The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 19

I rose from my desk, turned on another table lamp and walked slowly towards him, still straining to make out his shadowy features. My heart pounded and my stomach began to tingle gently. I rested my palm there while I determined if that familiar signal was simply information or a warning.

I kept a couple of feet of space between us. ‘I’m Kismet Knight. I’m a psychologist.’

‘Yes. You’re the one. Can you help me?’

‘I don’t know.’ I don’t even know what that means any more.

Since I wasn’t picking up any negative reaction from my sensing system and his uncomfortable, nervous gestures gave me the odd notion that he was more afraid of me than I was of him, I forced myself to relax. I pointed to the interior of the office. ‘Would you like to come in?’

He nodded and lumbered – as if moving his body around involved concentrated effort – over to the couch and sat.

I hesitated for a moment and watched him.

So, should I leave the door open because I don’t know anything about this fellow, or should I close it to give him privacy? Should I lock it so no one else can surprise me today? Which would also mean I’ll have to quickly unlock it if I need to get out fast. I can’t believe I’m talking to myself about doors. In all my years of private practice, I’ve never given the door one thought. Never felt threatened. I guess I can kiss those days goodbye.

I gently closed the door, leaving it unlocked, and eased over to the dimmer switch on the wall. Rule number one: Never make quick moves with a frightened client.

‘Would you mind if I turn on a bit more light?’

He lifted his chin from where it had been resting nearly on his chest and finally gave me a glimpse of his full face. ‘I don’t mind.’

I turned up the watts and claimed the chair nearest to him.

He had a thin, cadaverous face dotted with deep pock-marks from a rough case of acne and lined with scars that brought to mind the sewn-together monster in Frankenstein. He sported a beak-like nose that took up lots of facial real estate. His washed-out grey eyes were small and close together, which made his dark unibrow stand out starkly against his light skin.

He lowered his head again and twisted his hands in his lap.

‘How can I help you?’ I asked.

‘I heard that it’s safe to talk to you. That you won’t tell anyone about us.’

‘Who’s “us”?’ I sat back.

He raised his head, brows contracting in the centre. He retracted his upper lip so I could see his long canines. ‘Why, vampires, of course.’

My breath caught and I straightened in my seat. ‘Uh, yes, certainly.’

Okay, Kismet. Don’t panic. He’s a vampire. A real vampire. You didn’t think you’d be treating actual vampires, but you did ask them to come on down. That explains the stomach tingle.

I licked my suddenly dry lips. ‘You can talk to me. How can I help?’

I hope this isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

The hand-twisting escalated and he lowered his head again. ‘I have an unusual problem. You know that vampires drink blood, right?’

I cleared my throat, wondering if this was a trick question. ‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’

This is so amazingly ludicrous. How can I sit here and talk with a vampire about drinking blood? Where am I supposed to put this in my brain? Is my intuition out to lunch? Am I in danger?

He swivelled his head around and scanned the room, as if he wasn’t sure we were alone, then started, ‘Well, I find the sight of blood disgusting.’ His shoulders sagged and his chest became even more concave than it had been. He almost whispered, ‘I avoid looking at it as much as I can. It’s revolting.’

Holy shit, somebody help me. A vampire who doesn’t like blood – is this a joke? Am I being secretly filmed for some reality show?

Suddenly I remembered Devereux’s mind-reading tendencies and how he’d told me that all vampires are telepathic. Even if this was an individual of a different ‘species’ sitting across from me, I didn’t want to have my rude thoughts announced through the vampire broadcast network. I needed to ask some questions and set some ground rules.

I held up my hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, and he brought his eyes to mine briefly before lowering them again. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.’

‘Yes,’ he said in a clear voice, ‘I suppose you would need that. I’m Apollo.’

My face showed surprise before I could catch myself. ‘Apollo? Like the Greek god?’

‘The very same. I know I don’t match my name very well – being decidedly un-godlike – but it was actually my last name when I was alive. Anthony Apollo. My human ancestors originally came from Greece. In the vampire world, catchy names are preferable to mundane, human-sounding ones, so I go by Apollo. Besides, it gives everyone quite a chuckle.’ He smiled for the first time and relaxed his hands in his lap.

I returned his smile, pleased to see a lighter side of him, and hopeful that letting him into my office hadn’t been yet another bad decision.

‘So, Apollo, you probably know that working with vampires is a relatively new thing for me and I’m still finding my way around. I’d appreciate it if you could answer some questions. Would that be all right?’

He nodded. ‘If I can.’

