by Trisha Baker
"Then what's going to happen?"
"You will attract him—and that is all you will do. You are not to be alone with him. Let him come to you, and then I shall deal with him. Once he is dead, this link will be behind you forever."
"Master, how will I be involved?"
"Charles, the only reason you are here is because Simon presents a threat to you. Neither of you should attempt to deal with him on your own. If worst comes to worst, you two can assist me—that is all. You are not strong enough to destroy him on your own."
Reluctantly they both swore to leave Simon to Alcuin's more experienced hands. They also promised to stay together at night and not stray too far from Alcuin (should they need his help).
Meghann frowned. "Alcuin, what did I see? Was that the future or some terrible visitation he sent to frighten me?"
"I am not sure, Meghann. Tomorrow night, after you have rested, I will put you in a light trance and see if we cannot clarify your vision. What worries me is that last thing you said… What will he set free?"
Meghann thought of the infernal presence she'd felt and shivered. What indeed?
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
« ^ »
April 30, 1998
"Carlo wants to come here, Dr. Cameron—for one of my sessions. Don't you think that's progress?"
Diana looked expectantly at her psychologist, but the woman didn't respond. "Dr. Cameron?"
"What? I'm sorry, Diana. Could you repeat what you just said?" Alcuin was right; she was doing her patients a disservice by continuing to see them.
At first, Meghann had been firm about continuing her practice—Simon or no Simon. She was not going to disrupt her life any more than she had to. But then Alcuin convinced her that she could not be a responsible therapist if she knew that at any moment she might have to stop seeing her patients to deal with her own crisis. So she referred her small caseload of ten patients willing to see a therapist who only had night hours to other psychologists, gently weaning her worst patients. The patient she was seeing tonight was having her last session with her; after tonight, she had arranged for a leave of absence.
It wasn't just the fact that she might not be available to her patients—in her current state, she wasn't doing them much good. It was so hard to concentrate, she thought as she forced herself to listen to Diana's tale of woe concerning the louse she had married. Lately Meghann's thoughts always drifted to Simon. Where was he? When was he going to attack? It had been over a month. A month of constant, unceasing tension as she looked over her shoulder at any unexplainable noise. A month of nightmares that woke her, leaving her drenched in sweat and screaming. Jimmy had managed to find not one but several possible identities for Simon. He found financial information—basically stock portfolios—no personal information, no addresses, nothing. And Alcuin had not been able to clarify her vision—every time she attempted to remember, those evil beings reached out for her again. After three attempts, Alcuin had given up, saving it was far too dangerous to try to gain information.
Now Meghann took a deep breath. "Why do you think Carlo wants to come here, Diana?"
The woman looked puzzled. "So that he can explain his side to you… help you understand."
"What am I supposed to understand?"
"Why he does those things."
Meghann fixed her patient with a steely stare. "What things are those?"
Diana dropped her eyes. "When he… hits me sometimes."
"And what will he tell me that will make me understand why one person has a right to hit another?"
"I didn't say he had a right to hit me," the patient answered uncomfortably. "It's just that he's under so much pressure with that new job, and I don't always keep the house clean, even though I'm home all day…"
Meghann forced herself not to roll her eyes. How many times had she heard this? Oh, it's not his fault I have a broken arm—the carpet wasn't vacuumed; my mom bothers him; the Yankee game got rain delayed… Meghann did not always understand her patients—she would have had Johnny's balls if he hit her. All that stuff about how domestic abuse was more acceptable in the old days was crap in her estimation. Her dad never lifted his hand to her mom; Frankie didn't abuse Theresa. Sure, they'd known about people who roughed up their wives… but they were known as degenerates. All that had really improved in Meghann's estimation was that in those days people tended to blame it on booze and assumed once you were married, it was for good. At least now there were places for women to go… if they would just leave as Meghann was trying to encourage her patient to do.
