The Vampire Shrink

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.

By the time I woke up at dawn on Sunday morning, I had formulated a plan of action and I was excited. It had been a long time since I’d felt passionate about my work. I was going to become the Vampire Psychologist. Well, Vampire-Wannabe Psychologist, anyway. Starting Monday, I would run ads in all the local newspapers and online classifieds, offering both individual and group psychotherapy for vampires.

Yes, I thought, mentally rubbing my hands together, this had bestseller written all over it. I had found a brand-new dysfunction-of-the-week that mixed genuine mental illness with just enough scary occult sensationalism to make it a bona fide hit. Maybe I’d even get to go on Oprah or Dr Phil!

While I daydreamed about my impending stardom, my stomach growled in angry protest. When had I last eaten? I tended to forget mundane details such as food, and strolled into the kitchen to forage for something edible. As usual, the refrigerator was cluttered with old take-away boxes, the contents of which were no longer recognisable, along with bottled water and a substance that had probably once been cheese. My kitchen was a potent reminder that while I was exceptionally organised and efficient in my professional life, I was completely oblivious to its other aspects.

Shopping falls into the category of torture for me. Not only do I have all the impatience of my ‘Type A’ personality to deal with, but being around all those people – their energy, I guess, for lack of a better word – wipes me out. According to my parents, I’d always been ‘too sensitive’, too receptive to the moods of those around me. I suppose that’s why I became a psychologist, but my sensitivity certainly complicated the rest of my life.

I spent most of my childhood thinking I was crazy – or cursed. Normal kids didn’t spend time hiding in closets, talking to invisible friends, and picking up bits of people’s thoughts. I learned very early to keep my weirdness to myself, to isolate so nobody would notice. It took years for me to integrate my extra senses, to acclimatise to the strange hand I’d been dealt.

And if my psychic ‘gifts’ weren’t stressful enough, I always got teased in school for being a nerd. The ‘brainy girl’ with no fashion sense. The shy loner with her nose in a book, cowering in the corner. Thanks to my reclusive parents, I was the poster child for Social Anxiety. I just couldn’t see the point of worrying about trivial things like parties, friends or clothes when there were so many mind-puzzles to solve. So many mental illnesses to cure. At least, that’s what I told myself. I had a moment of feeling sad for the terrified child I’d been, always observing instead of living.

Another stomach growl prompted me to call my local deli for a breakfast bagel. Picking up the phone, I heard the beeping sound that told me I had messages.

I made coffee and poured myself a cup, then punched in the retrieval number to access my calls.

The first message made me grin. It was from Vaughan, the cute chiropractor I’d met when we’d both volunteered to answer phones at the local PBS fundraiser a couple of months ago. I think he’d called me once before, but I couldn’t remember if I’d returned the call or simply thought about returning it. He really was adorable, with his light-green eyes, curly chestnut hair, and that delicious dimple. It probably wouldn’t hurt to call him back. After my spectacular failures with men, I’d become such a wimp about dating. It was just so much easier to hole up at the library.

Hearing the next voice made my breath catch and my knees go weak. My heart pounded and my palms moistened. I grabbed the counter to keep my balance.

‘How can he still do this to me after all this time?’ I said aloud.

Dr Thomas Radcliffe. My first love. The man I’d been willing to change my life for. The man I’d thought was the answer to my prayers. The man who had told me I didn’t excite him any more and who’d dumped me for an airy-fairy astrologer who wore crystals and smelled of patchouli oil. Even after all this time, thinking about him still made me want to cry. It had been two painful years, and I had only recently started to feel good about myself again. Two long years of going over everything I’d said and done, trying to understand what it was about me that hadn’t been quite good enough for him. Shades of my lonely childhood.

‘Kismet? Are you there? Tom Radcliffe here. Oh, well, I guess I’ll leave a message. I know you’ll be sad you missed my call, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be in Denver for a conference and we should get together for lunch, catch up and touch base, do some networking. You have my cell phone number. Give me a call.’

‘Catch up and touch base? Do some networking? You arrogant ass.’ I forced myself to breathe as my heart rate calmed.

He always talked that way. Pompous. Oblivious. I wondered if his vocabulary had expanded to include all the astrological information he surely must be privy to now. Would he tell me that Mercury was up Uranus, and that’s why he’d broken my heart? No matter. I had no intention of meeting him for lunch or anything else. The welcome mat had definitely been pulled out from under Tom Radcliffe. He might still have the keys to my libido, but the rest of me wouldn’t be going along for the ride any more. I pressed the button to erase his message and called the deli.

After I’d eaten, I brought my laptop over to the table and wrote for a little while. Then I stretched the cramped muscles in my arms and checked the time. Since I had nothing planned for the day, I figured I could either work for a couple more hours, or I could break my routine and do something different – maybe take a walk in that big neighbourhood park I’d been meaning to explore. Jefferson Park was Denver’s equivalent of Central Park in New York City, and it had lots of trees, benches and trails. It was only a couple of blocks from my townhouse.

Yes, exercise. That was the ticket. I looked down at myself. Whether I liked it or not, it was clear that being physically inactive – sitting on my butt all the time – had a downside. I’d promised myself I’d rectify the fitness situation and gain some muscle in other places besides my brain. I changed into a comfortable dark-blue sweatsuit, put on my still-in-the-box walking shoes, and headed out the door.

Denver could be counted on to have over three hundred sunny days per year, and this late-October morning was a prime specimen. Actually, the fact that it was mostly sunny in Colorado was one of the few things I would have changed about a state that was, otherwise, paradise. Coming from the Midwest, I loved a good rainstorm and relished the introspective embrace of a grey, overcast day.

