“Everybody reacts differently to the infection. Your friend seems pretty tough. She fought off that junkie without any real help from me.” Vincent saw Ben’s face start to relax, the fear disappearing from his eyes.
“I believe it. She’s always been strong. And she survived that fall, so...”
“Fall? What fall?” Vincent frowned.
Ben glanced at the door. “She doesn’t like talking about it. But she isn’t here, so...” Ben pushed the drawer closed and motioned Vincent to follow him out to the front counter.
Ben opened his “Forensic Anthropology” textbook and pulled out a collection of newspaper clippings, all dated a month before. He laid them out on the counter in front of Vincent, motioning for him to look at them.
“About a month ago, she was running down a junkie somewhere in the Lower East Side. I think she said his name was Franco or something. Anyway, they ended up on the approach to the Brooklyn Bridge.” Ben glanced again at the door before continuing. “She fell about four stories, I think. Broke her back, they said, though how that’s possible and her running around now, I do not know.”
The bridge... Vincent felt his stomach tighten, an odd knot of discomfort and anticipation. He remembered the news reports on the newly-minted detective, falling to what should have been death or, perhaps worse, a lifetime of paralysis. He remembered the police academy photo of her, her eyes wide and so desperately blue... her dark hair pulled up in a chignon with her NYPD cap perched above... her confident smile, softened by those full, soft lips... And her scent... Vincent took a deep breath, momentarily overwhelmed by the memory of it. He looked at one of the newspaper clippings, which included a photograph of Sam walking out of the hospital... She’d been wearing the same jacket that night...
“I was there that day,” Ben said, pointing to the paper. “I expected her to at the very least be limping or something but...” He shook his head. “Her grandfather said all along she would be fine, that she would walk out of the hospital and everything. Ivan always knows things like that. Not sure how, but he does.”
Vincent carefully slid the clippings back toward Ben. “You said her grandfather’s name is... Ivan?”
“Yeah, Ivan Karolyi... Why?”
“Unusual name.” Vincent motioned toward the back room. “Be careful when you clean that up. The virus lingers in the residue for several hours.” Without further ado, Vincent turned and disappeared through the door.
Sam retched a final time, her head hung low into the large drum garbage can. Forget the fucking virus... I’m going to die from dehydration. A wad of paper towels suddenly appeared by her head. Sam slowly raised up to look at the hand, then farther up to the face of the towel holder.
Vincent leaned against the lavatory counter; his head angled slightly to see Sam’s face. “I should have had you wait outside. That wasn’t something you really needed to see. Or hear.”
Sam panted lightly as she grabbed the paper towels from his hand, thanking Vincent with a withering glare. “I’ve seen the movies. I know what happens when you get attacked by one of those things. Somebody’s always waiting in the shadows to put a silver bullet in you. Oh, excuse me, a mercury-loaded syringe.”
Sam wiped her mouth as she moved over to the closest sink, turning on the cold water. She leaned over, grabbed handfuls of water and rinsed her mouth several times. Shutting off the water, Sam stood up and leaned against the wall. “Yesterday, I was having lunch with my grandfather and now I’ve got the flu from hell and I’m turning into a dog... Shit.” Sam gripped the sides of her head, clearly in pain. Her breaths grew more strained and rapid, almost a panting.
“You should go home, rest—” Vincent started to turn. Suddenly, she pinned him against the wall, his face pressed against the tiled wall, his arms pinned behind him and a palm pressing against the back of his neck.
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?” Sam’s voice was deep, throaty and very close to his ear. The change was moving much faster than he had expected, faster than he’d ever seen before. She was strong now – too strong for her size and build. She yanked him away from the wall, whirled him around and promptly slammed him back against the wall.
“Answer me. Is that what is going to happen to me?” Sam leaned in, her mouth close to his ear as she continued, “Are you going to take me, hold me down, plunge that into me?”
