Rajmund

by D. B. Reynolds

  "If we could come in, ma'am?” Raj said gently. “It's cold."

  "Oh my God, oh my God.” The woman's voice rose as she fumbled with the flimsy lock on the screen door. Sarah felt Raj tense next to her and knew he was worried about the noise attracting attention. She pulled the door open and pushed into the house, putting her arms around the distraught mother, hustling her back inside. “Quietly, Mrs. Aiello. Please. We don't want the press—"

  "No, no. Of course not. I'm sorry. Do you want . . .” She seemed uncertain where to go, her face pale, hands shaking.

  "It's all right, Mrs. Aiello. Regina's fine. Or she will be now that she's home with you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cervantes laying the girl gently on a big overstuffed sofa. Mrs. Aiello snapped out of her shock, hurrying over to kneel before her daughter.

  "My baby, oh, thank you, Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” She bent her head over Regina, shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Raj gave Sarah a long look. She flushed and stood aside, clearing the way for him to kneel next to the sofa. Cervantes moved away almost reluctantly, as if unwilling to relinquish his claim on the injured Regina, but a glance from Raj had him crossing back to the front door, where he stood waiting.

  "Mrs. Aiello.” Her head came up and she turned to meet Raj's gaze. She smiled when he took her hand, and Sarah was startled to see Raj smile back. Not the half sneer she'd come to expect from him lately, but a genuine smile, the smile you'd give a child. He leaned closer and stroked her face with one of his big hands. It was a loving touch, gentle and understanding, and Sarah was ashamed as the memory of the awful things she said to him came back to haunt her.

  "She's a happy person, my Regina,” Mrs. Aiello whispered suddenly. “Always laughing and smiling, even when we argue. She can never hold a mean for long,"

  Raj nodded silently, then placed the mother's hand in her daughter's and stood up smoothly, meeting Sarah's gaze across the room. It was everything she could do not to step back in fear. His eyes were gleaming, seeming to bleed power as he stood there staring at her. She froze, trapped in his spell. Then he moved, and suddenly, he was just Raj again, handsome, arrogant, and impatient to get the hell out of here. He strode across the room in two long strides. “Let's go,” he said.

  "Good bye, Mrs. Aiello,” Sarah called softly, but Regina's mom had already forgotten all about them.

  Sarah stepped out onto the porch with a sigh of relief, breathing in the fresh air, clearing her head of not just the warmth of the overheated house, but the cobwebs that seemed to cling to her thoughts. Cervantes was already climbing into the truck and Raj was not far behind. She hurried to catch up with him.

  "What did you do?” she asked breathlessly. When he ignored her, she reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop or drag her along. Raj spun around, his glare colder than the night. A little thrill of terror raced through her, bumping her heart into a faster beat and catching her breath in her lungs.

  "What do you think I did, Sarah?” He gave her hand on his arm a pointed look and she dropped it with a murmured apology.

  He strode away once again and she raced to catch him again. “You might as well slow down, damn it,” she complained. “You're not going to leave me here and you know it."

  He ignored her, standing at the open truck door and waiting impatiently as she clambered up and slid to the middle of the seat. Apparently Raj was angry. What a novelty. If they'd been alone, she might have demanded to know what the problem was this time, but Danny and Cervantes were listening to every word, so she bit her tongue and said nothing.

  Raj yanked the door closed and snapped at Danny to “Get the fuck out of here.” Maybe Danny knew what the problem was, because he spun the truck away from the curb and took off with a squeal of tires.

  It was a silent ride back to the warehouse, but instead of going inside, Danny pulled the SUV into the parking lot and looked over at Raj, his eyebrows raised in question..

  "You two check in with Em,” Raj ordered, opening the door on his side. “Take one of the blood houses. Sarah's going with me."

  Sarah jerked around to stare. She wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere with him in this mood, or any other, for that matter. But neither Danny nor Cervantes seemed to care what Sarah wanted. The truck's taillights were already disappearing by the time she'd processed the fact that they were leaving.

