The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 21

The screeching of the alarm clock dragged me, kicking and screaming, back to the land of the living. I groaned, rolled over and turned off the annoying siren.

I’d had the most amazing dream – or, to be more accurate, I was in the middle of it when the damn alarm went off. I knew I had to get up, but it was so tempting just to lie there and revel in the memories from the previous night and the remnants of the nocturnal fantasy.

In the dream I’d been with Devereux again, but this time we were outside, in the sunlight, on top of a beautiful mountain surrounded by other peaks. I could actually feel the breeze blowing through my hair and across my body. Which was naked, by the way.

As was Devereux’s. Yum.

The muscles of my vagina contracted as I remembered Devereux, stretched out like an alabaster nature god in the vivid green grass with me on top of him, riding that impressive erection as we both screamed with pleasure.

It felt so real – the sun shining on Devereux’s pale skin, the texture of the grass beneath my knees and lower legs as I straddled him, the fragrance of evergreen wafting in the air.

After sharing another cosmic orgasm I collapsed on his firm chest and felt his arms close around me as his lips passionately reclaimed mine.

With another of his smooth moves, he flipped me over so I was on my back in the grass and kissed his way down my body. Faster than I could see, he bent my knees, opened my legs, and began to lick my clitoris. His tongue was soft, relentless, and had homed in on the perfect spot. Impossibly, within seconds I felt another powerful wave of ecstasy building. After he pushed me over the edge, he angled his mouth ever so slightly and gently sank his fangs into the soft lip next to my clit. There was a fleeting sting as his needle-sharp canines pierced the tender skin and he began to suck, but that was quickly drowned out by the mother of all orgasms.

Waves of intense pleasure built, one upon the next, as I screamed words in a language I didn’t know. Just when I thought I would go mad if the sensations didn’t stop, he ran his tongue over the tiny punctures, kissed me there and sat up, a wicked smile on his amazing face.

That’s when the infernal alarm clock rudely interrupted and forced me to resurface into consensus reality.

Damn if it wasn’t the best dream ever. Even thinking about it gave me a hot body rush.

I shut down my newly reawakened libido with a sigh.

Back to the real world.

All it took was the simple act of sitting up to remind me that my physical body as well as my dream body had undergone quite a workout only a few hours before.

That realisation birthed a silly grin.

I guess it could have been the fact that, after two years, I’d been royally pleasured by the best lover I’d ever had. Magnificently shagged. Awesomely boinked. Spectacularly screwed. We’d surely broken the world record for the number of orgasms a couple could have and still be alive to talk about it.

Well, one of us was alive to talk about it, anyway.

I sat back against the very same headboard that had been witness to the athletic portion of the performance and sighed happily, still unable to stop grinning.

It occurred to me that I’d never asked Devereux where he went during the daylight hours. Did he sleep in a coffin? Maybe ‘sleep’ was the wrong word. But he’d told me he dreamed, and how could he dream if he didn’t sleep? How could he dream if he just died when the sun came up?

Now that I’d actually accepted the ludicrous idea that not only did vampires exist but I was having a mad, passionate sexual relationship with the Grand Pooh-bah, I realised I was very curious. If I was going to counsel real vampires, I needed to ask lots more questions and get much better answers. It was important that I didn’t simply shift from a total refusal to believe anything paranormal to a complete acceptance of any and all vampire weirdness. That was just too extreme for me, and not in the least scientific.

I threw the covers back, heaved my legs over the side of the bed, stood and attempted to stretch. All the major muscle groups in my body ganged up on me at once and started whining. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I had a full client load for the next twelve hours, I’d have considered diving back into the bed and pulling the covers over my head. With any luck, I’d fall back asleep and have the mountain dream again.

Instead I promised the complaining muscles a long hot shower and I propelled myself in that direction.

I hoped I’d be able to wipe the goofy grin off my face when I got to my office. On the other hand, it might do my clients good to have their notions about me confounded, to help them realise that change really could happen. Even to me.

Nerd Woman joins the twenty-first century.

