The Vampire Shrink(4)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

My heart raced and still I hadn't formed a coherent sen­tence or done anything beyond stare at him like a deer in his headlights.

What was happening to me? My eyelids felt as though they were wearing cement overshoes, my jaw sagged open, the air was suddenly thick, and there was a sumo wrestler on my chest. The normal background white noise acquired a sharp edge and turned into a persistent buzz, vibrating in my ears. I felt as if I was in some kind of trance.

He took a step back from me and released my hand. "I am very sorry. I have frightened you. That was never my intention. Sometimes I forget how intense we can be. You must be a keenly sensitive individual. I will endeavor to con­trol myself. Please accept my sincere apologies."

You will endeavor to control yourself? Im the one having the meltdown.

He shifted his gaze down for a moment, and when he met my eyes again, the tension drained from my body, and I could breathe. It felt as though a switch had been thrown, and I was once again in charge of my body functions. I could still hear the hum in my ears, but it had diminished in vol­ume. I ran my tongue over my very-dry lips.

"You did startle me. I wasn't expecting anyone this eve­ning."

Both times I'd seen this man, he'd caused my anxiety lev­els to blast through the roof. I wanted to scream at him that it was absolutely not acceptable he'd come unannounced to my office, and that his habit of lurking around me was going to earn him a trip to the police station. He seemed altogether too sure of himself. I wanted him to know he couldn't just stroll in and expect me to drop everything and attend to him. No matter how gorgeous he was.

But I swallowed the irritation, opted for whatever rem­nants of professional demeanor I could summon, and said instead, "Well, Mr. Devereux, why are you here?"

He cocked his head and flashed that god-like smile again. "Just Devereux. As I mentioned a moment ago, I had hoped this would be a good time for our appointment. I trust Mid­night told you I wished to meet with you?"

His voice was unusually pleasant—the timbre of it flowed through me like a favorite song, as if I listened to him with my entire body. He had a lilting European accent, almost old-fashioned sounding—like he'd stepped out of another century. Strange, how a voice could be so enticing.

I closed my eyes and sniffed the air. What was that wonderful aroma? It seemed to hover around him like an olfactory aura. Maybe he used a special kind of soap or shampoo. Something spicy and masculine and unusual.

He brushed a finger lightly along my arm. "Dr. Knight?'"

My eyes flew open and I realized I'd been standing there, blatantly revelling in his scent, making sniffing noises. How embarrassing. What the hell is wrong with me?

Come on, Kismet. Talking has always been your strong suite. Just one word at a time. Concentrate.

I cleared my throat. "Yes, she did mention that you might call to set up an appointment. Would you care to schedule one for later this week?" I inhaled a deep breath and tried to remain professional.

I was so nervous my solar plexus contracted, my hands were sweating and my knee was twitching. I'd always had a fear of small spaces, and something about this situation gave me that same, closed-in, panic feeling. He had done nothing obvious to make me afraid, but my entire body felt as if it was waiting for some other shoe to drop. Something about him radiated danger. Almost primal.

"Would it be terribly inconvenient for us to meet now, since I am here?"

That voice. Maybe he was a hypnotist and he knew how to use it to put people under. So soothing. I could stand here and listen to it all night.

I felt myself sliding down that slippery slope again and rallied. I needed to get this guy out of my office before I made a complete fool of myself.

If I’d known I was going to have a mental breakdown today, Id have penciled it into my book.

"Well, I was just leaving. It would be much better if we could schedule another time . . ."

He reclaimed the step he'd given up, and stated, as if the outcome was already a foregone conclusion, "I would ap­preciate very much the opportunity to speak with you about Midnight. I am concerned about her."

Through the cotton candy that had taken up residence in my brain, the voice in my head was screaming NO! but my mouth said, "I guess I could give you a few minutes. Please come inside."

Please come inside? Hey, wait a minute. That isn't what I meant to say. Where'd that come from?