Vincent suddenly became very aware of her closeness. Her body pressed up close to him, her face inches away from his. The rush of pheromones she was exuding was intoxicating, overwhelming. Vincent swallowed hard. “If it comes to that, yes.”
Sam leaned back slightly, frowned, “If? When wouldn’t it come to that?”
“I know of one person, one man. He was exposed, infected, transformed -”
“And?”
“To my knowledge, he’s still alive. Here, in New York.”
Sam looked away for a moment, seemed to be taking in what had been said. She turned back to Vincent. “Here in New York?” Vincent nodded, and Sam quickly released him. “Well then, we’d better find him before this goes any further.”
“We?”
Sam wadded up the paper towel, tossed it into the garbage can and headed for the door. “If you think I’m going to let your mercury-wielding ass out of my sight, you’re crazy. Where would this man be?”
“I believe he’s in the hospital.”
Sam paused, turned back toward Vincent. “Could you be a bit more specific?”
“A hospital downtown, I think.”
“There’s only one hospital downtown.”
“We’ll know when we get there.”
Sam sighed. “Great. I’ll stop and see my grandfather while we’re there.” She pulled open the door and exited.
Vincent smiled. “That’s fine,” he said and followed her out the door.
9
THE TRANSLUCENT GREEN mass wiggled and wobbled in the bowl in front of him. Ivan poked at the lime gelatin, moved his spoon to scoop a mouthful, and then sighed, tossing the spoon down on the tray.
He glanced around the hospital room, squinting his eyes to see the neutral paintings on the walls, the moving figures on the television. He could tell from the sounds that it was a baseball game, “Bombers” versus Detroit. He should care about this game; he had a pool going with some other fans at the senior center and, with both of his favorite teams playing each other, the odds of winning were high. But it didn’t matter... nothing mattered anymore except keeping her safe from them.
Ivan pushed the tray away from him as far as it would go. The casters snagged on part of the bed sheet under the bed, but it rolled far enough away to allow him to get some leverage on the mattress and boost himself up in the bed. Samantha would be here soon, and he wanted to look presentable, even if the pallor of blood-loss still lingered on his face. She would worry, his Nepoata, and she had more important “things” to worry about. “Things” she did not know about, yet. “Things” he needed to tell her about them. Ivan only hoped that she would believe what he had to say and do what she must do to protect herself.
That was when he smelled it, smelled them. The hospital must be filled with varcolac, beginning with the blonde nurse in the emergency room. Throughout the day, Ivan would catch a whiff of that smell in the elevator, in the hallways, in radiology. Most of them were young, newly turned, no threat to an old man like him.
He inhaled briefly; his mouth opened slightly allowing him to taste the air. A pair, male and female, somewhere in the hallway.
Samantha. Ivan frowned. How close is she to them? Why did she have to pick this moment to come down that same hallway? Ivan fumbled with the blanket and bed sheet, pulling them this way and that, searching for his glasses.
Sam gave a cursory knock on the door as she entered. She crossed the room quickly and bent to kiss her grandfather on the cheek. “Hey, Grampy.” Sam poked the small bowl of gelatin around on the food tray. “Lime, huh? Looks good, how come you’re not eating?”
�
��I cannot find my glasses.”
“I don’t think you need them to eat your lunch.”
Ivan stopped and cast a withering glare at the food tray beside him. “That is garbage.” He shoved the table sharply, causing the tray to slide quickly toward the edge and teeter precariously.
Sam bent to free the casters from the blanket then moved the table away carefully. “I gather you’re feeling a bit better.” She sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Do not be wise with me, Nepoata.” Ivan turned and looked at his granddaughter. She looked terribly ill. His years and experiences made him observant and he quickly took in her appearance: the pale skin, the dark circles, the bent posture, the bandaged neck... “What have you been up to? What is that on your neck?”
A faint smile played at the corner of Sam’s lips; she reached up and touched the bandage on her neck. “Forgot that was there, actually. It’s just a scratch, Grampy, I’m fine.”
