchair as a nurse pushed her through the white walls of the facility.  She still had bandages on her cheek and her neck and wore a hospital gown.  Agents Thompson and Walker walked in front of her as men in pitch black military style uniforms patrolled the hallways.  This area seemed to be a medical wing, with doctors and nurses walking by as they passed more hospital rooms.  Occasionally, Alice would catch a glimpse of medical equipment like a CAT scanner or an X-Ray machine as someone left a room.  If Alice didn’t know any better, she’d have thought this was just a regular hospital, apart from the black clad soldiers.

            As they wheeled her through the facility, a few things occurred to Alice.  One, none of the rooms, not even the hospital room she’d been in, had any windows, which she found strange.  The second thing she realized, as she thought back to this agent Phoenix, was that she’d heard a story about a man covered in cross tattoos.  It was an urban legend that came up every once in a while.  Alice had never given it much thought, and the idea that this person was real and could be her brother absolutely floored her.  She figured the stuff about him being a religious fanatic was probably just misinformation.  Maybe it was just easier to believe that than believe vampires existed, but hopefully, she’d get some answers soon.

            They were taking her to speak with this Agent Phoenix, after all.

            Soon they reached an elevator and rode it to the floor just below the top floor.  At least, it was the second to top button on the panel.  Alice noticed something odd about the buttons, and at that moment, something occurred to her.

            “This facility is underground, isn’t it?”

            “All except the first floor,” admitted Agent Thompson. “How’d you guess?”

            “The lack of windows,” said Alice. “And the elevator buttons.  Floor one is the top floor, not the bottom like in most buildings.  That would make sense if you started with the top floor and added more as you dug downwards.”

            “Very good, Mrs. Hayes,” said Walker.

            “Just try not to deduce too much,” said Agent Thompson. “We have our secrets for very good reasons.”

            “As much as I’d love to tell my partner to lighten up,” said Walker. “I have to agree.”

            Alice was smart enough to stop talking.

            They left the elevator and entered the second floor, which looked like an office building.  Within the various rooms Alice saw desks, computers, and filing cabinets.  She also saw a few archive rooms filled with rows and rows of shelves lined with boxes.

            Finally, they wheeled Alice into a larger office with fine artwork decorating the walls, filing cabinets in one corner, and shelves filled with small figurines that appeared to be from all over the world, including Europe, Africa, and Asia.  Alice didn’t know the significance of any of them, but some of the little figures looked religious in nature.  The only one she did recognize was a crucifix.

            But Alice’s attention was immediately drawn to people already in the office.  Sitting to the side was Agent Phoenix, now wearing a long black jacket as he stared at the wall with an unreadable expression on his tattoo covered face.  Behind the exquisite oak desk in the center of the room sat a tall, burly man with a grizzly grey beard wearing a fine suit.  He was clearly an older man with wrinkled skin and a head full of thinning hair, but as he stood, he moved with the energy of a younger man.

            “Detective Hayes,” said the man behind the desk. “Welcome.  I’m Director Farrow, the head of this facility.  I wish we could have met under more favorable circumstances.”

            “Yeah,” said Alice. “Me too.”

             “Please, take a seat,” he said to the two agents. “Nurse, please wait outside.”

            The nurse pushed Alice’s wheelchair to the side and then excused himself.  Agents Thompson and Walker took seats nearby.

            “Let’s cut to the chase,” said the Director.  “Alice Hayes, your brother was taken by vampires ten years ago.  Correct?”

            Alice nodded.

            “And Agent Phoenix here was taken by vampires as a child, and given his approximate age, it would have been around the same time.  Agent Phoenix, does Mrs. Hayes here spark any memories?”

            Agent Phoenix took one look at Alice, looked back to Director Farrow, and said, “No.” He seemed completely disinterested in the conversation.

            “Memories?” asked Alice, incredulous. “You mean like amnesia?  Seriously?”

            “Common vampire practice, Mrs. Hayes,” said Thompson. “You see, the primary reason vampires create more vampires is to create a more powerful servant.  The problem is that giving someone vampiric powers includes a vampire's mental powers, making the victims harder to control.  If someone remembers the human life taken from them, resentment can build, and the first vampire inevitably loses control.  However, if all the victim remembers when he becomes a vampire is serving another vampire, then he’ll just keep doing what he knows.  For that reason, a vampire will slowly suppress the memories of any victims it intends to turn.”

            Alice looked down.  She didn’t like hearing this.  It made sense, but still.  Agent Phoenix just stared at the wall again.

            “Are you sure this woman doesn’t look familiar?” asked Director Farrow.

            Agent Phoenix took another look, “No.  She doesn’t look familiar.”

            “Alright, what about you, Mrs. Hayes?  Does he resemble your brother?”

            Alice took a look while this Agent Phoenix stared at the wall again, completely indifferent to her presence.  Now that Alice had the chance to get a good look at him, she tried to ignore the tattoos and just examine his facial features.  She looked closely.

            “Yes,” she said, hopefully. “Take away the tattoos and he kind of looks like dad.  I’ve seen photos from when he was younger.”

            “That doesn’t prove anything,” said Phoenix dismissively.

            Alice was startled by little he seemed to care about this.  Why didn’t he want to know where he came from?

            “Then let’s prove it,” said Alice. “We’ll run a DNA test.”

            “Won’t work,” said Phoenix. “I’m a crucivire.”