Walking to the bathroom reminded me again what happened to muscles if you didn’t use them. The area between my legs was tender and sore, which was to be expected considering the size of the object that’d been in there.

I started the shower, adjusted the water temperature and stepped in. The soothing water flowed down my body, miraculously easing all the tight muscles while relaxing me into a boneless state. I washed my hair, then soaped the rest of me. The lathering came to an abrupt halt when I reached the area between my legs. Not only was it tender, but the soap caused a sudden burning pain.

‘Ow, dammit! When did that happen?’

Not sure who I was asking, I put the soap down and felt around the sore spot with my fingers. Beyond verifying that it was indeed uncomfortable, the examination didn’t give me much additional information.

Finding wounds on my body that weren’t supposed to be there had started to be a regular occurrence. It didn’t take a psychic to figure out that the feeling of déjà vu I experienced was because I’d been through this same routine just a few days earlier, thanks to Bryce.

Bryce. How weird that an entire vampire war had started over a broken heart. Not to mention the fact that the vampires in question supposedly had no functioning hearts. No heartbeats unless they chose to have them. I guess love, or in this case unrequited love, transcended life and death. Bryce wanted to destroy Devereux and the coven because he was a bloodsucker scorned. The therapist in me wondered if Bryce had ever been sane, even as a human. The idea of creating so much drama and trauma over a spurned relationship struck me as dysfunctional, but in the big picture, what else did vampires have to do to fill the millennia? Since he saw me as a threat to his happy-ever-after with Devereux I doubted he would lose interest in his vendetta before anyone else got hurt.

Finished with my shower, I towelled off and grabbed a hand mirror from the top of the vanity. Angling it so I could examine my nether regions, I ran a fingertip gingerly along the tender skin, but still couldn’t make out anything in particular.

Maybe we’d just rubbed the poor little thing raw with our callisthenics.

But when I pulled back the lip, clearly visible on the inside were two not-so-tiny holes floating in a sea of angry red skin.

‘What the hell?’

I reached over, opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and retrieved the tube of antiseptic salve that I’d used for my last bite wound.

Dotting it carefully on the sore spots, I struggled to remember any time during the night when Devereux had bitten anything but my neck.

Instinctively I lifted my hand up to my throat, checking for evidence of what I clearly remembered, but I felt only smooth skin. I raised the mirror, shifted my neck around to display all sides, then shook my head.

Nothing. No sign of the sensuous nibble. Not even a pink spot.

Either I’d blacked out and missed a very erotic chapter in our book of carnal knowledge, or something altogether different had happened.

Then, as if someone switched on a movie, I remembered the last scene of the mountain dream. The labial feast.

‘It was not a dream,’ floated through my mind in a familiar voice.

‘Devereux?’ I jumped up and ran into my bedroom.

‘We were in another dimension and I was careless. My heartfelt apologies, my love. I will heal your wound tonight.’

‘Dever—’ I almost got his name out before I realised the voice was coming from inside my head. Or at least I was pretty sure that no one else could hear it.

At least, not anyone I could see.

I’ll never get used to this.

I paused for a moment, waiting for any remaining astral proclamations, but the voice remained silent.

Well, that’s great. Now even my dreams leave scars.

I didn’t know whether I was being open-minded or stupid, but one thing was certain: nothing surprised me any more.

Well, almost nothing. With help from the police, I made it out of my house and into my office later that morning. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I knew something was wrong. Not only did my intuitive radar system send up a warning, but my regular senses shifted into overdrive. I’d learned from recent and past experience not to ignore those kinds of signals.

I walked slowly along the short hallway between the elevators and my waiting room, steeling myself for what I’d find. That usually closed door was now open and a horrendous stench wafted from my inner office.

I set my purse and briefcase against the wall opposite the entryway, gingerly pushed the waiting room door open with one finger and discovered that the main door was not only open, it was off its hinges, lying on the floor in front of my desk.

All the chairs and tables in the waiting area had been overturned, some of them broken, and everything was coated with a dark reddish-brown substance. On the wall someone had scrawled, in childish print in that same horrible colour, ‘i will not suffer a witch to live’ and ‘you will be washed in the blood’.

