by Lisa Olsen
“Alright, I’ll tell you what. Here’s my card. If you remember anything at all, give me a call, okay? I’ve got some other leads to check out for this guy, but if we hit a dead end, I promise I’ll take you to the crime scene. Deal?”
I accepted the card, glancing briefly at it before setting it in the front pocket of my purse. I wasn’t too happy at being turned down, but another option occurred to me. “Alright,” I conceded. “It’s a deal. But only if you call me the moment you catch him.” Not that I had a lick of leverage to bargain with him, so I added the only thing I could think of, my heartfelt plea. “Please?”
Detective Lucas pulled open the front door, an easy smile on his face. “There’s nothing to worry about, Miss Evans. I promise you, we’ll catch the guy. Better lock up after me though.”
I slid the bolt after he’d gone, only realizing then that I hadn’t mentioned the ring to him at all in my retelling of the conversation with Bishop. The thought of calling him back didn’t appeal to me at all. Somehow it felt wrong to let go of the ring, even if it was evidence in his investigation. Staring at the ring on the way back to the couch, I set my purse on my lap to check it more thoroughly. Nothing appeared to be missing, and my phone still had a charge. I pulled up Bridget’s number, knowing she’d still have it on despite the hospital rules.
“What’s the matter, do you need me to come home?” Bridget’s voice fairly crackled with excitement and I almost hated to let her down.
“No, it’s totally fine. I had a couple of visitors, but I can tell you all about them later.”
“Tell me now, I’m bored out of my skull,” she insisted, and I spent the next fifteen minutes chatting with her about my two very different guests. She seemed especially interested in Bishop, and I had to admit, his odd behavior did have me wondering if I’d ever see him again. But I forced myself to get back to the original reason for calling her.
“Hey, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Is it illegal?”
“Well… I’m not sure about that, it’s definitely against the rules,” I qualified, not knowing the exact legality involved.
“Yeah? I’m in, what is it?”
“I was wondering if you could find out from the hospital records if it shows where the ambulance picked me up from tonight?”
“Yep, I can get that off the trip sheet. But it’ll probably take a day or so for it to be entered into the computer. It’ll probably be faster to call the ambulance company directly.”
I brightened at that, feeling like I was on the trail to getting some answers. “I didn’t think of that, how do I know which ambulance company responded?”
“That’s a good question, depending on where you came in from, it could be AMR or NorCal, or a couple of others. You can either wait a day or two for it to show up in the records, or start calling ambulance companies from the phone book.”
“Okay, thanks, Bridge. I think I’ll make some calls tomorrow.”
“No prob. Just let me know if you want me to go all secret agent on your records,” she offered, and I resisted the urge to thank her again, knowing it wasn’t her thing.
After I’d hung up, I curled back up on the couch again with my faerie blanket, the pink can of mace tucked between the cushions within easy reach. I didn’t think I’d sleep a wink for the rest of the night, but eventually exhaustion wore out and I found myself dreaming of a certain pair of green eyes.
Chapter Four
I have always been something of a morning person. I craved the sunshine with its warmth and light, and I always felt better when my skin held a nice healthy tan. The early bird gets the worm was my motto, even during the summer months when I didn’t have to get up quite so early for school.
But the next morning I felt like death warmed over. Sure, I expected to be tired from being up for most of the night, and the position I’d fallen asleep in on the couch wasn’t the most comfortable, but that didn’t explain why I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. It wasn’t that I felt stiff and sore all over; I felt completely drained, as if I’d come down with the flu. Maybe I’d picked up a bug at the hospital?
Even the light hurt my eyes, and I rooted around for a pair of sunglasses after closing all the blinds in the apartment. Food sounded like a bad idea, but coffee was appreciated, and after using up all the hot water in the shower, I managed to get dressed for school in time for my eleven o’clock class.
The Central Coast Academy of Fine Arts boasts a wide assortment of classes designed to turn out some of the country’s premiere talents in music and art. I’d gotten in on a scholarship for Voice, something which brought enormous pride to my parents. Growing up, my parents had always been fairly restrictive. My mother was a high school music teacher and my father taught elementary mathematics in Santa Clara where I grew up.
As a child I took piano, guitar, singing, even dance lessons for one brief summer before it became clear it was not my forte, before focusing on voice. I’d always been taught that school came first, and even though I had an aptitude for music at an early age, it was never an excuse to turn in less than my best efforts at the academic classes as well. It turned me into kind of a perfectionist, which drove Bridget up the wall sometimes. And remember what I said before about the reputation as something of a book nerd? It came from being forced to carry around the classics, even when they weren’t on the assigned reading list. My mother thought it would broaden me, but what it really did was narrow my social scope.
But at the CCA, I found other kindred spirits who’d rather be singing in four part harmony to dead languages than going to the beach or shopping, and I finally felt like I’d found my place in life. Okay, so maybe sometimes I wished we would focus on something a little more contemporary, but I was firmly on the classical path, with an eventual career in choral music or possibly even Jazz on my horizon. Most days I was happy with that path, and it was easier to put one foot in front of the other than wander away and risk losing my footing altogether.
