Wasn't me. (private)

Kyle was doing his best not to act drunk, but boy...was he drunk. The great part of being an alcoholic was being able to function normally, despite having a fifth of scotch in you. However, he had spent the better part of the past two years sober, so reprising his role as a functioning alchie was a little more difficult. He wasn't a quitter though, no sir. Kyle toasted his reflection in the mirror of Babylon's Hell side and was impressed with how relaxed and sober he did look, even before he downed the sixth double scotch he was holding up in praise.

He was there on a tip. Kyle still was a working man, paying his dues and writing his conspiracies, at the Nachton Times. This particular tip came in on the one day a week he showed up to his office and it came on a simple two inch by four inch white post it note from one of the secretaries in the bullpen out in front of his office. A corner office, with an amazing view that was completely wasted on a man with more money and infamy that anyone could ask for. With his jacket on his chair and a glass of water next to him at his desk, Kyle finished signing his time card as the door to his office opened with a soft knock. The post it note had three lines.


Speak to the manager regarding video of parking lot

Feb 8th

That's it. The handwriting was nondescript and in capitals. Nothing about it was unique or seemed familiar. Kyle had checked his watch and noted that it was March 4th. When did that happen, he wondered. He remembered the new year, but the last two months had been a blur. So with little to no enthusiasm, Kyle set up a meeting with the manager with the tight hair bun.

And here he sat, drinking his lunch. Kyle checked his watch. Oh no, drinking his dinner, apparently. The scotch wasn't helping his headaches, even though he told himself it was, but at least his headache that evening had subsided to a slow, yet heavy hammer in between his eyes. Concentrating would be a miracle, but the manager had a nice rack, at least. He'd hear what she had to say and then maybe partake in the fruits of club. All Kyle knew was that he had to follow the lead and hoped a story panned out, but whether one did or not, he'd still have a couple more drinks and maybe a little slap a tickle before he left.

Looking up, Kyle spied one of the bouncer type, neanderthal men standing behind him silently. With a silent toast to the neckless gentleman, Kyle finished his double scotch, neat, and slid off the bar stool without a hint of staggering drunkenness. The bartender, a gloriously exquisite female in a leather bikini walked over and stood behind the counter, arms crossed.

Kyle looked at her. Looked at the bill she brought. Then looked at the bouncer.

'Be a gent?'

The bouncer rolled his eyes.

'God bless you, sir.'

And Kyle buttoned his dark blue suit coat with matching dark blue tie, white crisp shirt and matching dark blue slacks and passed the bouncer with a pat on the sizable side of beef that was impersonating the man's shoulder. Kyle walked with an assertive gait and did not betray the gallon of scotch that was filtering through his system. If he continued drinking the way he had been, he'd be dead within a year.

He couldn't wait.

Kyle knew the way to the manager's office, having been there after the opening night's murders, and was greeted with a partially opened door and a leggy light brunette behind a large desk in an office located in the back of the club. Leaning against the door frame, he knocked on the door and gave her a charismatic smile.

'Hello again, sweetness.' The manager looked up from her papers on her desk and arched an eyebrow. 'You've been counting the days since we last met. I know, don't deny it.'

Babylon Manager 15 years ago
Miss Rockefeller, no relation to the multi-millionaire family, had received Kyle Evans appointment request with little more than annoyance than interest, however, she was the tiniest bit curious as to why he'd want surveillance footage of their parking lot.

Until she looked at the date.

She had personally seen to the high security meeting that had taken place in Babylon's private back rooms. She was unfamiliar with the larger gentleman, but knew Marthinus T. Steyn, Ellis Duban, and Simon Huntington very well. You don't run a night time business devoted to secrecy and not know who they were.

Babylon had already built a reputation on innuendo, felony crime, and sex...why not add an immortal species to the mix. Again, she did not know who the large gentleman was by name, one Iov Hammerthynn, but knew who he represented, aside from Stafford Industries.

So the vampires and the werewolves were talking. Interesting.

Miss Rockefeller put her silver toned pen down and laced her fingers together.
'Why do you want to see this tape, Mr. Evans?'
Kyle Evans 15 years ago
Kyle strutted into the office, purely for Miss Rockefeller's benefit, and with a tuck of his tie, settled into the soft, square chair in front of her mahogany desk. Playing with his tie, he shrugged playfully.

'You tell me, Miss Rockefeller. You tell me.'

