Blood of Eden

by Tami Dane

  “To give you what you deserve.”

  “What’s that? I hope it’s good. Like a pot of gold or something.”

  More of that slimy laughter echoed through the room. “I’m not a leprechaun.”

  “Of course you’re not. You’re ... what? The tooth fairy?”

  It was as if the shadows peeled back, and a gruesome face appeared before me. “Do I look like the tooth fairy to you?” it asked. The eyes shined silver, like the reflection of the flash in an animal’s eyes. The nose was broad and nearly flat. The skin pearly white. The thin lips curled back to reveal pointed teeth. It was not a pretty sight.

  “I don’t know what the tooth fairy looks like. I’ve never met her ... or is it him? Since we’re talking about your ‘looks,’ can I just say, you could use a little help from the Queer Guys? I am not a fashionista, but even I can tell your hair is a train wreck, and your clothing.... That shirt is a nightmare. The color’s all wrong for your complexion. And as for the rest of you—well, I pride myself in not holding what one cannot help against him. You’ve clearly inherited more than your share of ugly genes.”

  The face took on a pink tint. I think I was annoying it, whatever it was. I wished I didn’t feel so numb. I might have enjoyed this. “You thought you’d escaped from me, from your obligation, but you didn’t. And now I’ve come back to claim what is mine.” The shadows folded back over the face, like a cloak.

  I had to marvel at my creativity. This was truly bizarre.

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?” I scooted up, letting my headboard support my upper body. “I don’t remember trying to escape from anyone—let alone someone as memorable as you.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Hmm. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s bad to hold grudges? Maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize you... .” I didn’t finish that sentence. Imaginary or not, this thing didn’t deserve to be insulted for being ugly. After all, nobody deserved to be blamed for their appearance. There was only so much that plastic surgery could do, especially in this case.

  “My time is almost up,” the thing said, snarling. “But I will return tomorrow. And you will soon reap your just rewards.”

  “Okay. Till tomorrow, then.” I waved.

  The thing stuck its face in mine, and the stench of rotten meat burned my nostrils. “You should be afraid of me. Why aren’t you scared anymore?”

  “Because I know the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That you’re a figment of my imagination. You’re an illusion. A hallucination.”

  “A hallucination? Is that what you think?” The thing turned and lurched across the room, halting in front of the wall. With its claws, it etched the words I’ll be back in the drywall. “Is that a hallucination?”

  “Okay, who do you think you are? The Terminator?” I stumbled over and traced the scrawled letters with a fingertip. My fingernail dipped into the grooves. Those jagged edges sure felt real. But maybe I had dug those letters into the wall myself? I didn’t know how to judge anymore what was real and what wasn’t. “I can’t say for sure if it’s a hallucination or not.”

  “What?” the monster said, clearly incredulous.

  “Well, who’s to say I didn’t do this myself? I could, you know. With a screwdriver or something.”

  The monster gritted its teeth and took a look around. “You’re making this difficult.”

  “I’m not trying to.” I shrugged. “Lately it’s been a bit of a challenge discerning what’s real and what’s not. According to my doctor, you’re not real. Prove her wrong, and I’ll be adequately scared.”

  The monster slitted its eyes at me. “Fine. But I’m out of time.” Then it sort of melted into the shadows and vanished.

  I slid back under the covers and fell asleep.

  Sunlight cutting through the slats of the window blinds woke me up the next day. Despite having no place to go, I dove into the shower, put on some makeup, and fixed my hair. Instead of donning work clothes, however, I jumped into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. I headed into the kitchen and flipped on the coffeemaker. I was feeling a little more energetic today, less doped up. Maybe there was hope I’d be able to function while taking the medication. One thing was for certain—I wasn’t going to tell the doctor I was still having hallucinations. She’d increase my dose, and I’d be back to being a zombie. No thanks. I would rather live with the nocturnal visits by my ugly friend, whom I’d deemed “Mr. Stinky,” than walk around in a stupor.

