Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist)

by Hilburn, Lynda

  I sat and gingerly investigated the blood dripping down my forehead.

  “Damn, you’re still bleeding,” Michael said. He walked over to the podium, retrieved a box of tissues from one of the inside shelves, and handed it to me.

  “Thank you.” I patted my forehead with a tissue.

  I looked around at the madness in the auditorium. Audience members continued to pour toward the exits in a frenzied attempt to vacate the room as quickly as possible now that murder was involved. Various media people latched onto the slowly departing psychologists, like mountain lions scanning a herd of deer, waiting for the weak ones to fall behind.

  And now a dozen police officers pushed their way inside, some jumping over seats, finally inching their way to the area in front of the stage and handcuffing the still-struggling stalking linebacker.

  A couple of minutes later, Alan stood talking with one of the officers, and they both came over to where Michael and I were waiting.

  “How’s your head?” Alan asked, lifting the tissue to check.

  “I think it’s okay now.” If only the rest of my life healed that quickly.

  The officer, whose identification tag read Martinez, said, “Do you want to file charges, Doctor Knight? You have about five hundred witnesses who saw the accused hit you in the head with his phone and then knock you down.” He raised a brow, waiting.

  I looked at Alan and shrugged, letting him know I wasn’t sure what

  to do.

  “I think you should, Kismet. The man is deranged. He needs help, and he’ll only get it if you press charges.”

  He knew exactly what would motivate me to take action.

  “Oh, in that case I do want to press charges.”

  “All right. I’ll be right back with the paperwork. Just hold tight here for a bit.” Martinez ran down the stairs.

  “Oh, Doctor Knight!” Dr. Teller limped up the stairs, looking decidedly worse for wear. Her short blond hair was standing up in clumps, dirt covered her blouse, and one of her shoes was missing a heel. “I’m so sorry about this. I don’t know what happened to hotel security—they should never have let that man in. I hope this doesn’t tarnish your opinion about our conference. I feel so responsible.” She plopped down on the top step. “And now we’ve had a murder. I can’t believe it!”

  “None of this is your fault, Doctor Teller. What happened to you? Why are you limping?” I asked.

  “I twisted my ankle when that asshole pushed me aside. I’m going to file charges, too, just to make sure he gets locked up.”

  “Good,” Alan said. “And you’re right about hotel security. I gave them a clear description of him after he followed Doctor Knight up to her room the day she arrived. They dropped the ball.”

  “Oh my God!” said Dr. Teller. “I wish I’d known!”

  Alan nodded. “In retrospect maybe I should’ve told you, but I thought the hotel would take care of it. Apparently I was wrong.”

  “I’ll definitely be talking to the head of security. This has been a fiasco!”

  “None of that matters now,” Michael said in a soothing tone. “The police are taking the attacker away, neither Doctor Teller nor Doctor Knight is badly hurt, and we don’t have any information to share about the murder here or the ones in San Francisco. We’re all safe and sound and have a lot to be grateful for.”

  Alan gave Michael his angry fish face.

  Dr. Teller sighed. “I guess you’re right.” She studied her swollen ankle. “I’d better get this looked at, or I won’t be able to walk for days. And I need to find out what the police need from me about the member who was killed. Draining all the blood from her body, can you imagine? What sort of sick monster … Although, it is a rather odd coincidence, considering the topic of your research. Well, I’ll check in with you later to see how you’re doing. I’ll have a couple more chairs sent over for you.”

  “Thank you, yes, it is odd.” I said, holding out my hand for hers, which she squeezed, then rose and hobbled down the stairs and up the aisle. I hoped she was too distraught to put the puzzle pieces together about my unintentional connection to the murders. I knew exactly what kind of sick monster killed the psychologists and all the others. But Alan and I couldn’t tell anyone.

  “Take care, Doctor Teller,” Alan said.

  The police jerked Brown Hat to his feet and half-walked, half-dragged him to the aisle. He looked back over his shoulder at me, and with what could only be described as an evil glare, he stumbled out with his four-police-officer guard. At least one problem had been solved.

  A hotel employee brought the promised chairs, and Alan and Michael sat on either side of me, just as they had last evening in my room. I hoped they could get along better now than they had then.

  “What was all that ranting the big guy was doing about you hanging out with vampires?” Michael asked. “Was he talking about your wannabe clients?”

  Shit. I’d hoped everyone had forgotten about the accusations in the midst of the fracas.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He wasn’t making any sense. Vampires taking over the world? That’s crazy.”

  What if he really does know?

  Alan gave me a covert glance, communicating that we needed to talk privately as soon as possible. “He said he’s been following you since Halloween—did you have any idea someone was tailing you?”

  “Not until a few days ago when someone followed me home from the office. I thought it might be a bodyguard Dev—” I looked at Michael and remembered I had to censor myself.

  “A bodyguard?” Michael asked. “You didn’t mention anything about bodyguards. Have you been threatened before?”