As bad as that was, my intuition told me it was only the prelude to the main concerto.

Holding my breath, I picked my way through the debris to the doorway of my office and surveyed the scene.

Compared to the condition of this larger room, the mess in the waiting area had been child’s play. Perhaps that wasn’t an inaccurate diagnosis of the perpetrator’s developmental level.

I shuddered out the breath I’d been holding.

Someone had taken a knife – clearly a honking huge knife – to all the couches and chairs, slashing wide gashes through every cushion. Then, just to make sure the destruction was complete, the furniture had been tumbled over and liberally daubed with more of that reddish-brown stain.

All the files in my locked filing cabinet had been shredded and strewn around the room. Some appeared to have been partially burned, which explained one small portion of the odour, and the metal file cabinet itself was oddly twisted, as if hands had pulled it apart. The drawers in my desk were open and they, along with the top of the desk and my computer, were saturated with what could only be sticky-looking pools of congealed blood. The stunted artist hadn’t spared the walls in this room either. Scrawled across all four were various obscenities, threats, and a few phrases I vaguely registered as coming from religious sources.

Actually, I recognised everything that was written on the walls because I’d heard it all before. Brother Luther had screamed every word of it at me in one or other of the enraged messages I’d saved in my voicemail system.

As astounding as the damage was in both rooms, I still couldn’t figure out the source of the ghastly smell. Had Brother Luther broken into my office and left a dead animal? Excrement? If it had been him, he must be a very large, strong man. Or maybe he brought somebody with him. In any case, the destruction was violent, thorough and personal. I wasn’t sure how much good it would have done, but I should’ve told the police, or at least Alan, about the telephone threats right after they started. Maybe Brother Luther, if he really was responsible, had done something similar before. He might even have a police record. Hindsight is always crystal-clear.

I scanned the room again for the cause of the smell and noticed that the door, which had been torn off its hinges, was lying strangely on the floor – not flat but at an angle, as if there was something underneath.

My stomach tightened and my heart pounded. My brain gave me a high-speed presentation of all the worst-case scenarios I could imagine.

I moved slowly and carefully through the debris, not wanting to disturb any more of the evidence than necessary, and knelt down near the dislodged door. A wave of nausea hit me. I lifted up one corner, which was all it took for me to discover the source of the smell.

A slender young male lay underneath – deathly white, clearly no longer alive, and drenched in blood. I guessed he’d been there for several hours.

Startled, I pushed the door off of him and jumped when it bumped into a still-upright end table, sending the lamp that had miraculously survived the onslaught crashing to the floor.

I was still staring at the unidentified young man when I heard someone gasp. ‘Dr Knight! What happened? Are you okay? Oh my gawd! That’s Eric!’

I turned so quickly I lost my balance and went down hard on my butt in a puddle of thick blood.

Midnight and Ronald had scheduled another joint appointment and they were right on time. We all stared at each other for a few endless seconds, and then Ronald stepped forward, offering his hand.

‘Let me help you up, Dr Knight.’

Midnight had locked both hands over her mouth and was standing rigid, eyes wide.

I accepted Ronald’s help to rise and moved away from the young man Midnight had identified as Eric. The apprentice who’d crafted the little knives for blood-swapping.

After helping me up, Ronald went back to Midnight. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair, but she didn’t respond.

I noticed a fine trembling in her body. One of the first signs of shock.

‘Ronald, would you help Midnight out to the hallway, please? I need to go out there and make some phone calls.’ I kept my voice as calm and normal as possible.

He understood what I hadn’t said and pushed Midnight gently in the direction of the door, holding her by the shoulders to keep her from stumbling or tripping over the chaos on the floor.

Once out of direct sight of her friend’s body, Midnight lowered her hands away from her mouth and began to cry silently, her head on Ronald’s shoulder.

I left them huddled together long enough to retrieve my purse and fetch my cell phone. The expressions on their traumatised young faces were heart-wrenching, and I wished they’d been late for their appointment – that I’d been able to meet them out in the hall instead of involving them in more psychotic madness.

