Halfway down the stairs I remembered that the last time I’d seen Alan, he’d been sacked out on my couch. It had been eighteen hours since I’d left him sleeping there. I couldn’t imagine he’d still be snoozing. Then I remembered how his unnatural sleep came to be and decided that rational rules wouldn’t necessarily apply. I figured he’d be rightfully confused and probably angry, and he’d want to know where I had gone.
Sure enough, the couch was empty. I walked around the room, checking for a note, but there was no sign of one. I scanned the whiteboard in the kitchen. Nothing.
Recalling that his clothes had been in the washing machine, I lifted the lid and there they were, still wet. He hadn’t even transferred them to the dryer.
Why would he have gone out in those ridiculous pink sweatsuit bottoms? Unless he got another call from the police and had to hurry out. But even so.
I went over to the front window, lifted one of the slats in the blinds – just in case the media circus still had its tent erected – and tried to find Alan’s car. It was still there, right where he’d left it yesterday. And, unfortunately, so were the media. Not only had they not gone away, but there were more of them than ever lining the street. It was probably incredibly naïve of me to hope they’d find something even more sensational to cover; that I’d be yesterday’s news. Fat chance when anything vampire was involved.
Noticing the large police presence circling my home, part of me thought it was a waste of taxpayers’ money for so many officers to be on guard duty, but mostly I was grateful. I knew the reporters wouldn’t stay behind the barricade without strong incentives.
As I peeked out I noticed several men dressed in military-type clothing standing in a line between the street and my front door. What the hell? Who’d called out the marines? Did Devereux’s influence reach that far? This entire situation was getting out of control.
I tore myself away from the window and did another walk-through of my house, calling Alan’s name loudly, but I got no response.
Still trying to figure out the mystery of the missing FBI agent, I absentmindedly went through the motions of making coffee and then remembered the phone. I hadn’t checked the messages yet, and if Alan’d had to leave quickly, he might have called. Plus I’d contacted Midnight and Ronald and had left – or been snatched – before they could call me back.
While the coffee brewed and sent its heavenly aroma directly into my nostrils, I punched in the retrieval code to listen to my business messages, then I checked my cell phone.
There were several from media outlets, a few from concerned clients, wondering about my safety, and one from a friend in Paris who laughingly said she’d seen a report on CNN about a flaky psychologist in Denver who worked with vampires. So much for my career.
Midnight had left a message saying she and Ronald were not dealing with Emerald’s death very well, and they were worried about me. She wanted to know if I could possibly see them for a joint appointment on Sunday.
I was just about to hang up so I could call her when I heard the first couple of words of the next message and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Brother Luther’s familiar Southern-accented voice screamed out of the earpiece, ‘I know what you did. I know where you’ve been. Consorting with foul creatures of the night! You’ll be punished! You’ll burn in the fires of hell! Unholy Jezebel! Whore of Babylon! Suffer not a witch to live! No one can save you from the wrath of the Almighty! I am the messenger. You have been marked. You will burn.’
My eyes and my mouth were wide open, and after the message ended I felt slimed, contaminated, as if someone had thrown a bucket of psychic manure on me through the phone. The negative energy of the call hit my stomach like a fist. My knees went weak and I grabbed the edge of the counter for support. Was this sick fanatic stalking me? Was he dangerous?
I saved his hateful tirade because it was definitely time to report him to the police. The call had to be some form of harassment at the very least. Thankfully, he wasn’t my client so I didn’t have to walk any ethical fine lines.
Finally, there was a message from Alan. He spoke in a very soft, subdued voice, as if he’d just awakened. ‘Kismet? You’re probably going to think I’m insane, if you don’t already, but I’m home and I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember is being at your house and seeing Devereux appear in your living room. It’s Sunday morning, the sun just came up and I’m still wearing your pink sweats. I went outside to look for my car and it isn’t here. I think I left it at your house – along with my clothes – but I don’t remember. You’re probably thinking I had some kind of blackout or breakdown – and maybe I did – but I’d appreciate if you’d call me when you get this and help me figure out what the hell is going on.’
I disconnected, set the phone down and poured a cup of coffee. Then I plopped into one of the kitchen chairs. Sometimes there’s just too much information for a brain to process.
Postponing the inevitable, I allowed myself the luxury of sitting still while I finished my first cup, then poured another and picked up the phone. I was so tired of all the drama.
I punched in Midnight’s phone number and got her answering machine. ‘Midnight? This is Dr Knight. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get back to you sooner. I had to take care of some personal business. There are no words to express my sadness about Emerald. I’m absolutely available to meet with you and Ronald. You have my cell phone number – call whenever you get this message and we’ll schedule a meeting. Talk to you soon.’
Next, I dialled Alan’s cell phone, and he must have been using it because my call went directly to voicemail. ‘Alan, I don’t think you’re crazy. In the midst of everything that’s going on, you might be the only sane person I know. Your car is still here, along with your clothes. I have a client session later, so just give me a call when you get this and we can arrange a time to get together. See you soon.’
I’m sure my voice sounded as tired as my spirit felt.
What I wanted more than anything was to do absolutely nothing. To sit quietly without thinking. Without trying to interpret, understand or accept. Without being afraid.
Since none of that was likely, I rinsed out my coffee mug and went back upstairs to take a shower, carrying my newly charged cell phone with me.
The view of my face in the bathroom mirror caused me to laugh out loud. I’d really done a job of spreading the mascara around my eyes and upper cheeks; I looked like a child had scribbled on me with a black Magic Marker.
Gorilla breath and raccoon eyes. See what happens when you stay at the ball past midnight?
I momentarily wondered if I’d made myself this appealing a sight before or after my pale knight dropped me off. Or should I say, my pale bloodsucker? I’d better get used to telling the truth, at least to myself.
As attracted as I was to Devereux, I wanted to keep my distance from him for a while, to pretend to be normal again. But how did one remain distant from something that could come and go through thought? Something that moved through time and space like walking from room to room? Something that didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s boundaries or needs?
I turned on the spray, dropped my robe on the floor, pulled the necklace over my head, laid it on the counter and stepped into the shower.
After blissing out for a few moments, letting the hot water cascade down my body, I poured shampoo on my hair and piled the soapy mass on top of my head. I picked up the plastic bottle of body gel and was spreading it across my breasts when my hand slid over something on my chest. The necklace. I’d forgotten to take it off.
Wait. No. I hadn’t forgotten. I did take it off. I laid it on the counter.
I tugged aside the shower curtain, squinted through the fog that the hot water had created in the small room and scanned the counter. No necklace.