  "Get in the car,” Raj said, beeping the locks open on his car.

  "Maybe I should—"

  "Get in the car, Sarah,” he said, staring at her over the gleaming black roof of his BMW.

  "Where are we—"

  "Get. In. The. Car."

  Sarah took a deep breath and looked around. She was in the middle of an empty parking lot, on a dark street, miles away from anyone or anything, with not even her emergency twenty dollars in her pocket. The warehouse was right behind her, of course, but somehow she doubted they'd let her inside, even if anyone was there. And she really didn't believe Raj would hurt her. She sighed, opened the car door and slumped into the seat, thankful that at least she didn't have to climb five feet straight up to get there. Small favors.

  Raj brooded as he sped down dark streets, not sure where he was going. Sarah sat next to him, silent for once, not demanding to know what he was doing or where they were going or any of the myriad explanations she was always insisting upon. She probably thought he was angry. Which he was, although not at her. What made him furious was what he'd discovered inside Regina Aiello's head.

  Making a last minute decision, he took a hard right turn onto the thruway, the rear end fishtailing behind him on the slick surface. He caught the jerk of Sarah's hand as she grabbed for the armrest and smiled in satisfaction.

  "What happened, Raj?” Sarah said suddenly, in a low, tense voice. “Please tell me."

  So much for her silence. When he didn't say anything, she continued. “I know you got inside Regina's mind. I'd like to know what you found there."

  "Why? So you can be certain I didn't rape her?"

  She flinched away from him so hard her head bumped against the window. He could hear the tears in her voice when she said quietly, “I tried to call you. I left messages."

  Raj ignored her and kept driving.

  "I spoke to Jennifer,” she added.

  "I know. She told me."

  "You talked to Jen? But—"

  He glanced over and saw the hurt in her eyes that he'd called Jennifer but not her. But then Jennifer hadn't accused him of being a rapist, had she?

  "I said I was sorry,” she said softly. “I know you wouldn't . . .” She looked away from him and swallowed hard. “You have to understand what it's like for me. What it's like for them."

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Them?"

  "The women in my dreams, my nightmares. I'm inside their heads. I feel everything they feel—the pain, the terror, the awful, awful hope that someone will come in time.” She shook her head and turned away from him, staring out the window. “Please drop me off somewhere,” she murmured desperately. “I don't care where. Drop me at a phone. I can—"

  "Running away again, Sarah?"

  She swung on him. “How dare you—"

  "Accuse you of something like that? Is that what you wanted to say, sweetheart?"

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I said I was fucking sorry."

  Raj laughed abruptly. “You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear,” he said, just to irritate her.

  "Yeah? Well, then, fuck you again. Let me out of this fucking car."

  "No."

  "No?" she all but screamed at him. “I am so sick of you—” Her words were chopped off as he cut across three lanes of traffic, slicing between two huge eighteen wheelers with only inches to spare, before zipping down an off-ramp and dumping into one of Buffalo's working class neighborhoods. Next to him, Sarah had released her death grip on the armrest and was looking around, scanning the streets. She probably had no idea where they were, probably never vent
ured too far away from the campus with its trendy restaurants and tidy bars.

  Raj, on the other hand, knew exactly where he was going. He made a series of quick turns down narrow streets and pulled onto a smear of blacktop in front of a seedy-looking bar. He parked, got out of the car and started across the poorly lit lot without saying a word. He clicked the remote in warning and heard her swear softly. She opened her car door and he smiled, feeling the angry heat of her gaze on his back. He stopped at the bar's entrance, waited politely until she caught up and then opened the door and gestured for her to go in ahead of him. She paused to peer cautiously through the door, gave him a dubious look and crossed the threshold. Raj chuckled and followed her inside, letting the door swing slowly shut behind him.