But ruminating about what should have been didn’t do any of us any good. I joined them and rested my hand on Midnight’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Midnight, but the police are going to want to talk to you and Ronald since you knew Eric. Why don’t you sit down and relax until they arrive?’

They both nodded and lowered themselves to the floor.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, taking a moment to sort out my emotions. Oddly though, instead of feeling frightened or upset, I felt calm. I’d been making the assumption that all of the terrible things that had happened – Emerald Addison’s death, my kidnapping, and everything else – had something to do with the vampire community. I’d finally started to believe there were supernatural forces at work, that somehow the vampires were involved. It was almost a relief to come to the realisation I had a common-or-garden-variety psychopath on my hands. No doubt this serial killer had abusive childhood experiences, linked with religiously instigated guilt and shame. I’d hazard a guess he wasn’t fond of women either. Classic. Textbook. A mentally defective, wounded child acting out in the most hideous ways.

Now that was something I knew how to deal with.

How convenient that he seemed to have taken a personal interest in me.

I walked down by the elevator and dialled 911 on my cell phone. I explained there’d been a death in my office and returned to the other end of the hallway where Midnight and Ronald were sitting to wait for the police to arrive.

The calm before the storm.

I glanced down and noticed my clothes were trashed. Again.

My bloody cream-coloured trouser-suit was a miserable reminder of the night I’d spent in the mausoleum. Since I didn’t have any spare clothes to change into, I had little choice but to ignore the psychic flashbacks and distract myself by thinking about ways the police could use me as bait to catch the killer. By the time they arrived, I’d concocted some creative and audacious scenarios in which Super Psychologist would save the day.

I heard the dings of the elevators just before the doors opened and I instinctively moved a few steps in that direction. A dozen uniformed officers swarmed out, followed by a forensics unit.

At the tail end, preceded by heavy footsteps, came a familiar voice. ‘Well, well, Dr Knight. We meet again.’

Lieutenant Bullock strolled over to me, clasped her hands behind her back and walked around me in a circle. The edges of her mouth were quirked in a grim sort of smile. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed the large, messy bloodstain on my trousers.

‘Up to your ass in blood once more, eh? Or should I say twice more, since I last saw you? I heard about the cemetery deal, and your influential friend making sure you didn’t have to go through normal channels. Oh yes. Why so surprised? I make a point of keeping track of “interesting” people, and you, Dr Knight, strike me as very . . . “interesting”. Funny how often death follows you around.’

She ran her fingers through her short greying hair and shifted her attention to Midnight, then Ronald, then back to me. She pointed at the couple huddled on the floor. ‘I’ll send some officers to begin their interviews and to get preliminary details from you. Then, after I do my job inside, I’ll be back.’ Her smile brightened. ‘I’m going to handle your statement. Personally.’ She took a couple of steps towards my waiting room door, then partially turned, her face devoid of emotion. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

She pivoted and strode into my office, bellowing out orders to the officers already inside.

Surprise in his voice, Ronald said, ‘Wow, that policewoman really doesn’t like you, Dr Knight. What did you do to piss her off?’

I almost responded by saying, ‘What do you think I did to piss her off?’ but caught myself before giving the automatic therapy reply to a patient’s question.

Instead, I shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. Something about me bothered her from the first moment she laid eyes on me. Maybe I remind her of someone else.’

‘Or maybe she knew you in a past life?’

I turned towards the voice and was grateful and relieved to see Alan approaching. He covered the short distance between us quickly and put his arm around my shoulders.

‘I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the address of the homicide on my scanner. What happened? Did one of your clients go berserk?’

‘No. Someone broke in and destroyed my office.’

He tightened his grip on my shoulders. ‘Well, your trusty FBI agent is always here for you. Who died?’

The shoulder resting against him relaxed. ‘A friend of Midnight’s. A boy. One of the other vampire apprentices.’

‘This is a vampire thing?’ He unceremoniously dropped his arm and sprinted off into my office, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

So much for being here for me.