The first thing I noticed was how many walkers, joggers, runners, bicycle riders, skateboarders and pet-walkers were out on the park trails this early in the morning. And, even more interesting, was how many of them were holding Starbucks cups in their hands as they engaged in those activities. I marvelled at the level of physical coordination it must take to run and drink coffee at the same time.

‘Kismet? Kismet! Is that you? I thought you lived around here someplace. You didn’t call me back.’

My mouth went dry and my stomach churned. The voice was very familiar. Especially since I’d just listened to it on my voicemail. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction, but instead I turned around slowly and stared into the dark-brown eyes of Dr Thomas Radcliffe, my astrologer-humping ex-boyfriend.

Shit.

This wasn’t how I’d imagined our first meeting would be after all this time. In my vision, I was dressed to the nines – painted, polished and gorgeous. He’d be overcome with remorse for his treatment of me and beg me to take him back. I, of course, would kick him to the kerb. But instead, here I was looking like something the vampire had dragged in, wearing a baggy old sweatsuit. I couldn’t even remember if I’d brushed my hair before I left.

There was absolutely no justice in the universe because he hadn’t changed a bit. He was still classically handsome and impeccably groomed. He could’ve been a model who’d just stepped out of West Coast Magazine. To add insult to injury, he’d finally grown out his thick black hair, which I’d repeatedly asked him to do during the time we were together. There’s just something about a man with great hair.

‘Tom. How nice to see you,’ I lied, silently pleading with my facial muscles to transform what I was sure was a grimace into an acceptable smile.

I’ll be damned if I’ll let him know he still affects me.

He came over and almost-hugged me, one of those not-quite-embraces – complete with an air-kiss on either side of my face that are so popular among the rich and famous. ‘You look just as I remember you.’ Which made me want to knee him in the nuts.

He grinned and stretched his arms out to the sides, making a show of his rippling biceps. ‘You just popped into my head the other day and I decided to make it a point to see you when I came to Denver.’

Asshole. I just ‘popped into his head’. So much for my fantasy of the daily inner torture I hoped he’d endured as he replayed the loss of me over and over in his mind.

I retreated from his pseudo-hug and made my face as neutral as possible. My gaze slid to his skin-hugging running tights and I noticed he still wasn’t reluctant to advertise all his products and services. No matter how obnoxious he was, he did still possess certain . . . arousing . . . attributes. I fought a flood of memories and coaxed my eyes up to his face, straining my brain for something brilliant to say, but instead came out with the verbal equivalent of elevator music. ‘You’re still running every day?’

‘Yes, indeed – got to keep one step ahead of Father Time.’ He patted his tight abs.

Dr Cliché. I wonder if this man ever has an original thought.

He tugged on my arm and guided me over to a nearby bench and sat. ‘Can we sit for a minute? Now that I’ve got you here, I’d love to catch up. What are you doing these days? Are you writing? Are you married?’

I reluctantly joined him on the bench. ‘Well . . .’ I managed to get that one word out before he launched into a monologue.

‘Things are going so super for me. My private practice in San Francisco is booming, both because of the success of my last book and my radio programme. You wouldn’t believe how busy I am and how in demand I am as a speaker. Did you see me on Dr Phil? I was one of the experts for a recent segment. Oprah’s people are talking to my people. She’s starting a new network – can you imagine what an appearance on one of her shows will do for my books? I live in a fabulous house in one of the finest sections of town and I just ordered a brand-new Ferrari. I’ll take you for a ride the next time I see you . . .’

I just stared at him as he went on with his manic rant. He didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t spoken or that I was gaping at him like he was a nasty squished bug on my windshield. Had he always been this way? What had I been thinking? Had I really been so dazzled by his appearance that I’d ignored his self-absorption? More likely, I’d simply been so desperate for any kind of attention that I blocked out behaviours I didn’t want to see. I amused myself for a few seconds by mentally thumbing through the list of personality disorders he fitted into.

Hmmm. Definitely Narcissistic Personality Disorder. And with his temper, maybe Borderline as well. Obsessive-Compulsive. Then there’s the sex addiction . . .

‘So, whatever happened to Summer, the astrologer?’ I interjected loudly, with what I hoped was an evil grin.

‘Who? Oh, yes. She was a sweet thing. Simply adored me. Thought I walked on water. But we were from two different worlds, and she wasn’t a good fit for where I was going. We parted the best of friends.’

Yeah, sure. I’ll bet. I wonder what her version of the break-up is.

He glanced down at his diamond-studded watch. ‘Oh, damn. Look at the time. I’ve got to hurry back and get dressed for my presentation. Hey, here’s an idea – why don’t you come to the conference with me, and you can listen to my lecture. I bet you’ll really learn a lot from it. What do you say?’

How typical. He’s jogging in a diamond watch.

‘As tempting as that sounds,’ I said sarcastically, which, judging by his solemn head-nodding, he’d totally missed, ‘I’ll have to pass. I have clients.’

‘Bummer! It’s a shame you can’t attend, but I know how seriously you take your work.’

He said that as if it was a bad thing. He’d always viewed my refusal to join him in the fast lane as a character flaw, as well as a personal disappointment.

‘Yeah.’ I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘It really is a drag that I’m too burdened with my mundane private practice to spend time discussing your superficial – er, super – life. Maybe the next time you’re in town.’

He gave a quick pout – he actually poked his bottom lip out – patted my arm, then offered his fake ‘I’m really just one of the guys’ grin.

‘I was going to keep this as a surprise for you, but I guess I can tell you now. I expect I’ll be seeing a lot more of you as I’m doing a series of workshops in Colorado, and I’d love to discuss the possibility of using your office part-time while I’m here. Could we get together for dinner and talk about it?’ He flashed me a toothy California smile.

Welcome to the wonderful world of Tom Radcliffe’s ego. Plenty of room for everyone, folks, step right up. Watch out for the smelly little piles. Enter at your own risk.