  As it turned out, he wasn’t all that scary, after all.

  Coffee done, I poured myself a big mug, dumped my pills in my mouth, and downed half of it while watching the morning news. There was no sign of Katie, so I kept the volume low. After the news ended, I powered up my computer and checked my e-mail. Outside of the usual spam, I had only one message. From Gabe. It was brief. Two words. Call me. Dated yesterday.

  The medication was kicking in, so I decided I needed to rest for a while before calling him. I sat on the couch. Next thing I knew, my cell phone was ringing. The display said it was four o’clock. In the afternoon. That made no sense. I couldn’t have been sitting on the couch, staring at the walls, for six hours ... could I?

  The caller was Gabe.

  I hit the button, answering the call, “Hello?”

  “Skye! Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather,” I slurred.

  “Are you okay? I heard about the attack only yesterday. Rumor was, you’d been taken to the hospital.”

  “Yeah. I’m all right. Thanks.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  I padded into the kitchen. I was kind of hungry. “Long story. I don’t want to get into it right now. It had nothing to do with the case.”

  “You sound strange. Are you sure you’re okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

  I opened the refrigerator. Olives. Some milk, which had expired two days ago. A block of green cheese. Maybe I wasn’t so hungry, after all. “I’m on some ... pain ... medication. It’s making me a little groggy.” Understatement of the century. “But you’ve got me now. Was there something else?”

  “I was wondering if you’d received those test results back yet.”

  I returned to the couch. “Oh, those. I heard something.”

  “I’ll come over.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Can I bring you anything? Some dinner?” he asked.

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is. What are you in the mood for? Chinese? Mexican? Burgers? Pizza?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Pizza it is, then. I’ll bring enough for your roommate too. She’s still living with you, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” Speaking of Katie, I wondered what she’d been doing all this time. Had she strolled right past me without my noticing? I really wasn’t liking what that medication was doing to my brain. Not one little bit. “That’s very thoughtful, but I’m not hungry, and I’m not sure if Katie’s home.”

  “See you in an hour,” he said, and hung up before I could argue with him.

  I shoved my phone under a pillow, deciding it was better if I didn’t answer it anymore, and went in search of Katie. I already knew the kitchen was abandoned. She wasn’t in the bathroom. Her bedroom door was shut. I opened it a tiny bit and peered into her room.

  What the hell?

  My first reaction was confusion. Katie was a neat freak. She was absolutely anal about keeping her stuff organized and tidy. This room looked like it had been ransacked by felons.

  Had it been?

  I tried to push the door open wider, but something behind it was blocking the movement. I shoved. I heaved. I turned around and used my back to push. It gave a little, just enough for me to squeeze through the opening. I stepped inside, searching the floor for a pathway to the bed. There wasn’t one.

  The floor, from wall to wall, was covered by clothes, papers, books, tra
sh. I’d never seen anything like it. The bed looked like a mountain, the peak almost reached the ceiling.

  What was with Katie now?

  Something moved near Mt. Katie’s base. I tugged at a blanket and found Katie, sleeping.

  She blinked her eyes open. “What are you doing?” she mumbled.

  “I ... uh ... just checking on you. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, grabbing the blanket out of my hand and flopping it over her head. “It’s a headache. No big deal.”

  “Okay. Sorry for disturbing you.” I picked my way through the mess to the doorway, wormed through the opening, and shut the door.

  Now, that was weird.

  First there were the so-called anxiety attacks. Now this. Could be stress. Could be something else. Depression?

  Before I could decide what to do, or not do, about it, a knock sent me shuffling toward the front door. I peered through the peephole. JT. I opened the door. “Hi.” I stepped to the side, welcoming him in.

  He flashed a brilliant smile at me and gave me an assessing look as he sauntered past. He pushed a box into my hands. “How are you feeling?” He made himself comfy on my couch.

  I looked down at the box. It was wrapped in pink paper and had a big silver bow on it. “What’s this?”

  “A get-well present.”