I sighed and backed up against the wall to wait for whatever Lieutenant Bullock had in store.

True to her word, she sent officers out to interview Midnight and Ronald, and a detective to talk to me.

The detective politely asked questions that I only had one answer for: I don’t know. With each similar response from me, he appeared more frustrated.

I couldn’t blame him for being sceptical. This was the third police interrogation I’d participated in during the past week and even I had trouble believing that I had no worthwhile information to share.

How had I managed to involve myself in so many situations where I felt like a chess piece being moved around on some cosmic board by unseen hands?

Somebody had obviously delivered the blood-covered material in the manila envelope. All I did was open it and report it to the police. To the best of my knowledge, I hadn’t purposely lost my memory, strolled away from The Crypt and crawled into a disgusting mausoleum to take a nap in an occupied coffin. And unless I’d been abducted by aliens, causing me to have missing time, all I had done this morning was come to my office.

All the same, I realised my protestations of unaware innocence might be wearing pretty thin for the authorities right about then.

Finally Lieutenant Bullock emerged from my office, motioned to the ever-patient detective who’d continued to rephrase his questions in ways he thought might elicit additional information from me, and they shared an animated whispered conversation.

The detective ambled over to the officers still questioning Midnight and Ronald. Lieutenant Bullock approached me, frowning.

‘I’d like a private word, Dr Knight. Is there a lounge area or break room on this floor?’

I’d prepared myself for many possible opening lines from her, but that one took me completely by surprise, which must have been written all over my face.

‘There’s a small lounge area inside the women’s toilets. Will that do?’ I pointed past the elevators.

She launched herself down the hallway, indicating I should follow.

When we reached the toilet door she paused, pivoted and called to a uniformed officer standing in the hall, ‘Greenfield!’ She beckoned him over with a peremptory hand gesture, then pointed to the floor at her feet. ‘Stand here. No one comes in.’

We waited while the officer dutifully stationed himself outside the bathroom.

Lieutenant Bullock pushed open the door, held it while I entered and surveyed the small lounge area.

My curiosity had morphed into nervousness when she’d assigned the officer to stand guard at the door. At least that was what it appeared he was doing. She hadn’t mentioned it specifically, but if no one could come in, it wasn’t likely I could leave without obstruction either.

‘Sit,’ she ordered, pointing to a red leather couch.

I sat. The dried blood on the seat of my trousers crunched like cardboard.

She paced in front of me for a few seconds, her hands clasped in back, then stopped. She assumed a military-style stance, feet so many inches apart, shoulders back.

The situation forced me totally out of my depth, and out of my comfort zone. I had absolutely no idea what we were doing in the women’s bathroom, or why she’d taken me aside. I wasn’t sure where to look so I focused on her sturdy black shoes.

When she finally spoke, her voice quiet, I met her eyes. ‘This is awkward for me because it flies in the face of everything I believe in. Not only am I about to give police information to a civilian, but I also intend to raise an issue that will sound crazy and might reflect poorly on me as a law-enforcement professional. Although being a psychologist, I suspect you’re used to having people tell you questionable stories.’ She was silent again for a few seconds, then loudly cleared her throat. ‘Stevens has been spinning some wild yarns about vampires, or “wannabes”, as he calls them. He says there’s quite a community of them here in the central Denver area. He’s got some bizarre theories, but he keeps the details to himself because he thinks I won’t believe him. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been following the same trail of deaths that he has, and I’ve come to similar outrageous conclusions.’

She believes in vampires? No way.

‘If he’s keeping his theories to himself, how do you know what conclusions he’s reached?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Let’s just say I stumbled upon his notebook one day when he was downtown using the computer and eyeballed enough pages to get the drift. I’ve also overheard enough of his strange telephone conversations to whet my appetite for more information.’

‘So, basically you’re saying that you read his private papers?’

She made a swatting-away-a-fly hand motion. ‘Don’t go there. The bottom line is that he believes there are actually such creatures as vampires, and insane as it sounds, the evidence I’ve seen supports it. Stevens thinks my interest in this case is due to the fact that my friend was the first Denver victim, and he’s right – Webster’s murder does play into it. But that’s not where it started for me.’