He stood and began running in place. ‘Tell you what – I’ll just drop by your house after the conference is over next Friday night. I got your new address from a close friend who works for the APA Directory.’

‘Hey!’ I frowned. ‘You’re lying. Clinician contact information is confidential. No way they gave you my address. It’s protected – I even paid extra to make sure.’

‘Obviously, you don’t remember how persuasive I can be. Especially after a few drinks in the right setting. Wouldn’t you like to be reminded of my special skills?’

Before I could answer, ‘Hell no,’ he had jogged away backwards, yelling, ‘I’ll see you then.’

Suddenly, everything about Tom Radcliffe seemed hilarious. I sat on the bench and laughed out loud. Luckily, no clients were around to witness my temporary joyful insanity. I did have a reputation to uphold, after all. Sitting alone in the park laughing hysterically wouldn’t be good for business.

How could I have been in love with such a narcissistic egomaniac? Such a superficial moron? I’d spent the last two years grieving and miserable, and now I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. As long as we kept enough miles between us and a bedroom, I might never be tempted to recover the memory.

I had no doubt he’d got my address by seducing an APA employee. Ethics had no meaning in Tom Radcliffe’s world. An official complaint was definitely in order.

I smiled through a brisk walk around the park and whistled all the way back to my house. Maybe my life was looking up.

The buzzing of the alarm clock woke me early on Monday, giving me plenty of time to do some writing and organise the online research I’d gathered before I had to leave for my appointment with my therapist, Nancy. I felt so energised by the vampire-wannabe project that by the time I realised I was hungry, it was too late to do anything about it. I’d missed last month’s session, and I didn’t want to be late for today’s.

I drove to the Cherry Creek office and parked in front of her Victorian building.

‘Nancy?’ I knocked on the wood-panelled door frame.

‘Come on in, Kismet.’ She walked towards me, a warm smile on her face. ‘Nice to see you – it’s been a while.’

I strolled into her cosy psychotherapy office and squeezed the hands she’d held out to me in greeting. ‘Hi. I’m sorry I had to cancel our last appointment. Client emergency.’

‘Not a problem. We both know how it is.’ She nodded towards a couple of oversize chairs. ‘Let’s get comfortable.’

‘Yes, let’s.’ I sank into the soft cushions and sighed. ‘I’m glad to be here today. I really need a session, lots going on.’

‘Would you like some herbal tea? I just made one for myself.’

‘No thanks. I’m good.’ I propped my briefcase against the chair.

She sat across from me, Earth Mother incarnate. Full-figured, she wore a vibrant, multicoloured flowing dress, her long, curly white hair caught on top of her head with a jewelled butterfly clip. Bright-green eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘That’s a lovely suit. What an exquisite colour of blue – it really brings out your eyes. Is it silk?’

I looked down at my trouser-suit and brushed one of my long hairs from the sleeve. ‘Yes, it is. I’m glad you like it. We can thank the good taste of the sales clerk for this outfit.’ We often began our sessions with light conversation because Nancy wanted to give me a moment to settle before we began – a standard therapy technique. As calm and in-control as I remained when sitting in the other seat at my own office, like any client I always felt a little nervous about what the session might uncover.

‘Well, let’s get right to it, then. Where would you like to start?’

Nancy had been a psychologist for forty years, and I’d been seeing her for individual therapy for quite a while. She was my supervisor during part of my licensing process. After I completed the requirements, though I no longer needed supervision, I chose to continue working with her just because she was such a skilful and insightful counsellor. The fact that we also had a healthy mother-daughter dynamic in play didn’t hurt my personal growth, either. It was never too late for quality parenting.

‘I’ve had an exciting new development.’ I bounced my foot absentmindedly.

‘What?’ She chuckled. ‘You finally decided to stick your toe back into the dating pond again?’ She lifted her cup and sipped. Nancy constantly teased me about my relationship anxiety.

‘No.’ I grinned. ‘But we can talk about that later. I want to tell you about a new client and an idea for a book.’

‘Excellent! Your writing muse has returned? Tell me everything.’

‘A nineteen-year-old woman – girl? – I’m not sure what to call her, she’s really both. Trying hard to be a grown-up, but immature. Very sweet. Confused. Anyway, she was referred to me by her parents because, according to the mother, she’s obsessed with wanting to become a vampire.’

‘A vampire?’ Nancy replaced her cup on the nearby table. ‘I guess that makes sense, with all the books and movies currently flooding the culture.’

‘Exactly. Which is why I was so surprised to discover that nobody has written a book on the vampire-wannabe phenomenon.’

‘There aren’t any clinical texts on the subject?’

‘Nothing I could find online.’

‘So you’re going to write one?’ she asked, frowning.

‘That’s the plan.’ I sat back and examined her expression. ‘Hey, why are you frowning? You don’t think it’s a good idea? I would be the first psychologist to tackle the issue – talk show hosts would swarm out of the woodwork to book me as a guest.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded, her face serious. ‘That’s what troubles me.’

‘I don’t understand.’ I thrust my hands out in front of me, palms up. ‘I’ve been looking for a topic for my next book and nothing grabbed my interest. You encouraged me to find a cutting-edge clinical issue to study. Well, one dropped into my lap. Why don’t you like it?’

She steepled her fingers under her chin. ‘Are you sure that’s the kind of attention you want to draw to yourself? Think about the therapists who specialise in alien-abduction hypnosis. Their professional credibility has suffered. They’re associated with fringe, occult quackery rather than professional scholarship. They’ve diminished themselves rather than enhancing their standing in the psychotherapeutic community. I’d hate to see that happen to you.’

