‘Why do you want me to know you’re a vampire? Isn’t that supposed to be a secret?’
His gaze was stilled locked on mine. ‘I want you to know about me because I have a feeling about you. I believe you have a crucial role to play in my life.’
My stomach clenched and I broke eye-contact. A crucial role in his life? This sounds like stalker material.
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 subculture might be populated by psychotics. That would require a totally different treatment plan.
No problem. This is good. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
I glanced over at the clock, thinking of ways I could gracefully end the conversation.
‘Shall I show you one of my vampire abilities?’ he asked, his voice deep.
‘I don’t know.’ My stomach tightened. ‘What kind of ability is it?’ I half-expected him to tug a long scarf out of his fist or spread a deck of cards on the table.
‘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 him to leave. Word for word.
My body rode a rollercoaster of emotion.
How could he possibly know that?
I immediately felt embarrassed that he’d somehow known what I really thought about him, which was then made even worse by the humiliating possibility that 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 read my energy 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 on to the arms of the chair so tightly that my fingers blanched whiter than normal.
‘That’s quite a clever parlour 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 got angry at a client before. I’ve never been so attracted to a client before. This is unnatural. What’s happening?
‘You are angry. Once again, I apologise 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 old vampires have the potential to be telepathic, but not many are as skilled as I am. It is one of my gifts. As you might imagine, being bombarded by constant mental chatter can be tedious, so I’ve taught myself to pick up an individual’s thoughts only if I choose to. I now receive specifically what I focus on and nothing more. I can teach you to shield your thoughts, if you wish.’
‘Can’t you just stop whatever it is you’re doing?’ I demanded, much louder than I’d meant to. I couldn’t honestly say I believed he’d read my mind, because how could that be possible? I’d never met anyone with keen enough psychic abilities to actually know another’s thoughts, word for word. This was new territory. Not being able to explain it made me nervous.
His lips curved, and he gave another bow of his head.
‘With most humans, there is little pull to their thoughts. Their minds are filled with ordinary, meaningless details and I can easily turn my attention elsewhere. But your mind is very powerful and you have your own abilities, which you have not yet acknowledged. That is a very strong attraction for me. But I will do my best not to intrude.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and stood up, struggling to hold myself together. What abilities? What’s he talking about? ‘We need to stop now.’
‘Yes.’ He stood as well and smiled at me. ‘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 one of us.’
He has such interesting, old-fashioned speech patterns. I feel as if I’ve fallen into a time warp. Or into one of my old roommate’s taped episodes 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 discuss Midnight with you, so it might be best if I refer you to another clinician.’
‘There are many topics I wish to explore, 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 in which Midnight lives.’
What was it about that voice? Why was it causing me to have very un-therapist-like thoughts? It seemed to generate actual heat in my body. 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 start seeing a therapist, I’d be pleased to refer you.’
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 on to 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 tingled 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 should already be subsiding.’
My symptoms? Third eye? I’ve got to get this handsome madman out of my office.
‘Until next time.’ He turned and left as quietly as he came in.
I rubbed my forehead, half-expecting to find a gaping wound, and was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I was almost clear-headed again. I suspected I was right about him being a hypnotist, because he certainly understood the power of suggestion. Regardless of why the fuzziness, buzzing and pain had gone away, I was relieved they 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 it, then kicked 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 threatening to run amok.
That was, without a doubt, the weirdest experience I’d ever had. A good-looking man expressed interest in me and I handled it poorly. Gee. What a surprise.
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’d written 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 twenty-nine y
ears old when he was ‘brought over’. So something must have happened to him when he was twenty-nine 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 sad. What a shame that this obviously intelligent and unquestionably gorgeous man was caught up in such a 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. How could he possibly have such an extraordinary level of skill? I remembered reading an article about mental illness and enhanced psychic abilities – the intuitive equivalent of a savant. I’d have to do some more research on that topic.
Why had I let him get to me? I was thoroughly ashamed of myself for behaving so unprofessionally – so irrationally. I treated him more like an appealing male than someone in a clinical situation. I’d never had that kind of reaction to someone in my office. I owed Devereux an apology. First I’d let myself be attracted to him, and then I’d lost my temper. Both those choices were completely unacceptable and very unlike me. It was undoubtedly time for me to schedule weekly appointments with Nancy rather than monthly. I mean, how unnatural was it for a thirty-year-old woman to be a celibate hermit?
If my bad experience with Tom and my dysfunctional childhood 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 towards correcting the problem or find another line of work.
I decided I’d call the cute chiropractor when I got home. Nancy was right. I’d have to get back on the horse sometime.
CHAPTER 4
The next couple of days were uneventful. Determined to confront my fears, I summoned my courage and called Vaughan the chiropractor. We arranged to meet for dinner the following weekend. He sounded 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 and online announcing psychotherapy for vampires had started to draw responses and I’d begun the screening process for setting up appointments and forming groups. I now understood the importance of thoroughly questioning each candidate. After my experience with Devereux, separating the mildly delusional from the profoundly disturbed 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 voicemail, telling 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 organised group or if he was the sole member of his congregation, but he was very enthusiastic and dramatic about his opinions. He spoke with a Southern accent, and he 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. I knew I should call him and apologise, 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 at the same time, and those conflicting emotions combined to create some terrifying third thing inside my psyche that I just didn’t understand. When in doubt, brood. And that’s exactly what I did.
When Midnight came in for her next appointment on Thursday afternoon she wasn’t wearing her vampire costume and she wasn’t alone. I almost didn’t recognise her until she spoke to me. Dressed in jeans, Renaissance Fayre T-shirt and running shoes, with her long hair pulled into a ponytail, she was the fresh-faced 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 wrapped one 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 traumatised. 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, sending out waves of panic. ‘When I came home this morning at dawn, I found her sitting out on the front stairs, staring at her feet. I got her inside and sat with her for hours, trying to get her to eat something or tell me what happened, but she wouldn’t say a word. I was going to cancel my appointment with you and take her to the emergency room, but then I thought maybe you could help.’
‘Emerald?’ I moved over to squat down in front of her. 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. She gave off no emotions. For all intents and purposes, the walking dead.
‘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 her eyes.
Well, maybe it’s good for Midnight to focus on her friend for a while, get her mind off the vampire obsession. 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.’ 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 challenge the claim, but the helpless expression on Midnight’s face stopped me. She was truly worried about her friend, and she was blaming herself.
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 me. Creating a therapeutic bond was a crucial turning point in therapy, and it wouldn’t be good to burst the bubble.
‘Let’s get her to the hospital.’ I stood. ‘I could call an ambulance, but it’ll probably be faster to take my car.’ I knew that Midnight usually walked or took the bus to her appointments. 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 and supported Emerald’s other side, and the three of us shifted sideways to exit through the narrow space.
‘Hey, Ronald,’ said Midnight, addressing 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 was to have been our first ses
sion. I’d wondered if he’d show up in costume, but he hadn’t. His squeaky-clean-looking auburn hair flowed down over his shoulders, and his round copper-coloured eyes were warm and friendly. In fact, the only indication of his alternative lifestyle was his Theatre of Blood T-shirt and a pentagram earring hanging from one earlobe.
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 I didn’t really know much about him. 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 say no to another set of muscles.
I’d imagined that Ronald’s van would be something you’d find on an old Grateful Dead album cover, but it was surprisingly nice and very clean. He opened the sliding door on the side and Midnight and I climbed in, holding Emerald, who was 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. My anxiety rose with each delay.
Ronald’s eyes peered at us in the rearview 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.’
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