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I didn’t like the sound of that. Vampires, Genie armies, national resurrection...history didn’t have many good things to say about people who made grand exclamations of palingenetic fantasy. Such dreams never turned out well for people like me. And Vivian and her Rosicrucians and their little cult of undead Übermensch...I had no love for Constantine, President Cassidy and their ilk, but at least they were human.
So, it’s finally come down to that: I was choosing my friends on the stringent criteria of having a pulse. I’d hit some sort of rock-bottom. If only I’d known how much worse it could get.
Tebor parked the stolen Caddy in the circular drive of the nursing home and the three of us strode through its automatic glass doors. I could see the beginnings of dawn on the horizon. If Vivian and the monster-man had the same sun allergy as Dark described in his book, then they were quickly running out of time.
Didn’t vampires have to be in their coffins before dawn? The idea made me smirk. Then, a cold shock of the realization hit me: Either I would be dead before sunrise or they would be. If they went to ground with me still breathing...well, it would only take one call to Constantine and a few hours of sunlight to track them back to their warren...
No, if Q was here in the building, they were done with me. I was as good as dead.
Tebor would finally get his wish to eat me.
The night nurse at the front desk gave us a sleepy glance up from her e-reader, then did a double-take at the sight of three of us: Vivian, dressed for the opera, me all scruffy and in desperate need of a shower, and Tebor, a walking mountain of flesh and fur.
I got the feeling the nurse saw had seen a lot of strange people in her job, but we really were something special.
“Visiting hours start at 10 a.m.,” she said, turned her attention back to her e-reader.
“We’re here to see a Michael Elton,” Vivian said, putting an elbow on the front desk.
“As I said, visiting hours—” the nurse began again.
“We’re here to see Mr. Elton,” Vivian repeated, more forcefully. “Does he live here?”
The night nurse was just about to tell Vivian where she could shove it, when I stepped forward and flashed my badge.
“Detective Fonseca,” I said. “This is police business. Do you have a resident by the name of Michael Elton?”
The night nurse looked between Vivan and Tebor. If we were cops, she was Peter Rabbit. But she looked at the badge again and decided the quickest way to get rid of us was by playing along.
“Sure, I know Mr. Elton,” she said. “He’s one of our oldest residents.”
Tebor made a low growl, literally baring his fangs and looking over to Vivian. The nurse tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“How old?” I asked. I had to stay ahead of the whole situation. Take command. If I lagged, it would mean I’d be breakfast. And probably everyone else in the building who still breathed in and out.
“Oh, I...” the nurse faltered. “Well, you know, I’m not really sure,” she said, conversationally. “He’s a somnolence case. Zero responsiveness. But he is a dear.”
“Do you know how long he’s lived here? When was he admitted?”
The nurse shrugged. “He was here when I took the job...” The night nurse made a face as she realized, perhaps for the first time, how peculiar that fact was.
“When was that?” Vivian asked, smiling at me.
“Well, I’ve worked at the Hearthstone for fifteen years...”
“How long has this building been here?” I asked, looking around at the lobby.
“Since the 1940s,” the nurse answered. “I’m sorry, is Mr. Elton in some sort of trouble?”
“No, no trouble, but we will need to see him,” I said, returning my badge to the inside pocket of my bomber.
The nurse tittered. “I’m afraid all our residents are still sleeping, Detective. There’s no admittance. Can’t this wait until official visiting hours?”
I looked through the front doors of the lobby, out at the first red tinge of dawn. “No, I’m sorry, my investigation just can’t wait,” I said truthfully.
“But...Mr. Elton suffers from the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. If you’re expecting him to be talkative...”
“No, we just need to see him,” I said, stepping away from the desk. “What room?” Vivian and Tebor were already walking to the elevators.
“1728,” the nurse said. The number caused me to pause in my step. “But, Detective...”
“Don’t worry,” I called back to the nurse as the elevators doors chimed open. “We’ll be in and out in a flash.”
That Nietzsche Thing Page 27