‘Okay.’ I nodded and tapped a finger on my leg. ‘I can see why you’d worry about that – vampire wannabes and the whole goth-lifestyle situation tend to reek of reality TV. But if I handle the topic professionally, not allowing myself to focus on the sensationalist aspects, I believe this could be a worthwhile project. I mean, wouldn’t there be general interest in the negative consequences of our social fixation with vampires? We really can’t allow our teenagers and young adults to embrace the notion of the undead without professionals talking about the downsides, right?’

‘When you put it that way, I suppose I have to agree a book on the repercussions would be useful. You’d have to make sure your presentation is always impeccable, though.’

I laughed and brought my hands together, as if in supplication. ‘Impeccable is my middle name.’

That finally elicited a smile from her. ‘I thought you said “Nerd” was your middle name?’

‘Very funny,’ I said, appreciating her, ‘but sadly true. So, you really think the idea has merit?’

‘Perhaps.’ She raised a shoulder.

Nancy the Inscrutable.

‘Of course, I don’t even know what I’m dealing with yet. Meeting one wannabe and hearing about others doesn’t legitimise a syndrome or disorder. I’ll need to do careful research before I even know if the topic is viable. Would you be willing to read the proposal, just to keep me on the professional straight and narrow?’

‘Certainly.’ She nodded. ‘I’d be pleased to give you feedback about this book, just as I did on your others. I’m glad to hear you understand the kind of slippery slope these media-driven topics can be.’

‘I do.’ I rubbed my palms together. ‘And I’m really excited about this idea. Vampire wannabes – who knew? My young client says there are tons of vampires in Denver. She’s obviously influenced by a wannabe love interest, probably some gorgeous young Robert Pattinson look-alike. Maybe I can get him to come in for therapy, too.’ I laughed, feeling more and more confident about the idea. ‘Then there are all the Twilight Moms, grown women fixated on the books and the young actors. I might have to open up psychotherapy franchises to handle all the vampire wannabes and the bloodsucker obsessed!’

‘Well,’ Nancy said, shaking her head, ‘be careful what you ask for. And don’t discount the likelihood that some of these people could be dangerous.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ I made the cross-my-heart gesture. ‘I’ll keep my wooden stakes handy.’

‘So.’ She smiled. ‘Have you been thinking about taking an emotional risk? Going out on a date? Even having a male friend?’

‘Crap.’ She never misses. ‘And I was having such a good time talking about vampires. I should know better than to try to distract you from busting my defence mechanisms. You’re like a heat-seeking missile for avoidance attempts. Yes, Dr St John, I have been thinking about it. It isn’t as easy as you make it sound, you know.’

‘Kismet, here’s a good opportunity for you to confront some of your childhood demons. You’ve said your fear of social situations started very early. You never got the opportunity to learn about healthy relationships – your parents are with-drawn academics who tuck their pens into little plastic things in their shirt pockets. Even today they’re stereotypical scientists. Their idea of getting together with friends consisted of inviting others to your home for lectures, very cerebral lectures that you were required to attend and give a report on.’

‘Yeah.’ I paused, thinking about my parents. ‘You’ve got a good memory. I never really was a child – my parents treated me like a colleague rather than an offspring.’ I laughed, and reached into the side pocket of my briefcase to pull out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. ‘I bought these at a drugstore when I was twelve years old so I could look smart, like their students at the university.’ I studied the glasses for a few seconds. ‘I don’t know why I keep them.’ I shrugged.

‘Don’t you?’

Let’s not go there today.

‘Not consciously.’

She gave the therapist’s nod. ‘We can explore that when you’re ready. You said your desire to be a psychologist, to actually mingle with other human beings, baffled your parents.’ Nancy retrieved her teacup. ‘They couldn’t comprehend why you’d want to specialise in the messy realm of emotions rather than pure logic, why you’d want to discuss meaningless things like feelings.’

‘Yes.’ I inhaled a deep breath and released it. ‘If my mother ever did anything as time-wasting as embroidery, she’d have stitched that saying onto a pillow – Feelings Are Meaningless. It took me years to acknowledge some of my own emotions without guilt.’ Talking about my parents always caused a heavy sensation in my stomach. I returned the glasses to the briefcase and shook off the negative energy from my mental visit to the past. ‘I don’t wear the glasses any more, and as long as I keep the conversation on psychology, I can make a little small talk at conferences. I’ve come a long way.’

‘You have.’ Nancy looked at me with compassion in her eyes. ‘You should be very proud of yourself. But, as we’ve discussed before, if you really want to increase your confidence around men and have a good relationship at some point, you’ll need to take the next step. What if you set a goal of walking up to a handsome man and starting a conversation? Can you imagine that?’

‘Gak!’ I held my hands up, forming a cross with my index fingers as if warding off a vampire. ‘Why don’t you just ask me to shed my clothes and run down the 16^th Street Mall?’

‘Really?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘You actually see those things as equal? Kismet! What are we going to do with you? I know you had a bad experience with your ex-boyfriend Tom—’

‘Tom!’ I smacked my palms against my thighs. ‘I can’t believe I forgot. I saw him yesterday. He’s in Denver. It was wonderful.’

‘Wonderful? Tom?’ She pressed a hand against her chest as her mouth dropped open. ‘Please don’t tell me you decided to get back together with him. We talked about what a flawed individual he is.’

‘Get back together with him? Not in this or any other reality. The wonderful part was the lightbulb that went off over my head. Lightbulb? Hell – it was a red-carpet spotlight! I finally saw him with absolute crystal clarity. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before, but that doesn’t matter. For the first time since I met him years ago, I felt nothing. Well, revulsion, certainly, but nothing that would make me lose my mind and reconcile. It was a great experience! I wish you could’ve been there.’

Caught up in my enthusiasm, Nancy clapped her hands. ‘Yes! I’m so happy for you. Maybe setting the new goal won’t seem so out of the question now?’