  “Yes!” I looked up at him, happy to be able to talk about something suitable for public consumption. “I received lots of threats after the business at Halloween. The police assigned plainclothes officers to me for a while, so I thought it might be one of those guys.” I turned my attention back to Alan. “Anyway, nothing came of it, and it was only the one time. Of course, who knows how often he staked out my house without my knowledge?”

  Officer Martinez returned with the promised paperwork, and I signed it. “How long will you be staying here at the hotel, in case we need to reach you?” he asked.

  Did I really want to stay at the conference after all this mayhem? Would it be better to go home? “I don’t know for sure. I’d planned to fly back to Denver on Sunday, but I’m going to have to think about whether or not I want to stay that long.” I reached into my pocket for one of the business cards I’d been passing out all day. “Here’s my contact information—feel free to call if there’s anything else I need to do.”

  He nodded at us, then turned and strode away.

  “Come on, Kismet, I’ll walk you back to your room.” Alan offered his hand. “I’m sure you’d like to have some time to yourself.”

  I stood and straightened my clothes.

  “Hey, guys! Wait! Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.” Michael planted his hands on his hips. “After all, there’s some psychologist-killing whacko loose in the hotel. Can I hang out with you for a while?”

  Alan frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him with a look. It was important that he and I process the latest information and figure out what we could do, but Michael was right. There was a murderer on the loose, and he was in particular danger because Lucifer probably knew he was a friend of mine.

  “Why don’t we find some coffee and decompress?” I suggested. “How about that little restaurant downstairs?”

  Michael hugged me. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks!”

  Alan pressed his lips together and gave Michael the stink-eye. “Whatever.”

  What the hell was Alan’s problem? Why did Michael piss him off so much? I didn’t think I’d ever seen him be so disagreeable with someone.

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 18

  It took a while for us to wade through the impromptu media interviews in the auditorium and atriu
m, and we stopped for a few words with therapists who wanted to express their frustration about my presentation being ruined, but we finally pushed through, saying “No comment” to reporters every few seconds.

  I detoured toward the restroom to wash the blood off my forehead and take care of business. Of course one of the reporters followed me in, so I had to pee while she stood outside the stall door lobbing questions as I repeated “No comment.” Since she effectively held me captive, I took some pleasure in pushing the door open with a little more force than was actually needed. The reporter stumbled backward and dropped her cell. No doubt she’d say I attacked her. I washed my hands, then smiled and waved good-bye.

  The cozy bistro was dark and quiet, decorated with 1940s memorabilia, posters of movies and movie stars, and World War II souvenirs. We found a circular booth in the back, ordered our coffees, and sipped them, each momentarily lost in our own thoughts.

  I dropped my head against the cushion and closed my eyes, allowing the severity of the situation to sink in. It was simply a fact that until Lucifer was eliminated, my life would continue to be a nightmare. And nobody was safe.

  The sound of Michael’s voice brought me out of my unhappy reverie. “I need you to tell me the truth.” He looked serious.

  “About what?” I lifted my cup and drank.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I think vampires really exist and that you know about them.”

  I choked on my coffee, and he gently pounded me on the back.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I just had to get it out.”

  Dammit to hell! What now?

  “Why would you think such a thing? Because of what the stalker said? I work with vampire wannabes, that’s what I know.” The incredulity in my voice was authentic, because I’d never given Michael any reason to suspect the truth and his unexpected statement was a total surprise. Although if I hadn’t been so preoccupied and stressed out, I might have been able to pick up his suspicions sooner.

  Alan scooted to the end of the booth and started to get up. “Holy fuck, Parker, you’re as delusional as the stalker. Do you think she needs any more of this garbage right now?” He rose. “What’s your angle? I know you have one.”

  “I don’t think I was asking for your opinions, Agent Stevens. Why don’t you take off? Kismet and I have lots of things to talk about.”

  His eyes narrowed, Alan stepped toward Michael’s end of the booth, a dangerous look on his face. “Why don’t I take off? The last thing I’m going to do is leave her alone with you. But if you’d like to step outside with me, I’m sure we can straighten things out.”

  Instead of backing down, which I would’ve expected from someone who said he was afraid to walk the streets of New York at night, Michael showed his teeth in a disturbing smile. “Sounds good to me—”

  Tired of the drama, I slapped my hand on the table and spoke louder than I meant to. “Stop it, you two! I mean it. You can both leave if you’re incapable of having a civil discussion. I’m so sick of all this vampire bullshit!”

  People in nearby booths turned their heads to look at us.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed to them.

  The two men glared at each other for a few seconds before Alan returned to his seat. “You heard her,” he said in a stage whisper. “No more talk about vampires.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t accommodate her.” Michael played with a napkin on the table. “I have my own evidence—not unlike our bulky friend—and I’m going to talk to Kismet about it now. That’s the only reason I came to this conference. After I read the newsletter article a couple of weeks ago about her presentation, I made my reservations. I knew if anyone could help me sort things out, it was her.”

  Newsletter article? What article? That’s what I get for not opening all my e-mail.

  “Hey! Hold on.”

  He shifted his gaze to me.