‘I’d like you to tell me what powers you have. I mean, can you read my thoughts? If I look into your eyes, will I be entranced? That sort of thing.’

‘I’m pathetically weak for a vampire. I haven’t been one long – less than fifty years – and the vamp who turned me was rather insipid himself. You probably know a vampire is only as powerful as the one who created him. Add in my little “problem” and I can honestly say that I don’t bring much to the vampire gene pool. But to answer your question, I can read some thoughts – specifically strong emotions. If you’re worried about what you’ve been thinking so far, I can tell you it’s all gone over my head. Same with the eyes. Although I can probably give you a headache if I really concentrate.’

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile because I didn’t know him well enough yet to decide if he’d be pleased I’d got his humour or offended that I found him amusing. In any case, I was impressed by his way with words. So many articulate vampires. Who knew?

‘Well then, let’s deal with the largest issue. You said that you’ve heard I’m safe, that you can talk to me. I want to know if I’m safe with you. How likely is it you’ll become interested in my neck?’

Gee, Kismet, that was graceful.

He laughed awkwardly for several seconds, then surrendered to full-out laughter, deep lines creating bizarre shapes out of some of the pockmarks on his face, which appeared to be unaccustomed to that much frivolity.

‘Forgive me for laughing, but if you’d heard the warning Devereux gave the coven about anyone harming you in any way, you wouldn’t even ask the question. Trust me – no one wants to have Devereux as an enemy. I think you will find that most of us have tremendous self-control. That is one thing I can say about myself, so you can rest assured you are safe with me.’

Said the spider to the fly.

He pulled a tissue from the box on the nearby table and dabbed at his eyes. ‘Ah, that felt very good. It’s been quite a while since I laughed out loud.’

I gave him a few seconds to collect himself. ‘I’m glad the laughing felt good. Perhaps we can encourage you to do more of it. And thank you for explaining about what Devereux said. I’m pleased to know I’m safe with you, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to work together.’

Get a grip, Kismet. This isn’t just another client you’re setting boundaries with. This is a being who sucks the blood of people exactly like you. Is there no end to your political correctness?

‘I noticed that your . . . er . . . fangs are descended. I understand that some vampires can will them in and out of their gums. Can you do that?’

‘No, I don’t have that kind of control yet, so my fangs remain in this position all the time.’ He raised his hand to cover his mouth. ‘I hope that doesn’t concern or offend you?’

I shook my head. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘That’s good to know.’ He lowered his hand again.

I wound a strand of my hair around my finger. ‘Forgive the rudeness of this question, but I don’t understand where vampires get the financial resources to come to a therapist. I’m pleased to speak with you this evening, but I usually require appointments in advance and some kind of payment arrangements. Will that be a difficulty?’

Aha! An escape hatch!

‘No.’ He smiled broadly and raised his eyes to mine. ‘The members of Devereux’s coven are well taken care of – money is the least of our concerns. I’ll pay cash. The fee is irrelevant.’

Well, now, aren’t those words that cause a therapist’s heart to flutter?

‘Thank you. Now let’s talk about your issue. How does your disgust at the sight of blood complicate your . . . experience?’

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to be quite graphic. Are you sure you’re willing to listen to this?’

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. No! ‘I’ll do the best I can.’

I feel like a newbie, a brand-new therapist sitting with my first client, trying not to screw up. Trying to convince the bogeyman under the bed that there’s no bogeyman under the bed.

‘Since you’re the vampire psychologist, you probably know there are people who enjoy hanging around vampires because they want to have their blood sucked. They crave it.’

Yuck.

I crossed my legs. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that.’

He allowed his shoulders to visibly relax and inhaled a deep breath.

He’s breathing. Do vampires breathe? Does Devereux? Why didn’t I notice that small detail?

‘So finding necks to suck on isn’t my problem – people offer themselves to me all the time, and all I have to do is tuck in. As long as I can’t actually see the blood, I’m fine. Like any other vampire, I love the taste of it, and the way it makes me feel is worth whatever it takes to get it. But it’s impossible to suck blood without there being any . . . remains. Residue. Drops. Or, horror of horrors, actual uncontrolled bleeding. You see, sometimes in the midst of a feeding I can get carried away. It really is like having a whole-body orgasm, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, and I’ve been known to enlarge the wound with my fangs when my body starts reacting to the . . . uh . . . stimulation. It can be an overwhelming experience. Anyway, if I see even one drop of blood I immediately throw up everything I just swallowed. Then there is more blood, which makes me retch until the muscles of my stomach scream with pain.’ His eyes had gone wide and glassy as he told his story and he clasped his hands together so tightly that the white skin had become blue. He sat very stiff and straight.