I gave a loud sigh and sat back in my seat. ‘Even thinking about talking to a good-looking man gives me cramps. I’m such a coward.’ Acknowledging that fact felt bad, even to Nancy, whom I trusted.

‘You aren’t a coward,’ Nancy said, shaking a finger in my direction. ‘You simply never learned to be social, to make non-professional small talk. You know shy people are totally misunderstood. It’s not as if you choose to feel the way you do.’ She drank from her cup again and replaced it on the table.

If you really knew me – knew about the weird psychic flashes – you might see me differently. Hearing things other people don’t hear. Seeing things, feeling things. My childhood was a strange trip down a demented Yellow Brick Road. I’m not brave enough to tell even you about that. Right now I know you’re worried about me. You wish you could go back and heal my childhood and you’re afraid I’ll never get past the hurtful experiences. I wish I could tell you how scary it is to be like me. I don’t want to know those things. Makes me feel crazy. Especially since I can’t count on the abilities – they only show up when they want to. Maybe I have more in common with my clients than I think.

‘Yes, well.’ I kept my voice light and steady, ‘talking about it’s the easy part. I think it will take a miracle to blast me out of my nerd persona.’ I pointed to my feet. ‘I’m lucky I remember to wear matching shoes. Hey’ – I laughed – ‘maybe my client can introduce me to one of her imaginary vampires and he can entrance me with his hypnotic eyes and change my personality. That would be something to write about, wouldn’t it?’

She smiled, completely aware of my distracting manoeuvre. ‘I have absolute faith in your ability to take on any challenge you set for yourself. And I’m always here to help.’

We consulted on a couple of my long-term clients and talked about an upcoming conference, then I left and drove to my office.

I rode up in the elevator and walked along the hallway. The door to my waiting room was open. The cleaning crew had probably forgotten to lock it again. I wasn’t expecting anyone for another hour, at least.

‘Midnight?’

My newest client sat, tapping her feet on the carpet, dressed in a floor-length dark-blue dress adorned with sparkling stars, and a burgundy velvet cape. The sleeves were long enough to cover her arms all the way to mid-hand. Black lace-up stiletto-heeled boots completed the outfit.

‘Oh, hi, Dr Knight. I hope you don’t mind that I came early. I know my appointment isn’t until later.’

She doesn’t seem upset. But she’s acting different . . .

‘Is everything okay?’

Her lips spread, showing her delicate fake fangs. ‘Yes. Everything’s fine.’ She held up a large leather portfolio. ‘I just couldn’t wait. After our meeting I got all kinds of ideas for drawings, and since you sort of inspired them, I wanted to get here early and show them to you.’ Her smile crumpled and her gaze skimmed the carpet. ‘But you’re probably too busy to look at pictures. I should’ve thought of that.’

She expects me to reject her.

‘Drawings? You’re willing to share them with me? That’s great. Please, come on in – I’d love to see them.’

We walked across the waiting room. She flashed a little-girl smile and stood, clutching the portfolio against her chest, waiting for me to unlock the door to my office.

This is a good sign.

I escorted her inside, closed the door, and set my briefcase on my desk.

‘How do you want to do this?’ I asked. ‘You can display them on the couches and chairs, or however you like.’

‘Okay. I’ll set them up.’ She literally skipped into the room.

To give her some privacy, I opened my briefcase and rummaged inside, looking for my appointment book. Then I turned on my computer, watching her arrange her display out of the corner of my eye.

‘I’m ready. Come and look,’ she said, hugging herself. ‘I’ll tell you about each of the sketches. Some of them are just rough outlines, so don’t expect much.’

I walked over to stand next to her in front of the longest couch where she’d propped several pencil drawings of people. ‘Oh, wow – these are gorgeous,’ I said, and meant it. ‘You are really talented.’

‘Really?’ She straightened, obviously pleased. ‘You think so? This is a picture of my mother.’ She pointed to a sketch of a tired-looking, sad woman staring off into space. Despite the hopelessness of the picture, it was apparent the woman was beautiful – or had been, before life wore her down. I didn’t know anything about art or drawing, but even I could tell the work was excellent.

‘Midnight, you really have a gift. That’s an amazing picture of your mother. I can see the resemblance between you.’

‘Yeah.’ She studied the face on the page. ‘She used to say we were twins born twenty years apart. But she doesn’t say things like that any more.’ She shifted her eyes to the next paper. ‘This is my father. I drew this one from a photo of him when he was younger. When he still cared about anything besides alcohol.’ The sketch showed a very nice-looking, smiling man standing next to a vintage Ford Mustang.

It didn’t take keen intuition to feel the waves of yearning rolling off Midnight as she stared at her father and mourned what she’d lost.

‘He’s a very handsome man. You have his eyes, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She touched the picture. ‘I do have his eyes,’ she said softly. ‘I wish I had him,’ she said on a whisper, probably assuming I hadn’t heard.

She grieves for him as if he’s dead.

‘Who is this?’ I pointed to a rough drawing of a pretty young woman about Midnight’s age.

‘This is my cousin Anne. She lives down in Durango. We get to see each other every few months or so. She’s really the one who turned me on to the vampires. Or on to vampire books, anyway.’ She laughed. ‘She’s a Twilight fanatic. I can’t wait to tell her about all my new friends.’

Ah, the secret imaginary playmates . . .

‘You haven’t told your cousin about the vampires?’

‘No.’ She shook her head vigorously. ‘I’m not allowed to. Besides, she probably wouldn’t believe me.’

Hmm. Maybe she doesn’t totally believe, either. Her emotions are all jumbled up.

‘Do you have any sketches of your new friends?’ I wasn’t sure if she was willing to share any of her vampire fantasy with me yet, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

She hesitated, then walked to another couch where she’d laid out several smaller pictures. ‘Uh-huh. I’ve done several of them. I’m not sure I’ve drawn them as beautiful as they are, but you can get a general idea.’

