Sam smiled. “I’m a cop, Grampy... Of course, I understand.”
“Yes. Yes.” He paused; his forehead creased with a frown as he searched for the right words. “The change... It will happen. You cannot stop it and the time will come, I fear very soon, when you will have to let out the devil inside yourself in order to stop these... people. Your heart is good, Samantha. Do not be afraid of what comes.” He chuckled softly. “Being a werewolf is like being an alcoholic, in some ways. You do not do anything when you are in werewolf form that you weren’t willing to do and considering doing when you were in human form. Understand?”
“I understand.”
Ivan sighed, a relieved sigh. “Good. Now, open those curtains so I may watch the sunset.” He watched as she stood up and moved to the window, pulling back the curtains and draping them over the rocking chair nearby. She will be okay, I think, he thought to himself. God bless her, she will be okay.
Sam sat back down beside him and took his hand. They sat together, both of their faces illuminated by the stunning shades of pink, orange and red that the sun was displaying. A truly memorable autumn sunset.
Sam marveled at how quickly it passed, but all too soon the dark of twilight began to descend, the bright hues of only minutes early changing to violets and blues as the night came in. The first star of the night was visible high in the sky. She sighed and turned to look at Ivan.
He was still, his eyelids closed and his body relaxed against his pillows.
Ivan Karolyi was gone.
Sam moved the hand she still held, placing it on top of his other hand, both hands on his chest. Then she leaned forward, gently kissing him one last time on the cheek, laying her head down on the bed beside him and quietly crying as the last vestiges of sunlight faded away.
19
THE STREET WAS SURPRISINGLY dark; you wouldn’t expect a city like New York to ever be dark anywhere, but this was dark. Except for the flash of the ambulance lights, blue then red, blue then red.
Vincent watched as the ambulance crew wheeled out the same cart they had wheeled in, only this time weighed down with a bagged body. They lifted the cart, its front wheels buckling as it eased into the back of the ambulance. The back wheels quickly followed, and a crew member climbed into the back. He began the tasks of tightening and fastening the cart to the inside of the rig, while the paramedic secured the portable equipment in the appropriate compartments.
Vincent made the sign of the cross, startled at how natural it felt to do so again after all these years. You never forget things like that, those comforting gestures and memories from childhood. No matter where you go, no matter what happens to you or what occurs, in times of trouble you return to those familiar and comforting gestures.
The crew member finished fastening the cart down and reached for the doors, closing one and then the other. Moments later, the ambulance lights went out and Vincent watched as the vehicle slowly pulled away and down the street. Be at peace, Ivan Karolyi... You’ve earned it. The vehicle paused at the corner, then turned right and disappeared.
Vincent lit a cigarette, taking a long, satisfying drag. He should just go. After all, what could he do for Sam at a time like this? Emotions surging... the loss of a loved one is not only devastating, but very easily can cause you to attach to people, make connections that you might not otherwise make. In this case, though, the risks of what could happen under the circumstances were far too high.
He looked up at the apartment building just as a figure moved in front of a window on the top floor. She was in the living room, up-and-about, not collapsed in tears or seeking the solace of sleep in her bedroom. The dark shadow slowed as it passed the shaded window; her silhouette was surprisingly clear, even from down here on the street.
Vincent finished the cigarette, tossing the butt down onto the sidewalk and crushing out the last embers with his booted foot. He looked up at the living room window again. Sam had disappeared.
He sighed and brushed at his hair, trying to tame his waves and smooth some of the tendrils that had formed in the damp air that had descended with the night. “Hell,” he uttered under his breath and, pulling his duster around him, Vincent jogged across the street.
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR was soft, but the sound was still enough to startle Sam. She quickly grabbed the dishcloth and mopped the spilled tea on the counter, pushing it toward the sink. The knock came again, a bit louder this time. Irritated, she threw the dishcloth in the sink and marched toward the door.
Sam slowed as she reached the door and looked out through the peephole; she unchained and turned the locks, then opened the door slowly. “What are you doing here?”