  Sarah shuffled to a halt just inside, letting her eyes adjust. It was even darker inside than out, especially once Raj let the door close with a muffled thud. She was aware of him crowding impatiently behind her and she stepped aside, watching as he strode across the room. A trio of cheap, tin wall sconces hung on the opposite wall, the kind with a pattern punched into the metal to shed a dim, yellowed light on a row of banquettes. There was a long bar to the right, with tired-looking twinkle-lights around the mirror. Raj called out something to the bartender in Polish. The bartender grunted and headed for a small freezer unit sitting on the counter at the far end.

  Sarah threaded through empty tables to the bar where she took one look at the dull, sticky surface and decided to stand. Raj had no such qualms, he was leaning forward with both elbows, one foot cocked on a railing which might have been brass in some long-ago former life. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You want something to drink?"

  "What are you having?” she asked.

  "Vodka,” he snorted, as if it was a stupid question.

  "I'll have the same."

  He barked out a surprised laugh and called to the bartender who reached beneath the bar and produced two shot glasses. Carrying the glasses in one hand and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other, he deposited both on the bar in front of Raj with no comment. The label on the bottle was in Polish, but it wasn't one of those trendy made-for-America Polish vodkas in a beautiful bottle, and Sarah had a feeling the alcohol content was quite a bit higher.

  Raj picked up both glasses and bottle and headed for a booth in the darkest corner of the already dark room. Sarah saw little choice but to follow him.

  "Have a seat,” he said. He took his own advice and slid onto one of the benches, dropping the glasses onto the table and twisting off the bottle cap with a snap of metal seals. The vodka was so cold, it poured more like thin syrup than liquid, the alcohol preventing it from ever freezing solid.

  "You guys drink a lot,” she commented. She brushed off the bench seat across from him and sat.

  He gave her a lazy look. “That's all we do, sweetheart."

  She hated it when he called her sweetheart like that. Like what he really wanted to say was bitch, but he was too polite. “That's not what I meant and you know it,” she said.

  He smiled and pushed one of the brimming shot glasses across the table to her. “Have a drink. You'll feel better."

  She doubted that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but the few times she'd indulged it had made things far worse, not better. She looked down at the small glass, now frosted white from the cold liquid. His chuckle made her glance up quickly to meet blue eyes which were as icy as the vodka in front of her. His gaze moved slowly down to the glass and back up again in blatant challenge. Damnit. Sarah drew a breath, picked up the shot glass and brought it to her lips. Her eyes watered immediately from the alcohol fumes and she hesitated, but he was watching her with that patronizing smile of his.

  She opened her mouth and threw the freezing liquid straight down her throat, feeling the muscles there contract in shock. She choked, fighting down a reflexive cough, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as her stomach burst into flames. Jesus Christ! How did anyone drink that stuff?

  Raj laughed appreciatively. “Nazdrovia,” he said and tossed back his own shot, slamming his glass to the table and immediately lifting the bottle again. He gestured at her glass, but she shook her head, still unable to speak, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. Raj slid out of the booth, strolled over to the bar and came back with a glass of water, no ice.

  "This will help,” he said, putting it on the table in front of her.

  Sarah waited until she was sure she could open her mouth without gasping for air, then picked up the glass and sipped slowly. The water was just slightly cooler than room temperature, soothing her traumatized throat and washing away the residue of what was surely pure alcohol. She grabbed some cocktail napkins from the table and dabbed her eyes with them, their rough texture like sandpaper on her overheated skin.

  "Not much of a drinker?” he asked.

  "That,” Sarah rasped, “is not drinking."

  "It is where I come from."

  Sarah took another sip of water and another, before she trusted herself to say anything more. “Will you tell me what you found out from Regina?"

  He gave her a cool look.

  "I'm the one who found her, not you,” she insisted.

  He still didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows doubtfully.

  She threw the wet napkins on the table. “You have got to be one of the most frustrating men I've ever met."

  "That's because I'm not a man, sweetheart. I keep telling you that, but you're not listening."

  "Fine. You're one of the most frustrating males I've ever met, how about that? You're still a male aren't you?"