"Diana, let me see if I understand you. Carlo is going to come to your session, on your time, and tell me that your black eye wouldn't have happened if only his boss didn't give him a hard time?"
"I know how it sounds!" The woman sobbed loudly. "But I really believe it's just the pressure he's under. Once he gets the job under control, he'll be fine."
Meghann went to a small wooden cabinet and took out a tape labeled ELTON, DIANA, 10-19-95. Diana watched with some apprehension as Meghann placed it in her tape deck. Soon Diana's sobbing voice filled the room.
"But he doesn't mean it—it's all the pressure of living at home with his mother. As soon as we're married, it will all work out…" Meghann shut the tape off, and stared at her patient. "What has changed in the past two-and-a-half years, Diana?"
The woman flushed. "Are you saying I make excuses for him?"
"Answer my question."
Now the patient was angry—a good sign. If only the woman could channel her anger to the right source—the bastard who used her for a punching bag.
"Fine—nothing's changed!" Diana bellowed. "Is that what you want to hear?"
"That wouldn't be true," Meghann told her softly. "When you first started seeing me, Carlo hadn't abused you physically—it was all mental."
The patient fell silent.
"Diana, your relationship has gotten worse—not better." Traditional psychology demanded that therapists not make judgments or even clarifications for their patients. But domestic abuse counselors were abandoning the soft, impersonal role in favor of getting women away from potentially dangerous situations. But it was a fine line—Meghann had no desire to shame her patient, or castigate her to the point that she abandoned therapy.
Diana sighed. "Maybe you're right, but I love him!"
To hell with it, Meghann thought. This was the last night she'd see Diana, and she wanted to make some sort of progress. "And what about your children? Do you love them too?"
"Of course I do!"
"Then why punish them with the torture of a miserable marriage like the kind you witnessed between your parents?"
"My marriage is not miserable!"
"You don't mind when your husband calls you a fat pig at your office Christmas party, or gives you a concussion because you forgot he likes his steak medium rare?"
"Of course I do… but… but…"
Meghann came over to the woman's chair and squatted in front of her. Then she took her patient's hands, and looked her in the eyes. "Diana, I won't tell you what to do. But this is our last session, and I'd like you to think about something for me, something you might want to work on with your new therapist. You are a mother now, Diana. Are you going to be like your mother—treated like a doormat by your husband and making your kids grow up forced to sit through that? You told me how much it hurt every time your dad would come home and beat her. How do you think your children are going to feel when they're old enough to understand? You think it won't hurt to see their mother cry because of some horrible thing their father said? Are you going to force them to choose sides as your parents did? Or when Carlo attacks them, are you going to continue to excuse his behavior?"
Diana looked down. "I'm frightened to leave him."
"Have you thought about the list we worked on? All the resources you might have—how you could drain the checking account while he's at work? Anyone you could stay with?"
"My sister
said I could move in with her."
Meghann told her gently, "Maybe you should consider it. And I'll be happy to put you in touch with a safe house if you need one."
Diana sat silently until her time was up. Then she wrote Meghann a check. At the door to the study, she turned around. "Dr. Cameron?"
"Yes?"
"I know psychologists aren't supposed to answer questions like this, but… I want to know. Supposing it were you trapped in a bad relationship?" I'd get my stake out, Meghann thought to herself, fighting a ridiculous urge to laugh. "Could you force yourself to give up a man you really love?"
Meghann considered the question. Had she ever been in love? Johnny Devlin—well, that was puppy love. Who could say if their marriage would have worked out? And you could not call what happened between her and Simon love—more like lust mixed with domination. Jimmy—oh, Jimmy.
Meghann looked at her patient. "I could give a man up—if he was costing me other things. My pride, my dignity… I need those too much to give them up in the name of love. It isn't love if it costs you your self-worth, Diana. Love is supposed to give you a reason for living—not take it away. There are plenty of good men in this world… and no reason you can't have one."
