by Lynsay Sands
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll go out and pick up something more appropriate for you later, after we talk.”
“Oh, no, no that’s not necessary,” Holly squeaked, hustling quickly backward when he began to move toward her. She realized her mistake at once. She had backed farther into the room she’d been trying to exit, allowing him to enter. Now he was between her and the exit. It only got worse when he closed the door. Somehow his presence in the room seemed to make it shrink.
Biting her lip, Holly continued to back up until she bumped into the desk chair. She promptly dropped to sit in it, her gaze skating nervously around the room before returning to him. He’d said he’d get her more appropriate clothes after they talked, but she was less interested in clothes than she was in talking, or at least in getting some answers. Holly had about a million questions floating around in her head right now. Little things like, who was he? How had she got here? Who had removed her clothes? Why had she been naked in the bed? Had she been alone in the bed the entire time she’d been in it? How long had she been in it? Where were her clothes?
They went on from there, but that pretty much covered the main ones she’d like answers to. She peered at him warily, and asked, “Who are you?”
“Oh.” He offered her a crooked smile. “I suppose I should have introduced myself. My name is Justin Bricker.”
“Justin Bricker,” she echoed in a murmur and didn’t recognize the name at all. She was quite sure she’d never heard it before and he didn’t look familiar either.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, stopping next to the desk and eyeing her with concern.
“Fine,” she said automatically, only then pausing to pay attention to her body and see if that was true. It was mostly true. She felt like a dried-out sponge, but other than that, and a slight headache, she was fine. Was there a reason she shouldn’t be? Like maybe some drugs that had been slipped to her and would explain her memory problem? That thought in mind, she asked warily, “How should I feel?”
For some reason the question made his lips quirk with wry amusement. “Well it’s different for different people. Some wake up with a raging headache, probably from dehydration. Others just have a terrible case of dry mouth and otherwise feel better than they did before.”
“Before what?” Holly asked sharply, suspicion rife within her. She did have a slight headache and definite dry mouth.
“Before the turn,” he explained patiently.
“Before the turn?” she echoed with confusion. “Before my turn at what?”
Justin Bricker’s eyes narrowed and he was silent for a minute and then asked, “What exactly do you remember?”
“Of what?” Holly countered, a wary sensation creeping up the back of her neck. There was something about his sudden solemnity that was worrisome.
“What is the last thing you remember?” he asked instead of answering her question.
Holly briefly searched her mind for memories and came up with the same she’d had on first waking. She recalled brushing her teeth before bed, realizing she hadn’t tested her blood yet, going out to the car to look for her purse and the tester in it, and then heading back to the office when she didn’t find either in her car. She was obviously missing the memories between that and landing in a strange man’s hotel room . . . naked in his bed.
“I was headed back to the office to get my purse,” she said quietly.
His eyebrows rose and Holly suspected that meant she was missing a lot of memories, and probably important ones. She always missed the important stuff.
“Do you remember getting to the office?” he asked.
She performed a brief sweep of her memory and then shook her head before asking, “Did I get there?”
“Yes, you got to the office,” Justin assured her and then pursed his lips and shifted before adding, “We think you had papers with you when you came down to the crematorium. Is it possible you found papers you felt needed to be delivered at that hour?”
Holly considered the question and then asked, “Was there a round metal disk attached to the corner?”
He hesitated and then turned and walked to the door, opened it, crossed the hall and leaned into the opposite room. She heard him ask, “Was there a metal disk on the papers on the floor in the crematorium?”
Holly didn’t hear the answer, but he closed the door and came back, nodding. “Yes, there was.”
“Then they were papers needed to cremate someone. If I found them and they should have gone down during the day but somehow didn’t, then yes, I might have taken them down despite the hour,” she said on a sigh.
“You were in your pajamas,” he said and she raised an eyebrow at his tone of voice. He sounded bewildered. Or maybe disapproving. Or both. Before she could respond, Justin asked, “Has any of this sparked a memory? Do you remember heading for the crematorium to deliver the papers?”
Holly bit her lip and searched her memory again, but it was pretty spotty and nothing was coming.
“It was after midnight on a foggy night,” he prompted. “You probably couldn’t see two feet in front of you, but you traipsed down past the graves to the crematorium anyway . . . in pink flannel pajamas with white bunnies on them and fluffy slippers under a trench coat.”
He described what she’d worn as if her fashion choice that night had alarmed him, and Holly supposed it had been somewhat unorthodox, but she hadn’t expected to run into anyone. Apparently, she had. She didn’t recall it though, so she shook her head again, but then cleared her throat and asked, “Where exactly are they? My pajamas?”
Justin hesitated, and then rather than answer, asked, “Do you remember the crematorium? Or leaving? Or falling?”
Holly’s head came up slightly at that. She’d fallen? Thinking it might explain a lot, she asked, “Did I hit my head or something?”
“Yes.” Justin seemed relieved and she only understood why when he said, “So you do remember that?”
“No,” she admitted almost apologetically. “I just figure that must be why my head hurts and why my memory is missing pieces.”