“A scratch from what?”
Sam sighed. “A knife. I ran into a perp with a knife. I’m fine.” She stood, strolled over to the windows and leaned against the frame beside them. The cool of the wall felt good against her temple.
“And this... perp?”
“He’s dead.”
Ivan nodded. “Good. Did you kill him?”
Sam chuckled. “No, actually, I didn’t. Somebody else did.”
Ivan nodded, satisfied. He knew it was part of her job to end life, but Ivan had always been pleased that Sam took no pleasure in it and avoided it, if possible. It was a difficult line that police officers tread... soldiers as well... choosing who may live and who must die... just as they had.
Ivan frowned. The scent was still so strong, oppressively strong. And close, too close. Someone coughed in the hallway outside... No, they were standing in the doorway... “Samantha, who is standing in my doorway? I cannot see without my glasses.”
Ivan scuffled with the blanket and sheet on the bed again, the search for his glasses becoming a desperate one.
Suddenly, a pair of wire-rimmed bifocals appeared in front of them. Ivan quickly took them and began to put them on. “Ah, where were they?”
“On the nightstand, sir.”
Ivan froze. That voice... He slowly looked up at the source of the voice. “I know your face. I know you.”
Vincent crouched down beside the bed. “Yes. Yes, you do. You look well, considering your condition.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Sam moved away from the wall... wonderful, cool wall... and turned her attention to the two men in front of her.
She turned to her grandfather, pointed to Vincent. “You know him? How do you know him? I know everyone that you know, why don’t I know about him?” Sam paused, turned on Vincent. “Is this why you were so cool with coming here? You wanted to see my grandfather?” Sam’s eyes suddenly went wide. “It’s him, isn’t it? No, no, this is not possible! Are you implying that my grandfather is a werewolf?”
Ivan sat straight up in bed, his eyes ablaze with anger. “What have you told her?”
“Lower your voice before someone comes in here!” Vincent jumped up and closed the door. “The real question is what have you told her? What does she really know? Did you tell her about the camp, about the doctor?”
“Nothing about those things.” Ivan swallowed hard; his jaw set in anger. “Why are you here, Wolfmörder?”
Vincent tensed at the title. Under the circumstances, he had not expected to hear that from Ivan Karolyi, of all people. True, it was what he did, but being addressed as a “wolf-killer” was not something he had aspired to and, considering the source, it hurt. “You know why, sir.”
Ivan’s frown faded ever-so-slightly; he looked down at his arms and chest, at the stained bandages wrapped around them. “Yes, I know. They are here.” Ivan looked up, gestured to Sam. “How did you find each other?”
“He helped me, Grampy.” Sam patted his hand reassuringly. “I had some trouble in the park. You know, with the ‘perp’. He helped me out.”
“Not soon enough.”
Ivan turned quickly to Vincent. “What?”
Vincent sighed, dreading what he knew he had to say. “I wasn’t able to reach her in time.”
Ivan visibly wilted at that. He covered his face and was silent for a long while. How could I have failed her so horribly? My Nepoata... my Samantha...
Sam hesitantly reached out, placing a hand on Ivan’s arm. “Grampy?” she said quietly, her voice sounding younger than usual.
Ivan’s chest tightened at the sound, making the air of the room harder to breathe. He fought the images of his smiling little granddaughter that raced through his head, her laughter, that adoring look she always had for him as a youngster. Sometimes he still saw that look, when he wasn’t making her life difficult.
Ivan took a deep, labored breath and lowered his hands from his face. He turned and looked at his granddaughter, saw the fear in her eyes. Not fear for herself, fear for him, worry about him. But no, no, my dearest Nepoata, it is not time for you to care for me now, not anymore... Now I must care for you as best I can. Ivan took another deep breath and swallowed hard before he spoke: “Samantha, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine, Gram —”
“No,” Ivan interrupted firmly. “Tell me... How you feel?”