The woman smiled shyly at her psychologist's candid answer and bid her a good night.
Meghann went upstairs to wash off her sophisticated makeup job Jimmy had applied and to change out of the stuffy gray suit that she always wore seeing patients. She got out a Mets jersey and her baggiest jeans. Ah, that was much more comfortable. Now she took her hair out of its schoolmarm bun and put it into pigtails.
"You look about sixteen." Charles smiled at her when she came into the living room.
"And I feel about five hundred." She groaned and collapsed on the sofa. "When is Alcuin coming back?"
"Soon, I imagine. He wasn't going far—he merely wished to be alone to perform the Beltane magic."
Jimmy came into the living room. "I'd like to talk to you, Maggie."
"So talk." Meghann regretted her harsh tone, but she was so restless and angry. Angry that Simon had managed to trap her once again, angry that they couldn't seem to find out where he slept. Jimmy had scoured every apartment, house, estate, and condominium purchased within the tristate area in the past six months. He'd also tracked down any Baldevar property from the 1940s and 1950s—nothing. A tedious, time-consuming task that had been a waste of time.
Jimmy glared at Charles. "Alone."
Charles picked up his coffee mug. "I do believe I'll finish this on the porch."
Meghann sat up in dread. For over a month, she'd used every pretext to avoid being alone with Jimmy. Now, apparently, he wanted to finish the argument they'd had before Alcuin showed up.
He gave her a small gray jeweler's box.
She knew what it would contain before she opened it—a ring with a small diamond in a yellow-gold setting. Jimmy, why are you forcing this on me now? "It's very pretty."
"It belonged to my mother. I had Darlene send it to me a few days ago."
Meghann closed the box, and said the words she had always known she'd eventually have to say to Jimmy Delacroix. "I can't accept this."
Jimmy didn't yell, but she saw his fists clench. "Why not?" Before she could answer, he flicked the signet ring on her left hand contemptuously. "Is it because you're still carrying a torch for your master?"
Meghann managed to hold on to her temper. "That has nothing to do with it. But how can you bring this up now, with Simon—"
"No!" Jimmy roared. He glared down at her. "You stop using him as an excuse to push me away, Maggie. This has nothing to do with him—it's between me and you."
She got up, and glared right back at him. "Jimmy, I explained this once before. There can never be a you and me. And I do not use Simon as an excuse for anything."
"Bullshit! You're afraid, Maggie. Afraid to say you love me—even though I know damned well you do. But you don't want anyone to get close, so you use him as your excuse, your reason you can't get involved."
"Do you think you're Oprah?" she questioned sarcastically. "Jimmy, have you forgotten the minor matter of my being a vampire? I would say that's a pretty good fucking reason for why we can't get married."
"So make me one too."
"Oh? Just like that?" She snapped her fingers. "I told you before—I will never transform anybody. It's a curse, Jimmy!"
"But we'd be together—"
"In hell! How will you feel when Darlene dies, huh? Or better yet—how will you react when you can never see her again because it's starting to get damned weird that you never age? Will you enjoy seeing your world, the one you were meant to live in, drift away and change while you remain the same? People were meant to die, Jimmy—to go on to a better place at the end of a good life. Immortality is a curse."
"Screw you. You're not cursed."
"I'm not cursed?" she asked incredulously. "Some lunatic wants to destroy me and I'm not cursed. After all I had to live through—"
"Well, I wouldn't know about that since you never talk about your life with your lover boy. What are you hiding, honey—how good a lay he was?"
Meghann went white with fury. "No, I'm hiding what it is to live with blood lust, to have depraved impulses you cannot control—"
"I could learn."
Meghann laughed harshly. "You couldn't learn shit. You hide in a bottle every time something goes wrong."
Jimmy sank to the ottoman, and buried his face in his hands.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry…"
He shrugged her hands off. "I don't want your apologies, you bitch! And I know why you won't transform me… won't marry me. You don't want a relationship with an equal… You want some little helpless mortal you can push around, a boy toy!"
