Crimson Psyche

by Lynda Hilburn

  Was this what insanity felt like?

  I closed my eyes, visualized my favorite chair in my living room and scrunched my face into a serious pose of concentration. After a few seconds, when I didn’t get the usual breeze against my face, I opened one eye to investigate. I was still standing frozen in the same spot, all the muscles in my body tightly contracted like I was braced for attack.

  Well, shit. I was obviously doing it wrong. How had I managed it before? I’d just thought about the location of my purse and briefcase and found myself there, hadn’t I? I forced myself to relax my shoulders, circled my head to release the tension and shook my hands in front of me to restore the circulation.

  Okay, so all I needed to do was think about sitting on my comfy armchair, my feet propped up on the ottoman, drinking a glass of wine. Yeah, that was good. I’d just smiled at the pleasant vision when my solar plexus began to itch, my hair blew back from my face and I had the sense of being in an elevator, or falling without a parachute, just for a nanosecond. Then the next thing I knew, I was flat on the floor next to my chair at home. I huffed out a breath at the rude landing, raised my head to glance around, then sat up.

  The living room light was on. I must have forgotten to turn it off when I left with Maxie, though that wasn’t like me. I slowly climbed to my feet, patted myself down to make sure, as before, that all of me had arrived in the same time zone and zip code, and smiled.

  “Hot damn! I did it! At least there’s one good thing that came from all the vampire crap!” I promised myself I’d enjoy this mysterious ability for as long as it lasted.

  Caution pursed her lips and gave me a disapproving scowl, which I ignored.

  I threw off the heavy parka and moved to the stairs leading up to my bedroom and bathroom, then I froze. Was my shower running? Had I left it on? What the hell was the matter with me? I’d never done anything like that.

  Stress hormones surged through my body and the warning arrow on my radar shot from zero to a thousand, letting me know in no uncertain terms that something was wrong. My fight-or-flight instinct shifted into high gear.

  Remembering the gun in the pocket of the coat, I tiptoed over to where I’d thrown the parka, retrieved the weapon and crept to the staircase. Holding the pistol in my trembling hand, I climbed the stairs, cursing under my breath at every creak. I paused halfway when I saw the light was on in the bathroom and the door open.

  I had sneaked the rest of the way up the stairs when I was startled by a loud noise — and since I often made that noise myself, I recognized the clatter of the bar of soap hitting the bottom of the tub. Somebody was in my damn shower! I paused for a moment, straining to remember if any visitors were expected from out of town or if I’d given my house key to anyone recently, but no one came to mind.

  I lifted the gun, held it with both hands in a futile effort to stop the shaking, and stood in the bathroom doorway.

  The water suddenly stopped and I waited through a few seconds of heavy silence. A hand whisked back the shower curtain, causing a loud ripping sound, and a wet, naked man grinned from inside.

  “Kismet! Surprise!”

  Chapter 9

  I automatically raised the gun with quivering hands and pointed it at the intruder’s chest as he raised his arms overhead and widened his smile. “Hey, don’t shoot me! I’m not immortal yet.”

  His pale skin was lighter than I’d ever seen it, and his black hair had grown well below his shoulders, but as I slid my gaze down his lean frame, I recognized a familiar body part. We hadn’t seen each other since before Halloween, and it had been a lot longer than that since I’d hung out with the portion of his anatomy in question, but there was no mistaking the unique endowment of my superficial, materialistic, narcissistic ex-boyfriend, Dr. Thomas Radcliffe.

  I lowered the gun and relief swamped me as I stared into mischievous dark brown eyes. “Tom? What the hell are you doing here?”

  My naked visitor flashed an even-more-blinding Hollywood smile. “Didn’t you get my message? I told you I want to talk to Devereux. Zoë tells me he’s the big vampire cheese.”

  I struggled to keep a stern expression on my face, but I couldn’t quite manage it because “Tom Junior,” as he used to call it, was twitching and bobbing like a dowsing rod, almost as if it was trying to say hello in its own fleshy way. I couldn’t shift my gaze, the kinesthetic memory was so strong that my hand almost reached out to pat the little guy’s head.

