by Tina Donahua
Giving her no chance to ask anything else, Lukan broke into a trot, quickly increasing it to another run. They moved so fast, foliage streamed by; its golden tint and the shadows smeared.
Within the muted colors, Arez sensed monsters watching, waiting. She gripped Lukan’s hand tighter, matching his stride, trying to keep her mind on learning how to tie her laces, read symbols—no, words—escape to another realm.
Her thoughts of the future didn’t keep her worry off what they still had to deal with here. In the distance, she saw patches of white, a startling color against the nearly uniform brown and gold. As they reached the area, Arez spotted several odd objects, recognizing only one part of them—the teeth.
Were these the remains of the slaves Vakar and the rulers had either hunted or left here to starve?
She gasped. “What are those things?”
Lukan didn’t break stride. If anything, he seemed to pick up his pace. “Skulls…bones from slaves.”
A moan caught at the base of her throat. As if the surroundings heard her faint sound, the golden light grew dimmer. “What’s happening? Why is it growing darker?”
“The sun’s beginning to set, just as I explained to you that day in the Palace.” Lukan paused to swallow, then gasped out more words. “It rises in the sky each morning and goes down each night, though not completely on this part of the plane. There’s always a bit of color in the sky.”
Again, he spoke of things Arez still had trouble understanding. She asked nothing else, not wanting to tax him or to know what they might come up against next.
Minutes later, Lukan started to slow, then came to a halt. His shoulders rose and fell with each gulp of air. Arez panted as he did, barely able to speak. “Why did you stop?” What had he seen? Squinting, she examined the leaves and the trees, not wanting to look lower where there might be more bones on the ground.
“There,” he said, pointing.
Past a group of trees, the ground sloped upward to a high rise. Near the top, Arez saw a gaping hole, the interior so dark she couldn’t tell what might be inside it. “What is that?”
“A cave,” he said, pulling her with him. ”There we’ll be safe.”
She turned, staring at the Palace in the distance. It still seemed too large, as though they’d never run far enough for it to disappear.
“Come,” Lukan said, leading her to the cave.
Chapter Eight
Minutes earlier, Nikoli had left his office and gone into the hall, making certain to step slowly across the floor so the detectives couldn’t hear him from downstairs.
They were in the living room now with Regina, asking too many questions which she responded to vaguely, never giving a straight answer. The woman, Goddard, was beginning to raise her voice, growing increasingly dissatisfied with Regina’s replies. Sheehan remained calm, posing the same inquiry again and again, trying to trick her into admitting that she knew the inventor Donald Bakshi.
A man Andris had targeted and destroyed one night. With his fangs deep in the inventor’s throat, Andris had drained all but the last drops of blood from Bakshi’s body, leaving what remained for Sazaar and the rest of the vampires. While Nikoli had watched from a portal on E2, the monsters swarmed over the dead inventor like insects attacking a corpse, tearing him apart, sucking at his marrow, denying him any promise of immortality. After which they left what they hadn’t consumed in a dense stand of vegetation, abandoning him to the animals.
“We found Mr. Bakshi’s remains a few days ago,” Sheehan had informed Regina shortly after coming into the house. “There wasn’t much left. We had to rely on dental records to make a positive identification.”
Nikoli gripped the staircase’s railing, digging his nails into the wood. Not once when he’d watched Regina through the portal had he worried about the authorities on her side. His greatest concern had been the vampires attacking her. The inventor’s house was the only place he knew to hide Regina on this realm. Bakshi wasn’t coming back, and Andris had no idea Nikoli had even seen him murder the man. It was the perfect solution.
Except for these two having found Regina’s fingerprints in the man’s house.
You have to help her.
Even as Nikoli’s mind urged him to do so, he couldn’t get his body to move. How could he protect her from the police? If he were to go downstairs, Sheehan and Goddard would want to know who he was, where he’d come from. If they suspected he had anything to do with Bakshi’s murder, they’d take his fingerprints, seeing that they were no more than circles rather than the whorls and swirls of those on her plane.