‘Where did it start?’

She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Hmm, arm-crossing. She feels the need to defend herself. Interesting.

‘I was a cop in New York City ten years ago when these murders began to pop up. Long story short, I found my partner’s body drained of blood and riddled with pairs of puncture wounds. The perpetrator was never apprehended. The victim in your office was killed by the same method as all ninety-six others. He was drained of blood.’

‘Ninety-six others?’ I blurted, and sat up straighter. ‘I haven’t heard anything about ninety-six murders. You said on the news there were five bodies, and there was no mention of the cause of death.’

‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘Ninety-six altogether – ninety-seven now, twenty-seven of them in Denver. We haven’t released that information to the public – I’m sure you can appreciate how the average citizen might react to finding out there’s a serial killer who somehow removes the victims’ blood while they’re still alive. But there’s another piece to this sick puzzle, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.’

‘Me? I’ve already told the detective everything I know.’

She pulled a small chair from the corner, set it in front of me and sat. She leaned back and rested one ankle on the opposite knee.

‘Let’s just call this a consultation between a law-enforcement professional and a psychological expert. A psychological expert who calls herself “the Vampire Psychologist”.’

I realised I’d scooted up to the edge of the couch cushion and forced myself to slide back. All the muscles in my neck were tight and I rotated them in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

‘Okay, we’re having a professional consultation. Go on.’

She studied me, her face blank. I wondered if she played poker, because no one would be able to read her if she didn’t want to be read. ‘Remember I said that all the bodies had been drained of blood? In almost all the cases there wasn’t a drop of the victims’ blood to be found at the scene. Out of the ninety-seven cases, only two bodies were covered with blood. The first was the body of Emerald Addison and the second, the young man lying on your office floor.’

She cocked her head, put both feet flat on the carpet and leaned forwards. ‘Any thoughts about another thing both those murders have in common?’

I didn’t care for the direction the conversation was taking. ‘You’re saying that I’m the common denominator?’

‘Very good, Doctor. But that’s not the really interesting part. The blood found all over Emerald Addison wasn’t hers. I’m not sure if I could even call it human.’

‘Are you saying she was covered in animal blood?’

She stood, replaced the chair in the corner, and began pacing again. ‘That’s what we initially thought. Whatever the bloodlike substance is, it doesn’t have the necessary ingredients to be classified as mammalian. I’d be willing to wager that the blood all over the victim in your office isn’t his. I think we’ll discover it’s a match to what we found in the Addison case.’

I rose and paced in the square she hadn’t claimed, making ‘I don’t know’ gestures with my hands. ‘I don’t understand. Where would the blood come from if not from the victim or an animal?’

‘Well, Doctor, that’s where you come in. As a psychologist, give me your professional opinion about why a killer might leave his own blood, or some synthetic liquid that looks like blood, at the scene of his crimes?’

I paused and thought for a moment. ‘It would be symbolic. Metaphorical. If it only happened in two of the ninety-seven cases, then something about those two cases was more personal for the killer. There was a reason for the killer to either spill his own blood or give that impression. Maybe something religious . . .’

My voice froze in midsentence and I stared at Lieutenant Bullock. I tried to wrap my mind around the notion of Brother Luther as the murderer of ninety-seven people. The same Brother Luther I had initially written off as a harmless windbag. But if Brother Luther was the murderer, what about the bodies being drained of blood? That fitted more with a vampire than a religious fanatic.

Maybe Brother Luther had a partner who was a vampire.

No. His telephone rants all centred on his hatred of vampires. None of it made any sense.

Frowning, Lieutenant Bullock stepped in front of me.

‘What? Why did you stop talking? Did you think of something?’

‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘I think you and Special Agent Stevens and I need to get together right now for a serious talk. I want to tell you about some phone messages I’ve been receiving, and you and Alan have to come clean with each other.’

She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a few seconds, then bounded towards the exit. ‘This way.’