Robert sighed, picked up the folder, glanced halfheartedly at the top page and dropped the packet down on his desktop once again.
Woods took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and examined it. "What have you found out? Do you have any idea who could have done this or why?"
"No. I was hoping you'd help me out with that." Woods stopped examining the cigarette and placed it, unlit, in his mouth. He looked from Robert to Rich and began pacing. "What if we really do have a vampire on our hands?"
Rich snorted. "Come on, now. Not you too."
"No. Hear me out. I've been doing a little research on exsanguination techniques, and the way Torres's body and the bodies of those animals were drained was .. . Let's just say it was highly irregular. It also shouldn't have been able to work as it did."
"Brad--"
"I know this is crazy. I understand how you feel. But, medically, this stuff does not happen. And I'll be honest with you. Examining those corpses from the cemetery gave me the creeps. The technical aspects and examination results are in those reports, but what's not in those reports is the weirdness. It just spooked me to work on them. I kept wondering why anyone would suck the dry bone marrow from a corpse."
Robert stood. "Maybe it's a cult. Who the hell knows?" "Exactly.
Who the hell knows? All I'm saying is that right now we need to keep an open mind about this." Woods took the still-unlit cigarette from his mouth and replaced it in his shirt pocket as he stopped pacing.
"What about Vigil? What did County Psych say?"
"The guy's in there right now. I'm just waiting for him to report back." "Who is it?" "Jacobson."
Woods nodded. "He's good. A little flaky, but good. : The county doesn't usually get shrinks of that caliber." ' He moved next to Rich, turned toward Robert. "Can I wait around here until the results come in?"
"Sure. Why not?" /
"What about me?" Rich asked. "Is "" this going to be on or off the record?"
"Your call. I'm not going to tell you what to do."
"That's a first."
Robert picked up a paperclip, threw it at him.
Ten minutes later, the three of them met Dr. Jacobson in the conference room. The psychiatrist, an unusually tall, bald man with earrings in both ears, did not even wait until they were seated. "Are you familiar with the Medusa Syndrome?"
Robert and Rich looked dumbly at each other. Woods shook his head, since the question was clearly directed to him. "Can't say that I am."
"It is exceedingly rare. It refers to a trauma-induced personality change, or, more specifically, aberrant behavior produced by exposure, to a traumatic incident. What differentiates the Medusa Syndrome from other trauma induced personality disorders is the fact that it is not merely triggered by a single incident but is actually caused by that one-time exposure, the shock is so great that the individual is not able to cope with what he or she has seen, and the defenses of the ego break down completely. The person experiences what might be referred to as a personality restructuring. I've never before come across it myself, but I can tell you this: I've never even read of anything this severe. Mr. vigil's name is going to live in textbooks for years to come. If he survives, if he didn't catch some fatal disease down there, we're going to have ourselves quite a study."
Robert cleared his throat. "Excuse me for asking, but how can you be sure? Maybe Mike--Mr. Vigil--has been crazy all along. Maybe he just snapped."
"I'm not a hundred percent positive. I only met the man today and only examined him for a few hours. But the signs are there. To be honest, we may not be absolutely certain of the diagnosis for some time , to come. But I'll tell you this: There's a high probability that Mr.
Vigil is suffering from the Medusa Syndrome." Jacobson ran his index finger over his top teeth. "You know, I was at the conference where the syndrome was named. I wanted to, . call it the "Tommy Syndrome," after The Who's rock opera because Tommy becomes deaf, dumb, and blind after witnessing the murder of his mother's lover by his father. But the other psychiatrists were all quite a bit older and were not even familiar with The Who. I doubt if most of them knew who The Beatles were. Besides, they had to get in the obligatory Greek reference.
Psychiatrists love classical references"
"What about Mr. Vigil?" Robert prodded.
"Well, it's clear that this individual has been severely traumatized.
To the point of precipitating radical behavioral changes. From the brief conversation I had with his daughters, and from my own discussion with him and observation of his behavior, it appears quite likely that he saw or experienced something that so shocked or frightened him that his psychological defenses were shattered. He retreated into the person you discovered in the septic tank."
Woods looked at Robert, then at the psychiatrist. He cleared his throat. "What if a person saw a vampire? Do you think that would produce the sort of shock necessary to cause this change?"
Jacobson gowned. "A vampire? What do you mean?"
"A monster," Rich said. "A guy with a black cape and fangs who sucks blood."
"This is not a joking matter," the psychiatrist said, standing. "I don't have time to play games with you. I was called in here and asked to look at this man, and I've given you my opinion. My recommendation will be for him to remain at the hospital in Florence for further examination
Robert stared at Woods and found himself hoping that the coroner would pursue this line of reasoning, would say, "We're not joking," would press the psychiatrist on the vampire issue, but Woods remained silent, eyes down cast. Robert glanced at his brother, who looked away.
Jacobson began gathering his papers.
"What sort of thing could frighten a man this badly?"
Robert asked. "I know Mike--knew Mike--and he is not an easily frightened man."
Jacobson looked up, shook his head, his left hand toying with one of his earrings. "I don't know," he said. He thought for a moment, and a slow smile spread across his face. "But we'll find out. And when we do... that's going to be interesting. Very interesting."
"Susan."
The words were a whisper, spoken with a Cantonese accent. Soo-sun.
"Susan."
She opened one eye, peered into the darkness. There was an unfamiliar weight on the end of her bed, an indentation that affected a gravitational pull on her feet. Outside there was wind, a sibilant dust storm that played around with the defenses of the house but was not strong enough to attack. The pillow next to her face smelled faintly of breath.
Stretching up and out of the fetal position in which she slept, Sue saw her grandmother sitting on the edge of the bed, a small hunched shape in the too large darkness. She rubbed her eyes. "What is it?" she. asked tiredly in English, then, correcting herself, in Cantonese.
Her grandmother was silent for a moment, the only noise in the room her labored breathing, which blended perfectly with the sandstorm outside.
Sue felt a dry cold hand touch her cheek, trace her chin. "I dreamt again of the cup hu rngs/." Sue said nothing.
"I have dreamed for five nights of the cup hugirngsi. '" Cup Hu Girngsi.
Sue knew the sounds, knew the words they formed, but she had never before heard them spoken together, and their combination sent an icy shiver of fear down her spine Cup hugirngsi. Corpse-who drinks-blood.
She looked carefully at her grandmother's face, searching for a sign that the old woman was joking. But her grandmother's gaze remained unwavering, her expression deadly serious, and Sue knew from the fact that her grandmother was here, in her bedroom, at this time of night, that this was no joke. She reached up, instinctively touched the jade around her neck.
"Yes," her grandmother said, nodding.
Sue felt cold, and she wrapped the sheet more tightly around her body.