I visibly started in my chair, sucked in all the air in the room, and made a loud gasping sound.
Alan jumped in his chair. "What is it?"
"You just said the name of the psychopath who barged into my office last night and attacked me."
He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and began scribbling down everything I'd just said. "You were attacked last night? Tell me what happened."
I told the entire story of the evening before, right up to the point where Devereux entered the scene. Lying, I said that while I was passed out something must have scared Bryce and Raleigh off because when I woke up, they were gone. I didn't know why I wasn't willing to talk about Devereux, but I just wasn't. After all, he had rescued me.
Alan put the notebook and pen down on the table, stroked an invisible beard and frowned at me. "You're holding out. There's more that you aren't telling me. What is it?" He reached over, lifted my hair out of the way and turned my head, eyeballing the technicolor puncture marks on my neck. "I told you that counselling vampires was dangerous, No wonder you look like death this morning."
Prince Charming has nothing on this guy. "Gee, you sweet talker, you."
“Sorry. Tact isn't my strong suit. In fact, being so blunt and thoughtless is why I never seriously thought about being a psychotherapist. I'd be alienating clients left and right. Actually, you couldn't really look bad if you tried."
He grinned, reached over and picked up a renegade lock of my hair and tucked it behind my ear.
"'Thanks, I think." I'd not only been surprised by his touch, but also by the pleasant sensation that lingered where his finger had brushed my skin.
I've definitely got to get out more. Maybe Denver's started putting hormones in the water.
Suddenly feeling awkward, I reached into the cookie bag and pulled out a chunk of chocolate chip heaven and chewed loudly. Too loudly.
The smirk on Alan's face told me he'd picked up on my discomfort and was enjoying it. He slouched down in the chair and lifted an ankle to rest on his knee.
I pushed farther away from the table, crossed my legs and put way too much effort into removing the cookie crumbs embedded in my teeth.
Once again, my confidence with men is underwhelming
"So, you said you can show me? Prove to me that vampires exist?"
He grinned again, obviously enjoying my unease. "Yeah. I can. But right now I need to head back to police headquarters and see if there's anything new on the whereabouts of Emerald Addison. Are you free tonight?”
Smug bastard.
"That depends on why you're asking."
He got up and filled his coffee cup again, then paced around the kitchen. "I think it's time for you to find out what you've stepped in. I want to take you to that club, The Crypt, and give you a dose of an alternate reality. How about I pick you up at 10 p.m.?" He reached into the bag on the table and ate yet another cookie.
There's no justice in the world. The man doesn't have an ounce of extra fat on his body. And Ive made a thorough inspection.
"Why would you want to go to a place you believe is a vampire coven? Aren't you afraid you'll be attacked again? Why would you want me to go there with you?"
He stood gazing down at me, shaking his head. "Whoa! For someone who doesn't believe in any of this, you ask a lot of questions. I'll give you a taste of what Ian told me. Becoming a vampire doesn't automatically change someone into an evil monster. That's all fiction. The personality you had before you died is carried over into your new existence. And, most important for our purposes, if you were a psychotic human being, you'll be a psychotic vampire. Now, that's a totally different level of psychopathology."
He picked up his notebook from the table and tucked it back into his pocket. "So, from what I've learned so far, the vampires in the coven at The Crypt are, for lack of a better word, more mellow than the ones I'm searching for. They've been able to stay below the radar for so long because the leader keeps them on a tight leash and he doesn't tolerate any behavior that draws attention to their existence."
Sitting there while he loomed over me had started to make me nervous, so I stood, expecting him to step back out of my way, but he didn't. He remained there, staring at me with those lazy eyes, displaying the same overconfident smirk I'd seen at the hospital.
I raised my chin. "Excuse me."
He laughed.
Arrogant jerk.
I waited for him to give me room to move, and when he did, I strolled over to the counter, refilled my coffee mug and returned to sit at the table. I decided to ignore his bad manners.