I backed away from the door, drawing it open so he could enter, leaving it that way so he wouldn't be encouraged to make himself too comfortable.

I was about to invite him to sit down when I noticed he'd already seated himself in the chair I usually sat in. I realized he had no way of knowing that was "my" chair, but it still an­noyed me.

"Would you mind filling out a little paperwork for me?" Out of habit, I handed him a packet of papers on a clipboard.

He took it. "My pleasure."

I sat down across from him and studied him while he wrote. His hands were very artistic-looking, with recently manicured nails, trimmed close. He had very pale skin, with a lovely, translucent sheen to it, which gave him an ageless quality. It wasn't often that I encountered someone with skin lighter than mine.

His eyes were extraordinary. Midnight was right. They were aqua and beautifully shaped with long, dark eyelashes.

I was surprised that his eyebrows and eyelashes were dark because his hair was so light, but the combination was very appealing.

His thick, lovely hair flowed down over his shoulders to mid-chest. It appeared soft and silky and very touchable. And his mouth. Studying his soft, full, generous lips caused a visceral reaction in me. I could imagine the feel of them against mine.

Okay. Take a breath, Kismet. You're in your office. This is a professional situation. Stop thinking about what you want to do to those lips and pay attention.

As I raised my gaze up from his mouth to his eyes, I found him watching me with an amused expression, apparently fin­ished with the paperwork. Embarrassment warmed my face as I reached out to take the clipboard from him. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off him long enough to even glance at the forms he'd filled out.

I struggled to regain control of myself. "What is it that concerns you about Midnight?"

"Before we speak of that, would you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Well, you can ask. I can't promise I'll answer."

"Do you believe in vampires?"

"What?" Surprise radiated up my spine, and I stiffened in my chair. The buzzing in my ears got louder and I was suddenly very thirsty.

He toyed with a beautiful antique medallion on a chain around his neck. "Do you believe what Midnight has been telling you?"

Okay. Maybe he has a suggestion about how to help Midnight move beyond her vampire fantasy.

To steady myself, I walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and selected two bottles of water. I set one of them down in front of Devereux, opened the other for myself, took my seat and drank deeply.

Breathe. Just breathe. This can't be hot flashes. Im too young.

"I can't discuss anything that Midnight may or may not have talked to me about. It's all confidential. But in general, I can tell you that I've never seen any evidence to support the existence of vampires or any other supernatural beings."

He smiled. "Ah, you are a scientist. Do you wish to see evidence?"

I was getting that claustrophobic feeling again. Maybe this handsome man really was a nut case and I'd allowed my­self to be distracted by his obvious assets instead of following my professional instincts. I switched into the noticeably calm voice I used to soothe disturbed clients. "Is it important to you that I believe in vampires?"

He threw back his head and laughed with pure delight. "I have never been called insane in such a lovely way ever be­fore. I can assure you that it is of no importance whatsoever if you believe in vampires or not, but I think the information could prove useful to you. What if I told you that everything Midnight has shared with you is absolutely true?"

Oh, geez.

"Since we can't talk about anything Midnight might have told me, I can only suggest that you tell me directly what you want me to know."

"I am a vampire."

Of course you are. "Tell me about being a vampire."

He laughed again. "As you wish. Until I can convince you of the truth of my words, I will be the good therapy client and follow the rules."

He seemed to find me very amusing. Hmmm. Inappropri­ate humor. That's a symptom in several diagnoses.

I wonder what he's basing his role on. Ive never seen a movie vam­pire who went around telling people he was a vampire. Wasn't that the point? To avoid the stake in the heart thing? Maybe I could just rattle his delusion a little bit.

"Why do you want me to know you're a vampire? Isn't that supposed to be a secret?"

"I want you to know about me because I have a feeling about you. I believe you have an important role to play in my life."

An important role in his life?