I joined her and stared down at the renderings: one perfect ethereal face after another. If these were fragments of her imagination, her creative abilities knew no bounds. ‘These drawings could be in a gallery, Midnight. They’re outrageously good.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘But I really can’t take a lot of credit for these. All I did was copy what I saw – they really do look like this.’

She would make a remarkable fantasy artist. I hope she just has talent rather than delusions.

A lone sketch sat on one of the chairs. But this one was different from the others: she’d created this portrait with coloured pencils. Staring back at me from the paper was the most beautiful male face I’d ever seen: pale skin, light-blond hair, indescribable eyes.

What the hell? This looks like the man outside my building. The blond who waved to me from the steps of the old church. Midnight knows this man? No way. That’s too weird.

I reached down to lift the sheet and heard a deep male voice call my name:

‘Kismet . . .’

‘What?’ The room spun. Feeling suddenly dizzy, alternately cold and hot, I dropped the drawing.

‘Dr Knight?’ Midnight touched my arm. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Of course. I just got caught up in looking at your amazing artwork.’

What the hell just happened? That’ll teach me to skip meals. My blood sugar must have taken a dive when I leaned over. I’ll make a quick dash out for food after Midnight’s appointment. Or maybe I’m coming down with something.

‘I’m glad you like the pictures. I was nervous about showing you. I don’t ever do that. Show them, I mean.’

Breathe, Kismet.

‘I love the drawings. And it’s great that you trust me enough to share them with me. I appreciate that.’ I smiled and pointed at the images. ‘Do you want to leave them out while we have our session, or would you like to put them away?’

She thought for a few seconds, then retrieved her portfolio. ‘I think I’ll put them away for now.’

While she gathered the art, I picked up my pad and pen from an end table and sat in my usual chair, trying to recover from the strange sensations. I practised a few seconds of conscious breathing and felt myself calm.

Maybe I shouldn’t keep blowing off my yearly exams. What if I’m pre-diabetic or something?

She started to sit across from me, then moved further away. I wasn’t surprised. After taking the huge step of exposing her inner world through her artwork, it made sense she’d need to retreat and reassert her defences.

‘So, Midnight, what would you like to talk about today?’

‘I want to talk about Dev and the vampires.’ She nodded as if she was trying to convince herself, then laughed. ‘Hey, that sounds like the name of a band.’

What? Really? No way! I thought this would take weeks.

Surprise must have shown on my face because she grinned. ‘You weren’t expecting that, were you? You didn’t think I’d tell you about them yet.’

‘You’re very insightful, and quite right – I wasn’t expecting it. You told me on Friday that Dev didn’t want you to talk about him. Why have you changed your mind?’

Is she questioning the control this boy has over her?

‘Well.’ She tapped her hands on the arms of the chair. ‘Two reasons. One, I’ve decided to be honest with you because I like you.’

‘Thank you. I like you, too.’

‘And second, because Dev told me to.’

So much for questioning his control . . . But that’s okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s lots of time to tweak their relationship.

‘Hmm. I wonder why Dev would ask you to tell me these secrets?’

She unclipped her cape at her throat and shrugged it off her shoulders. ‘He said therapy wouldn’t do me any good if I didn’t tell the truth.’

Maybe this boy has more going for him than I thought. Or maybe this is his way of asking for help. Midnight is certainly fixated on him.

‘How does the idea of telling me the truth make you feel?’

‘A little scared, because I’ve never told anyone about this before. But I liked what you said last time about me being courageous. So that’s what I’m trying to be.’

That’s progress.

‘Wonderful. Being emotionally courageous can be a difficult thing. It’s great that you’re challenging yourself.’ I gave her an encouraging smile. ‘So, the vampires. Tell me about them.’

I’m picking up strong intuitive feelings about Twilight and Vampire Diaries. I wonder which one most influenced her fantasy?

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why don’t you just start at the beginning?’

She nodded. ‘Okay. I met the vampires right after I graduated from high school last year. My friends all went down to this cool club that used to be a huge old church in the funky section of downtown – it’s called The Crypt. It’s only a few blocks from here. We’ve got the best fake IDs, so we just slide right in. But it’s weird – even though we’ve got the perfect IDs and they let us in, they never let us buy alcohol. If we go up to the bar, the bartender just laughs at us. Pisses me off. What’s up with that?’

‘Hmm.’ I scribbled notes on my pad. It was always a delicate dance to get the words on paper without letting my clients feel abandoned by my split attention. I always wound up with a cramp in my hand after each session from all the fast writing.

Interesting that the club won’t sell drinks to her. Maybe they’ve got in trouble for serving minors before?

She worried her bottom lip with the tip of one of her fangs, as if it gave her time to think before speaking again. ‘Anyway, there are several levels to the club and one of them, down in the basement – we call it the dungeon – is private. There are curtains over the doorway, but one time, my friend Emerald and I, we waited ’til the guy who was guarding the door left for a minute and then we sneaked down and peeked in through the crack and saw all these amazing people,’ she reported, an expression of awe on her face from the memory.

‘Amazing people?’

‘Yeah, two different kinds, really. A whole bunch of kids around my age, maybe a few years older, all dressed up, sort of goth, but not really, wearing white paint on their faces and red on their lips. Then there were the others. So beautiful. They wore regular stuff like leather, and didn’t have the white makeup on, but they were totally awesome. They looked a little older, maybe in their 20s or 30s, and they all had gorgeous long hair . . .’ She stared off for a moment, her mouth hanging loosely open, lost in the vision.

‘So they were totally awesome?’

She nodded slowly. ‘Totally.’

‘And then what happened?’