He had no idea why he wanted to see that tape. He just needed to. Very, very badly. The thump of his headache reacted toward his playfulness and his eyes squeezed shut in a wince as the pounding intensified slowly.

'What's on the tape that someone would contact a reporter about it? Has to be interesting.'

Miss Rockefeller was the perfect straight man, sitting expressionless across from him.

'Can I see the tape?'

'Of course not, Mr. Evans.'

'But you have it ready?' Kyle crossed his legs as he played with his tie. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but the ache of his head was starting to grow. There was a lap top sitting on to the right of her, presumeably ready to roll said video. Kyle considered his options.

'Ok, how about this? How about you just tell, off the record of course, what's on that tape?'

Miss Rockefeller's face went from expressionless to incredulous.

'Quid pro quo then?'

'You don't have anything that I would want, Mr. Evans.'

'Oh pish posh, Miss Rockefeller. I see the way you look at me.'

That's when Kyle's headache raged from an annoyance to a full on migraine. It took everything not to throw up, right on top of Miss Rockefeller's desk. The throb of migraine came on so strongly, so quickly, that Kyle doubled over in pain.

'Mr. Evans? Mr. Eva....'

Kyle put his hands on her desk, trying to stand up. But Miss Rockefeller's high strung voice faded away till the little voice in his head began speaking.
Babylon Manager 15 years ago
'Jesus Christ.'

Miss Rockefeller muttered under hear breath as Evans stood precariously close to collapsing in her office. Whether it was bullshit or not, she was done with the idiot and as he threatened to throw up on her desk, Miss Rockefeller rounded the desk and headed toward the door.

Evans' head bounced off the front of her desk and he went back down against the chair, knocking that over, and landed on the ground. With a roll of her eyes, she walked back to him, checking his head.

He had a four inch mark on his forehead from hitting the edge of the table. He was lucky it didn't crack his skull open. Miss Rockefeller rolled him onto his back and looked at his face. His eyes were half opened, but squinting open and closed. A moan escaped his mouth as she loosened his tie, and along with the incoherent babble was the stench of Scotch.

'God.' Miss Rockefeller moved her face away from his, trying to inhale fresh air. He was stoned drunk. 'No fucking wonder you about threw up on my desk, you dip-shit.'

She let go of his head and let it bounce onto the carpet with a look of disgust. Standing, she smoothed out her gray skirt and turned on her four inch heel pumps, heading toward the door.

Miss Rockefeller never made it. Well, part of her did.
Kyle Evans 15 years ago
Wake up.

Kyle's eyes flew open with a deep breath. The tile of the ceiling slowly came into focus with a few blinks and it struck him as odd. Not so much the tiles, but the blood splattered on it. Kyle blinked again as his eyes followed the pattern of the angry spray of blood down the wall, and the closer to the ground he got, the bigger the smear of blood grew. Sitting up slowly with a grunt, Kyle discovered the source of all the blood. Fortunately, it was not him.

Unfortunately, it was Miss Rockefeller, which canceled out the relief that it wasn't him waking up dead.

Get up.

Kyle stood quickly and felt the stickiness of his pants. He was covered in blood. Miss Rockefeller's blood. The raging migraine had receded back to a slow thump in between his eyes. The terror rising from his groin, up into his stomach, clenching it painfully was beginning to overpower his headache, and without a single thought, Kyle impulsively sought to leave the completely drenched in blood room. His first step toward the door, and Miss Rockefeller's disemboweled body was rewarded with a crippling train wreck threat of a migraine.

Stop. Watch the video.

Kyle immediately turned and circled the desk, ignoring the bits of the pretty Babylon manager, and reached out for her laptop.

Fingerprints, Kyle. Don't be reckless.

His fingers hovered over the keys of the laptop and then thought better of it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief, (thanks mom for insisting on carrying one of these damn things at all times), and queued the video.

Quietly Kyle watched the video from where it had been queued. It was Ellis Duban and Simon Huntington. Thirty seconds passed as he listened to their short conversation and blinked at the information. Then they began kissing.

Time to go.

Kyle turned off the video with his handkerchief and moved quickly out of the office. Using the bit of cloth to turn the door knob, the realization that the Babylon manager was dead in a room with him, and only him, finally set in. He was covered in her blood. His clothes, his shoes...his hands.


Move. Now.

