Chapter 5: The Angel

"You're sure he said that?" Alvirez asked.

Timothy Shell, Owen Wheeler's roommate at the Bernalillo Detention Center, nodded for emphasis. "He said he called out to the policeman, got him to turn around. Then Abby attacked him from behind. That's what he said," the boy maintained.

Alvirez exchanged looks with his partner, rubbed his eyes. He was getting tired of the trip between Denver and Albuquerque.

"Excellent," Alvirez affirmed. "That's very good, Tim. You're doing a great job. Keep up the good work." A pair of New Mexico state troopers appeared and escorted Tim from the office.

"Five times we've talked to this kid," Doug said. "Always the same bullsh- story: Abby the vampire girl. It's all useless."

"Some of it's useless," Alvirez corrected. "It's no different than any other testimony, really. We just have to separate fact from fiction."

"Even if we can determine which elements are true, what difference does it make? We're not learning anything we didn't already know."

"Well," Alvirez insisted, slightly annoyed, "part of it is the principle of the thing: I always get my testimony, one way or another. But we have learned some things. The knife recovered at the pool was Owen's, not one of the victim's. Owen feels like he egged Abby on before she attacked Virginia Summers. And he definitely helped Abby kill O'Conner."

"Even if all that's true," Doug said, "does it help us?"

"Maybe not," Alvirez granted. "But I think it's significant that in every account Owen claims Abby is the one who did the actual killing."

"He's making it up," Doug countered. "He's trying to impress everyone."

"Let's think about that," Alvirez proposed, beginning to pace. "If he were trying to show off, make himself look bad, wouldn't he exaggerate his own role in the murders? In fact he doesn't portray a very flattering portrait of himself. 'I chickened out.' According to Tim, those were Owen's exact words when describing the incident in the locker room. I don't think he'd have said that if he weren't recounting what actually happened."

Alvirez could tell Doug wasn't buying it. He didn't press the issue, instead letting the man disappear on a lunch run. His partner did have a point, though. This case presented a number of seemingly unsolvable questions, none of which were being answered by Owen's jailhouse stories.

The biggest problem was the additional forensic evidence uncovered by the FBI coroner. According to him, their John Doe had been bitten on the neck and partially drained of blood. But when? And where? O'Conner had been questioning the suspect. The detective had then stepped out to the nurse's station, during which time John Doe had leapt to his death.

So this meant John Doe must have been bitten in his hospital room between the time O'Conner had left the room and the time he had returned to find the suspect dead on the ground outside his hospital window. But how could Abby have snuck into the room when she was apparently down in the lobby talking to the receptionist at the exact same time?

This fact alone had convinced Doug that others must be involved. Alvirez had allowed his partner to persist in this belief. The agent still had some lingering doubts himself, of course. But he felt pretty confident at this point that his initial notion of "Abby's Gang" had been a serious mistake.

The medical examiner had found more. There were bite marks on the four boys killed at the pool. Human bite marks. There were also bruises in the shape of small human fingers. Like a girl's fingers. The evidence just kept pointing to one impossible conclusion: Abby had ripped those kids apart with her bare teeth and hands.

Alvirez had not shared this conclusion with his partner, much less with his superior. He never would. But in the privacy of his mind he was free to think things one was not permitted to share out loud. Not if one wanted to remain employed, anyway.

The inescapable fact was that most of the evidence could be accounted for if Abby possessed super-strength. And an exceptional climbing ability. But really that was just a sub-category under the broader heading of super-strength. So the real question became, How is Abby so strong?

Alvirez tried to develop a rational explanation. Abby could really be a much older person pretending to be twelve. There were teenage girls who passed for women, after all. Perhaps some women could do the opposite. Abby could possess a full-blown psychotic personality. There was a saying that a madman possessed the strength of ten. And there was always the possibility the girl was completely hyped up on drugs. Put it all together, and maybe, just maybe, it could account for the swimming pool massacre.

The agent was, however, also willing to entertain an irrational explanation. Alvirez opened up a desk drawer and pulled out the Bible he had purchased that morning at a local bookstore. He turned to the New Testament and began searching for the story of the Gerasene demoniac.

Alvirez' parents had sent him to Bible college. There he had tried to study philosophy. What a joke that had been, discussing Kant and Hegel with a bunch of close-minded fundamentalists. Although Alvirez had discovered Jonathan Edwards in the process, the smartest person ever produced by America and by far her greatest philosopher. So Bible college hadn't been a total waste. Alvirez graduated with agnostic leanings, not yet ready to completely jettison the religion of his parents.