  "Oh, yes,” he drawled suggestively. “Definitely that."

  Sarah felt her face heat once again, and not from the vodka. “All right, I give. What are we doing here?"

  He shrugged. “Having a drink."

  She sighed and scooted further into the banquette, turning sideways to lean against the wall and bring her feet up in front of her. She wrapped her arms around her knees and let her head fall back and her eyes close. She was tired. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a decent night's sleep, and didn't know how long it would be until the next one. She thought of all the things she had to do once this was over, once they found Trish and the others. The nightmare would be over for everyone else after that, but just beginning for Sarah.

  She'd resign from the University, of course. She felt bad about leaving them in the lurch like this, but the term was almost over and they'd find someone to cover her classes. She was sure they'd prefer that to having her finish out the semester, in any event. It was bad enough that she was living under an assumed identity, although they probably could have gotten past that. She'd done nothing illegal. But a psychic? A woman who channeled captive women in her dreams? That was the stuff of those tawdry newspapers they sold at grocery checkout counters and not at all suitable for a faculty member at any decent university. She sighed again, more deeply this time, and was glad she'd already cried herself out from the vodka. The last thing she needed was to get all weepy with Raj the Perfect sitting across the table from her.

  "Tired?” he asked.

  Her eyes flashed open and she gave him a distrustful look. He'd sounded almost sympathetic for a minute there.

  He gave a cynical laugh, more of a breath than anything else, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Regina doesn't know anything about where she was held,” he said without preamble. “She was drugged at first and then . . .” He scowled across the table at her. “But you already know that, don't you, Sarah? What else haven't you told me?"

  Sarah studied him for a minute and looked away. “Emelie said you wouldn't understand."

  "Understand what?"

  "Why I didn't tell you."

  "You mean why you lied to me?"

  She blew out a frustrated breath and gave him a disbelieving look. “Why should I have told you anything? What are we, best friends now, Raj? Hell, I don't even tell my best friends any of this."

  "What about you
r buddy Cynthia. I bet she knows."

  "Is that what's really bugging you? That Cyn might know something you don't?” His jaw tightened and she coughed a disbelieving laugh. “That's it, isn't it? No, wait. It's not Cyn, it's Raphael! You think Cyn told Raphael. This is just stupid vampire one-upmanship.” She laughed bitterly. “Well, don't worry, Raj. Cyn doesn't know either. No one knows,” she muttered. “Or at least they didn't until all of this happened."

  She leaned her head back again, closing her eyes. She'd have to call Cyn when this was over, too, she thought tiredly. Have to explain it all over again. Although something told her Cyn would understand a lot better than Raj did.

  Raj poured himself another shot and threw it down his throat, slamming the empty glass down with a crack of sound. “There's at least one vampire involved,” he said suddenly, his voice heavy with disgust. “He's putting the women under his control so they only see what he wants them to see."

  Sarah looked at him. “Can you tell who it is?"

  "No. But I can tell who it isn't. He's got power, but he doesn't know what he's doing. His work is clumsy and potentially harmful."

  "Regina?"

  He shook his head. “She'll be all right."

  "Wasn't she taken from one of the blood houses?"

  Raj nodded. “Corfu, but that doesn't—"

  "Were the others all taken the same way? I mean except for Trish."

  "Pretty much, and I think whoever took Trish meant to get Jen. She was at one of the other houses the week before. Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Why?"

  "Well, that's how we find him."

  His gaze sharpened. “We don't do anything. I do. You're no longer a part of this investigation. It's gotten too dangerous.” He slid out of the booth and stood next to it, waiting for her. “Come on, I'll take you back to the warehouse."

  Sarah swung her legs down, scooted out of the booth and said calmly, “I'm not going back to the warehouse. I need to help with Trish and the others, and I can't—"

  "No."

  "Excuse me?” she demanded. She glared up at him towering over her and wished she was wearing heels instead of her Nikes.