But not that morning.
That day it was acutely painful to be around the other students on campus. The halls seemed too clogged with bodies, the laughter too shrill, and the music… While I normally found missed notes a little painful to my well trained ear, that morning they were positively excruciating. The cloying smell of perfumes and body sprays and stale smoke… they made my already sensitive stomach lurch, and I quickly lost any ability to focus in class.
I’d seen Bridget in the same state plenty of times after a night of too many excesses, and now I sincerely regretted my lack of empathy. The next time I saw her hung over, I vowed to turn off all the lights and be as quiet as possible. Only why did I feel as though I’d partied like a rock star the night before, when I’d felt fine when I went to sleep?
My biggest mistake was in trying to eat at lunch time. Despite the nausea, I couldn’t shake the feeling like I had to eat something. It wasn’t so much a growling stomach as a sharp hunger, a craving I couldn’t quite pin down. It led me to the snack stand by the auditorium to try and find something to tempt my fancy. The smell of cooking hamburgers made my mouth water, and all of a sudden I was ravenous. I wolfed down the burger in thirty seconds flat, washing it down with a Diet Coke. The feeling of satisfied fullness only lasted about five minutes before the pain started, stomach cramps strong enough to make me break out in a sweat, and I barely made it to the ladies room in time before it came back up again.
Sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall, my cheek pressed against the cool metal wall, I closed my eyes as my body shook weakly. Something was seriously wrong with me, and I put my hand to my neck to feel my pulse. I felt the throb beneath my finger and then….waited, waited, waited… for far too long before the next weak pulse. This must be what dying feels like… The shot of adrenaline that went through me at that thought sped my heart up for a beat or two and then it slowed again. I had to get out of that bathroom and find some help, but my limbs wouldn’t obey me. To my growing horror, I f
elt that same paralyzing heaviness take hold of my body that I’d felt in the morgue. And then it didn’t matter anymore as I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
When I woke up with a start, it was much later in the day. I wasn’t sure at first how I knew that, but checking the time, I found I’d been asleep for more than three hours. The good news was, I had full control over my arms and legs, no sign of paralysis. Apart from a throbbing headache, I felt better, but I was still far from normal. Despite Bishop’s warning against doctors, I decided to visit the school infirmary, if only to have a place to lie down for a while before I braved the walk home. There was no way I’d make it to my one on one with Professor Wright, but I didn’t think I could manage to walk and text my apologies at the same time without getting dizzy.
The infirmary was understaffed as usual. Not that there were that many students looking for medical care at once, but the harried receptionist was more than happy to let me lie down in one of the rooms with the understanding that it could be a while before the nurse practitioner got to me.
As I lay there, I realized I could hear the conversation in the examination room next to me as plainly as if I was in the room with them. The nurse listened to the student talk about his worsening cough and other symptoms. I even fancied I could hear the wheeze of air through his lungs as he took several deep breaths for her. Had the walls always been that thin? Losing interest with that exchange, I let my mind wander and picked up another conversation with the receptionist on the phone down the hall, making a call to the pharmacy. There was no way I should have been able to hear her at the front desk. I could tell she spoke in hushed tones, but I still heard her, clear as a bell.
Another stomach cramp doubled me over, and I braced myself for a round of dry heaves, but instead, I felt almost hungry as soon as it passed. Someone must have brought their dinner with them, because the most delicious aroma wafted through the air, drawing me to my feet in search of it. No longer feeling weak, I cracked the door open, tracking the scent to another room, the door only open about an inch or so. Not able to hold myself back, I had to see whatever it was they were eating and find out where I could get some for myself. I pushed the door open, surprised to find it deserted. So where was the delicious, tempting treat luring me through the halls?
My eyes lit upon a plastic bowl on the counter, whatever it was, the delectable smell seemed to be coming from there. Mouth watering, I leaned forward, only to recoil in distaste when I realized the tantalizing smell came from a wad of bloody bandages left behind from the last patient. Oh God… what was wrong with me? Suddenly I knew I had to go before the nurse got to me. Tucking on my sunglasses, I ducked out of there, not even bothering to let the receptionist know I was leaving.
The sun was less painful, lower in the sky, but I kept the glasses on while I walked home, deep in thought. Since waking up in the morgue, I’d been experiencing sensitivity to light and sound, enhanced sense of smell, my eyes and ears were sharper, and I hadn’t been able to keep any solid food down. I had ‘died’ of blood loss from a neck wound, and risen that same night without a trace of the injury. It no longer felt like I was coming down with the flu, I felt… wrong. I felt… hungry, desperate for something I couldn’t identify.
Yes, you can…
I shoved away the inner voice reminding me that I knew exactly what I was craving, because it was too horrible to admit, even inside my head.
My body craved blood.
Chapter Five
Contrary to what it might sound like from my strong opinions on vampire lore, I didn’t believe vampires were real. Oh sure, there were the goth vampire wannabes that drank blood laced wine out of ornate pewter goblets and called themselves names like Lord Drake or Mistress Belladonna. But real vampires? That was fiction, not fact. More than a little spooked, common sense tried to reassert itself, my mind scrabbling for something a little more reassuring.