The door swung open more and Lenny stepped in, passing Sam and heading for the living room. “We need to talk.”
Sam watched him as he sat down comfortably on the sofa. She sighed, closed the door and walked in to join him. “It’s not really a good time, Len,” she said quietly.
“I got called in last night,” Lenny continued; he either hadn’t heard or didn’t care. “Glow, in Times Square. Some kind of fight went on. Heard a lot of... Interesting commentary about what went down... And who was involved.”
Lenny stopped, looked at Sam intently. It was the same look he had given a host of perps in interrogation; the same look he had used on defense attorneys in court. She should have been intimidated by it. Should have been... “Sam? Talk to me.”
“The guy attacked me.”
Lenny was incredulous. “So, you shot him?”
Sam shrugged; her eyes focused on a spot on the floor. “A little, yeah.”
“With mercury? That’s a fresh approach, don’t you think?”
Sam’s head snapped up at that. “No, I shot him with my Lorcin.” She shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable talking about the situation. “Vincent shot him with the mercury.”
“Because this junkie was a werewolf?” Lenny watched her face, seeing the expected reaction of surprise and even dismay move across it. She looked at him, her guess questioning, and he was more than happy to continue. “I talked to Ben. He said your Sick Bus Boy was one, too.”
Sam sighed and leaned against the wall; her eyes fixed on the ceiling. God, do I really have to do this NOW? “Lenny...,” she began, reaching up to rub her temples. “Okay, listen, I know it sounds crazy. A couple of days ago, I would have been sitting right there in cynic-central with you. But I have seen things and heard things that cannot be explained away.” She pressed more firmly against her temples, the circles she was rubbing on her head becoming larger. “And I’m... I haven’t been... Myself... Lately.”
“Anything I can do?”
Sam smiled weakly, shook her head. “Other than this pounding headache, I’m okay.”
Lenny reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle. “That I can help with it. Here.” He popped open the top of the bottle and poured out two pills. He offered them to Sam.
She hesitated. “What are these?”
“Tylenol.”
Sam sighed, took the pills. “That doesn’t usually work for me.” She went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and popped the pills into her mouth. She took a sip, tipped her head back, felt the pills fall into the back of her throat and wash down as she swallowed the water. She took a final sip as she returned to the living room. “Thanks.”
Lenny nodded, pocketing the bottle again. “No problem. They work fast.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “Who’s Vincent?”
“Just...He... He’s helping me... Get through things.”
“Does he also happen to wear black?”
Sam smiled a little at that. “He seems to prefer that shade, yes.”
“Ivan get a load of him yet? I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased.” Lenny had had the privilege of witnessing a bone-fide Ivan Karolyi boyfriend hazing once... And once was more than enough.
Sam closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “He wasn’t at first, but he kind of warmed up to him... In t
he end.” Despite her best efforts, her voice caught in the end. She knew that Lenny would have heard it even if he hadn’t been so intent on trying to read her and figure out what was going on.
“Guess Ivan’s not out of the hospital yet, huh?”
“Ivan’s dead, Len, he died this evening.”
Sam watched Lenny deflate, his posture wilting as the magnitude of her words sank in. “Ah, damn. Here I am interrogating you... Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s okay, Len, don’t worry about it.” Sam blinked rapidly, closed her eyes, rubbed them. Geez, what the hell...? Lenny was staring at her, the look of concern on his face almost enough to send her spiraling into tears again. She did not want to start crying again... She’d been crying for hours earlier and the redness in her eyes was nearly gone.
Sam blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. Her eyes felt like they were on fire, burning and stinging... Not from tears, though. In fact, her eyes felt dry. Really dry.
“What’s the matter with your eyes?” Lenny stared at her, a strange look on his face, somewhere between puzzled and freaked-out.
Sam rubbed her eyes again. Strange... It was almost like the room, or what she could see of it, had lost color. Things were blurry and gray. “I don’t know. Lenny, are you sure that was Tylenol?”