  “That was nice of you. Thanks.” I started pulling the tape off, but a second knock signaled the arrival of another guest. I checked the peephole. “Mom.” I opened the door and hurried her inside. “You’ve been discharged?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at me, then at JT, then at me again.

  “How did you get home?” I asked her.

  “I called your cell first, but you didn’t answer. So I took a taxi.” She back-stepped toward the exit. “Um, Sloan, if this is a bad time—”

  “No.” JT was on his feet in a blink, rushing to my mother’s side. “I’m not staying long.”

  “Don’t hurry out on my account.” Mom grabbed JT’s hand and dragged him back toward the couch. “I’m very happy to see you again. Please make yourself comfortable. What I came for won’t take but a minute.” She waited until JT was sitting, and then she turned back to me. “Sloan, if I could speak to you in private for a moment.”

  “Sure, Mom. We can talk in my room.” I closed us in my bedroom. “What is it?”

  “It’s about your father.” She motioned toward the door. Pressed her finger to her pursed lips. Tiptoed to the door and flattened one side of her head against it. Several seconds passed as she stood there, listening. Finally she headed toward the opposite side of the room, eyeballing the new artwork chiseled into the drywall as she walked past it. “What’s this?”

  “It’s nothing. I was ... dreaming.”

  “That doesn’t look like a dream.” Mom traced the letters with her fingertip.

  “I guess I was sleepwalking and dreaming. What were you saying about Dad?”

  She jerked her hand away from the wall. “I think he’s still alive.”

  “What?” Someone knocked on the bedroom door. We both looked at it. I sighed, stomped to the door, and pulled it open.

  JT pointed toward the living room. “Someone’s at your door.”

  “My house is a regular circus tonight.” Distracted by what my mother had just said, I headed to the front door.

  Gabe rushed in, ramming a hot pizza box into my hands. “So what’s the story?”

  I motioned behind me. “I hope you brought a large pizza. This gathering’s a little bigger than I’d expected.”

  Gabe’s eyes widened. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, it’s a large. Sausage, onion, and black olives.”

  “I love black olives.” Mom yanked the box out of my hands and carted it into the kitchen.

  JT moseyed up behind me, and the two men had what looked like a stare-down. They reminded me of two snarling dogs.

  “Sloan, where are your napkins?” Mom called from the kitchen.

  I sidestepped out from between the two men and went to her aid, figuring they’d work out their differences better without me being in the middle of things. It seemed I was right. By the time I’d located a few rumpled napkins, they were strolling toward us, looking a little friendlier. At least they weren’t about to rip each other to shreds. For now.

  I dished out the pizza and we all found a spot in the living room to eat. I sat on the couch, wedged between JT and Gabe, my ass pinned between theirs. It might’ve been cozy if it hadn’t been so awkward.

  Mom sat in the chair, happily munching away, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “How have you been, Gabe? I haven’t seen you in ages, since you dumped Sloan... . Gosh, how long ago was that?”

  “We were in high school,” Gabe said. “But I didn’t dump her. Sloan broke up with me.”

  Liar.

  “It’s ancient history, Mom,” I said. “Doesn’t matter anymore who broke up with whom.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Especially now that you’re dating JT.” Mom beamed at JT.

  I felt Gabe’s leg stiffen against mine.

  “I’m not dating JT, Mom. It’s against bureau policy. And even if it wasn’t, I’m only an intern. It wouldn’t look good for me to be sleeping with one of my superiors.” I didn’t bother telling my mother that I’d been put on medical leave and wouldn’t be returning to the bureau, anyway. That was a conversation for later.

  Gabe’s leg relaxed.

  Mom frowned. “Oh, that’s too bad. I really like JT. He reminds me of your father. Intelligent. Good-looking.”

  I glanced at JT. His face was the shade of a beet. The color looked good on him. Was there anything that didn’t?

  “Thank you, Mrs. Skye,” JT said. “I like your daughter very much. But I also respect her. And I wouldn’t wish to harm her career. She’s an intelligent, capable woman, brave and committed, and the bureau would be fortunate to have her as a permanent member someday.”

