Lien rubbed the marks left on her wrist by his fingers. “I never knew you were so strong.”
He swore at himself. How could he be so thoughtless? He had seen some of his strength when wrestling the orderly. “I didn’t realize — I never meant — I’m sorry,” he said miserably.
“Garreth!”
He looked at her.
She patted his arm. “You can stay on one condition. That you do nothing but rest. Do you promise?”
He nodded.
She smiled. “Fortunately it’s Saturday and I don’t have to work, so you won’t be alone. Harry went off without breakfast. Would you like his waffles?”
His throat burned with hunger but the thought of waffles brought a spasm of nausea. He grimaced. “I’m not hungry.”
Lien frowned at him “Garreth, you — ” She sighed. “All right. Now get yourself into bed in the guest room.”
A bed. He would never be able to sleep on a bed. “I’d rather sleep out on the patio.”
“Patio!” she said in horror. “It’s chilly out there.”
“Please. I can’t breathe in here.”
His desperation reached her. While her forehead furrowed, she made no further protests…even when he passed the lounge chair to lie down on the grass well in the shade of the tree. His last conscious sensation was of Lien covering him with something.
4
He slept, but not in oblivion. Garreth dreamed…frantic, terrifying dreams…of the alley and Lane tearing out his throat, of being Gerald Mossman, split open and shelled out on an autopsy table, of chasing joggers through Golden Gale Park and tearing out their throats to gulp down the salty fire of their blood.
He fled from the murders, running back through the park to the Conservatory. Inside, though, it had become a library. Titles of the books glared from the spines in pulsating red lettering: Dracula, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Vampire, Foundation and Vampire, The Vampire Strikes Back.
Spinning away from the stacks in revulsion, he found himself among a group of children sketching bats and wolves under Lien’s direction. He started to back away but Lien caught his arm and, pushing him down in a chair, cradled his head against her chest.
“Hush, Garreth, hush.” She rocked slightly, stroking his hair as he remembered her doing once after Marti died. “The superior man doesn’t panic. Let’s try studying this thing calmly. Look.” She released him and began two lists on her sketch pad. “It’s obvious that everything legends say about vampires isn’t true. Yes, you rest best on earth, you smell and crave blood, and something is happening to your teeth. On the other hand, while daylight is miserably uncomfortable it doesn’t kill you. There’s no nonsense with mirrors, either. The subject needs more research, but perhaps most of the legend is false. Maybe you don’t have to stop being the person you are, the person Harry and I love. Once your basic needs of rest and food are met, why can’t you go on living your life as you always have? Lane passed as human.”
True, but… “She’s still a monster.”
“Because she’s chosen to be. She didn’t have to kill those men. I don’t believe anyone or anything is inherently evil.”
That sounded like Lien, always seeing the good.
“You can chose what you want to be. Do you understand, Garreth?” Her voice rose, became more insistent. “Garreth?”
That was a real voice, not a dream. He clawed his way to consciousness and opened his eyes. The sun hung low in the west. Lien knelt at his side with an expression of relief.
“You’re the soundest sleeper I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I don’t think you moved all day. I couldn’t even see you breathe. I kept coming out to make sure you were still alive.” She paused. “Did you know it’s almost impossible to feel your pulse? Your skin is cold, too. Garreth, please, please, let me take you back to the hospital. They’re turning the city upside down looking for you.”
He flinched at the reproach in her voice and sat up stiffly, groping for the dream. Had the dream Lien been right? Could he go on being the same person? “Thanks for not giving me away.”
“You needed the rest.” She stood. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”
It did not seem so to him.
“What do you think you can stomach For supper?”
His throat burned. A cramp contracted his stomach. He let it pass before answering. “Maybe just tea.”
She turned around sharply. “This is ridiculous. You have to eat! Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Maybe that would be best. Dreams were often just dreams. He did not want to think about eating. “Please, Lien.”
She fixed the tea and stood with arms folded, watching him sip it. “At least show up at the Hall to let them know you’re alive so they can go back to hunting people who deserve it.”
He hated lying to her. He did it anyway. “All right. I’ll turn myself in to Harry.”
She hissed in exasperation. “Don’t be childish. It isn’t like that and you know it.”
“I’m sorry.”
The tea curbed none of his thirst, but at least its warmth soothed his throat and the cramps. He stood and put on his coat.
Lien followed him to the door. “Please take care of yourself.”
He hugged her. “I will. Thanks for everything. You’re a super lady.”
Picking up the car from around the corner, he drove to the public library in the Civic Center.
The subject needed research, his dream Lien had said. Racing to beat closing time, he hurriedly picked out books about the vampire legend, and after skimming them, copied pages to study more closely over multiple cups of tea in a near-by cafe.
That went fine as long as he considered the information just research, as long as he did not think of it applying to him personally. Let that awareness seep in, though, and all the horror, the dread, returned in an icy flood. His hands shook so much he could hold neither cup or papers. It all seemed so preposterous, a nightmare. If only he would wake up. Or consider it just a delusion born of the trauma of Lane’s attack.
He humored the delusion and resumed reading, still shaking.
There appeared to be two kinds of vampires, those like Dracula who walked around talking and reasoning, and the zombies like Miss Lucy, mindless, dripping dirt and graveclothes, driven only by their lust for blood. Lucy had been bitten by Dracula, but he, like Mina Harker, had swallowed some of his attacker’s blood in turn. Did that make the difference? Why?
A question none of the reading helped answer was why Lane let him live. She had broken Adair’s and Mossman’s necks to destroy their nervous system and prevent them from rising again. Why had she not done the same for him?
“Inspector Mikaelian?”
He started. A uniformed officer smiled down at him. “We spotted your car out front. Everyone’s looking for you.”
No! Protest screamed in him. Not yet! He still had so much to figure out.
He contemplated excusing himself for the restroom and escaping out the back. Then rejected the idea. If he could really pass as normal — as human — it had to start with acting normal. Not wacko…not guilty. And this officer looked experienced, likely to accompany him to the restroom. No way did he intend to assault a fellow officer, too.
Casually, Garreth folded the copied pages and slipped them into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “Have you called it in?”
“Yes. Lieutenant Serruto is on his way.”
Serruto! Garreth’s stomach lurched. Could he face his boss and carry off normal? He forced a smile. “Let’s go.”
They waited in the parking lot along with the second officer from their patrol car. Serruto arrived…with Harry driving. The knot in Garreth’s stomach jerked tight in dismay. He had to face Harry, too?
The lieutenant did not bother getting out of the car, just rolled down the window. “Give one of the uniforms your car keys, Mikaelian. Drive the car to the Hall,” he told the uniformed officers, “and have the keys taken up to my office in Homicide. Get in, Mikaelian.” Neutral as the tone was, Garreth heard steel under it.