Am I sure I want to know?

‘We were just standing there, scoping out the room, and a hand came through the curtains, opened them, and the hottest guy I’ve ever seen asked if we wanted to come in. Emerald didn’t want to go – she’s afraid of everything – but I really wanted to check out all those people, so I said yes. The gorgeous man reached out, took my hand and actually kissed the back of it and said his name was Devereux. I thought I was going to pass out just from looking at him. There was something about his eyes—’ She paused and glanced over at me, trying to gauge my reaction before she shared any more details.

Man? Wait! Dev is an adult? Not a kid? Holy shit. That changes everything.

The muscles in my neck and back tightened, which happened sometimes when I worked too hard at holding in all the opinions that wanted to tumble out of my mouth. I bit my bottom lip to stifle myself. Often, having to remain silent was the hardest part of my job.

She met a strange man in a bar. A man dressed in leather, who invited her into a private room. What’s wrong with this picture?

‘And then?’

‘Then he sort of led me inside and Emerald followed us. There must have been fifty people in that room, and they were all incredible. Dev walked us over to a table, and he was so polite. He pulled out the chairs for us, like in the old movies, and asked if we wanted something to drink. We both ordered beers – we had to try – but he brought us Cokes, and we just sat there, staring at him. He wasn’t drinking anything, and I asked why not. He said he’d already had his fill for the night, and he just kept smiling and flashing us with those psychedelic eyes. I didn’t know what he meant back then, but I do now.’

Uh-oh.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he drinks blood, you know? That’s what vampires do. So when he said he was full, he meant he’d already “eaten” for the night,’ she explained, her voice light and casual, as if we were talking about the weather.

He drinks blood? Yuck. Did he tell her that or is that fantasy? If he really does, can you say ‘mental illness’?

‘Do you drink blood?’

That, obviously, was a loaded question, because Midnight started scraping her lower lip against her upper teeth. She twisted the fabric of her dress in her hands and stared down into her lap.

‘Midnight? Are you all right?’

‘Yeah.’ She squirmed in the chair. ‘It just feels scary to talk about this.’

‘Do you mean because of what your family would think?’

‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘Because of what Dev would do if he found out.’ Her voice softened. ‘We’re not allowed to drink blood.’

Thank heavens for that.

‘We’ll come back to the blood in a minute. What’s your relationship with Dev?’ I was becoming more and more suspicious of this charismatic-sounding character.

Catching the drift of my concern, Midnight shook her head. ‘He’s just a friend. All the girls are after him, but he said we’re too young and that he’s into older women. We all hit on him, but he never goes out with any of us. He’s in charge – the boss, I guess.’

‘The boss of what?’

‘The vampires. And the apprentices.’

‘The apprentices?’ I had a sudden vision of several vampire wannabes sitting around a conference table in New York with Donald Trump. A vampire Donald Trump. I fought to keep the amusement from creeping onto my face. My sense of humour was such a challenge sometimes.

‘That’s what we call ourselves.’

How much weirder can this get? I need to know about the blood.

‘Let’s go back to the drinking blood part. You seemed to have a strong reaction when I asked you about that. Why?’

She lowered her eyes. ‘Dev lets us hang around with him and the other vampires, but he won’t let anyone take blood from us and he won’t let us drink blood either. He said that only real vampires can use blood the way it’s meant to be used. Since we’re officially still human, we could get diseases that vampires can’t get. He has lots of rules about what we can and can’t do if we want to be with them.’

Okay, so maybe the guy isn’t totally wacked if he keeps them from the drinking blood thing.

‘So what is it you don’t want him to know?’

Long pause.

I waited silently and watched waves of conflicting emotions flow across her face as she decided what, if anything, she was going to tell me.

‘There’s this one guy, Eric, who wants to be a vampire real bad. Dev told him that he isn’t ready, that he needs to go out and learn about life before becoming one of the undead, but Eric doesn’t listen. He sets up these rituals at his apartment, where the apprentices drink each other’s blood. He gave us all these neat little necklaces with tiny knives on them so we can make little cuts in each other’s necks and drink,’ she said, her voice breathy. ‘It would be really bad if Dev found out because he’d be totally angry, and I don’t want to do anything to make Dev mad at me.’

My eyebrows crawled up towards my hairline.

The apprentices drink each other’s blood? Damn!

I hoped she was simply acting out and all this blood-drinking was imaginary. I needed to find a non-threatening way to convince her that the entire vampire idea was a fantasy.

‘Are you afraid of Dev?’

‘No. Not the way you mean.’

‘But despite Dev’s disapproval, you go to the rituals at Eric’s apartment?’

‘Well, yeah.’ She smiled wide. ‘It’s so much fun. I never would have thought that drinking blood could be so sexual – so romantic,’ she gushed.

Blood-drinking as an aphrodisiac?

I tried very hard to keep the neutral expression on my face. ‘Sexual? Romantic? What happens at these rituals?’

AIDS! Not to mention viruses, bacteria, and horrors I can’t even comprehend. What about infections from the cuts? Red alert, Kismet.

‘Well, first we order a pizza or something and drink some wine, maybe get high, just the same as any other night. Then we pick a partner, and after we take turns drinking a little blood – not much, just a couple of teaspoons – we have sex. It’s the most amazing feeling. I let Eric cut my boob last week and suck on it. It was so hot.’

My breath caught. Is this what she thinks intimacy is? Where did these ideas come from?

‘Are you having safe sex?’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘I’ve got a purse full of condoms!’

I tried to visualise a condom big enough to fit over Eric’s entire body. I didn’t want to come off as sermonising or lecturing because she wouldn’t come back, but I had to find a way to communicate to her how dangerous this choice was.

‘Midnight, what about the diseases you can get through blood transmission? What about AIDS? Drinking blood is very dangerous.’

