I guided him into the waiting area and he turned to me, lifted my hand and kissed it, his mouth lingering just a bit longer than necessary. His aqua gaze locked onto mine.
"Please allow me to give you a parting gift."
Before I could answer, he placed his index finger gently on the skin between my eyes and made a circular motion. I jumped as if he'd burned me. The touch had felt like a mini lightning bolt.
I gasped. "What did you do to me?"
"I provided a layer of protection over your third eye— your sixth chakra—so you will no longer be overwhelmed by what I am. Your symptoms are already subsiding."
My symptoms?
"Until next time.'' He turned and left my office as quietly as he came in.
I rubbed my forehead, half expecting to find a gaping wound, and was pleasantly surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I felt almost clear-headed again. I suspected I was right about him being a hypnotist, because he certainly understood the power of suggestion. But, regardless of why the fuzziness, buzzing, and pain had gone away, I was relieved it had.
I closed and locked both the doors, noticing that my legs were shaking and my knees were dangerously close to bailing on me. I shuffled over to the couch, flopped down and stretched out along the length of it, kicking my shoes into the air as I surrendered into the soft cushions. I could still feel his kiss on my hand and I was very aware that my hormones were jumping up and down on my arousal trampoline.
That was. without a doubt, the weirdest experience I'd ever had.
After lying there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what had just happened, I sat up and reached for the information sheet he'd filled out, noticing that he hadn't answered many of the questions. He listed the club downtown as his address and phone number, and under date of birth he wrote August 8, 1172 and October 31, 1201.
Oh, I get it. In keeping with his story, he'd given me both a human birth date and a vampire birth date. Very clever. According to this, he was 29 years old when he was "brought over." So, something must have happened to him when he was 29 that caused him to retreat into this masquerade. Since he didn't appear to be much older than that, it couldn't have been very long ago.
I suddenly felt very sad. What a shame it was that this obviously intelligent and unquestionably gorgeous man was caught up in this bizarre pretence. Or, even sadder, that he was mentally ill enough to actually believe he was a vampire. But there was still that business about him guessing what I'd been thinking. I remembered reading an article about mental illness and enhanced psychic abilities. I'd have to do some more research on that.
But why had I let him get to me? I was thoroughly ashamed of myself for behaving so unprofessionally—so irrationally. I've never had that kind of reaction to a client. I owed Devereux an apology. First, I'd let myself be attracted to a potential client and then I'd lost my temper. Both those things were completely unacceptable and very unlike me. It was undoubtedly time for me to make an appointment with my own therapist again, who would lecture me on the necessity of having a balanced social and professional life. I mean, how unnatural was it for a 30-year-old woman to be a celibate hermit?
If my bad experience with Tom had caused me to be so uncomfortable around men that I was incapable of dealing professionally with a sexually desirable client, then I'd better take some steps toward correcting the problem, or find another line of work.
I decided I'd call the cute chiropractor when I got home. I'd have to get back on the horse sometime.
Chapter Four
The next couple of days were uneventful. I called Vaughan the chiropractor and we arranged to meet for dinner the following weekend. He seemed so pleasantly surprised and delighted to hear from me that I was actually excited about our date. Maybe I'd even force myself to go to the mall and buy something new to wear.
The ads I'd placed in the newspapers announcing psychotherapy for vampires had started to draw responses and I'd begun the screening process for setting up appointments and forming groups. I was beginning to understand that screening was going to be very important. After my experience with Devereux, separating the mildly delusional from the profoundly confused was imperative. As expected, the ads attracted calls not only from vampire wannabes but also from people interested in other forms of the paranormal. Unfortunately, it also included those who defined their lives by hating anything they didn't understand.
