Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist)

by Hilburn, Lynda

  Alan followed me over to the couch and stood in front of me, hands on hips, legs apart, proudly posed like a nude un-Caped Crusader, totally oblivious to what he’d centered in my line of sight. He grinned. “Damn! And then you drank their blood. Holy hell!”

  As enticing as his equipment was, I just wasn’t in a frisky mood. “Alan?”

  “Yeah?” He continued shaking his head, now staring out through the window.

  “Would you mind putting your pants on?”

  “What?”

  I pointed to his crotch and he looked down, then he burst into laughter. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t notice.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  His grin changed from friendly to wicked. “But since we’re all up and in a hotel room, why don’t we—?” He leaned down and kissed me.

  As much as I wished I could be distracted from the crazy events of the night before, even Alan’s charms couldn’t divert me from the confusion or my fears about my upcoming presentation. I broke the kiss. “Can I have a rain check? I’m not really in the mood right now.”

  He stepped back and examined my face. “Sure. I’m sorry—I guess that was pretty insensitive of me. I wasn’t thinking about how everything must have affected you.” He moved to the other side of the bed where he’d kicked his discarded shorts and pants and stepped into them. Then he returned to the couch, sat next to me, and patted my hand. “So, do you feel any different after drinking that supercharged blood?”

  “A little. I guess my engine is revving at a slightly higher RPM, and my hangover is gone. He said I might experience more supernatural crap, and my abilities could be heightened.”

  “Just what you wanted, eh?”

  I slumped into the couch cushions. “Yeah.”

  “And Dracul is the reason Lucifer is off his rocker?”

  “Uh-huh. Dracul is totally demented, and the acorn hasn’t fallen far from the tree. He talked about wanting vampires to be the top predators again and became very upset about it. His energy grew fangs. I definitely had the psychic sense that he’s very screwed up. But I do appreciate knowing that Lucifer is fixated on me because I remind him of his wife—or Brother Luther’s wife. That explains a lot. The answer is much more psychological than metaphysical. More … normal.”

  “Have you considered how insane you’d’ve gone if you kept hanging out with powerful vampires without protecting your brain? Maybe you’d wind up a female Renfield. Or a Lucifer.”

  “Thanks for mentioning that horrifying possibility. I hadn’t gotten quite that far in my speculations. What a pal.”

  We sat without speaking for a few minutes, then he stood. “I guess I’ll go back to my room and shower. I have to meet with the NYPD and call San Francisco. What are you going to do all day until your lecture?”

  “There are lots of workshops I want to attend and I’m meeting my former thesis advisor for coffee. Are you coming to the presentation?” It would be good to have a friendly face in the audience.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be the one in the front row screaming, ‘Tell us the truth! Tell us the truth!’” He snickered.

  “Thanks. Perfect.”

  He bent and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be great.”

  “Hey! Did you open the door to room service naked?”

  “Nope.” He gave a wide smile. “I grabbed a pillow to cover the family jewels and signed your name to the bill.” He hurried across the room. “See you later.”

  The door closed, and I was finally alone with my fearful thoughts.

  After attending several lectures and catching up with my thesis advisor, it was nearly time for my own presentation. I had about fifteen minutes until I had to begin, and I wanted to settle in, and do some breathing exercises, before standing in front of all my peers. I hoped at least a few people would attend.

  Since everyone had been great so far, I was pretty sure nobody would heckle me about my topic or say anything awful, but I had to prepare myself for all contingencies.

  Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that as long as I remained professional, everything would be fine.

  My hands coated with nervous sweat, I pulled out the conference workshop schedule to determine the location of my talk and made my way down the main hallway, searching for Room A-1. When I arrived I stared at the plaque by the door that read “Maximum Occupancy 500.” I peeked inside and was surprised to see it was an auditorium instead of one of the regular conference workshop rooms and that half the seats were already full.

  Swell. They printed the wrong room in the program. Now somebody was going to have to stand out here and direct the few participants who were looking for my talk to another location. Obviously some big hotel event was taking place here. Maybe a performance. I’d been attending lectures for two days, and none of the previous gatherings had been held in this room.

  I backed away from the door, intending to head to the conference information desk to ask about the real site for my presentation, when a voice called out from behind me, “Doctor Knight! Kismet! There you are. I was hoping we’d have a few minutes before your lecture. Everyone is so excited to hear about your fascinating research,” said Dr. Marian Teller, conference chairwoman, with a friendly smile.

  “Hello, Doctor Teller. I’m glad to see you. I’m afraid I’ve come to the wrong room. Can you tell me where I’m supposed to be? There seems to be an error in the program.”

  Several small groups of people walked past us into the auditorium.

  “Error?” She sidled next to me, studied the program I was holding, and shook her head. “I don’t see any errors.” She shifted her eyes to mine. “Why do you think you’ve come to the wrong room?”

  I turned, opened the door, and pointed inside. “Obviously there’s a large event going on in here. I’m sure I’m supposed to be in a smaller workshop room.”