The thump of his headache raged again, prompting him forward.
Kyle Evans 15 years ago
His head began vibrating from the pain of the migraine coming. With every second he hesitated leaving, the worse it was becoming...but he could not look away.

Miss Rockefeller was literally torn apart. The bottom half of her body was haphazardly thrown near the door where he was standing, but the rest of her was strewn about the room. Her torso was laying by the chair he had fallen out of up. The tightly wound bun had become undone and her brown hair was almost black with blood. Bits of it had fallen over her face, covering her brown eyes which were wide open. Kyle's grip on the door knob tightened as he took in the view of the entire office. It was covered, completely, in blood.

Kyle felt an anguished tear slide down his cheek as he wondered what the hell happened from the time he fell unconscious to waking up. He let go of the door knob long enough to check his watch.

Forty minutes had passed.

He couldn't have done this. It was impossible. Right?

His eyes crossed over to the desk, onto the office phone. Kyle took two steps toward it before he fell to his knees. Grabbing his head, he felt the throb of the migraine surge down the back of his head, along his neck and into his shoulders. He had to call the police. He HAD to.

If you call the police, what are you going to say?

The voice of reason spoke to him with painful clarity, despite the mess of pain that was ripping his head apart.

If you call...what will THEY say?

Kyle reached out, planting his hand onto the saturated carpet, trying to crawl toward the desk.
'I didn't...do this.' He pleaded out loud to the voice in his head.

Are you sure, Kyle?

That stopped him cold. Forty minutes to dismember a body?
'No, it's impossible.'

Then go ahead and call the police.

The tears that were poised to fall did so with alarming swiftness. A sob wracked his body as he lifted that hand that had been on the carpet. It was dripping blood. Suddenly Kyle fell back, scurrying back to door till it pressed up against his back. Frantically he wiped his hands on the front of his suit jacket, trying to wipe the blood away.

No one would believe him. How could he be in a room with a woman being savagely killed...and not hear a thing?


The voice in his head made his body shiver with fear. The voice of reason wasn't suppose to scare the fuck out of you, it was suppose to help you do the right thing, but right then it was telling him to leave the scene of a crime.

And he listened.

Kyle cracked open the door and peered out. Miss Rockefeller's office was located in the back of the club without any surrounding offices. It was void of any life. Stepping out of the door, Kyle turned toward the back exit.

You're covered in blood, Kyle. Not a good idea.

'Where then? I can't go out the front?'


As the voice whispered the answer, Kyle began walking quickly in the opposite direction toward the kitchen galley of Babylon. It was mid day and things were still fairly quiet. There were dressing rooms on the way though and as he spotted one, he walked quickly by as he listened to the voices of some of Babylon's luscious employees chatting nonchalantly. Half a dozen women did not notice the tall man covered in blood walk by the open door.

The kitchen loomed at the end of the corridor. Kyle almost sprinted down the last several feet of the corridor and ducked into the galley. The clutter of pans was less than reassuring, but he moved around the serving counters and toward the back, again without one single person calling out. He thought for sure he'd have a heart attack, especially when he saw the storage room by the kitchen exit.

Ducking into the room, he closed it softly as he looked around. He was going to get caught. Caught, thrown in jail and put to death. Kyle knew it, he just knew it and with increasing terror, almost cried out when the voice of reason barked at him.

You're almost out. Ditch your clothes and clean up at the utility sink.

Kyle turned toward the large utility sink. Next to it was a white kitchen outfit with a chef smock. He hesitated.


Ripping his jacket off, he let it fall to the ground and then he ripped his button up off his body. The buttons flew everywhere, and he would have laughed, had he not had to deal with his drenched trousers next. Quickly he undressed and then stepped up to the sink. He turned on the faucet and began washing the visible blood away. Face, hands, neck. Without drying, he grabbed the clothes and put them on.

Kyle cracked the door open, peeking outside when he remembered his bloodied clothes. Looking around the small storage room, he picked up a metal trash can and dumped out the contents. He stuffed the clothes into it and then opened the door. His face was dripping water and he felt drops cling to his stubbled chin. Kyle took a deep breath, then stepped out into the kitchen with the metal can in his arms.

Then, as quietly as death took Miss Rockefeller, Kyle Evans walked out the back door of Babylon's kitchen and ran.
Yuu 15 years ago
Yuu checked her watch.

7:56 p.m.