I inspected the contents of my cup. "Have you met the vampires at that club?"
"Yeah, I've been over there several times. The head honcho is called Devereux and he's been very cooperative. I'll introduce you."
At the mention of his name, my body immediately revisited the kiss I'd shared with Devereux, and I felt the heat rise on my cheeks. I think it was safe to say that introductions had already been taken care of.
"But what about all the stuff about vampires drinking human blood? There isn't anything mellow about that," I said quickly, hoping to divert Alan's attention from what I was sure must have been my obvious reaction to his mention of Devereux. Either he didn't notice or he chose not to comment, because he nodded his head and answered the question.
He paced around the room again. "Ian told me that the blood thing is highly misunderstood. First, he said it isn't necessary to kill someone. Small amounts of blood from several donors works just fine. As I already said, some vampires—same as humans—have more evil tendencies than others. For those vampires, killing is the thrill.
For them, not killing would be like sex without the orgasm. And, speaking of orgasms, Ian said that drinking blood is better than sex. Which they can have, by the way."
I concentrated on keeping my face neutral. "It sounds as if Ian was very talkative."
Alan rested his hip against the counter. "Yeah. We spent hours together and I took great notes. Then I got more information from the coven at the club. It's been a very educational experience. And it's helped clarify who and what I'm searching for."
"Wait a minute. You said the vampire leader doesn't draw attention to his group. Why would he volunteer to talk to you? What's to stop you from turning them over to the local police?"
"Well, think about it. You've been visited by the craziest vampire in Denver, you have clients who sit in your office and tell you about vampires, and I've just spent the last hour trying to convince you that vampires exist, yet you still don't believe. What are the chances anyone would actually think the owner of The Crypt is the leader of a vampire coven? Devereux can tell me the truth because he knows that no one would buy it. And, when you see the club you'll understand how easy it is for them to just blend into the fantasy."
"And what about the FBI? Have you told them the truth? Do they know what you're up to?"
"Let's just say that they are under the impression I'm tracking humans who are pretending to be vampires. They might amuse themselves by laughing at my Mulderisms, but the FBI is pretty conservative, and if they knew what I was really doing, I'd be out on my tail. Okay. I'm really outta here now. I'll see you tonight at 10. And, oh yeah. Thanks for the Java."
And he was gone.
Chapter Seven
It took me a minute to realize I was sitting there—my mouth hanging open, catatonic—staring at the door that had just slammed.
Moving only my eyeballs, I surveyed the cookie crumbs, coffee drips, and crumpled napkins surrounding Alan's empty coffee cup. Then I shook my head and broke into semi-hysterical laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you grab your midsection because it's almost painful in its intensity. I let the crazed frivolity roll through me for a few seconds then started talking to myself, out loud, which, in some quarters, might be construed as a bad sign.
"I choose Fictional Creatures for $500, Alex!"
Propping my feet up on the chair that'd been recently vacated by the firm hindquarters of the cutest FBI agent I'd ever seen, I raised my coffee cup in a solitary toast to the memory of his tight jeans exiting my kitchen and loudly vocalized the theme song from the TV game show, "Jeopardy."
I put on my best Alex Trebek voice. "These bloodsucking, undead denizens of the night have taken over the rational minds of the populace of Denver."
I pretended to press an invisible button on the table. "What are vampires?"
Imitating Alex again. "Yes! Our new winner is Dr. Kismet Knight, formerly a respected psychologist, now a permanent resident of Denver Psychiatric Hospital."
I sang the theme song again, applauded myself and heaved a huge sigh.
"I definitely didn't get enough sleep."
I stared out the window, transfixed by the streaks of color floating across the morning sky, and drank my coffee. It was exactly one week ago that Midnight walked into my office for the first time, and since then, my life had turned into a cliche-ridden, afternoon-matinee, horror movie. And I was apparently playing a lead role.