Outraged, without thinking, Meghann cracked him across the face. "How dare you talk to me like that! Why should I marry some pathetic drunk I fished out of the gutter?"
Shakily, Jimmy pulled himself to his feet and Meghann felt remorse stab her when she saw the vicious red handprint standing in stark relief against his white skin.
Jimmy, clutching his cheek and backing far away from her, screamed out, "I'd rather be a pathetic drunk than a vicious cunt! You're just like Simon Baldevar!"
The black rage that came over her at Jimmy's words made Meghann fear he was right, that anything good or noble in her had died the night Simon transformed her.
Afraid of what she might do if she stayed, Meghann turned on her heel and stalked out the front door. Jimmy heard Charles yelling, "Meghann, wait!"
Charles rushed into the living room, where Jimmy was applying ice from the bar to his wounded cheek. "What happened?"
"Fuck you, bloodsucker!"
Charles glanced worriedly at the dark—he couldn't let Meghann wander around by herself. He grabbed his coat, and admonished the human. "I don't care if you and Meghann quarreled. You are to remain in this house; it's the only place where we can guarantee your safety. Do not leave."
Then he rushed out the door after his friend.
Jimmy picked up his wallet and leather jacket. Fuck them all—he was getting out of this madhouse! He'd come back during the day for his things—while the bloodsuckers were asleep. And maybe he'd drive a nice, juicy stake through that bitch's black heart…
He stormed toward the bus stop at Beach 116th Street. He knew he shouldn't have ditched the Dodge, and relied only on the Caddie. But maybe it was for the best. The long walk would help clear his head, give him a chance to think, make some plans. He'd get a little hotel room for now, then figure out what he wanted to do. He stalked by a bar—goddamn Maggie! He did not live in a bottle. Like she was any better than him…
He smashed one fist into the other. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? Maggie (at night anyway) was better than him, and she wanted it to stay that way. Sure, she had it great now. Her pet human to do her bidding and screw her whenever she felt like it…
Jimmy choked back tears. He wasn't sad, he told hims
elf. Why should he be? Because she didn't love him back? Who wanted her love anyway? Who wanted that beautiful, stubborn, brave…
Bitch! I meant nothing to her, nothing at all. And now all I am is some burden; something she has to protect. Well, the hell with her and her precious fag friend and that other… they could all rot in hell. Jimmy hoped he did run into Simon Baldevar now that he'd left the patronizing protection of Maggie's house. He'd tell the guy: Well, man, I don't know what you want with her, but here's the address. We have no argument—she's all yours, buddy.
Jimmy arrived at the bus stop. He saw a bus pull away—damn! Now he'd have to wait at least a half hour. He lit a cigarette.
"May I have a light?"
He glanced over at the girl sitting on the bench. He hadn't seen her sitting there before. No, that was no girl—this was a woman in her late twenties. Apparently, someone forgot to tell her Halloween was over—she had on a black cape with silver boots. Maggie always laughed at the "Wanna be Undead," as she called them. And this woman wasn't nearly as pretty as Maggie—she had a very sharp nose, badly cut black hair, and was pale as a ghost. Maggie wasn't even that pasty-looking. Still, he behaved like a gentleman and gave her a light.
"Thank you."
Jimmy retreated to his corner, brooding on Maggie.
"You seem sad."
Jesus Christ, the last thing he needed was some gothic trash coming on to him. "What's it to you?"
The woman flushed angrily—the blush sticking out like makeup applied to a corpse's face. "Just trying to be friendly."
"Don't—I'm not in the mood."
"Is it a girl?" the woman persisted.
Did this idiot not know how to take a hint? Oh, well, the bus wouldn't be showing up anytime soon. Might as well pass the time. "My girlfriend"—the closest description of his relationship with Maggie—"doesn't want to get married."