This was definitely getting out of hand. Maybe I should rework my idea about counselling vampire wannabes. These folks were much more delusional than I thought, and it wasn't going to be as simple as I first imagined. I'd assumed all my pretend vampires would be similar to my alien abductees: cre­ative, needy, acting out and harmless. I hadn't considered the possibility that this sub-culture would be populated by psychotics. That would require a totally different treatment plan.

No problem. This is good. I need to know what Im dealing with.

I glanced over at the clock, thinking of ways I could gracefully end this session.

"Shall I show you one of my vampire abilities?" he asked, his voice deep.

My solar plexus tightened. "I don't know. What kind of ability is it?"

"Simple telepathy. Allow me to tell you what you have been thinking."

He repeated back all my thoughts about things getting out of hand, reconsidering how I'd work with vampire wan­nabes, that he was being delusional and my wanting to end the session. Word for word.

My body rode a rollercoaster of emotion.

I immediately felt embarrassed that he'd known what I really thought about him, which was then made even worse by the humiliating possibility he'd been aware of my earlier appreciation of his physical attributes, but then I got angry. The buzzing in my ears had morphed into a headache and I was rapidly approaching some inner line in the sand. I hadn't given him permission to stroll through my mind or to inconvenience me with his unexpected presence or his side­show antics. Since I had no intention of taking him on as a client, I felt justified in letting myself have a reaction.

I held onto the arms of the chair so tightly that my fingers were even whiter than normal.

"That's quite a clever parlor trick. Are you a mind reader? A psychic?" There was more heat in my voice than I'd intended.

Something is very wrong here. I've never had this reaction to any client, ever. I've never gotten angry at a client before. I've never been so attracted to a client before. This is unnatural.

"You are angry. Once again, I apologize for upsetting you. It is my nature to be able to read the thoughts and sense the emotions of others. It has always been that way for me, even before I was born into darkness. I cannot be other than I am. All vampires are telepathic, but not all are as skilled as I am—it is one of my gifts. I can teach you to shield your thoughts if you wish."

"Can't you just stay out of my mind?" I demanded, much louder than I'd meant to. I couldn't honestly say I believed he'd read my mind, because that just wasn't possible, but I had to admit I couldn't explain how he knew what I was thinking. Not being able to explain it made me nervous.

He smiled, and gave another bow of his head.

"With most humans, there is little pull to their thoughts. Their minds are filled with ordinary, unimportant details and I can easily turn my attention elsewhere. But your mind is very powerful and you have your own abilities that you have not acknowledged yet. That is a very strong attraction for me. But I will do my best to stay out of your mind."

"Thank you," I said, standing up. What abilities? "We need to stop now."

He stood and smiled at me. "Yes, of course. I am grate­ful for your indulgence. Midnight holds you in high regard and I am pleased that she will be spending time with you. She has most likely told you that she is involved with another vampire she met at my club. This . . . individual... is dan­gerous, and I wish to discourage their relationship. She is most upset with me, but I must be firm on this. I hope that as you learn more about him, you will agree with me. Perhaps she will listen to both of us."

He has such interesting speech patterns. I feel as if I've fallen into a time warp. Or into an episode of Dark Shadows.

There were many questions I wanted to ask him since he'd started talking about Midnight, but I didn't want to encour­age him, or breach her privacy, so I kept my face pleasantly blank and said nothing.

"May I have your permission to come and visit you again?"

Ah, the vampire wannabe is tapping at my window, wanting in.

"Is there something you wish to talk to a therapist about? Because I believe I've made it clear that I can't talk about Midnight with you, so it might be best if I refer you to an­other therapist."

"'There are many things I wish to talk about, but only with you. Would you come to my club sometime, as my guest?" he said, his voice smooth velvet again. "It would give you an opportunity to see the world Midnight lives in."

What was it about that voice? Why did it cause me to have very un-therapist-like thoughts? I gathered my profes­sional aura around me like a protective cloak. "I don't think that would be appropriate, but I appreciate the kind offer. If you decide you want to speak with a therapist, I'd be pleased to refer you."