Sam shrugged, wrapped her arms around herself. “Sore, achy... Cold one minute, hot the next. Nausea comes and goes. It’s kind of like having the flu... or PMS.”
Vincent chuckled, “That explains the irritability.” Sam retorted by tossing a withering glare in his direction.
“Then you have nearly hit the midpoint.” Ivan sat up straighter in the bed. “You will begin to feel better now. Your body is adjusting to the virus, accepting it. The symptoms clear faster than those of the flu or a cold, much faster. You should feel as yourself by this evening.”
“Myself. Right.” Sam sat on the end of the bed. “Grampy, why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
Ivan placed his hand upon hers, patted gently. “I did many times. You thought they were stories.”
“That’s just great,” Vincent muttered under his breath.
Sam tossed another withering glare in Vincent’s direction. “Yes, I thought they were just stories. He also used to tell me that lentils were little creatures that came out at night and danced on the lawn. Was I supposed to believe that, too?” Sam looked back to Ivan.
Ivan stared out the window, his expression wistful, troubled, and sad as he spoke: “I had hoped you would never need to know. I was foolish to think... That such things would end with the war, would cease to be. But wars never truly end... The weapons they spawn live on.”
“Spawn. That’s what I am now.”
Ivan shook himself out of his reverie and turned back to Sam. “Samantha...”
“What about Dad? Was he ever... infected? Was he spawn, too?”
Ivan shook his head, as he replied, “No.” He watched the emotions on Sam’s face as they flowed from anger to confusion to sadness and back again. “I am sorry, my Nepoata. I did what I thought was best for you. I have always tried to do what was best.”
Sam fought back tears as she looked at her now frail grandfather as he sat beside her. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay.” She patted his hand as she stood up. “I’m going to go home, sleep the rest of this off if I can, okay?” She leaned in, kissed Ivan on the cheek. “Behave yourself, Grampy. Rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Sam walked by Vincent with barely a glance as she left the room.
Moments passed in silence before Vincent stood to follow her out.
“Vincent. I wasn’t expecting you would come.”
Vincent smiled. “I wasn’t expecting... her.”
Ivan stared out the window again, his expression distant. “I am... too old. My time has passed. I have marched on for nearly 60 years. I raised myself above my experiences. I worked proudly, raised a son. I lived and loved as I swore that I would.” He blinked
out of his thoughts, focused in on Vincent. “They will try to take her. She is too valuable to be left alone. They need her... and they fear her.”
He pointed a finger at Vincent for emphasis as he continued, “You know what she faces.” Ivan paused for a moment, looked closely at the young Irishman in front of him. Yes, he knew. He understood better than most would... this handsome man who had already done what he could no longer do, helping his granddaughter in her time of need. And more than that, Ivan had felt the change in the air when they were both in the room together, the bond that was already beginning to form. He remembered that same feeling when he had first met his Anna, so many years ago... Ivan sighed. “Take care of her, Vincent. Don’t let them take her. Take care of her... for me.”
“I’ll protect her, Ivan. With my life, if it comes to it.” Vincent gave a final nod before he hurried out of the room in pursuit of Sam.
Ivan leaned back in his bed, his head resting comfortably on the pillows. He turned to look out the window, tears filling his eyes.
Sam exited the stairwell and wove her way through the various patients and staff traveling the hallway leading to the ER. Everything around her was a blur, both from the speed at which she was moving and the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She looked ahead toward the ER, focused on the exit doors and the brightness beyond. Only a little bit farther...
Sam stepped clear of the hallway she had been traveling – and right into the chest of Dr. Jack Hudson. The well-muscled, smelling-of-after-shave-and-coffee...Down girl, down! Sam blinked rapidly and brushed the back of her hand quickly across her eyes to remove the traces of moisture as Hudson spoke:
“Miss Karolyi? I’m so sorry, are you all right?”
“Fine, fine.” She attempted to continue on her way, but Hudson stepped into her path.
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 8