  Her lips curved, and she patted my arm. “Why, no, my dear—this is definitely your room. We received so many calls and e-mails about your talk that we made sure there would be enough seats for everyone. Vampires are such a hot topic these days. Your FBI friend said you’d be thrilled to discover the level of interest in your work.”

  “He did, did he?”

  Shit! I’m going to be on a stage in front of hundreds of psychologists, talking about vampire wannabes. Shoot me now.

  “Yes, he seems very supportive,” she said. “We saved him a seat in the front row. Come on.” She reached around me and opened the door. “Let’s go inside, and you can get organized.”

  Unsteady on my feet, I followed her down the gently sloping aisle, looking more closely at the gorgeous room. It was clearly a theater, complete with dim lighting, reclining seats, and a full stage with a red-curtained backdrop that probably concealed the movie screen.

  She guided me all the way up the stage stairs to the podium and indicated a small wooden table that had been placed next to it. “Feel free to spread your materials out here so they’re within easy reach, and you can use either the handheld microphone or the clip-on—they’re both ready to go. Let’s do a quick sound check.” She lifted the small microphone, attached it to the lapel of my jacket, and stood waiting. “Go ahead and give it a test.”

  “Testing, testing, test—” I stopped speaking as sharp, high-pitched feedback screeched through the speakers, like an auditory ice pick to the eardrums. The audience, who now filled almost all the seats, moaned their displeasure.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to smile between shallow breaths.

  Dr. Teller leaned in and spoke into my microphone. “Timothy? Are you back there in the sound booth? Can you fix Doctor Knight’s levels, please?”

  A male voice floated over the speakers. “Keep talking, Doctor Knight. We’ll get you squared away.”

  “Um, okay, testing, testing.” No feedback this time. The audience applauded.

  Dr. Teller moved off to the side and stood waiting with her hands clasped in front of her. “I’ll introduce you when you’re read
y.”

  I felt the sweat trickling down my sides and beading on my forehead. Not only was the room hot due to the stage lights, but my newly discovered stage fright threatened to render me unconscious from lack of breath if I couldn’t calm myself soon. I focused on arranging my papers on the podium and adjusting the reading lamp, then I poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. How absurd was it that I could handle meeting powerful vampires and drinking blood, but I was undone by standing in front of a large crowd?

  “Kismet!” a familiar voice said from the area below the stage. “It’s me—Michael. Can we get together for a drink after? I haven’t seen you all day.”

  It was difficult to see the shadowy area below me but I aimed my eyes in the general direction of the voice. I covered the microphone with my hand. “Michael? Yeah, sure, that sounds good. Alan will probably be with me.”

  “Alan? Oh, well. Okay. I’ll see you later. Break a leg!”

  I laughed uneasily. With my luck, that wouldn’t just be a superstitious saying.

  My heart was pounding against my ribs. Since I’d never done it before, I had no idea I’d be so afraid of speaking to such a large crowd. All my previous talks had taken place in small rooms. It was a good thing I hadn’t known about the scope of my phobia in advance because I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to convince myself to show up. Now I wished I’d given my presentation a little more pizzazz, added a little more entertainment value, maybe opted for a multimedia approach rather than the dry academic treatise I’d planned.

  I kept the glass of water nearby. My lips were so dry they kept hermetically sealing themselves.

  “Kismet!”

  “Alan?” I covered the microphone and squinted into the shadows in front of the stage again.

  “Yeah, I’m here. You’ll do great. We’ll hook up afterward. Looks like it’s standing room only.”

  Oh, crap! Really? I wondered if I had time to sit down and put my head between my knees. Wait! The hum! Maybe the benefits of altering my brain waves could help me, whether vampires were around or not. I lowered my head so the audience would think I was reading then closed my eyes for a couple of seconds. I heard the familiar interior sound and imagined replicating it. My heartbeat slowed.

  As I opened my eyes, Dr. Teller moved next to me, lifted the handheld microphone from the podium, and began her introduction.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” She walked to the edge of the stage, shielding her eyes with her hand as she scanned the audience. “I can’t really see with all these lights up here, but it looks like all the seats are full. Please could those of you standing at the back keep the aisle open for safety reasons?” She stepped next to me. “It is my great privilege to introduce someone who has become a bit of a celebrity over the last few months. I’m sure some of you are aware of her interesting research and the chain of events that caused her to become involved in a murder investigation. She has graciously agreed to begin her presentation with a little of that history to bring us all up to date.”

  I did? When did I do that?

  “Without further ado, please welcome Doctor Kismet Knight.” She replaced the microphone and moved to sit in a chair at the side of the stage.

  Thunderous applause exploded.

  Oh. My. God.

  My hands were shaking so badly I was sure the rattling of the papers could be heard through the speakers. I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Doctor Teller. I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting such a large gathering.” Soft laughter flowed through the audience, and I took a deep breath to relax my stomach muscles. “But I’m happy to be here. The APA Conference is always one of the highlights of my year.” I lifted the water glass and drank. Since I wasn’t starting the lecture where I’d expected to, I didn’t need to follow my notes yet and could ad lib.