  I wondered how much he knew about my diagnosis and its effect on my career. I set my plate on the coffee table, next to my cup.

  “You’re not eating,” JT murmured.

  “My appetite isn’t quite normal yet.”

  “So, Gabe, what have you been up to since you dumped my daughter?” Mom asked.

  Gabe set his empty plate next to my full one. He swiped my untouched slice of pizza and took a bite. “Well, I’ve been going to school... .”

  “I need to talk to you,” JT whispered in my ear as Gabe and Mom chatted. “Alone.”

  I motioned to Mom and Gabe. “That’s going to be a bit tough right now. Can’t it wait?”

  “ No.”

  My gaze ping-ponged back and forth between Mom and Gabe. They seemed to be fairly involved at the moment, engaged in a discussion of quantum gravity.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “But let’s try not to make it too obvious.” I stood, scooped my plate, and headed toward the kitchen. “Excuse me for just a minute. My stomach’s been acting up.” I winked at JT. “I need to go lie down for a few.”

  Mom gave me a look, then went right back to her conversation with Gabe. I headed into my room and flung myself onto the bed. A few minutes later, I heard JT excuse himself to use the bathroom. Seconds afterward, we were in my room, the door closed.

  “So ... ?” I said, sitting up and hanging my feet over the edge of the bed.

  “First, I need to ask you not to share our conversation with anyone, not even your mother.”

  “Okay.” Why did I feel like I was about to be blindsided? I mentally braced myself.

  JT sat beside me. “You need to stop taking the medication you were prescribed immediately.”

  Oh, thank God. “I do? Why?”

  “Because you don’t need it.”

  Thank God ... wait. Does that mean ... ? “What do you mean, I ‘don’t need it’?”

  JT put a hand on my knee. “Sloan, you’re not schizophrenic.”

  At this point, I would have rather believed I was. The alternative was much too ugly
to face. “But—”

  JT nodded. “I know what the doctor told you. She based her diagnosis on the information the bureau gave her.”

  The bureau? “And ... ?”

  “It wasn’t exactly accurate.”

  “I’m not schizophrenic.” I hiccupped or sobbed. Or something. Not schizophrenic. “Oh, God.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I was happy and terrified, both. “That means the attack wasn’t a hallucination.” My gaze sailed across the room, landing on the marked wall. I swallowed a lump in my throat the size of Mt. Everest.

  “No, it wasn’t.” JT’s gaze followed mine.

  “I’m confused. Why did you tell my doctor it was, then?”

  JT went to inspect the wall closer. “I didn’t. Chief Peyton did. Actually, what she did was show the doctor a section of the surveillance tape. She couldn’t risk our case getting out. She’d rather see you temporarily misdiagnosed than have people panicking, running around telling the media that vampires are real.”

  I wanted to stand up and march over to him, but I didn’t trust my legs at the moment. They were a little mushy. “I don’t understand. If the doctor saw the tape, why wouldn’t she know I wasn’t hallucinating?”

  “Because the being that attacked you doesn’t record with standard video equipment.” JT traced the b with his index finger. “Neither its image nor its voice was captured on the tape. We picked it up with infrared, which is why we know you weren’t hallucinating.”

  I was stunned. Relieved. And terrified. I wasn’t insane. At least, not yet. That was the best news I’d heard in ages.

  But something was out there, something I didn’t understand. And it wanted something from me.

  JT turned his back to the wall, facing me. “The chief thought, after all of this, you’d like to take a couple of days for yourself.”

  “But what about our case? Have there been any more deaths? And what about my blood tests? Was I injected with some kind of infectious agent? And the thing that attacked me—”

  JT chuckled. “One at a time.” He strolled over to me and laid his hands on mine. “You tested negative for all tropical infectious diseases known to exist. No worries there. And as far as your attacker, we don’t believe it’s the unsub. You will be under surveillance, twenty-four–seven, until it’s caught.”