  To keep myself from doing something I’d certainly regret — same old song, different verse — I grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and shoved it at Tom.

  He smirked as he dried his hair, fully aware of his effect on me.

  I cleared my throat and glared. “How the hell did you get into my house? I’m absolutely sure I locked the door when I left.”

  He threw the towel on the floor and stepped out of the shower. Junior now displayed his best posture, apparently happy to see me. “Zoë brought me — it was amazing. She just thought us here, all the way from Los Angeles. Hanging out with vampires is so awesome.” He chuckled. “Listen to me telling the big vampire cheese’s girlfriend about hanging around with vampires.” He scanned me up and down. “What’s that all over your sweater? And your jeans? Have you been partaking in Cow Town’s favorite sport, mud wrestling?” He threw back his head and laughed. “I would’ve paid money to see that.”

  I glanced down at the dried blood on my clothes. Tom’s obliviousness saved me from having to give any normal explanations. “Very funny.”

  He closed the distance between us and pulled me into a wet hug, apparently not at all concerned about the “mud” on my shirt. “It’s great to see you, Kismet. I’ve missed you.”

  I pushed against his chest with my free hand, forcing him to back up. Saying he missed me was Tom code for “I need something from you.”

  “Dial down the Don Juan routine, Doctor Hollywood. Even if I weren’t already involved with the big cheese, I’m not getting cozy with you or Tom Junior. That’s ancient history.”

  He winked. “You know what a history buff I am.”

  “Uh-huh. So, where’s Zoë? At the Crypt?”

  Tom had met Zoë the night we’d gone to Devereux’s club, when he’d shown up on my doorstep and invited himself along on my date with Alan Stevens. I hadn’t seen Tom for a couple of years before that. I’d been surprised to find he was genuinely interested in my vampire-wannabe research.

  That night had been his first exposure to the undead underworld, and something about the lifestyle had obviously appealed to him, because he and the attractive Zoë had taken off for California without even saying good-bye.

  “Are you sure you want to talk about Zoë? I’m all warm and clean...” He moved closer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I replied.

  Not that I expected anything different. Tom and I shared a profession, and we’d spent several years together as a couple, but Tom’s philosophy was “so many women, so little time,” and so we’d parted, not entirely amicably, almost three years earlier. It had taken me a while to heal, but now, aside from a little residual lust, I couldn’t remember what I ever saw in him. He was the poster boy for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. In his mind, the universe revolved around Tom Radcliffe.

  I pushed harder against his chest. “So, back to Zoë. Where is she?”

  He let his arms drop away from me and ran his hands through his long wet hair. “She’s using one of Devereux’s extra coffins at the Crypt. She says he always keeps a few vacant to accommodate out-of-towners.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a regular bloodsucking Holiday Inn.”

  Tom laughed and pointed to the bathroom door. “Hand me my clothes, will you? They’re hanging on the hook.”

  I grabbed his designer jeans and trendy T-shirt. “Why did you need to take a shower? Or, more important, why did you need to take a shower here? Why didn’t you get a hotel room?”

  And where’s your underwear?

 
He tugged on his jeans, zipped up slowly and smiled. “Well, I came here instead of getting a room because Zoë said Devereux practically lives here and I intend to talk to him. I needed a shower because Zoë and I — well, we entertained ourselves, and I needed to freshen up.”

  “Oh, yuck! Just exactly where did you entertain yourselves?” I had disgusting visions of DNA stains on my bedding or couch — or on my carpet! I was going to mention the blood-colored blotches now decorating his wet chest from his contact with my ruined sweater, but he slid on his green T-shirt before I could form the words.

  He frowned. “For your information, I spread a towel on the bed in your guest room before we used it. We actually started out in your room, but Zoë said Devereux would kill us if we were disrespectful enough to have sex in the Master’s girlfriend’s bed. So since I didn’t want to die before everything was arranged, naturally we moved to the other room. Oh, that reminds me, I need to pop that towel into your washing machine. You do have one, don’t you?”