I'd fantasized about having more excitement in my life and I must have inadvertently rubbed some genie's bottle, because I definitely got my wish. Unfortunately, it fell under the category of "be careful what you ask for because you might get it." If I was as smart as I thought I was, I'd cut my losses and run. I could refer Midnight and Ronald to other therapists and just go back to my regularly scheduled programming. No harm, no foul. Only a madwoman would purposely visit some dance club allegedly run by vampires— vampire wannabes, no doubt—or listen to fantastical stories told by delectable FBI agents.
But then I tried to imagine never seeing Devereux again and my solar plexus clenched up. Definitely not a desirable option.
I decided to have one more cup of coffee—there's nothing like being wired and sleepy at the same time—and jot down some notes for my book. Agent Stevens' fertile imagination had given me lots of ideas for chapters and I'd have to remember to ask him for permission to use the material he’d shared with me. He wasn’t a therapist, so there were no confidentiality issues. Maybe I’d even give him credit in the finished manuscript.
I brought my laptop computer over to the table, wrote for a while, then stretched the cramped muscles in my arms and checked out the time. Since it was still early, I figured I could either go back to bed for a couple of hours, or I could break my routine and do something different. Maybe go take a walk in that big olourfulood park I’d been meaning to explore. Jefferson Park was Denver’s equivalent of Central Park in New York City, and it had lots of trees, benches, and trails and was only a couple of blocks from my townhouse.
Yes, exercise. That was the ticket. Whether I liked it or not, it had recently come to my attention that being physically inactive had a downside, and I’d promised myself I’d rectify that situation and gain some muscle in other places besides my brain. Never again would I be held hostage by any kind of wannabe. Svengali hypnotist or not.
I changed into a comfortable, dark blue sweatsuit, put on my unworn, still-in-the-box walking shoes and headed out the door. Denver could be counted on to have over 300 sunny days per year, and this morning was a prime specimen. Actually, the fact that it was mostly sunny in Colorado was one of the few things I would have changed about a state that was, otherwise, paradise. Coming from the Midwest, I loved a good rainstorm and relished the introspective embrace of a gray, overcast day.
The first thing I noticed was how many walkers, joggers, runners, bicycle riders, skateboarders, and pet owners were out on the trails this early in the morning. And, even more interesting, how many of them were holding Starbucks cups in their hands as they did those activities. I olourful at the level of physical coordination it would take to run and drink coffee at the same time.
Kismet, is that you? I thought you lived around here someplace.”
The voice was familiar. I froze, turned around slowly and stared into the dark brown eyes of Dr. Thomas Radcliffe, my astrologer-humping ex-boyfriend.
Shit,
This wasn’t how I’d imagined our first meeting would be after all this time. In my vision, I was dressed to the nines— painted, polished, and gorgeous. He’d be overcome with remorse for his treatment of me and would beg me to take him back. But, instead, here I was looking like something the vampire dragged in, wearing an old, baggy sweat suit. I couldn’t even remember if I’d brushed my hair before I left.
There was absolutely no justice in the universe because he hadn’t changed a bit. He was still classically handsome, impeccably groomed, and he could’ve been a model who’d just stepped out of Healthy Living Magazine. And, to add insult to injury, he’d finally grown his thick black hair out, which I’d asked him to do repeatedly during the time we were together. There’s just something about a man with great hair.
“Tom. How nice to see you,” I lied, silently pleading with my face muscles to transform what I was sure was a grimace into an acceptable smile.
He came over and almost-hugged me. One of those not-quite-embraces—complete with an air kiss on either side of my face—so popular among the rich and famous. “You look just as I remember you.” Which made me want to kick him in the shins.
He grinned. “You just popped into my head the other day, and I decided to make it a point to see you when I came to Denver.”
Hmmm. I popped into his head. So much for my fantasy of the daily inner torture I hoped he’d endured as he replayed the loss of me over and over in his mind.