Blood Hunt Page 9

  A bed. He would never be able to sleep on a bed. “I’d rather sleep out on the patio.”

  “Patio!” she said in horror. “It’s chilly out there.”

  “Please. I can’t breathe in here.”

  His desperation reached her. While her forehead furrowed, she made no further protests...even when he passed the lounge chair to lie down on the grass well in the shade of the tree. His last conscious sensation was of Lien covering him with something.

  4

  He slept, but not in oblivion. Garreth dreamed...frantic, terrifying dreams...of the alley and Lane tearing out his throat, of being Gerald Mossman, split open and shelled out on an autopsy table, of chasing joggers through Golden Gale Park and tearing out their throats to gulp down the salty fire of their blood.

  He fled from the murders, running back through the park to the Conservatory. Inside, though, it had become a library. Titles of the books glared from the spines in pulsating red lettering: Dracula, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Vampire, Foundation and Vampire, The Vampire Strikes Back.

  Spinning away from the stacks in revulsion, he found himself among a group of children sketching bats and wolves under Lien’s direction. He started to back away but Lien caught his arm and, pushing him down in a chair, cradled his head against her chest.

  “Hush, Garreth, hush.” She rocked slightly, stroking his hair as he remembered her doing once after Marti died. “The superior man doesn’t panic. Let’s try studying this thing calmly. Look.” She released him and began two lists on her sketch pad. “It’s obvious that everything legends say about vampires isn’t true. Yes, you rest best on earth, you smell and crave blood, and something is happening to your teeth. On the other hand, while daylight is miserably uncomfortable it doesn’t kill you. There’s no nonsense with mirrors, either. The subject needs more research, but perhaps most of the legend is false. Maybe you don’t have to stop being the person you are, the person Harry and I love. Once your basic needs of rest and food are met, why can’t you go on living your life as you always have? Lane passed as human.”

  True, but... “She’s still a monster.”

  “Because she’s chosen to be. She didn’t have to kill those men. I don’t believe anyone or anything is inherently evil.”

  That sounded like Lien, always seeing the good.

  “You can chose what you want to be. Do you understand, Garreth?” Her voice rose, became more insistent. “Garreth?”

  That was a real voice, not a dream. He clawed his way to consciousness and opened his eyes. The sun hung low in the west. Lien knelt at his side with an expression of relief.

  “You’re the soundest sleeper I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I don’t think you moved all day. I couldn’t even see you breathe. I kept coming out to make sure you were still alive.” She paused. “Did you know it’s almost impossible to feel your pulse? Your skin is cold, too. Garreth, please, please, let me take you back to the hospital. They’re turning the city upside down looking for you.”

  He flinched at the reproach in her voice and sat up stiffly, groping for the dream. Had the dream Lien been right? Could he go on being the same person? “Thanks for not giving me away.”

  “You needed the rest.” She stood. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

  It did not seem so to him.

  “What do you think you can stomach For supper?”

  His throat burned. A cramp contracted his stomach. He let it pass before answering. “Maybe just tea.”

  She turned around sharply. “This is ridiculous. You have to eat! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  Maybe that would be best. Dreams were often just dreams. He did not want to think about eating. “Please, Lien.”

  She fixed the tea and stood with arms folded, watching him sip it. “At least show up at the Hall to let them know you’re alive so they can go back to hunting people who deserve it.”

  He hated lying to her. He did it anyway. “All right. I’ll turn myself in to Harry.”

  She hissed in exasperation. “Don’t be childish. It isn’t like that and you know it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The tea curbed none of his thirst, but at least its warmth soothed his throat and the cramps. He stood and put on his coat.

  Lien followed him to the door. “Please take care of yourself.”

  He hugged her. “I will. Thanks for everything. You’re a super lady.”

  Picking up the car from around the corner, he drove to the public library in the Civic Center.

  The subject needed research, his dream Lien had said. Racing to beat closing time, he hurriedly picked out books about the vampire legend, and after skimming them, copied pages to study more closely over multiple cups of tea in a near-by cafe.