  A low, rumbling voice whispered in my mind, “Dispose of this idiot.”

  Without any conscious thought, my fingers tightened around the handle of the pistol I was still holding. I stared at Tom and for a few seconds I seriously considered shooting him. Some evil part of my brain smiled as it imagined inflicting a scar that would mar the perfection of his face or a wound that would forever alter the appealing lines of his body. I’d just begun to fantasize about him falling to the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood when he snapped his fingers in front of my face.

  “Hey, Kismet. Are you in there?”

  I jumped, startled, and my consciousness snapped back into place like a stretched rubber band. Back from where, I didn’t know, but only a second before I could’ve sworn I’d heard familiar laughter.

  “What?” I glanced down at the gun in my hand. I was clutching the handle so tightly all the color had leached out of my skin, and the weapon was pointed at Tom.

  He smirked. “I’m into playing cops and robbers as much as the next guy, but if you’re going to hold me at gunpoint, I can think of better rooms to do it in.” He cocked his head and frowned. “You look like your credit card was declined, or you’ve just seen a ghost. What’s going on?”

  I’m losing my mind, that’s what’s going on.

  I forced myself to lower the hand holding the gun. I raised my eyes to his, almost afraid my homicidal daydream would commandeer my brain again. But as he stood there staring at me, the same self-absorbed, thoughtless man he’d always been, I didn’t experience any more violent urges. I might still harbor some resentment for the way he broke up with me, but we had so much shared history and so I’d long since relegated him to the category of old friend. I even enjoyed his company. Sometimes. Even at my angriest, I’d never had such ferocious thoughts about Tom — or anyone, for that matter. I didn’t know how to answer his question, or why I’d overreacted. There might be two therapists in the room, but neither could help me.

  “I’m just tired,” I muttered at last. “Too much mud-wrestling.”

  That elicited a smile from him.

  “I need to see this infamous towel.” I marched down the hall to my guest room, flicked on the light and studied the large purple towel covering the bed. Gross. It would definitely need the heavy-duty wash cycle. Repeatedly, if I was ever going to bring myself to use it again. “You’re lucky you didn’t desecrate my bed. Forget Devereux. I would’ve killed you.”

  Tom crept up behind me, pressed himself against my body and rested his chin on my shoulder. He whispered close to my ear, “See? No mess on the bed. Everything on the towel. Neat and tidy. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

  I smiled to myself. What a fool the man was! I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slug him or knee him in the balls — in a friendly way, of course. He was lucky I was too tired to act on either option.

  I pointed at the towel. “Pick up your mess and come with me.”

  He retrieved it, holding the corners with two fingers, and followed me downstairs to the washing machine. I was tempted to simply throw it away, but it was one of the gorgeous plush set my parents had given me for my birthday last year and I hated to part with it.

  I left him to deal with the remains of his entertainment, detoured over to where I’d dropped Maxie’s parka and replaced the gun in the pocket. Then, completely wiped out, I shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table, staring off into space. I was too wired to sleep, but so exhausted I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  Tom ambled into the room, leaned against a counter, and grinned. “You look like hell. And you smell funky — like smoke and... blood? Where were you tonight, some wild vampire orgy? Wait, I’ve got it: you were at some mud-wrestling vampire orgy.” He laughed at his pitiful remarks, as usual thinking everything he said was laugh-out-loud funny.

  It took him this long to scent the blood? All that recreational snorting must have fried his sense of smell.

  He’d actually come pretty close to guessing where I’d been — the vampire orgy part, anyway — but not the way he assumed. Even if I’d been inclined to tell him anything meaningful, which I wasn’t, I wouldn’t involve him in Hallow’s madness. Tom was a behavioral psychologist, which meant he believed “reality” was exactly what it appeared to be. Truths equaled quantifiable facts and were written in stone. In my new world, that belief had proven to be a faulty assumption. I didn’t know how deeply Tom had explored the vampire realm, so since I didn’t have the energy or inclination to reeducate him, I opted for misdirection.