“Ah. Yes, I see,” he said on a sigh, and then grimaced and asked, “So none of this is ringing bells for you?”
Holly shook her head again, and admitted, “I don’t even remember who you are. Your name doesn’t sound familiar, or anything.” She shrugged helplessly.
His lips twisted wryly, and he said gently, “There’s no reason it should. We’ve never actually met.”
“Oh,” she murmured, and supposed that explained that. So . . . he must have been the one to find her after her fall, Holly reasoned. She’d made it back to the office, found some papers she’d felt she should deliver to the crematorium, and had fallen and hit her head on the return journey. She must have taken quite a knock to lose not only consciousness, but some memory. Holly hadn’t noticed a head wound earlier. She hadn’t been looking for one, though.
“So you found me after I fell?” she asked, and when he hesitated, guessed, “Or saw me fall?”
“Yes,” Justin said on a relieved hiss of air. “I saw you fall.”
“And I didn’t have my purse or any ID on me,” she recalled ruefully and then narrowed her eyes and added, “But my purse was in my car and I did have my car keys.”
“You didn’t have your car keys when I got to you,” Justin explained. “You must have dropped them when you fell.” He paused briefly, and then added, “When I carried you inside and we realized you were wearing pajamas and had no purse, keys or anything else, we thought you must have been sleepwalking.”
“Sleepwalking?” she asked with surprise, and then gave a slight laugh. “With a coat on? Do sleepwalkers usually put on coats?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never known anyone who sleepwalks.”
“Oh.” Holly nodded slowly and th
en tried to work it out, speaking her thoughts aloud. “So you brought me here because I didn’t have my purse or ID.” Before he could respond, she asked, “But why didn’t you just take me to the hospital?” When he was silent again, she said thoughtfully, “Without a purse I wouldn’t have my HMO card and I suppose a hospital would be reluctant to treat me without proof that I could pay.”
Justin seemed to hesitate, and then he sighed and dropped to sit on the end of the bed. Peering at her solemnly, he said, “This situation is a little more complicated than you realize.”
Holly tilted her head curiously, but simply asked, “Oh?”
“Yes, you see . . .” Justin paused, several expressions flickering across his face before he finally said cautiously, “I have to tell you some things that might sound . . . well, a bit crazy.”
Holly merely raised her eyebrows.
“You see, it wasn’t just your head you hit. I mean the head injury wasn’t the only one. You were carrying scissors and—”
“Scissors?” she interrupted with surprise. “Why would I be carrying scissors down to the crematorium?”
“As I said, it was dark and foggy . . . a graveyard. Spooky.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you were nervous.”
Holly nodded slowly, supposing that would be enough to make her want a weapon of some sort. She wasn’t usually a nervous Nelly, but then she’d never before even considered walking through a graveyard alone on a dark and foggy night.
“Anyway,” Justin said when she remained silent. “You were running and fell and not only hit your head, but—”
“Why was I running?” Holly interrupted.
The question made him grimace. He also took a good deal of time to think before answering. “You saw something that you misunderstood.”
“What did I see?”
“I’ll get to that,” he assured her. “But first I want you to understand that I would never harm you. In fact, when you fell on your scissors and stabbed yourself in the chest, I—”
“What?” Holly interrupted sharply. She hadn’t noticed anything when she dressed. Holly tugged the T-shirt collar away from her skin to peer at herself, but there was nothing there. Scowling at him for scaring her like that, she said, “I’m not wounded.”
“No. Well, I healed you,” he explained.
Holly blinked several times at this claim and then asked slowly, “You healed me?”
Justin nodded.
“How?” she asked at once, unable to hide her doubt.
“Well, this is where it gets tricky,” Justin said, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes. You see . . .” He paused, rubbed one hand over his face, and then said determinedly under his breath, “I am not going to make a pickle of this like Bastien and the other guys did.”
“That’s good,” Holly murmured, not sure what he was talking about.
“I mean seriously, how stupid is starting with, “Have you ever seen An American Werewolf in London?” he asked with disgust.
“Er . . .” Holly paused, growing confused.
“It was just stupid. I mean, we aren’t werewolves, are we?”
“No?” Holly guessed. That seemed a pretty safe bet.
“Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “So why lead with that? It just confuses the matter further. Right?”
“Right?” she guessed.
He nodded. “Okay, so . . .” Justin paused and frowned and then repeated, “Remember, no matter how crazy this sounds, I’m not crazy. You are safe with me. I would never harm you. Ever. I promise you that.”
“Okay,” Holly murmured. But really, the more he said that, the more worried she got. It was the old, “The lady doth protest too much.” But in this case it was a man doing the protesting. The more he assured her that he wouldn’t harm her, the more anxious she got that he might.
“Right . . . so, you see . . .” He paused again and then warned, “I’m just going to tell you flat out.”
“Okay,” Holly said.
“Right.” He nodded, and then added, “It’s going to sound crazy.”
“Okay,” Holly repeated, not at all surprised. She was already beginning to think there was something wrong with the man.
