Someone Else in the Shadows
A/N: Not really sure what I'm doing, but I'm doing it. It takes place after Season 2 of Dexter and Season 7 of Buffy.
It’s going to happen tonight. It has to happen.
I’ve been tracking him for weeks. Strangely enough, this one is dead already. His fingerprints revealed him to be one Gregory Doren. Age twenty-six when he was found dead two years ago in Sunnydale, California. At least that what his file said. He must have gone through quite a bit of trouble to get that kind of paperwork done. All the better. The world would be less likely to miss a man who was already dead. Well, Mr. Doren. You may not be actually dead yet; but you will be soon. I’d seen him toss a body into an alleyway two nights before. Had to be part of some kind of cult. The girl had two marks on her neck imitating a vampire bite. There wasn’t enough blood flowing from the wound exposing the jugular. He must have removed it some how.
From looks of it, he was about to make to make his next move. I could see him with his arm around his next victim at a club downtown, whispering into her ear as she smiled. She was beautiful, like his others. Tall, brunette, big eyes: no idea about the intentions of the man flirting with her. If I don’t kill him, he’d kill her, too. If saving an innocent life was the one justifiable reason for killing, than this one had it coming to him.
They were getting up now. Getting her out of the way would be no easy task, especially if I didn’t want witnesses. I followed them to the dark alley in the back of the club. The girl was drunk. A little more caution would be advisable when drinking in a city with a twenty percent crime solve rate. He was so close. Prepping her for the kill as he led her deeper into the darkness, shadows covering their movements. I could tranquilize both of them and leave her on a couch inside to think she had passed out. I approached them, ready to strike.
That was, of course, until the girl suddenly landed a full roundhouse kick into Gregory Doren’s face and shoved a piece of wood into his chest without so much as batting an eyelash.
That was unexpected. What was even more unexpected was not Mr. Doren’s body just collapsing to the ground, but turning to dust first. That was different.
The woman. She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even tipsy. And that guy? What the hell was that? But now it was his not so helpless victim that had my eye. Something weird was going on; and this girl knew what it was. I watched her dust herself off, straighten up her jacket and disappear into the shadows.