“But I don’t think he even wants him there,” Parker said fretfully, and then explained, “Like I said, I normally stop by Mr. Purdy’s on the way home and play chess with him. But then at the end of last week, I stopped and he answered the door but didn’t invite me in like usual. Instead, he looked real uncomfortable, and he said he had company. His cousin had shown up unexpectedly and it would be better if we put off our daily visits until after he left.” Parker paused briefly, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was okay with that. I mean, I understood. I usually skip our visits when I know Aunt Petty is coming too.”
Pet smiled and nodded encouragingly when Parker glanced her way. “Go on.”
“I did understand,” he repeated for emphasis. “But Mr. Purdy was acting all weird.”
“Weird how?” Santo asked in a rumble.
“Well, kind of twitchy,” Parker explained. “Like he was afraid of his cousin or something. I mean . . . he was saying one thing, but his eyes were kind of rolling around and shifting from side to side, like they were trying to escape his head. It was really weird.”
Pet noticed the exchange of glances between Santo and his aunt, and strained to hear what Marguerite said when she leaned closer to the man and murmured. All she caught was something about new turns not recalling or not yet able to control the expression, the eyes, or both while controlling thoughts. She was puzzling over that when Parker started speaking again, distracting her.
“Anyway, I was kind of freaked out and worried, so I kept an eye on Mr. Purdy’s house and noticed some odd stuff happening.”
“Like what?” Santo asked.
“Well, I saw his cousin come and go several times and he was a lot younger than I expected. I mean he wasn’t a kid. He was old like you guys, but Mr. Purdy is ancient, he’s like seventy or something, so for him to have a cousin so much younger seemed unlikely.”
Pet grimaced at the “old like you guys” bit. Both Santo and his aunt looked to be in their mid to late twenties. Five to ten years younger than her own thirty-six years. Which she supposed meant her nephew saw her as ancient too. She said gently, “That’s unusual but not impossible, Parker. My best friend in high school was a girl whose aunt was the same age as us. She even had some of the same classes as we did. And look at Marguerite and her nephews, they all look about the same age.”
Parker just shrugged that away and continued, “And I haven’t seen Mr. Purdy since the day he answered the door. His cousin comes and goes a lot, and he brings women with him that I never see leave, but Mr. Purdy hasn’t come out again at all, not even to water his garden and he’s usually always watering his garden in the summer.” Shaking his head, he added with bewilderment, “His plants are dying and he’s just letting them.”
Pet was a bit concerned by that comment. Now that Parker mentioned it, that did seem rather odd. Her sister’s neighbor had always had a beautiful garden. It was one of the things she’d noticed during her sporadic visits. The garden next door was lush, beautiful, and well-tended. She’d even seen the older gentleman Parker was talking about working in his garden several times as she arrived and left. Not this time, though. When she’d arrived earlier that day, she’d noticed that the usually gorgeous garden was beginning to droop and look a little abandoned.
“And the dogs and the cats in the neighborhood don’t like Mr. Purdy’s cousin,” Parker continued earnestly. “They go crazy when they see him. Heck, they don’t even have to see him. Mrs. Matherson’s little schnauzer is usually the sweetest little guy, but he goes Cujo every time she walks him past the house. He just suddenly starts growling and barking and pulling on his chain as he lunges, trying to drag her away. He does it whether there’s anyone outside or not, but he only started doing it since Mr. Purdy’s cousin showed up.”
“There are just some people that animals don’t like,” Pet said reassuringly, not wanting to add to his fears. But she was thinking that animals usually had good instincts when it came to people and if the pets in the neighborhood didn’t like Mr. Purdy’s cousin, he wasn’t someone she would seek out.
“Yeah, but then yesterday after school, Oksana forgot to close the front door after getting the mail and Mrs. Wiggles rushed in. I told you about that,” he reminded Pet. “About how Oksana started shrieking ‘home invasion’ until I caught Mrs. Wiggles and took her back outside. I was going to take her back to Mr. Purdy, but . . .” He looked away and seemed to shrink a bit, his shoulders hunching, and Pet reached out to squeeze his shoulder. He’d obviously been too afraid to knock on the door and was ashamed to admit it.
“You didn’t want to bother Mr. Purdy while he had company,” she suggested, giving him a way to save face.