  That went fine as long as he considered the information just research, as long as he did not think of it applying to him personally. Let that awareness seep in, though, and all the horror, the dread, returned in an icy flood. His hands shook so much he could hold neither cup or papers. It all seemed so preposterous, a nightmare. If only he would wake up. Or consider it just a delusion born of the trauma of Lane’s attack.

  He humored the delusion and resumed reading, still shaking.

  There appeared to be two kinds of vampires, those like Dracula who walked around talking and reasoning, and the zombies like Miss Lucy, mindless, dripping dirt and graveclothes, driven only by their lust for blood. Lucy had been bitten by Dracula, but he, like Mina Harker, had swallowed some of his attacker’s blood in turn. Did that make the difference? Why?

  A question none of the reading helped answer was why Lane let him live. She had broken Adair’s and Mossman’s necks to destroy their nervous system and prevent them from rising again. Why had she not done the same for him?

  “Inspector Mikaelian?”

  He started. A uniformed officer smiled down at him. “We spotted your car out front. Everyone’s looking for you.”

  No! Protest screamed in him. Not yet! He still had so much to figure out.

  He contemplated excusing himself for the restroom and escaping out the back. Then rejected the idea. If he could really pass as normal — as human — it had to start with acting normal. Not wacko...not guilty. And this officer looked experienced, likely to accompany him to the restroom. No way did he intend to assault a fellow officer, too.

  Casually, Garreth folded the copied pages and slipped them into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “Have you called it in?”

  “Yes. Lieutenant Serruto is on his way.”

  Serruto! Garreth’s stomach lurched. Could he face his boss and carry off normal? He forced a smile. “Let’s go.”

  They waited in the parking lot along with the second officer from their patrol car. Serruto arrived...with Harry driving. The knot in Garreth’s stomach jerked tight in dismay. He had to face Harry, too?

  The lieutenant did not bother getting out of the car, just rolled down the window. “Give one of the uniforms your car keys, Mikaelian. Drive the car to the Hall,” he told the uniformed officers, “and have the keys taken up to my office in Homicide. Get in, Mikaelian.” Neutral as the tone was, Garreth heard steel under it.

  He climbed in the back seat. And almost choked. Their blood scent flooded the car. He opened the window the full third it rolled down and sat hard up against the door.

  “Thanks,” Serruto told the officer, then as the car left the parking lot, he turned around on the seat to face Garreth. “Hunting you monopolized a lot of manpower, Mikaelian. We thought we’d find you collapsed somewhere, really dead this time.”

  Garreth slunk down in the seat, flushing guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

  Serruto shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone practically dead three days ago manages to overpower a husky orderly but I’m more interested in why you did it. What’s going on here?”

  What could he say? What would a normal man say? “I — some kind of panic attack? Once they moved me out of ICU I couldn’t eat; I couldn�
�t sleep. I had to get out of there.”

  Serruto eyed him for several moments...then sighed. “Look...having your throat torn out by a psycho, waking up in the morgue...that’s a hell of an experience. Of course you’re screwed up. That’s why the hospital is where you need to be, so we can sort this out.”

  Oh, right...discover what Lane turned him into! No. “But I feel better since I left.” Inwardly he winced, saying it. God, how lame that sounded.

  To Serruto, too. His eyes narrowed.

  Harry said, “Come on, Garreth. Lien called me and said you were virtually comatose all day at our house. That doesn’t sound like better to me.”

  “You don’t have a choice here,” Serruto said.

  About which time Garreth realized they were pulling into General’s parking lot. Now he did feel a panic attack. Short of overpowering them, how did he avoid being forced inside?

  His racing mind spun back to Lane forcing him into the alley. Could he hypnotize with a look, too? Two men? Maybe not that...but Serruto made the decisions. Could he handle this in a way that compelled Serruto and convinced Harry?