She was wearing blue jeans, black combat boots, and a black suit jacket. Underneath she scratched at the thin wool knit sweater as she stood outside the Babylon Manager's office. Normally she didn't show up to crime scenes, but when she got the call about another murder at Babylon, she took advantage of the opportunity to leave her glass home and do something else, other than thinking of vampires and werewolves. Granted a crime scene covered in blood and bits of human parts wasn't the greatest distraction, but it would have to do.

Yuu rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the the residual taint of her hovering bodyguard. She had asked Tai to wait outside, to check the perimeter or whatever it was he was suppose to do. Yuu just wanted a moment alone.

The medical examiner stepped out, removing his protective hood and glasses. Captain Hughes had joined her, along with the homicide team that caught the murder. Together the four of them faced the M.E. Yuu pressed her back against the wall and listened.

'Dead about...four hours? All that blood is probably hers.'

'Anything on her computer?' Asked Captain Hughes.

The taller of the two detectives answered. 'Parking lot surveillance was the last thing she looked at, other than that, just accounting, schedules. Get who her last appointment was.'

Yuu cracked her neck, staring at the hallway floor and listened to the pause before the detective dropped the bomb and said a name. She jerked up off the wall and pushed past Hughes.

'What? Who?'

'Kyle Evans.'

'You have got to be fucking kidding me?' Yuu stepped up to the door and peered into the office. She had already looked at it and emptied the contents of her stomach, but this time she gave it a critical eye. Shaking her head, 'You like him for this?'

'I like him.' Both detectives shrugged.

'He's too stupid to do something like this.'

Hughes nodded and then added thoughtfully, 'It's a place to start. Find Mr. Evans and ask him to come in.'

Yuu turned to leave, but stopped short to ask a question.
'Did anyone see him go in?' The detectives nodded. 'But did anyone see him leave?'

'No. No one.'

Scratching at her chin, she thanked the men and looked off down the hallway toward the exit...then back in the other direction, toward the kitchen.

'This is all under surveillance, right?'

The shorter detective answered. 'Usually. Their systems are being upgraded, so the recordings are on a short loop, they said. Everything they do have was sent downtown already. We'll let you know.'

Nodding, Yuu considered the private exit again. Then she turned and walked toward the kitchen.

There was nothing she was doing that hadn't already been done by the detectives, still, she wanted to see it for herself. More time away from Tai? Probably, but curiosity was starting to get the better of her. Kyle Evans always seemed to be where dead bodies were. Never quite the cause, but never quite innocent either. Yuu walked quietly down the hallway, passing the dressing rooms, which were now empty, and down to the kitchen galley.

Stepping into the kitchen she was greeted with silence. The kitchen staff was down to bare bones, cleaning up the evenings prep work. Yuu walked around the serving counters and looked at the floor. Peeking around corners, her eye fell on the kitchen exit. Turning back around, she caught the attention of one of the CSI team members walking through the kitchen.

'Is there a camera in here?'

'Don't believe so, ma'am.'

Of course not, she thought to herself. Walking up to the exit, Yuu looked at it for a full minute before the door to her left creaked. With the tip of her boot, she gently pushed the door open.

Inside was a tall man with dark hair. He was mopping the floor.

'Excuse me,' Yuu said.

The man turned and gave her a bright smile. The room smelled of bleach.

'Were you cleared to do this?'

The tall man nodded to the officer behind her who looked over his shoulder and nodded. It was a uniformed officer, not part of the CSI team or a plain clothes detective. She did not recognize him. Looking back at the man, she took in his appearance carefully.

He was over six feet tall, slim build with piercing blue eyes. His hair was dark and long, dusting the tops of his shoulders. The mop handle was gripped casually in his hand as he leaned his weight against it. He was smiling casually at her.

Yuu didn't like him.

'What's your name?'

Yuu watched as he took a breath and arched his eyebrows. 'Wilhem Darius. My friends call me Billy.'

Nodding, Yuu gave him a strained smile and backed out of the doorway of the storage room.
'Thank you, mister Darius.'

'Call me Billy, everyone does.' With a nod, he went back to mopping the storage room floor.

Turning, Yuu almost walked into the uniformed police officer. He was blond, average height with brown eyes. His name tag read Masterson.
'Officer Masterson.' Yuu side stepped around him and went back toward the crime scene and she was very much aware that, even though she didn't chance a look back, both men were watching her leave.

((Yuu out))