Fact – I was still walking around during the day, though the sun did bother me quite a bit.
Fact – I had a reflection like anyone else.
Fact – I still had a pulse… though it was so slow, I could hardly call it normal by human standards anymore.
Okay, so my facts were starting to depress me. Suddenly I felt like the supernatural was taking over my body. The only spot of comfort was in the fact that the mild exercise of walking home did me good, and I felt much stronger by the time I turned onto my street.
I had almost convinced myself I was blowing things out of proportion when I spotted him, the one person who might have the answers I searched for. The trouble was, I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Bishop stood waiting outside my apartment in the shade of the front porch. As I slowed my approach warily, he removed his dark glasses, squinting as he addressed me with a polite smile. “Miss Evans, I wondered if I could have a few more minutes of your time? We weren’t able to conclude our business yesterday.”
I stared at him, floored by the gall of the man. As if I would pick up where we left off the night before after he’d disappeared out the window. “Are you kidding me? I know you’re not a cop,” I tossed out, slipping past him to open the outer door to the building.
“I never said I was a cop, you did,” he pointed out, following right behind me as if invited. I stopped on the bottom stair, blocking him from going any further.
“But you didn’t correct me. What kind of a person does that?” Bishop did little more than shrug, and I realized that was all I was going to get by way of apology. “I want those clothes back by the way, the real police need them for evidence.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he scoffed. “Listen, it’s getting late. How about we go upstairs and continue our conversation?” He was obviously trying to be the voice of reason, but I had no intention of doing anything he asked.
“How gullible do you think I am? You expect me to invite you into my apartment again?” My brows rose incredulously. I’ve been accused of being naïve in the past, and I admit I was foolhardy for letting him in once, but I learn from my mistakes.
“You already invited me once, that’s good enough for me.” Bishop smiled as if we shared a private joke.
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to talk to you again, do you?” No sooner had I uttered the declaration, I found myself breaking my best intentions. “Who are you anyway? What do you have to do with any of this? Do you know who attacked me?”
For a moment Bishop looked like he regretted being there at all, but then his polite smile returned. “I’ll tell you what, you answer my questions, and I’ll consider answering yours.”
“No deal,” I frowned. “You’ll do more than consider answering mine if I answer yours,” I insisted indignantly, “or we’re done with this conversation.”
His face darkened, and Bishop seemed to swell bigger than his six foot plus frame as he loomed closer to me. My position on the stairs put me at eye level with him. “I’m not accustomed to being given ultimatums,” he growled.
“Well neither am I!” I have no idea where the nerve to stand up to him came from, but I found myself staring back, my chest tight from the breath I held. Had I said before I didn’t feel any threat from him? Danger radiated off of him in waves, making my skin break out in goosebumps, but somehow I found the strength to stand my ground.
Instead of throttling me, or any number of unpleasant things he could have done, he shook his head, muttering disgustedly as he turned away to leave. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“I’m sorry.” My teeth caught at my lower lip as I sucked in a needed breath. I hadn’t expected him to give up altogether, and a ribbon of panic sliced through me as I realized he was taking all of his answers with him. “Wait… Bishop, don’t go. I’ll answer your questions, just… please… Can you help me?” I thought he would ignore my plea, but instead he stopped in his tracks and I heard the whisper of words in a foreign language rush past his lips. I imagined they
might be swear words, but I couldn’t say for certain.
“You’ll answer my questions? No song and dance this time?”
I hadn’t done anything but be truthful to him so far, but I found myself nodding at his back. “I swear, I’ll answer anything you want to know, God’s honest truth.”
“God’s honest truth,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a faint smile as he turned around. “That’ll be a novel change.”
“I’m not a liar, Mr. Bishop,” I insisted crossly, tired of his insinuating I knew more than I let on. I couldn’t help it if I was clueless, but I wasn’t dishonest.
“It’s just Bishop, Miss Evans, and I never called you a liar.” The smile was a little more pronounced that time as he approached the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s Anja.” I started to feel encroached upon again, but it wasn’t at all scary this time as he drew closer.
“Anja, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Bridget stood by the front door; I hadn’t even noticed it open.
“This is just Bishop.” I had trouble tearing my gaze away when he kept the focus of those mesmerizing eyes on mine, but I was the first one to break eye contact. “This is my roommate, Bridget.”
“Come on up, Bishop,” she invited without hesitation, dropping me a broad wink as she passed by. Bishop’s eyes tracked the sway of her hips up the stairs and I scowled as I turned to scamper up behind her, leaving him to follow or stay behind, as he liked.
“Dude, he’s hot!” Bridget hissed between her teeth at the door to our apartment.
“Shhh, he’ll hear you,” I whispered back.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows he’s hot,” she snorted, making no effort to lower her voice as she opened the door. I turned back to see if he was listening, gratified to see Bishop lagging behind on the stair, but the private smile on his lips was disconcerting.