But whatever faith survived his school's anti-intellectualism died utterly in the jungles of Vietnam. Alvirez had been so good at calling in artillery strikes. He had witnessed the fruits of his labors. He no longer believed there could be a God.

Yet Alvirez had not committed himself to philosophic naturalism. He pretended to be a naturalist, of course. A man had to if he wanted to get ahead in this world. But privately, secretly, he was still willing to admit the possibility of the supernatural.

The agent found the passage he was looking for, Mark 5:2-5. "When Jesus got out of the boat, a man with an evil spirit came from the tombs to meet him. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him any more, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones."

The demon-possessed man had torn his chains and broken his irons. People were unable to subdue him. That certainly qualified as super-strength. Living in the tombs and cutting himself with stones didn't seem to match Abby so well, at least as far as Alvirez knew. But inhuman strength was clearly present in the story.

Abby could be an eighteen-year-old psychotic wacked out of her mind on drugs. She also could be a frightened, helpless girl possessed by an evil spirit. Alvirez was willing to consider either option. He needed to figure out which one was correct.

*****

Alvirez sat alone in his office foyer as two policemen arrived with Owen Wheeler. The boy seemed confused at first, but when he saw the FBI agent his uncertainty vanished.

"I want my lawyer," the child demanded.

Alvirez stared at him, amused. He had the handcuffs removed from Owen's wrists. "Thank you," Alvirez said to the officers. They retired into the hallway.

"I have a right to counsel," Owen insisted.

"I'm not questioning you as a suspect," Alvirez clarified. "So actually, no you don't."

This caught the boy off guard. He recovered quickly. "You interrogated me without a parent or a lawyer. Nothing I said to you is admissible."

Alvirez smiled and shook his head. "I never had any intention of pursuing a federal indictment against you, Owen. I don't care about you at all. It's Abby I want."

"Your interrogation can't be used against me," Owen persisted.

"New Mexico doesn't even know I questioned you. You think they need a confession? You and Abby left a boatload of evidence in your apartments. The judge is going to send you up. Juvenile detention until you're eighteen. Prison until you're twenty-five. That's a lot of years, Owen. The best years of your life. Then you go and make things even worse. Not too bright, killing someone in jail."

"He dissed my ink and my girl," Owen explained. "Besides, he had it coming."

"So I hear." The agent studied the child for a minute, observed that some of the boyishness had left his face, replaced by scars and an increased awareness of the real world.

"I know the prosecutor has offered you a lighter sentence," Alvirez said, "in exchange for testimony about Abby. I'm here to sweeten the deal. The FBI wants Abby. You've no idea how badly they want her. We've worked out an arrangement with New Mexico. Tell us what you know about Abby, and your sentence will be reduced to time served. That means you get out of juvie today, Owen. You'll be a free man."

"Go to hell," Owen said.

Alvirez pondered this response. "You're too confident," he eventually observed out loud. "You're thirteen. You're looking at twelve years of incarceration. You should be nervous. But you're not nervous."

Owen returned the agent's gaze, waiting. This intrigued Alvirez even more.

"I'd say you're simply clueless, that you don't understand what's coming your way. But you've been five months in jail. You have some inkling of what prison is going to be like. You should be more eager to avoid it. The deal I'm offering, it's really rare. You should be jumping at it. At the very least you should be considering it. You dismissed it out of hand."

Alvirez sat there for several minutes, trying to guess what Owen was thinking. He assumed the silence would get Owen to say something. The boy stayed mute.

"Follow me," Alvirez finally ordered. He stood up and led Owen into his office. A map of Colorado took up an entire wall. Thirteen red stickers had been plotted on the map.

"Abby's kills over the last 160 days," Alvirez explained. He touched a sticker that had been placed in Denver. "Her first victim, when you were still with her. The only time she has struck in the actual city."

He motioned to the region west of Denver. "Since then, a dozen additional attacks. She kills an average of once every twelve days. Her method is distinctive. The victims are always bitten, always drained of blood. It makes her easy to track."

Alvirez watched Owen carefully to see how he would respond to this information. The agent wasn't disappointed: Owen smiled.

"This news makes you happy. Why?" He observed Owen carefully as the boy tried to conceal his excitement. He had just made the kid's day.

Alvirez studied the map. He studied Owen. Then he shook his head. "She's looking for you," he declared. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized it sooner. "That's why you're not afraid to go to prison. You think she's going to bust you out." Alvirez sighed and shook his head again. "I should have had you in here months ago."

The agent sat on his desk for a minute and ruminated. "Abby knows you were arrested in Denver. She stays in the area, tries to find you. That's why she refuses to move to a new hunting ground, despite the increased danger."