One such caller was Brother Luther. He left messages on my voice mail, reminding me that I was going to burn in hell for consorting with demons and the minions of Satan. I wasn't sure if Brother Luther was affiliated with any organized group or if he was the sole member of his congregation, but he was very enthusiastic and dramatic in his opinions. He spoke with a southern accent and reminded me of the fire and brimstone preachers I'd seen as a child while visiting relatives in the Smoky Mountains. I usually didn't take those kinds of calls seriously, and I assumed he was a harmless windbag.
I was still troubled by the way I'd behaved with Devereux, and I knew I should call him and apologize, but for some reason I couldn't make myself pick up the phone. Even thinking about him caused me to have that same strange, overwhelming reaction. I was afraid of him yet very attracted to him, and those conflicting emotions seemed to create some terrifying third thing inside my psyche. So, I did nothing except brood.
When Midnight came in for her next appointment she wasn't wearing her vampire costume and she wasn't alone. I almost didn't recognize her until she spoke to me. Dressed in jeans, Renaissance Faire T-shirt and athletic shoes, with her long hair pulled into a ponytail, she was the fresh-scrubbed girl next door. It turned out that underneath all the makeup was a beautiful young woman. Sitting quietly next to Midnight in the waiting room was a thin, frail-looking female, with dark circles under her green eyes and tangled, black hair.
"Dr. Knight, this is Emerald. I brought her with me because I didn't know what else to do. Something's wrong with her." Midnight put her arm around her friend's shoulders and propelled her into my office.
They sat down on the couch together. Emerald gave me a vacant stare. I had seen that reaction before in clients who'd been traumatized. It was as if the body was still functioning, but the personality had gone into a dark closet and closed the door.
I stood next to them. "What happened to her?"
Midnight turned frightened eyes to me. "When I came home this morning at dawn, I found her sitting out on the front stairs, staring off into space. Just like a zombie. She hasn't said a word since."
"Emerald?" I moved over to squat down in front of her, glad my pantsuit was made of a flexible material. I held up my index finger in her line of sight and shifted it from side to side, watching to see if her eyes followed the motion. There was no reaction from her at all. I reached over and touched her hand. It was icy cold.
"Midnight, is Emerald usually this pale? How long has she been sick?"
"I guess I didn't really know she was sick. She's been complaining about being tired and sleeping a lot, but I've been so into Bryce that I didn't pay attention. I guess I've been a crummy friend." Tears glistened in Midnight's eyes.
Well maybe it's good for Midnight to focus on her friend for a while. Get her mind off the vampire thing Even though she's feeling sad, I'm glad to see her expressing her emotions.
Still kneeling in front of her, I touched Emerald's cheek with the back of my hand. "I'm not a medical doctor, but I think we need to take Emerald to the emergency room. It just isn't normal for a person to have such a low body temperature." And, now that I was close to her, I could see some bruising on her neck and chest. I gently angled Emerald's head to the side so I could investigate and noticed several sets of small puncture marks running down her neck.
I pulled back the collar of the jacket she was wearing and found that the wounds went all the way down to the top of her breast. There was a little dried blood on her skin and clothing.
I was just about to say it appeared Emerald had been attacked by some kind of animal, when Midnight said, 'Those are vampire bites."
I was tempted to say something to challenge the claim, but the helpless expression on Midnight's face stopped me. She was truly worried about her friend.
By this time, all I was thinking about was getting Emerald to the hospital. I was in no mood to play "let's pretend," but I also didn't want to damage the fragile trust that had been built between Midnight and myself. Creating a therapeutic bond was a crucial turning point in therapy, and I didn't want to burst the bubble.
I stood. "Let's get her to the hospital. We can take my car." I knew that Midnight usually walked or rode the bus to her appointments, so I assumed I was the designated driver. Besides, I wasn't going to let them out of my sight until I knew they were in good hands.
Midnight rose and held Emerald upright while I gathered my purse and car keys. I opened the door, supported Emerald's other side, and the three of us shifted sideways to get through the narrow space.
"Hey, Ronald," said Midnight, talking to a sweet-faced young man sitting in the waiting room.