  He looked Serruto hard in the eyes, trying to remember how Lane stared into him. “I do feel better. If a doctor checks me over and okays me, let...me...take...my...sick...leave...at...home.”

  Serruto’s eyes and expression fixed. His voice flattened. “All right.”

  Garreth grinned to himself. It worked!

  Harry started. “What! Sir...”

  Okay...he needed more for Harry. If he shifted from Serruto, though, he might lose control over the lieutenant. He continued focusing on Serruto. “What if I stay at your place, Harry?” He needed the freedom of solitude but...deal with that later. “Lieutenant, if the doctor okays me, can I stay with Harry?”

  “All right.”

  5

  Of course the doctor checking his heart, blood pressure, and reflexes okayed him...“persuaded” into recording normal values, as he was persuaded into performing the examination without Harry and Serruto present.

  Freed from control, Serruto looked baffled by how he agreed to the arrangement Garreth suggested. Garreth worried about him reneging, but the...suggestion held. To a point. Frowning when the doctor pronounced Garreth “miraculously fit,” he said, “I don’t believe it. This coming week you’re going to have a real medical exam...along with the psych evaluation the department wants.”

  “Dr. Leonard?” Garreth protested. “I don’t — ”

  “Do you want your badge back?” Serruto snapped.

  “Yes!” Of course he did.

  “After this hospital stunt on top of what you’ve been through, the department’s never going to okay you for duty without the shrink’s okay. Understand?”

  Something else to deal. Later. For now, no longer threatened with hospital confinement, he nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”

  “After we let you pick up clothes and stuff at your place, go home with Takananda and rest.”

  So he did...more or less. Not in the guest room where he stayed until Harry and Lien went to bed, but out under their tree...reminded of the times he camped as a Boy Scout. Except now he luxuriated in the cool comfort of the ground instead of wanting an air mattress between him and it. While he rested, he considered solutions for the sleeping situation. A coffin was ridiculous, but he did need some kind of container for a layer of earth. Any kind of earth, it appeared, not that native soil nonsense.

  He sat up, thinking again of the Boy Scouts. An air mattress might work. As soon as possible, he would leave here and try it out.

  In the morning he played with the eggs and toast Lien fixed for him, managing to look like he ate without actually doing so. He also palmed the vitamins she forced on him and drank only tea.

  “Since Harry is on duty today,” she said, “will you come to church with me?”

  His stomach knotted. Church! Could he go? He shuddered at the possibility of making Lien witness him being struck down...maybe going up in flame? Then again, nothing happened at the foot of the Mount Davidson cross, and he needed to explore the limits of his existence. “Okay, sure.”

  Reaching Our Lady of Grace, however, crushed by daylight and taut with apprehension, he followed Lien in gingerly, feeling he violated the place. If he were wrong about churches...

  But nothing punitive happened as they entered the sanctuary. Still, he forced himself not to cringe when Lien touched him with Holy Water...and sucked in a breath of relief when that brought no Divine retribution, either. Sitting in a pew with her, he even felt a kind of peace. Even with blood scents washing around him from all sides. While St. Paul’s in Davis was Episcopalian, Our Lady had the same light coming through the stained-glass windows, the same rhythm of standing, sitting, kneeling. It took him back to sitting sandwiched with Shane between his mother and Grandma Doyle, where they could be thumped on the head with a grandmotherly knuckle if they wiggled too much.

  If Our Lady’s tall priest had looked more like Father Michaels — a round, jovial man who smelled pleasantly of pipe tobacco and endlessly relit that pipe at the coffee period following Morning Prayer — Garreth thought he might have been tempted to confess his vampirism and ask for absolution. Or was that cure for his condition myth?

  Leaving afterward, Lien said, “Shall we eat lunch out somewhere?”

  His teeth rubbed against the inside of his upper lip, so loose they felt ready to fall out. No doubt they soon would, and be replaced by new, sharp canines. Need to be alone overwhelmed him.