This got Owen's attention. Alvirez pulled out a tabloid from three days ago, showed it to Owen. The headline said, "Vampire Girl Strikes Again." It carried a sketch of Abby on the front page.

Alvirez elaborated: "The more respectable papers don't actually use the phrase 'Vampire Girl,' but that's what everyone's calling her. The way she kills is just so unique, Owen. We always know it's her. Western Colorado is up in arms. The state's giving concealed carry permits to everybody. People are refusing to go out alone at night. And last week a two-man hunter-killer team nearly got her. She managed to kill both of them, but not before they wounded her."

Alvirez could tell from Owen's reaction that the boy thought he was lying. "I'm telling you the truth, Owen. Her blood was recovered at the scene. Doctors examined it under the microscope, and they were very interested in what they found. They say they've never seen anything like it. They're guessing Abby has some sort of unique genetic disorder. Or maybe she's been infected with a rare pathogen that they haven't been able to isolate."

The agent returned his attention to the map. "Many people think a gang of adults is helping Abby, lurking in the shadows and pulling her strings. You and I know better, Owen. We know it's just Abby. She's strong, and she covers a lot of territory. She's not smart, though. Look at the pattern of her attacks and tell me where she is."

Alvirez let Owen study the map with this question in mind. The answer was obvious, although the boy wouldn't admit it. Alvirez pointed to a spot in the middle of Abby's kill zone.

"A company of soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division is deploying to this area tomorrow. They are trained in high-altitude combat. They carry mountain-climbing gear and cold weather equipment. They will hunt Abby in squads of ten. They will carry automatic assault rifles. They will track her down, Owen, and they will shoot her. And she will stay in place, waiting to be shot, because she thinks you're still in Denver."

Owen didn't seem terribly fazed by this. The kid's confidence in Abby was remarkable.

"You and I have one thing in common," Alvirez said. "All we care about is Abby. Show how much you care about her. Help me bring her in. I promise that when the court considers her upbringing, the unique nature of her crimes, and her medical condition, she will be judged unfit to stand trial. That means she will go to an asylum, not a prison.

"That may not sound like much, but think about it. Once she's under proper medical care, she can be weaned off her dependence on human blood. Or if her disorder actually necessitates such a diet, blood can be provided to her safely, without anyone being harmed in the process. Abby can receive psychological counseling to help her overcome the training she's received. And maybe, just maybe, the doctors can cure her.

"I'm not promising that, Owen. The researchers could examine Abby and study her and decide there's nothing they can do for her. But isn't it worth trying? Imagine a day when Abby is cured and the two of you can live a normal life together. That's got to be worth something to you."

Alvirez could tell Owen wasn't buying into this. He switched tactics.

"What if she does manage to break you out?" Alvirez asked. "What kind of life are the two of you going to live? You'll always be on the run. You'll always have me or someone like me chasing you. Sooner or later you'll be recaptured. Maybe Abby gets away again. So you're stuck in prison while she goes free. But let's face it, Owen. She's the one who's killing people. She's the one who needs to be incarcerated, not you. If one of you has to be locked away, doesn't it make more sense that it be her? Help me bring her in. She gets the medical attention that she needs. You go free. It's better that way."

The agent paused, tried to restrain his frustration. Owen wasn't listening.

"Does Abby want to eat people? Do you want her to eat people? You get out there on the street with her, and that's what's going to happen. More dead bodies. It has to stop, Owen. For both your sakes. I'm suggesting an alternative that will put an end to the killing. I think you both want that. I realize I'm not offering a fairy tale ending. But I am offering you both a better life: you'll be free, Abby will no longer be eating people. Isn't that a better outcome than the course you seem set on?

"I know what it's like to kill, Owen. I know how it feels. It destroys your soul. Maybe you don't feel that way because you killed your enemy. But Abby's killing people at random. They aren't her enemies. They haven't done anything bad to her. They don't deserve to die.

"Try to imagine what that must be doing to Abby's soul. Her heart, if you will. It's got to be ruining her heart, eating away at her, destroying her little by little. You have to help me, Owen. For her sake. Help me bring her in. She'll be happier when she's no longer eating people."

This line of reasoning seemed to click with Owen, but Alvirez realized it didn't matter. Not right now. The boy clearly had some plan of his own. He wasn't willing to consider other options.

*****

"Arrogant little punk," Alvirez complained to his partner. "So smug. So self-assured. He wouldn't listen to a thing I said."

"Sounds like a teenager," Doug said.

"You had to see the confidence in his eyes, Doug. He's certain Abby's going to get him out. I'm offering him a realistic solution. But he's got some fantasy clouding his mind."