  “Just out doing research for my vampire wannabe book.”

  He cocked a brow. “Still working on that? I would’ve thought you’d be finished by now — or you’d progressed to a sexier topic. Wait until I tell you about the deal I’m putting together for a cable program. You’ll be so impressed. I’ll be the most famous shrink in the world.” He frowned. “I just need to take care of something first.”

  The man has always had an ego the size of Jupiter and now it was bloating with age. “What are you talking about? Why do you want to see Devereux?” It occurred to me that Tom might be planning to ask Devereux for money, since the wealthy vampire was up to his fangs in it. Tom always had a deal cooking that required extra capital. But on second thought, that didn’t add up, because Tom had become quite rich in his own right over the last few years.

  He sat across from me at the table and I noticed again how light his skin was. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his trademark tan. During our time together, he’d frequently told me he didn’t believe the sun could damage his skin, he was certain that idea was a myth. I had chosen not to mention the fact that his skin had already begun to age — it was almost reptilian, in fact. It wouldn’t have been kind of me to poke fun at such deeply-held delusions, especially as his regularly scheduled facials, skin peels and cosmetic surgery procedures had become the focus of his life.

  Tom’s parents had set the perfection bar higher than he could ever reach.

  He stared at me for a few seconds, playing imaginary piano on the tabletop, something he always did while trying to choose the most influential words for his latest manipulation, then beamed a toothy smile. “I’ve decided to become a vampire,” he announced.

  My head automatically began the up-and-down motion I used to stall for time, which also functioned as an entry ramp into the silence that would encourage clients to spill their guts. “I see.” I knew where this conversation was going.

  He stopped pretending to tickle the ivories and scowled. He splayed his hands palms-down on the table. “I see? That’s all you have to say? I share a life-changing decision with you and that’s all I get?” He leaned in and opened his eyes wide, waiting.

  I cleared my throat. I really didn’t want to have this discussion. Going to bed sounded so much better — so much more normal. “Well, it isn’t as if I don’t hear that every day.”

  Right on cue, the thick vein on his forehead that always throbbed wh
en he was angry started pulsing. “You’re comparing me to your pitiful wannabe clients? I’m being lumped in with those lost souls you counsel? You’re going to treat me like some fucked-up—”

  I thrust my hand up in a stop gesture and held it in front of his face. “Okay. Tell me.” I surrender. The faster I get this over with, the quicker I can crawl under my covers and pretend my excursion with Maxie was only a bad dream, a vampire-created hallucination. Then I can figure out why I almost shot my ex-boyfriend. I’m too young for menopause.

  He relaxed in his chair and maintained eye contact. “I’m not sure where to begin. Meeting Zoë that night you took me to Devereux’s club changed everything.”

  Here comes a long, tedious Tom tale.

  “How did meeting Zoë change everything?” I asked patiently. “You mean because she’s a vampire and you were certain no such things existed?”

  “Yeah, well, her being a vampire was certainly the big news, but initially I had other things on my mind. At first, it was just the obvious: she’s a beautiful woman with a great body, and I’m a guy. After we danced for a while, she suggested we go to one of the small private rooms up on the second floor and get to know each other better. She was definitely playing my tune. You know me, I’m always up for a quick tumble with a gorgeous woman.” He winked suggestively at me.

  Yeah, in your dreams.

  “Anyway, we got naked and she started talking about being a vampire. I figured she was nuts, but I humored her. It wasn’t like I was going to let something as lame as her vampire delusion interfere with my orgasm.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I guess I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes.”

  “You think?” I laughed so long he raised his voice to regain my attention.

  “Ahem. So she said she was going to show me she was a vampire, and she let her fangs descend, and all this time she’d been staring into my eyes, making me feel like I’d had a few tokes of good Mexican, and just as I was about to have the best climax I’d ever had—” He stopped and patted my hand. “No offense meant, of course. Our sex life was great, too.”