  “You said you didn’t know about my involvement with the murders in Denver until I showed you the newspaper reports on the plane. Why did you lie?”

  What does he really want from me? Why does everyone have an ulterior motive?

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just couldn’t believe my luck. Not only were we on the same plane, but you were my seatmate. What were the odds of that? I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so it was easier to let you think I was hitting on you—which wasn’t entirely untrue.”

  “You’re a real sack of shit, Parker.” Alan raked his fingers through his hair and slouched back into the cushions. “I knew there was something phony about you.”

  Other customers were looking at us again, so it was clearly time to take our discussion elsewhere.

  Michael half-rose out of his seat, preparing to launch himself over the table at Alan or do something equally stupid.

  I scooted toward the end of the booth, pushing at Alan. “Move!” I stomped out, wanting to get away from them as much as to leave the restaurant.

  They followed me.

  “Where are you going?” Michael asked. “I’m serious about getting some answers from you.”

  I looked back at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, so you said. Where’s this so-called proof?”

  Michael lifted his laptop carrying case into the air. “Right here.”

  “All right. We’ll go to my room, and you can show us.”

  “No way!” Alan trotted up next to me. “Why are you indulging this guy, Kismet? He’s obviously fucked up. And he lied.”

  “Yes, he did, and he’s confused. The least we can do is listen to him and educate him about the fallacies of his beliefs.” I shifted my eyes to his, silently asking him to play along. He obviously hadn’t thought about the likelihood of Michael being a target for Lucifer. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

  Obviously pissed, he thrust his hands into his pockets and kicked an imaginary can down the hall. “Whatever.”

  We waited for the elevator in silence, and when the door opened several people walked out. Alan and Michael stepped inside. I froze at the entrance. The doors started to close, and Alan grabbed the edge and forced it open. “What’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost. Did you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Stretched out on the floor of the elevator was a partially dressed couple wrapped in a passionate embrace. Her fur coat lay crumpled in the corner and her light-brown hair flowed under Michael’s shoes. Her companion’s white navy uniform shirt hung from one of the handrails. Alan was standing on his arm. They were moaning and groaning. Loudly.

  “Hey, lady—are you getting on or not?” asked a man waiting behind me.

  “Sorry.” I stepped in, trying to find a spot to stand where I wouldn’t interrupt the phantom reenactment.

  “That was weird,” Michael said after we stepped off the elevator.

  “Yeah. Welcome to my world.”

  “There was a ghost in there? Are there really ghosts, too?”

  “Shut up, Parker,” snapped Alan. “What are you, twelve? You’re really getting on my nerves.”

  Michael spun toward Alan and raised a fist. “Yeah? Why don’t you try to make me shut up, ass-wipe.” He moved toward Alan.

  “Bring it!” Alan raised his fists.

  I quickly wedged myself between them and pushed them apart. “Stop it, you two! I’m not spending one more minute with either one of you if you don’t get a grip.”

  I studied Michael’s contorted, angry face, looking for any signs of the person I thought I knew, and found nothing. Who the hell was this stranger?

  They backed away from each other, and I pulled my keycard from my pocket, opened the door, and we silently filed in. The atmosphere was thick with anger.

  “Okay.” I set my briefcase on my bed and walked to the sitting area under the window. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” I sat, waiting for Michael to unveil the mysterious proof on his laptop.

  As Michael started to sit next to me, Alan raised the corner of his lip and actually snarled.

  “Fuck y
ou, G-Man,” said Michael, but he took the chair instead. He opened his laptop, clicked some keys, and a video began playing. He turned the screen toward us.

  The first thing I noticed was the building in the background. Devereux’s club, the Crypt.

  Uh-oh. What could he have seen?

  Michael stopped the film and looked at me. “Over several months, I paid hundreds of individuals for accounts of vampire encounters. The project started as a lark after I met with a few clients who swore they’d met real vampires. Of course, like you, I thought they were nuts. Then I began visiting known goth hangouts. Most of the people I talked to were full of shit, but there were a few stories I couldn’t ignore. I kept hearing about the Crypt, so I decided to zero in on those people. The first night I was there, the staff confiscated my phone, and I was unceremoniously tossed out. How the hell had they known what I was doing? But that only made me more curious, so I started talking to people as they left the club. And then I saw your classified ads, offering therapy for vampires, and actually met a couple of your clients in front of the club.” He started the video again.

  We watched for a few minutes, then Alan laughed.

  “What feces, Parker.” He slapped his thighs. “Are you so stupid that you don’t recognize when people are playing you? You offer them money and they’ll say whatever you want to hear.”

  “It’s not feces! I know when people are lying to me, and they weren’t. It’s good research. You’re not even a real psychologist, so what the fuck do you know about collecting data?”

  “Well,” Alan laughed again, “if you’re an example of a real psychologist, I’m glad I took a different road.”

  “Stop it, both of you!” I said, relieved and surprised that Michael’s proof was so lame. “Michael, is that all you have? There’s no evidence on the video that proves such things as vampires exist. It’s all hearsay and drug- and alcohol-fueled fabrications.”