  “Another time, please? I think I’d like to go home and sleep.” If she argued, he was ready to persuade her...as much of a jerk as it made him feel to contemplate doing that to her, of all people.

  After for one concerned glance across the top of the car, not long enough to trap her gaze, she slid in under the wheel without looking at him. “Home to our place, I hope you meant. You know the agreement with your lieutenant.”

  Nor did she look directly at him at the house. Did some mystic Chinese sense warn her of the danger? Might she even suspect the kind of change in him? Was that why she touched him with the Holy Water? The questions left him in turmoil.

  More pressing, though, was the problem of escaping his imprisonment without anyone’s knowledge. At least temporarily. Only one way he knew. It was not going to hurt her, he argued, and he really had get out.

  He followed her into the kitchen. “Lien.”

  She turned to look at him. Finally.

  He trapped her gaze. “I’m going upstairs to lie down. If Harry calls or comes home, tell him you’ve checked on me and I’m sleeping. You won’t notice me leaving or coming back.” He paused. “Where am I?”

  “You’re sleeping.”

  Okay...now what. Much as he wanted transportation, he decided against taking her car...not and risk having it gone if Harry came home. He called a cab, arranging to meet it at the corner. Rather than stand conspicuously in the open, he waited outside the front door, gritting his teeth against daylight’s weight and fear of being caught.

  When the cab finally appeared an eternity later, he had it take him to a home and garden store long enough to buy an air mattress in their pool supply section, some vinyl tape, and a bag of potting soil. Which seemed as effective as the earth under the Takananda’s tree since touching the bag sucked away a fraction of daylight’s misery and brought an urge to stretch out right there on the pile of bags.

  Back at the house he looked for Harry’s car before having the cab drop him off. No sign of it. He seemed to be in the clear. Inside, Lien sat in the family room reading, never looking up as he peered around the door before slipping into the kitchen to borrow scissors and paper towels.

  Upstairs, he cut a slit in the end of each tub in the air mattress — not trusting the potting soil to pass from tube to tube as air did during inflation — and using a paper towel as a funnel, trickled in the potting soil until each tube had a layer. After pressing out any air that leaked in with the potting soil, he taped the c
uts closed.

  Time to see if this worked.

  Garreth spread his makeshift pallet on the bed and lay down. Here and there the soil lumped. His body ignored them. Nerves untwisted. Tension and pain drained away, bringing relief so profound he was falling asleep almost before he realized it. At the edge, he forced himself back...struggled upright and slid the pallet under the bed’s bottom sheet to hide it.

  Last, before letting go, he worried the loose teeth free. Pushing his tongue into the spaces left, he felt sharp points coming through and shivered. The teeth signaled a point of no return. Now he could no longer deny the thing he had become. The chill of that thought followed him into sleep.

  6

  Hunger woke him, violent, racking cramps doubling him up in bed. His throat burned with a thirst that refused denial. Icy dread replaced the mere chill he felt falling asleep. The time had come to face the problem he had refused to think about before: food.

  Tonight he had to...eat.

  Garreth staggered down the hall to the bathroom and doubled over the washbowl gulping down water. Neither hot nor cold water slaked the thirst, just eased the cramps enough to let him stand upright.

  In the mirror his face loomed pale, unshaven, and gaunt. No longer square, he noticed. Cheekbones showed where none had before. He grimaced. After the times he tried to shed a few pounds...

  Thought of weight vanished as he stared at his reflected teeth. Drawing back his lips in the grimace revealed fully grown canines...narrower than his previous ones and grooved at the back, his exploring tongue found. As he opened his mouth for a closer look, they extended a half inch or better. As he relaxed, they retracted again. He thought of Marti and gave thanks she had at least been saved from seeing him like this!

  The length of his stubble astonished him. How long had he slept, he wondered as he turned on his razor.

  Shaving made him feel better...and look better, he decided. Almost human. Which thought made him eye the bandages on his neck. He unwound them. Beneath, only scars remained...silvery pale. Count the recuperative powers of the vampire as fact, then.