Just as I exited the building, I caught a blurred movement out of the corner of my eye and noticed a shadow to my right. I felt the hairs on my arms rise and I froze. My stomach tightened and my breath caught as a male figure stepped away from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He stood there, gazing at me, smiling, almost close enough for me to touch. We locked eyes for a long moment. The light shining out of the front of my building was bright enough for me to notice that he was gorgeous: tall and toned, with long blond hair, dazzling eyes and snug leather trousers.
Hey, wait a minute. Stop ogling the good looks of the guy who’s about to jump on you and run!
And I did.
For someone who sits on her butt all day talking to people, I can still move pretty fast when I want to. I am blessed with one of those long, lean runner’s bodies, an inheritance from my father’s side of the family, and my body fat percentage is on the low end. But thanks to my mother’s genetic contribution, I am too well endowed to actually enjoy running on a regular basis.
The fight-or-flight instinct is an awesome thing.
I sprinted over to my car, clicked the lock, yanked the door open, jumped in, secured the door. My heart was pounding out a heavy-metal drum solo in my chest as I fumbled the key into the ignition. My hands shook so badly it took a couple of tries to get the car started. My throat was so dry it hurt.
Once I was safely barricaded in and the reasoning portion of my brain had sauntered back to the party, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard any footsteps following me as I ran. No voices yelling for me to stop. Still shaking, I scanned the area in all directions but could find no threat of any kind. The handsome mugger or rapist or whatever he was had vanished. Or maybe it had been some regular guy, enthralled by my grace and beauty, and I’d scared him off when I’d bolted. Yeah, right, Nerd Woman.
Maybe he was just there waiting for a friend and I’d overreacted. He probably hadn’t really been a danger at all. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time I’d freaked out over nothing.
But I had to admit I’d never seen such a fantastic-looking man in person anywhere before, much less standing in front of my building. What were the odds that such a magnificent hunk of manhood would need to troll the streets for female attention? Of course, as a psychologist, I know better than to judge a book by its cover. Perverts come in all shapes and sizes.
My heartbeat finally began to slow down to something approaching normal. I had to say that was the most exciting thing that’d happened in weeks, which said a lot about the pathetic state of my social life.
I sat there for a few minutes until the adrenalin rush subsided and then shifted into drive. I need a new office with a receptionist, a doorman and underground parking. I drove out of the parking lot and steered the car along one of the many one-way streets that confounded the traffic in downtown Denver.
I caught a red light a few streets over, which gave me a moment to check out the nightlife in this popular part of town. I usually left my office before the fun and games started, so the streets familiar to me in daylight were a whole new world after dark. A magnificent old church, apparently converted into a busy nightclub, took up an entire city block. It really was a beautiful building. Such incredible stained glass. Funny that I’d never noticed it before. Groups of party-goers stood on the sidewalk, laughing and talking, performing one illegal act or another. Many of them were dressed in the same kind of costume Midnight had been wearing: so many potential clients all in one place! I briefly considered parking the car, mingling with the crowd and passing out my business cards. There had to be several books’ worth of material to be gleaned from the characters hanging out in front of the gothic cathedral. But that would take bravery – or extroversion – I didn’t have.
Just as the light turned green and I put my foot on the gas, I saw a tall man with long blond hair step down the entrance stairs. He nodded and waved at me when I passed.
Distracted and unnerved by the events of the last hour, I drove home to my new townhouse, punched in my security code and locked myself into my own personal sanctuary.
I lit an aromatherapy candle, poured myself a glass of white wine, sat down in my favourite chair – one of those huge puffy types with an equally large ottoman – and stretched out, letting my thoughts wander back to the blond man who’d waved at me.
That was just too weird. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. It couldn’t possibly have been the same guy I saw in front of my building, could it? Well, wait a minute. That club was only a couple of blocks from my office and if he had been the same man who saw me run to my car, then it made sense that he could have recognised the car again when I passed him. It was merely a coincidence he was at that particular club, and that I noticed the place today.
Just a coincidence.
But the fact that he actually waved at me gave more weight to the notion that I’d overreacted and he hadn’t meant me any harm.
Maybe.
Unless he was a sociopath who enjoyed messing with people’s minds.
Oh well. No use fretting about that now. I would definitely be seeking a more secure office location. And some pepper spray.
I carried my glass of wine over to my desk, opened my briefcase, and spilled out all the vampire material I’d printed. Then I fired up my computer, clicked on the TV, and prepared to spend the next couple of hours researching possible topics for a new book.
‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula,’ blared from the speakers.
Startled, I looked up at the TV then laughed. There he was, the sexiest vampire ever: Frank Langella as Dracula, circa early 1980s. He had the best lips – pouty, full, and definitely come-hither – and eyes that wouldn’t be denied. One of my college roommates had been a real vampire fan, and she had an extensive collection of bloodsucker movies. This version was her favourite.
I sat back and enjoyed watching Frank’s lips for a while, savouring my glass of wine. As the end of the movie approached, I clicked off the TV, because I didn’t want to watch those sweet lips get fried by the sun in the film’s inevitable finale.
As I drank the last few sips in my glass, I had a sudden memory of the last time I’d watched that movie in college, sitting with my roommates and listening to them scream at the end, rooting for the vampire to break free and fly away. Afterwards they all talked about what fun it would be to invite some dark, window-tapping stranger into their beds.
Hmmm. I linked my fingers together behind my head. Vampires as erotic fantasy material. Listening to my roommates that long-ago night, the budding psychologist in me had been intrigued, but I considered vampires to be horror-movie and comic-book fare. I was not the kind of person who believed in the supernatural or the mystical. I’d found that most things turned out to have mundane, predictable explanations.
Of course, since then I’d taken the required class in Jungian Psychology in graduate school and I knew all about his theory of synchronicities – the interconnection between inner and outer realities based on the idea of a collective unconscious. Jung said that there are no coincidences and the universe functions through an unknowable intelligence. I could even agree with that on an abstract level. Yes, it did seem odd I was experiencing things that appeared to be related on the surface. But contemplating the cosmic possibilities of metaphysics was a hell of a lot different from believing in vampires.
Still. This had been one strange day.
CHAPTER 2
I spent most of Saturday immersed in my vampire research. It turned out there were millions of vampire pretenders in the world, and reading through some of the websites gave me a better understanding of the scope of the illusion. Most of the wannabes were very sad – young people searching for meaning, connection and love in a world where they hadn’t found any. Some were simply drawn to the excitement, danger and forbidden fruit. Then there were the walking wounded who had crossed the line between acting out and psychosis.