Once they got over their shock, they’d contact their government to investigate him. What would happen to Regina then? What would her rulers do to a woman who’d harbored someone from a different dimension?
“Think,” his father had always said. “Reason this out.”
How many times had the man warned Nikoli that emotion could never guide him? Before making any move, he was supposed to look at the problem objectively and determine the best course.
His shoulders bunched, and his fingers ached from pressing them into the rail. What good was reason when the detectives might arrest Regina at any moment, taking her away? She’d never contact him to help her. She’d do everything she could to continue to protect him. He might never see her again.
Nikoli froze with the thought, then needed to move so badly he had to keep himself from running down the stairs.
Up the street, a car honked suddenly, the wail of its horn causing him to flinch. What if it was more detectives coming here? Had Sheehan and Goddard called their colleagues?
Holding his breath, Nikoli waited to hear men pounding on the front door, demanding entrance.
A second crawled by. Then another and another. Nothing happened. He sighed out all the air he held. His relief didn’t last as he recalled Damir and Meelo. Once they found the materials he needed, they’d return here. What would the detectives think when they saw those two, especially Meelo, who resembled him so closely? What would Sheehan and Goddard ask them?
He had to keep Damir and Meelo from coming to the front door.
Cautiously, so he didn’t make any unnecessary sounds, Nikoli removed his running shoes, holding them in one hand. Staying close to the railing so the floor wouldn’t record his movements, he went heel to toe, heel to toe to the landing.
Downstairs, late afternoon light bled through the stained-glass windows creating pools of bright yellows, rich greens and vivid reds on the hardwood floor and patterned throw rug. Steadily, Regina’s antique clock ticked.
Nikoli went down the first step.
“That’s not good enough,” Goddard said.
With the detective’s comment, Nikoli’s foot stalled, poised above the next step.
Regina spoke. “You’re asking me to break confidentiality.”
Neither of the detectives commented.
“I can’t do that,” Regina stated without hesitation. “I won’t.”
“If you’re refusing to admit that Mr. Bakshi was even a patient of yours,” Sheehan said, “if you don’t know him as you claimed when we first arrived, then how do you explain your prints being in his home? How did they get there? In what other capacity could you have possibly known him?”
“A capacity that would make you deny it?” Goddard added.
Regina didn’t answer.
Nikoli continued down the staircase, his pace painfully slow. From his present position, he could see a portion of the living room past its door. Regina had failed to close it completely. For what reason? Because she feared the detectives might question why she’d want privacy in a home she lived in alone? Or because she sensed he might come down to see what was going on and then try to stop Meelo and Damir from coming inside, and she didn’t want the detectives to see him?
If Regina noticed him in the corner of her eye, she didn’t glance in his direction. Her focus remained on the opposite side of the room, the chairs facing the sofa on which
she sat. The detectives had either taken the seats or were standing near the fireplace blocked from Nikoli’s view by the door.
Should they stop questioning Regina and decide to leave now, there was no way he could get back upstairs without them seeing or hearing him. Holding his shoes to his chest, Nikoli risked coming down another step and another, staying close to the railing, the stairs not recording his approach.
“Were you two having an affair that started after he became a patient of yours?” Sheehan asked. “Did you argue about something? Did the fight get out of control?”
“It happens,” Goddard added, as conciliatory now as she’d been irritated a short time ago. “We understand.”
“I don’t see how,” Regina shot back. “Your accusations are ludicrous.”
“Then why were your fingerprints in his house?” Sheehan asked first. “Forensics don’t lie, Dr. Page.”
“That’s right,” Goddard added. “Oddly enough, most of the place was immaculate, no prints, not even those of the deceased. We checked to see if Mr. Bakshi had a cleaning service that would explain what to us seemed impossible. He did, but there was no set schedule. He called them when needed. The final time they’d been to his house was nearly two weeks before he was last seen alive.”