  “As Doctor Teller said, I’ve had a series of unusual experiences over the past few months. I want to preface my talk by stating that the young client who was the instigator for my research gave me full permission to discuss her in general terms using a pseudonym.” My eyes had begun to adjust to the dim light, and I could see Alan in front and the people seated in the next few rows. I decided I could pretend they were the only attendees in the room, which helped to calm me. “Last October, Mary, a nineteen-year-old woman, came to my office and reported she would like to become a vampire.”

  Murmuring broke out in the audience. I waited until the room was quiet again.

  “She talked about the goth and vampire-wannabe group she was involved with in Denver. Of course, her desire to belong to such a group, to be special, gave evidence to the disconnection and challenges she faced in her everyday life. She’d lost interest in education and was highly influenced by her peers, especially one of the males. Her parents were very concerned. At that point, I hadn’t discovered whether or not my client was involved with alcohol or drugs, which turned out not to be the case. There was also an element of fantasy involved, as Mary insisted many of the people in the group were real vampires.”

  Gentle laughter rolled through the room again.

  Heavy footfalls pounded down the aisle, and a deep, raspy male voice yelled from somewhere near the middle of the auditorium, “You’re lying! Trying to pretend you don’t know about the vampires. Selling out humanity to meet your greedy professional goals. You’re a traitor!”

  “What?”

  A louder buzz rippled through the audience.

  The footsteps came closer, and a large male dressed in a black coat and a brown knit cap propelled himself up the stairs and onto the stage. He strode toward me holding his cell phone aloft until he got close, then he shoved it into to my face, obviously filming me.

  Brown Hat! The creepy stalking football lineman!

  Startled, I backed up. The audience erupted into chaos as Dr. Teller hurried over and gamely tried to tug the huge man away from me. “Alert hotel security!” she yelled. He shook her off and pushed her across the stage.

  Outraged voices filled the air.

  Alan leaped out of his seat and practically flew up the stairs.

  “I’m Jack Kent, of Rolling Rock Magazine,” Brown Hat yelled, his words clearly picked up and amplified by the microphone clipped to my jacket. “I’ve been following and watching you since all the vampire murder stuff started in Denver before Halloween, and I know you’re bullshitting. There really are vampires. I have proof.” He held up his phone.

  I walked toward the edge of the stage. Somebody had turned on the main lights. Alan raced over and tackled Brown Hat, who went to his knees but quickly recovered and regained his footing, then shoved Alan off the stage.

  “I’ve recorded everything,” the big man said, his face red either from excitement, exertion, or madness. “You not only know about the vampires, and their plan to take over the world, but you’re hanging out with one of the most powerful bloodsuckers. I saw you.” He thrust his phone toward my face and smacked it into my forehead with a loud whack!

  I saw stars, lost my balance, and fell on my ass.

  Alan’s swearing got louder as he struggled to return to the stage. He must have been hurt in the fall.

  Brown Hat leaned down to yell at me again. “I’ve got sources who told me about your part in the murders—”

  When he bent close enough for me to get good leverage, I planted my feet against his chest and pushed with all my strength. He flailed backward and went over the edge. He might have been hefty, but he had a weak center of gravity.

  Alan jumped off after him, and like hungry vampires he and other audience members piled on top of Brown Hat, restraining him.

  Holding my bleeding forehead, I climbed to my feet.

  The crowd rose, trying to see what was happening in front of the stage, while simultaneously hotel security and several camera-carrying members of the media streamed into the auditorium and hustled down the aisles, filming as they ran.

  “Ten people, eight of them psychologists, have been murdered in San Francisco, their bodies dr
ained of blood!” yelled one anonymous head in the media horde.

  “We got a tip that one of your members was just killed the same way here in the hotel!” a female voice bellowed. “Comments?”

  The audience gave a loud collective gasp and then surged for the exits in a panic.

  My knees went soft, and I grabbed the podium to keep my balance. The monster had not only taken the bait, he’d killed a conference participant, just to show that he could.

  I feel sick.

  The media scattered through the departing crowd, shouting questions.

  A tall thin woman with short, spiky red hair and lips that were too small for her sun-damaged face surged through her colleagues and bolted up the stairs to the stage, followed by a tiny Asian woman with a camera. “Doctor Knight.” Spiky Hair shoved a small microphone into my face. “Do you have a comment on the dead therapist here or the latest round of drained bodies found in San Francisco? What does it mean that they’re mostly psychologists? No blood was found at the scene, just like the cases in Denver. Are these more vampire murders?”

  I might have been temporarily stunned and senseless, but I remembered the drill from a couple of months ago. “No comment.”

  “Leave her alone,” said a firm, authoritative voice. I looked over to find Michael standing next to me, scowling. “You can interview someone else. Go on. Get off the stage.”

  Surprisingly, they did what he said. And then, of course, they detoured over to investigate the guy wearing the brown cap writhing on the floor while being held down by six men in business attire.

  Sirens wailed as police cars converged on the hotel.

  “Come on, Doctor Knight, let’s move over to the side until everyone clears out. I’d guess your lecture’s over for today.” Michael unclipped my microphone, which had, amazingly, withstood the chaos of the last few minutes, and took my arm. He guided me to the far end of the stage and Dr. Teller’s empty chair.