Parker nodded and then straightened a little and cleared his throat. “So, rather than bother Mr. Purdy, I decided to put Mrs. Wiggles in the backyard so she could scratch at the screen to be let in. It’s what she always does when she’s finished with her wandering and ready to go back inside for the night,” he explained. “She scratches the screen and Mr. Purdy opens it for her. But she didn’t want to go anywhere near the door. I carried her over and set her down and she followed me back to the gate. I did that three times and then I finally scratched at the screen for her, set her down, and hurried back to the gate. I glanced back when I heard the door open and it was Mr. Purdy’s cousin. He saw Mrs. Wiggles and . . .” Parker shook his head with bewilderment. “He kind of growled low in his throat, and then he opened his mouth and these fangs slid out and he actually hissed at her like he was a cat too.”
Pet stiffened at this news, but Parker didn’t notice and continued, “Mrs. Wiggles arched her back and hissed back, then rushed over and launched herself into my arms.” Parker paused, his expression tightening with remembered fear. “That’s when he noticed me and said, ‘Bring that damned cat around here again, boy, and I’ll break its neck!’ and then he slammed the door.”
Parker paused and let his breath out on a shudder of remembered fear. “He was real mean about it, Aunt Pet. Real mean, and he had an accent. British, I think. But not,” he added with confusion. “It’s like he started out British and lived somewhere else that kind of changed the accent a bit if you know what I mean?”
“Sì,” Santo said when Pet didn’t respond. She couldn’t; Parker’s comment about the fangs had sent fear slithering down her back. She was suddenly desperate to get him away from the entire neighborhood. Forcing herself to remain calm, she blocked those thoughts and simply listened, but her eyes were sliding around the room, checking out exits and anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Anyway,” Parker continued, “I was pretty upset. I mean, Mr. Purdy loves Mrs. Wiggles, but this cousin won’t let her in, and that didn’t seem right, so I brought her home. Dad wasn’t here yet, and Mom was upstairs getting ready for work—she’s been working nights in the ER the last week because one of the emergency surgeons was off sick,” he explained, and when everyone nodded, continued, “Anyway, I knew Dad wouldn’t be happy if he found Mrs. Wiggles in the house, but I couldn’t believe Mr. Purdy would be happy with all this, so . . .”
“So?” she prompted, eyeing him with concern.
“I called 911,” he admitted on a sigh. “I thought maybe if the police went there, they could . . .” He shook his head helplessly, and then his shoulders drooped in defeat. “But they thought it was a crank call.” Parker scowled unhappily and then muttered, “I never should have mentioned Renfield syndrome. Maybe if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have thought I was pulling a prank, and would have checked on Mr. Purdy.”
“I don’t understand,” Pet said slowly. “Why would they think you were pulling a prank? What is Renfield syndrome?”
“Oh.” He shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s just . . . it’s a psychiatric disorder where the patient believes—” He paused abruptly and admitted, “Actually, it’s never been officially recognized and published in the DSM or anything, so I’m not sure if it would be considered a true illness. But a psychologist named Richard Noll came up with the term and published it in 1992 as—”
“Parker,” Pet interrupted patiently, knowing he’d explain absolutely everything he knew about the diagnosis if she let him. The damned kid was entirely too intelligent for his own good. When he stopped and peered at her in question, she said, “Just tell me what Renfield syndrome is, please.”
Parker took a deep breath and then rushed out, “It’s when an individual believes himself to be a vampire.”
Pet stiffened but avoided looking at Marguerite and Santo and forced herself to remain calm as she asked, “You think Mr. Purdy’s cousin thinks he’s a vampire?”
“Yes.”
Pet nodded, but her mind was racing. Her nephew was a fricking little genius, intelligent beyond his years. His parents had figured that out quickly and pulled him out of public school right after kindergarten to put him in a school for gifted children where they shaped the education to the child. There, Parker had already sped through the standard grade school curriculum, and at the age of eight was halfway through the high school curriculum as well. It was something Pet didn’t agree with. The kid was book smart, sure, but he had no friends and couldn’t possibly grow up properly socialized this way.
Now she was wishing he wasn’t so bright for other reasons. To her mind, his brilliant little brain was leading him to dance a little too close to the fire for comfort.
“And that’s okay,” Parker said now. “I mean, I don’t care if he wants to run around wearing fake fangs and scaring the dogs and cats in the neighborhood, but I’m worried about Mr. Purdy. What if the cousin decides to bite him or something?”