The obvious terror the story stirred in him caused me to shift in my chair in anticipation of having to perform some vampire CPR. I’d seen clients with that expression on their faces as they described fears of being covered in snakes, eaten by a lion or burned alive. A phobia is a phobia.

Although I had to admit I wasn’t really eager to put the vampire CPR option to the test.

I took a breath and sat back. I noticed that my own hands now clutched the arms of the chair so rigidly the veins stuck out. I consciously let go and wiggled my fingers to restore the circulation. ‘That sounds very scary for you. I can totally understand why you’d avoid situations where you have to see blood. Do you remember the first time you had that reaction?’

‘Uh, yes. Unfortunately, I do remember. I have to warn you that this might be difficult for you to hear.’

Uh-oh.

He paused and stared at me before he continued. I guess he was waiting for me to give an indication I was willing to proceed. I nodded.

‘It was a few years after I became a vampire. Prior to the event I’m going to tell you about, I could swim in blood and it had no effect on me. It was the first time I drank from a child. A dying child. The little boy was near death from cancer and I heard him crying through the window. He said, “Please don’t leave me.” I don’t know who he was talking to because no one was there. The child was all alone in that room, but I could see people moving around in the other parts of the house. He was all alone.’

He studied me silently for several seconds. Despite the controlled mask he’d made of his face, his eyes betrayed him by expressing the fear and self-loathing he usually kept locked away.

The words ‘all alone’ had been said with such raw misery that my heart ached. In that moment I understood how difficult it had been for him to tell his story to a therapist – or anyone. I had a clear intuitive sense that he was afraid I’d . . . what? Run out of the room? Condemn him for being what he was? Grab a stake and hammer and leap on him?

‘I understand.’ I gave him a gentle smile and nodded. ‘He was all alone. Then what happened?’

‘I waited until everyone else had gone to bed and then I went to the boy and held him in the dark. I don’t know why I felt compelled to go to him – I usually have no interest in children. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and I licked the blood from his skin and rocked him. He began to remind me of myself when I was small. I could feel his pain building and as he was ready to leave his body, I drank him dry. At the last moment he put his arms around my neck and pleaded, “Don’t leave me, Daddy.” After his soul left his body, I stumbled out into the alley and threw up for the first time.’

Shit. Where do I begin?

I let him see the sympathy and compassion in my eyes and spoke softly. ‘That’s a heartbreaking story. Do you remember a time when you were small when you asked your daddy not to leave?’

He stared at me with horrified, pain-filled eyes. ‘My father abandoned the family when I was five years old. I remember the night he packed to leave. I didn’t understand why he had to go away – I was sure it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, something bad. I begged him to stay. He laughed and pushed me aside. That was the last time I ever saw him. The following years were very lonely.’ After he finished sharing the memory, he frowned and stared down at his limp hands in his lap. A tear rolled down his cheek.

‘Do you think my experience with that little boy has something to do with my blood phobia? Because of my own father?’

‘I do, yes.’

He plucked another tissue from the box and wiped away the tears now streaming down his face.

‘You must be right, because I already feel different. Would you mind if we ended our meeting for now? You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

‘I wouldn’t mind at all. You do have a lot to process.’

We both stood and he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out an envelope and set it on the table. He sniffled a few times. ‘I don’t know what your fees are, but there should be enough in there to hold me for a while. Just let me know when you need more. I promise to make an appointment next time.’

He extended his hand and I took it. The coolness of his flesh surprised me and I caught my breath. He noticed my reaction and released my hand.

‘I’m sorry. Since I don’t drink enough blood, my skin is always cold. I hope I can do something about that. Thank you for today.’

‘You’re welcome. I look forward to our next session. You might want to consider hypnosis – perhaps we can gently uncover more of the memory that’s causing the problem.’

He gave a quick nod.

I walked him to the door and opened it.

He blew his nose on a fresh tissue, and left.

I briefly considered sitting at my desk and writing up case notes for Apollo, but I was tired and wanted to go home. I’d write up the notes at home later with a glass of wine.

It wasn’t likely I’d forget any of the details.

I thought about Apollo’s story and the poor child who’d died in his arms. As sad as it was, I’d actually heard much worse from my human clients.

Who would’ve thought that a vampire would have the same issue as anyone else – the universal experience of a crappy childhood? Maybe vampires weren’t really so different after all.

Yeah, right.