Lenny pulled out the bottle again, squinting at the label. “Label is hard to read. Kit spilled juice on it this morning.” He offered it to Sam, saying, “You’re welcome to try deciphering it yourself.”
Sam reached out awkwardly for the bottle, bringing it close to her face and straining to read it through the gray haze that seemed to be covering her eyes. “Acetaminophen... 500 milligrams... Hy...” Sam rubbed at her eyes again as the gray surged, almost completely blocking out her field of vision. She squinted at the label again. “Hydro...codone...” Oh no... Sam strained to see the letters of the medications name, but she was a narcotics detective... Shit, she already knew. “Lenny? Did you give me... Vicodin?”
“Uh... yeah. Got them when I had that dental work done. What’s the matter? You feel sick?”
Sam handed the bottle back to him and moved toward the bathroom. “Um, I’m just... I need a minute, okay? Make yourself comfortable, Len, I’ll be right back.” She sped into the bathroom, shut the door behind her and locked it.
Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear... Sam fiddled with the switch on the fluorescent light above the sink. Vicodin. It couldn’t even have been a mild narcotic, a little bit of codeine, perhaps. No, it had to be one of the big guns. Hydrocodone. Oh dear, oh d-d-d-dear-dear... Sam found the switch and flipped it on. The light flickered to life, its glare nearly blinding her. She squinted, struggling to see her reflection in the mirror. It was not just the sudden brightness making it difficult to see; it was the gray. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the mirror again. She could see the shower curtain, the towel bars, towels, curtains on the window... All shades of gray. “Oh d-d-dear,” she murmured.
Ben would have laughed at her, said she sounded like Piglet. The thought of her childhood friend made her tear up and tearing-up was not a good thing at all.
Her eyes began to burn and ache. It felt as if they were being pried open with hot metal tools, the eyeball itself stretching. Sam whimpered and fumbled for the faucet. She turned on the cold water, letting it run in a steady stream. She bent over and filled her hands with the refreshingly cold water. She splashed her face several times then focused on rinsing her eyes. The cold water felt good, soothing the burning sensations and relieving the pressure ever so slightly. She raised up, grabbed a towel from off the rack and blotted her face dry, then looked at her reflection in the mirror – and froze.
It was funny the thoughts that pop into your head at the oddest times, but suddenly, she was remembering her dad and something he used to say to her when she was very little. He would take her on his knee and lean in, so their foreheads touched and would say, “Where did you get those blue eyes?” Sam wished she had gotten them somewhere because the way they looked now she would need to get new ones.
The eyes looking back at her from the mirror were not her eyes. They were flat and black as if the pupils had expanded, consuming the entirety of the irises and moving into the sclera. They were like shark eyes looking back at her, devoid of the emotion and expression and LIFE that are so present in the human eye. Sam flinched. She’d seen these eyes before. In Battery Park, when she was fighting with Franco.
It was happening. She was turning into a werewolf.
The pain began then, the kind of headache imagined by pharmaceutical manufacturers, the kind they hope their meager milligrams of medication will suppress successfully but will never come close to touching. She grabbed her head to stave off the searing pain. It felt the same as the pain in her eyes had felt, as if her head was being peeled apart in segments like an orange. Sam squinted at the mirror. Her eyes were now completely black, not a trace of the white sclera visible.
Her head... Sam moaned as a fresh wave of intense pain swept over her. She reached for the mirror and pulled it, opening the medicine cabinet. She fumbled through the contents of the cabinet, her fingertips knocking bottles into the sink below.
She leaned over the sink, her hands clutching the porcelain surface so tightly that her knuckles turned white as another wave of agony engulfed her head. Waves of searing pain shot down her spine and dispersed throughout her neck, shoulders and back. It was like being electrocuted; at least, this was probably what it felt like to be electrocuted.
Sam gasped for breath, unable to speak, to call out for help. Though what help Lenny could give... Good God, Lenny! He was sitting out in the living room, completely unaware. He needed to get out of here... If she changed...
