It was late. Or early.

I was sitting in the theater seats, in the middle row about halfway up, watching the spectacle unfold before me. Medical examiners poured in and out of the theater. Detectives interviewed theater workers.

According to snatches of conversation I was hearing, many bodies had been dug up within an adjoining dirt tunnel.

People came and went. Witnesses came and went. Reporters came and went. Covered bodies came and went.

I sat in the row of seats alone, watching all of this unfold before me like a macabre play. A play just for me. Except there was no plot. No lead character. Just an endless procession of dead bodies.

I had considered calling Kingsley. And I would, soon enough. Once I had processed what was going on around me. But I was missing something here. Something wasn't gelling.

Everything seemed so matter-of-fact. So seamless. No hysterics. And why was no one interviewing me? Other than Sherbet giving me a quick update, he mostly ignored me, too.

It was almost as if I wasn't there.

As I sat and watched, cradling my jaw in my hand, seeing again and again the image of the drained bodies hanging in the air, someone sat next to me. I turned, startled. It wasn't easy to sneak up next me.

There was, of course, only one person that I knew who could pull it off.

Although Detective Hanner's eyes were looking at me, I sensed she was also aware of all the activity still going on before us, too. Her eyes were always a little too wide, always a little too alert, as if she herself were always in a mild state of surprise. Too wide, too wild. There was something close to a fire just behind her pupils, too. Something that seemed to burn with supernatural intensity. Maybe only myself and those like me could see it, I didn't know. But it was there. These were not human eyes. She stared at me and did not blink. Not for a long time, at least.

I waved my hand toward the action on the stage. "You are a part of this."

"As are you, Sam."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You have partaken of many who have been slain here, Sam. Do not deny that you knew otherwise."

"You told me the blood was from willing donors."

"Some more willing than others, Sam. You knew this. I told you this, often."

"You did not tell me you killed these people."

She tilted her head a little. It was not a human gesture. It was, if anything, something alien. "I did not kill these people, Sam. I was a buyer only. And, perhaps, an active supporter." She grinned and spread her hands. "Of the arts."

"You covered up his crimes."

"Of course, Sam. He was of value to me and our kind."

"Sherbet knows," I said. "I told him about you."

The fire in her eyes briefly flared. "I know, Sam. I've removed the memory of your conversation." She motioned to the others moving across the stage, the policemen, detectives, medical workers. "As I have done with all here tonight. None will suspect our involvement, or the involvement of our kind. In fact, most are not aware that we are sitting here, watching them."

"But how?"

"It's not very difficult to do, Sam. With a little training, you could do the same. Especially you."

"What does that mean, especially me?"

"You are particularly...gifted."

"I don't understand."

"You display a wide range of...abilities."

"I thought all vampires do what I do."

She shook her head. "You thought wrong, Sam. Very few can do what you do, although most of us possess typical gifts."

"Typical gifts?"

"The ability to influence thoughts and change minds, minor psychic sensitivity, although only a few of us can transform into something greater."

"Can you?"

"Sadly, no. You, my dear, are a rare breed."

"Why?"

She studied me for a long moment. Never once did she blink. "The reason is the person who changed you, of course."

"Who was he?"

"One of the oldest of our kind."

"Why did he change me?"

"I don't know," she said, but as she spoke, the fire in her eyes dimmed a little.

"You're lying," I said.

She laughed hollowly. "Do you see, Sam? Most of our kind would not have detected a lie. Tell me, how did you know?"

"Your eyes."

"What about my eyes?"

"The fire in them...it went out a little, dimmed."

"What fire?"

"Just behind your pupils."

"You can see a fire there?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I see no fire in your eyes."

"Fine," I said, turning a little more in my seat. "So, I'm a fucking freak among freaks. That has little to do with the issue here."

"And what is the issue here, Sam?"

"The killing of innocent people."

"The killers will go to jail. Sherbet will be a hero. In fact, he thinks he came here alone, that he acted alone tonight, that he stumbled upon the secret door behind the mirror, alone, that he stopped both killers, alone." She paused and stared at me. "He has no memory of you tonight, outside of your phone call to him."

"Jesus."

"Does Sherbet still know about me?"

"Yes, although it was very foolish of you to have told him. I can only go back so far to remove memories, as you will someday discover yourself. Already you are becoming more and more like us, and less and less like them."

"No," I said.

"Oh? Do you not feel the stronger effects of the sun? Are you not able to venture outside as long as you could before?" She paused and actually blinked. "Someday soon you will never be able to venture out into the light of day. Ever. And your hunger for blood - human blood - will become insatiable."

"Stop it, goddammit."

"I will stop, Sam. But then you and I will have this talk again soon, and you will curse the day that you stopped such a productive output of blood. You will curse the day that something so useful had been wiped out."

I shook, my head, and kept on shaking it.

"I was like you, Sam. A mother. Full of love and hope. Hope that I would someday be normal again. Hope that this would all turn out to be a bad dream. That was a long, long time ago. Now my son is long dead. The hope is long gone. And I am hungry. Very, very hungry."

Solemn voices filled the theater. Police personnel continued pouring across the stage. All looked shell-shocked. All looked numb. Sherbet was speaking to someone urgently. My detective friend never once looked my way.

"There has to be another way," I said.

Hanner reached out and touched my arm. Her fingers were ice cold. "Someday you will see that there is no other way." She paused, then leaned in and whispered into my ear. "Someday soon."

She stood and was about to leave when I said, "So, this is it. You walk away from this?"

"Yes," she said. "And so do you."