“Plenty of time for him to leave his prints everywhere,” Sheehan said. “Yet they were gone. It was as though everything had been wiped down.”
“Except for the doorknob in the bathroom,” Goddard cut in.
Sheehan continued, “It’s a place many people don’t think to clean, especially when they’re in a hurry to flee. We’ve seen the same thing with perps who steal cars, then later abandon them. They’ll wipe down the entire vehicle, but not the back of the rearview mirror they’d adjusted, forgetting that one small detail. It’s how we identify felons. Your prints were on the bathroom knob, Dr. Page. Why is that?”
Two steps remained for Nikoli to reach the bottom. His neck and chest were clammy with perspiration, his body rigid with fear for Regina. Nikoli could see her now. She stared at the detectives, her skin a paler shade than usual. Within the room, the floor creaked beneath someone’s weight.
Nikoli started at the sound; his surroundings seeming to lurch. Dizzy, he gripped the railing to keep steady.
Regina asked, “Are you here to arrest me?”
“Should we be?” Sheehan countered.
Her expression darkened, showing more outrage than panic. “I don’t see how. I’ve told you all that I can.”
“You haven’t told us anything,” Goddard said.
Regina turned in the direction of the female detective. “I’m not answering any more of your questions unless I have an attorney present.”
“Is that really necessary?” Sheehan asked.
“It isn’t,” Goddard answered, “unless she has something to hide. Do you, Dr. Page?”
She arched one slender brow. “Why are you so eager to keep me from an attorney when you’re making such false and ridiculous accusations?”
“We’re not accusing you of anything,” the woman said, backing down. “But we do wonder why a man who rarely left his home suddenly disappears. What was left of his body was hidden in an area that’s rarely traveled by anyone. There’s also the matter of his bank accounts being drained. Clearly evidence that he was targeted, then murdered. Our job requires us to investigate all leads, like your prints, when you last saw the man, what happened during that period.”
Nikoli reached the bottom of the stairs. As though she was considering what Goddard had said, Regina glanced to the side, seemingly deep in thought. Nikoli knew better. She’d seen him in her peripheral vision and was stalling the detectives, giving him a chance to get out of the house.
“I understand the position you’re in,” Regina said at last, “but you have to understand mine. I’m a psychologist. There are rules I’m required to follow.”
“Yes, yes, we know about doctor-patient confidentiality,” Goddard said, “and we’re not asking you to breach it by giving us details of what Mr. Bakshi told you regarding any problems he might have had.”
“All we want to know is why you were in his house,” Sheehan said. “And the last time you saw him before he went missing.”
Nikoli didn’t hear Regina’s response. He moved toward the back of the house, keeping close to the walls so the floor wouldn’t groan beneath his weight. Reaching the kitchen, he slipped on his running shoes, tying them quickly.
From the living room, he heard Regina and Goddard speaking. He was too far away to catch their words or tone.
As quietly as possible, he turned the lock on the back door and went outside. Coolish air washed over him, the breeze drying the sweat on his throat and chest. Still relatively light, the evening was alive with sounds of crickets, water spraying over a lawn, a man calling his dog, ordering it back to his side.
The scent of countless flowers and vegetation mingled with smoke coming from a barbecue grill and the fragrance of newly mown grass. Sweet, succulent odors Nikoli had never known before coming to Regina’s side. On E2, everything was sterile, arranged for a flawless, perfect existence. Here, there was nothing but trouble, the messiness of life.
How he loved it.
Nikoli clenched his jaw to keep from shouting his frustration. Damn Sheehan and Goddard. Regina hadn’t harmed anyone. Surely even the most emotional person on this side could see she was incapable of such a thing. Hadn’t they wondered how a woman her size could have hauled a body as large as Bakshi’s out of his home, disposing of it in the vegetation where Andris had left him?
The only way she could have accomplished such a thing was if she had an accomplice…someone of Nikoli’s height and weight.