"Sounds like a teenager," Doug repeated.

Alvirez approached the map of Colorado and considered the red dots. "It makes sense," he thought out loud. "Owen's a juvenile, so his court records are sealed. The papers haven't printed his name since he became a suspect. They haven't reported his extradition to New Mexico. She thinks he's still in Denver. Or at least she has no clear reason to think he's elsewhere."

"I have to think they're smarter than that."

They, Alvirez thought. Doug was so committed to the belief that Abby had a gang. But Alvirez had gotten it wrong, too. He hadn't really understood the implications of Abby being a twelve-year-old.

"We use it," Alvirez concluded. "We publicize Owen's location and set a trap."

"What about the troops?" Doug asked.

Alvirez waved his hand dismissively. "PR stunt. A single company? They could search that range for years and not find her. We need to do something to flush her out. We need to end this thing now."

"People get hurt down here and it's your ass."

"Then we better not screw it up."

*****

A week later Alvirez patrolled the extended perimeter he had created around the Bernalillo Detention Center. The sun would set in an hour. Alvirez examined the new cameras installed outside the fence. He greeted the officers stationed beyond the cameras. He practiced running to the fence from the tree line. Twenty seconds. That's how long it would take to collapse the perimeter and shut Abby in.

Alvirez headed inside to the guard station, received an update from Doug, and dismissed his partner for the evening. Keeping Doug on the day shift meant that one of them had the position manned at all times. This was Alvirez' stated reason for having his partner there during daylight hours. Alvirez, however, knew Abby would attack at night. He didn't want Doug to be there when it happened.

The guard station contained two sets of monitors: old black-and-white screens displaying feeds from the building-mounted cameras, and modern screens showing video from the cameras outside the fence. Together the monitors revealed the exterior of the building from every angle. It would be impossible to miss Abby climbing the wire.

For the trap to work, of course, the facility could not appear to have been fortified. That's why the police were stationed in the trees. Abby had to feel it was safe enough to attempt a break-in.

Alvirez toured the interior of the detention center, checking the barricades that had been placed at each exit. This is how they would trap Abby in the courtyard. Even if she were strong enough to rip one of the exterior doors completely off its hinges, the barricade inside the doorway would stop her. She would stand there, wondering what to do, while the men outside closed in.

The agent was concerned that at the critical moment, the New Mexico troopers might hesitate to exercise deadly force against a female minor. Alvirez had taken them to the gun range and required them to shoot girl-shaped targets. But he knew that wouldn't help much, not when they actually came face-to-face with her. He hoped Abby would attack the officers rather than simply trying to escape. That would compel them to discharge their firearms.

Alvirez made a round of the detention center's cells, nodding to the guards who were making sure the prisoners stayed in lock-down. He walked down a hallway to the isolation unit, looked through the small window in the door, observed Owen Wheeler asleep in his bed. It was the fourth night they had waited for Abby to make her move.

Midnight found Alvirez, two policemen, and two correctional officers sitting in the guardroom watching the monitors. Screaming suddenly echoed through the common area, followed a few seconds later by a loud bang. "Collapse the perimeter!" Alvirez radioed, though he knew it would do no good. His target had entered the building.

Alvirez drew his weapon and ran toward Owen's cell. Dismembered guards lined the hallway. The agent wanted to hurry to the isolation cell and check it out, but there was nothing to see down there. He needed to figure out where Owen had gone.

Abby had breached security. She hadn't come over the fence. So how had she made it inside? Alvirez ran to the ladder that led to the roof, saw that the hatch at the top had been ripped open. He surged up the steps and burst outside. And there his life was transformed.

An angel stood ten feet in front of Alvirez, her face and hands covered with blood. She locked eyes with Alvirez, dropped a sweatshirt, and wrapped her arms around Owen. Then she started running toward the agent.

Alvirez considered shooting Owen in the back. The bullet would pass through and hit the girl. But Alvirez couldn't pull the trigger. It wasn't because killing two unarmed thirteen-year-olds might damage his career. It was because the angel accelerating past him was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Now it was Owen's turn to stare at Alvirez. He gave the agent a contented look as he rested his chin on Abby's shoulder. Alvirez recognized excitement and determination in the boy's expression. Owen was starting his adventure. And Alvirez was getting left behind.

The next instant the children were off the edge and airborne. As the agent watched them disappear, his last shred of doubt left him. There was no gang. There had never been a gang. There was just Abby.

Alvirez gazed into the sky and lamented. He found himself wishing there were a gang. Because if there were, he would join it.