Grampy? God, Grampy, what do I do? Sam blindly fumbled in the sink, why she did not know. Bottles and boxes of every shape and size slipped through her fingers. She felt the sharpness of broken glass and the feel of something wet on her fingertips. Suddenly, she closed her fingers around the neck of a bottle. It wasn’t a big bottle and She could feel the softness of the rubber on the cap. She took a ragged breath and leaned against the wall, brought the bottle up close to her face and squinted hard at the worn label.
Ivan’s headache medicine. Every year they would go on a camping trip to Upstate New York and while they were there, her grandmother would collect various flowers and herbs and boil up a fresh batch of the thick syrup. Ivan used to take it on occasion; Sam could remember watching him draw it up in the dropper and put a few drops into his evening coffee.
And then the light went on. Headache medicine... for Ivan! Sam twisted the cap off the bottle as the waves of pain continued. It seemed as if the cap would never come off the small bottle. Please let there be something in it... She squeezed the dropper, drawing up enough liquid to fill half of the tube. Sam drew a ragged breath then quickly squirted the contents of the dropper into her mouth. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
She didn’t have to wait long. The pain that had been battering her head and body for what seemed like forever suddenly stopped. Completely stopped. Sam sighed with relief. Whatever this was, it was the best pain reliever EVER!
She was just beginning to imagine what the label should look like if marketed when the pain returned, only this time more intense, more focused in the head. Sam tried to scream as she gripped her head, but only a strained growl came out. She staggered and fell to the floor... And into blackness.
SAM’S CHEEK FELT COLD. Her eyes slowly opened; she looked around the bathroom. She slowly moved her right arm, then her left, lifting them up and holding her hands out in front of her. There was some sort of red stain on them... Maybe blood... But no unusual hair growth, no long sharp nails. She was still... Sam. Ivan’s headache syrup worked!
Sam struggled to her feet and looked in the mirror. Blue eyes looked back at her... Her own eyes, with all black bits in their proper places. She searched for the source of the red stain on her hands. She wasn’t injured
anywhere, so it wasn’t blood. Then the old broken bottle caught her eye... Ah, okay, Grammy’s “pretties” ... She chuckled at the thought of the name her grandmother had given to the brightly-hued antiseptic so often used during Sam’s childhood. She couldn’t remember a summer when she didn’t have some of the red stains on her knees or elbows.
A knock on the door startled her out of her memories. “Sam? Sam, you okay?” Lenny... Sam quickly grabbed the bottle of headache medicine and flung open the door.
Lenny jumped back as the door swung open and Sam stepped out. She looked like she’d been fighting with herself, her hands spattered with blood or something, her hair disheveled. Her eyes were unusually bright... and she was smiling. “Sam? Are you all right?”
Sam nodded, “Peachy.” She turned and disappeared into what Lenny assumed was her bedroom. He could hear drawers opening and closing, and minutes later she emerged. She’d exchanged the tee shirt she’d been wearing for a black turtleneck, and her hair brushed up into the smooth ponytail she frequently wore.
“Let’s go.” Sam headed for the front door, grabbing her jacket from its peg in the hall and opening the door quickly.
Lenny hurried to catch up as she headed toward the elevator. “Where are we going?”
Sam pushed the button repeatedly. “There’s someone I have to see. There may still be a chance to stop this and he may know how.” Frustrated by the elevator, she turned to the emergency stairwell door, pushing it open and hurriedly beginning to descend the stairs. She could sense that Lenny was mere steps behind her.
“Stop what?”
“Stop me from turning into a monster.”
Lenny slowed to a stop in the middle of a flight of stairs. “What are you talking about?”
Sam turned back, retracing the few steps between herself and Lenny. “I will try to explain on the way, okay? C’mon!” She skipped down the stairs and started in on the next flight. Lenny sighed, a frown creasing his brow, and followed her double-time.
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 14