He hurried around the house, on the opposite side of the living room, so the detectives couldn’t see him from the windows. Once past the front yard, he went down the sidewalk, searching for Meelo and Damir.
Several houses up, a group of teenage boys shot hoops in front of a garage door. Plumes of white streaked the sky, revealing a plane’s direction. Birds circled overhead, wings outstretched, their bodies suspended on the wind.
From behind him, Nikoli heard a slapping sound. Shoes? Meelo and Damir? What were they doing coming from that direction? Halting, he turned and retraced his steps, though not for long.
A tall, thin woman wearing glasses looked at him curiously from Regina’s front yard. Behind her, a man exited the house. He was approximately the same age as the woman, with a reddish complexion. Regina was right behind him, concern flooding her face when she spotted Nikoli.
The woman’s attention jumped from Regina to him, her expression saying she’d noted Regina’s worry.
Nikoli knew it was too late to turn and head down the street as though nothing were amiss. If he did, the woman—Goddard—would surely follow. Already she approached, holding her badge out as he’d seen police do on TV.
“Good evening,” she said upon reaching him. “I’m Detective Goddard. Do you know Dr. Page?”
Before Nikoli could stop himself, he glanced at Regina.
“I see that you do,” Goddard said.
“Detective,” Regina called out. She moved around Sheehan, hurrying to the walk. “I made it clear inside that I wouldn’t be answering any more questions.”
“I haven’t asked you any,” Goddard said, her attention returning to Nikoli. “I was just introducing myself to…” She frowned. “What did you say your name was, sir?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Regina informed him, then spoke to Goddard. “Are you having difficulty understanding what confidentiality means, Detective?”
The woman smiled. “Are you saying this man is a patient of yours, Doctor? You see patients in your home in addition to your downtown office?”
“What I do in my practice is no business of yours.”
Sheehan joined them. “We could get a court order for your records.”
“You do that,” Regina said. “I want you off my prop
erty. Now.”
“We’re not on it,” Goddard mumbled, turning at the footfalls from behind.
They stopped instantly. Nikoli exchanged a glance with Meelo and Damir. Confusion flared in their eyes as to what he and Regina were doing outside the house with other people. Both of the scientists held bags containing the materials he needed.
A wave of light-headedness hit so hard, Nikoli locked his knees to keep still. He hoped the detectives wouldn’t want to know what was inside those bags or notice how similar his facial features were to Meelo’s.
Goddard and Sheehan stared at Meelo, then Nikoli, their expressions saying they were comparing faces.
“What a remarkable resemblance,” Goddard said first. “If not for the difference in age and those nasty scars, you and that man could be twins.”
“Or father and son,” Sheehan commented. “You hold family sessions in your home, Dr. Page?”
Regina didn’t respond.
He smiled. “We’ll be back for answers, Dr. Page. With a court order, if necessary.”
Goddard followed him to their sedan. As they drove down the street and out of sight, Meelo and Damir went to Nikoli.
“What’s wrong?” Damir asked quietly. “Who were those people?”
He glanced at Regina.
Too shaky to give Damir an answer, Regina grabbed Nikoli’s hand, needing it for support. Just as quickly, she released him, worried what the neighbors might see and then tell the detectives should they return and question them.
Who was she kidding? Although she knew her neighbors only to wave or smile, they must have already noticed Nikoli after all these months. Regina and he often left together to go to dinner or catch a movie. The neighbors probably guessed he was her live-in lover or new husband, not a patient as Sheehan and Goddard had assumed.
“We can’t talk here,” Regina said, low enough so only Nikoli, Damir and Meelo could hear her. Leading them inside, she locked the front door and headed for the kitchen.
Nikoli stopped her in the dining room, pulling Regina into his embrace.
Gripping his shoulders, she clung to him now as she had the last evening they’d faced Andris and the vampires. At the time, Regina wouldn’t have believed that anything could have been as frightening as those awful moments. Trembling, she said, “It’s all right. Nothing bad is going to happen.”