“So here goes,” he said, and then blurted, “I’m a vampire.”
Holly stared. She’d thought she’d been ready for anything from his weird prefacing, but “ . . . Vampire?”
“Yes. But we’re not really vampires,” he assured her. “I mean, sure we have fangs and used to feed on mortals, and yes we’re strong and all that stuff, but we aren’t dead or soulless.”
“Well that’s . . . good?” She ended the comment on a question because, frankly, Holly wasn’t sure what the right response was here. The poor man was obviously delusional. Vampire? Yeesh. She’d thought the craze for vampires had died out, but apparently Justin Bricker had been affected by its brief outbreak. The poor deluded soul thought he was one. It was sad, really. He was a good-looking man, personable and seemed smart enough, but he obviously had mental-health issues.
However, she kind of owed him one. He’d picked her up after she’d taken a tumble and knocked herself out. Holly suspected that part of his story was true. It made sense and explained her headache and memory loss.
The rest of his story, however, that she’d fallen on scissors and stabbed herself and that he’d healed her with his . . . well, she wasn’t sure what he supposedly healed her with. Vampires bit and sucked blood, they didn’t usually go around healing people. That was Jesus. Perhaps he was getting religion mixed up with his delusional fantasy, she speculated. She understood religion often played a role with crazy people.
“Yes, it is good,” Justin assured her. “Life is much less complicated now that we don’t feed off mortals.”
“I can imagine,” she said, keeping her voice soothing. At least he didn’t take his fantasy to that level and go around trying to bite people. If he did, she’d be concerned. This seemed a mostly harmless fantasy though. He didn’t bite, so didn’t do anyone physical harm, which left sleeping in a coffin and avoiding sunlight and garlic as his M.O. and that was fine with her. Live and let live and all that stuff. Although Holly did wonder if she might not be doing him a disservice by not calling in some help, like maybe the police, and suggesting a seventy-two-hour evaluation in a psych ward.
“In fact, we’re nothing like the television and movie versions of vampires,” Justin assured her.
“Well, no, I guess not. None of them can heal,” Holly murmured, her gaze sliding to the door as she wondered if she dared try to leave. Would he get physical in his effort to stop her leaving? She suspected he would unless she handled him right. She would have to remain calm and talk her way out of this room. She had to get home and . . . well, Holly wasn’t sure what she should do after that. She had no idea what time it was. The bedside clock read 7:34 but was that morning or night? How long had she been here? She’d thought it was morning when she’d first woken, but now that she knew she’d been unconscious, she wasn’t so sure. And the curtains were closed and thick enough to block out sunlight if there was any.
“We can’t heal either as a rule,” he explained, drawing her attention again. “I was only able to heal you by turning you.”
Holly blinked at this and then tilted her head. “Into a vampire?”
“Yes. Well, we prefer the name immortal.”
“Uh hmm.” She hesitated and then stood. “Well, then I’d best get home and take care of things.”
“You can’t go. I have to explain everything,” he said, straightening and positioning himself in her way.
“Can’t you explain later?” Holly suggested, trying not to sound desperate, but wanting to leave. Hoping to use reason he might agree with, she pointed out, “If I’m a vampire now, there are loa
ds of things to take care of. I mean I’ll need to buy a coffin and maybe find some nice Igor type I can get to bring me . . .” She let her words trail away and simply waved a hand vaguely. She’d been going to say people to feed on, but recalled at the last moment that his delusion didn’t include biting people.
“I think you mean Renfield,” he said with a faint smile.
“Do I?” she asked, turning sideways as casually as she could in the hopes of maneuvering past him toward the door.
“Yes. I wasn’t around when it first came out, but I read Stoker’s work as a teenager. It’s been a while but I have a good memory for names. I’m pretty sure it was Renfield who did Dracula’s bidding.”
Well at least he wasn’t imagining he was hundreds of years old. So his delusions weren’t completely out there, she assured herself and said with determined cheer, “Right. Sorry. Renfield then.”
“You don’t need a Renfield,” he assured her. “Like I said, we don’t bite mortals anymore. It’s not allowed.”
“Oh? Why is that?” Holly asked, with feigned interest, her gaze sliding sideways to the door and back.
“It was too risky,” he explained. “There was too much chance of drawing attention to ourselves that way.”
“Hmmm.” Holly nodded as if she believed him and sidled toward the door an inch or two under the pretext of shifting her feet. “So how do we feed? Do we buy pig’s blood from the slaughterhouse? If so, I guess I need to arrange for that instead. Lots to do. Must get to it.”
“No, we get our blood delivered now.”
That startled her enough to draw her full attention. “Delivered? Like pizza?”
“Pretty much,” Justin admitted on a laugh. “We have our own blood banks and whatnot.”
“ ’We’?” she queried.
“There are a lot of us. Not like millions or anything,” he added quickly. “We try to keep our numbers low. We wouldn’t want to outgrow our food source.”
“ ’Food source’?” she queried carefully. “You mean people?”