"Oh, Ronald. I'm afraid we're going to have to reschedule our appointment. We have a bit of an emergency here’' I explained, stating the obvious.
Ronald was one of the "apprentices" Midnight had referred to me and this would have been our first session. I'd wondered if he'd show up in costume, and he hadn't. His squeaky-clean-looking auburn hair flowed down over his shoulders, and his round, copper-colored eyes were warm and friendly. In fact, the only indication of his alternate lifestyle was his "Theatre of Blood" T-shirt and a pentagram earring hanging from one ear lobe.
He stood. "Can I help?" he asked, with concern in his voice. "Emerald is a friend of mine. My van is parked right in front of the building."
Without waiting for me to answer, he stepped out into the hallway, trotted down to the far end and called the elevator.
Nice guy, I thought.
Under other circumstances, I might have hesitated before accepting his help. After all, I'd only spoken to him on the phone before today and didn't really know much about him. But since my inner radar wasn't sending me any warning signals, I decided to take a chance and trust him. Besides, if it came down to needing to carry Emerald, I wasn't going to turn down another set of muscles.
I had imagined that Ronald's van would be something you'd find on a Grateful Dead album cover, but it was surprisingly nice—and very clean. He opened up the sliding door on the side and Midnight and I climbed in, holding Emerald, who seemed to be fading fast. Her head drooped as if all the muscles and bones had been removed from her neck, causing her chin to bounce against her chest. She made tiny whimpering sounds that seemed to come from deep inside, and every few seconds her eyelids fluttered as if she were in REM sleep.
The hospital was only a few blocks away, but we managed to catch every red light and construction detour on the trip.
Ronald's eyes peered at us in the rear view mirror. "Who do you think did that to her, Midnight?"
"How would I know?' Midnight snarled, her voice loaded with hostility.
I raised my eyebrows at her, and she answered, "Ronald doesn't like Bryce and his friends, either."
My eyes shifted back and forth between them. "Is somebody implying that Bryce had something to do with this attack on Emerald?" The discussion already had me thinking about the call I'd make to the police. As a licensed therapist, I had a legal requirement to report harm.
"Nobody knows who hurt Emerald. Ronald's just being a jerk," Midnight fumed. "He's mad because Bryce chose me instead of him."
"I'm not the one being a jerk," Ronald snapped.
Apparently, there are more dramas in the vampire wannabe game than I know about.
We finally arrived at the emergency room entrance and Ronald pulled the van into the "no parking" zone, came around to let us out and took my spot holding Emerald, who had slipped into unconsciousness during the ride over. "Dr. Knight, you go on ahead and deal with the red tape."
Appearing as official as I could manage, I hurried to the admissions desk and enlisted the aid of a nurse. A gurney was wheeled over for Emerald and she was taken away.
Since Midnight was the only one of us who had any information about Emerald, she filled out the hospital paperwork while Ronald went back outside to move his van before it was towed.
After she answered the nurse's questions, Midnight and I sat in the hard, orange chairs in the huge, white, noisy waiting area. The emergency room was filled with people in various states of crisis, and more trauma victims arrived every moment. There was that ever-present hospital smell: a combination of antiseptics, body fluids, and fear. I couldn't even imagine how it would be to work in a chaotic environment such as this, where the adrenaline was constantly pumping. It was almost as if I could see the tension in the air.
It was times like these when my "sensitivity" really became a problem. Sensory overload. Strong emotions and physical discomforts bombarded me from all sides, and I began using all the mental tricks I'd learned to help me distract myself from the unwanted sensations. I closed my eyes tight and imagined myself surrounded by a fortress of thick, high walls. That visualization usually did the trick, but this time it barely soothed the chaos. I still felt anxious.
I'd always been aware of peoples' feelings and emotions, but it was usually through clairsentience. Just my normal idiosyncrasy. I simply somehow knew what was going on inside their psyches. It came in very handy in therapy sessions, where I could do a little skilful intuiting—skip ahead a few pages.