‘Vampires can’t get diseases.’

Hormone-riddled teenage brain at work here.

‘Eric and the other apprentices are just regular guys, aren’t they? Human?’

Midnight stared into her lap, silent.

Holy crap. What am I supposed to do about this?

‘Will you consider holding off on any more cutting and blood-drinking activities until we explore the possible consequences more thoroughly?’

She stayed silent for so long that I feared she might leap up and flee the office, but she finally clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. ‘I guess.’

I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Whew. Talk about a pregnant pause. Even if she’s just humouring me, it’s a start.

‘Thank you, Midnight. I appreciate your open mind and your willingness to trust in our work together. So, outside of the rituals at Eric’s apartment, the apprentices mostly just dress up and hang around with Dev and his vampire friends at the club downtown?’

She nodded.

‘Tell me more about Dev.’

She got that faraway look in her eyes again and lifted out of the subdued mood she’d retreated into.

‘He really rocks. So hot. He’s over six feet tall. I am so into tall guys. Gorgeous long blond hair, aqua – not blue, not green, but aqua – eyes, and a killer bod. He’s always wearing some kind of tight dark leather.’ She sighed and drifted off again for a moment.

Hmmm. That does sound interesting.

Chuckling, I said, ‘I get the picture. But what’s his story? Why is he hanging out at a bar in downtown Denver? What does he do? Who is he?’

‘He doesn’t talk much about that. He told me once that he’s been a vampire for eight hundred years and that he really loves Colorado because the mountains remind him of some place in Europe he lived before he died. He said he’s only been here in the United States for about thirty years. Before that, he lived in some country where they speak a weird language, and he has a funny accent. But an amazing voice. He seems to have a ton of money. He has this excellent loft down the street from the bar, which, by the way, he also owns. The loft is so cool. Sometimes he lets us come over and blast some tunes, and he always keeps lots of food around, even though he doesn’t eat any of it.’

He’s been a vampire for eight hundred years? That’s quite a wild story. Why does this supposedly gorgeous, wealthy man hang around with teenagers? He invites them to his loft but has lots of rules for them. Does he see himself as a father figure? Or is he a clever predator?

I shifted my gaze to the clock and back. ‘Dev sounds like an interesting man and I’d like to hear more about him, but we’re out of time for today. Can you come back tomorrow?’

‘Sure. I don’t have much else to do during the day when all the vampires are asleep.’

This is much more serious than I thought. If this man actually exists, it isn’t going to be easy to convince her that his vampire claim isn’t real. She’s besotted.

‘Thanks for telling me the story,’ I said. ‘It helps me to know you better. I look forward to discussing the vampires – and Dev – in greater detail.’

She nodded, smoothed her dress then draped her cape on her shoulders. ‘It’s good to talk to somebody about it. I have to be careful what I tell anyone. Even Emerald.’

Can’t even tell her friend? Predators isolate and control their victims, threaten them to keep the secrets.

I walked over to my desk and collected the appointment book. We settled on a time for the next day and she left. I would have to rearrange my schedule to squeeze her in, but it couldn’t be helped. Midnight’s situation had escalated from troubling to dangerous.

After my last client that evening, I updated files and added progress notes. My attention kept returning to Midnight and my clear sense that she’d got caught up in a sick situation she was unprepared for. The more I thought about it, the greater the realisation that I had no firm foundation for establishing an effective treatment. I didn’t know if her vampire tale was completely delusional, and none of the characters she mentioned actually existed, or if she was involved with individuals who were taking advantage of her naïveté for nefarious purposes and encouraging the fantasy. Both choices sucked, no pun intended.

Maybe I could find out if any of the people involved were under eighteen and get social services involved. Role-playing predators. What was next?

Clearly, I needed more resources. Luckily, one of Denver’s few remaining independent bookstores, The Torn Cover, was conveniently located a few blocks from my office. I decided to swing by on my way home and check their large selection of psychology books to see what I could find. Since the store would still be open for a couple of hours and I hadn’t eaten much during the day, I stopped in the restaurant next door for a sandwich and a glass of wine.

I was halfway through my meal when a very attractive man entered and sat at the bar. Dressed in a flattering dark suit, his wavy light-brown hair skimmed the collar of his shirt and his strong features created an appealing profile. My entire body tensed up. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told Nancy that being in the presence of a great-looking male – in a non-work situation – brought out the worst in me. She knew some of the facts about my childhood, but not all of them. I was a classic example of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. My shyness had been a beacon, attracting every predator in the environment, including the popular handsome boys who’d taunted me. Even now, part of me wanted to regress into a stammering adolescent, waiting for the next cruel prank or hateful humiliation.

The table I’d chosen was in a dark corner, so I figured I was safe. Invisible. I wouldn’t even have to be polite, and, once again, I’d keep the world from discovering my acute social discomfort. Not that the world cared, of course, but I clung to my illusions. Maybe it was just me who didn’t want to face them.

Just as I drank the last swallow of wine, the man turned on his stool, stared directly at me and smiled. He lifted his wineglass in my direction.

Okay. Here’s my opportunity to connect with a man. How hard can it be? Just smile back, Kismet. Nothing bad will happen.

My heart tripped and my stomach muscles tightened.

Maybe next time . . .

As a psychologist, I knew several techniques to calm anxiety. I’d mastered many of them. And they often worked. But if I could distance myself – flee – that was always my option of choice.

I made a quick, ungraceful exit from the restaurant, bumping a table as I passed, and entered the bookstore. I didn’t have the nerve to look back to check the man’s reaction to my hasty retreat.

What a wack-job, Kismet.

As usual, I was annoyed at myself for not being able to confront my issue. Once again I’d been ridiculous and childish, reacting as if every man was out to hurt me, and I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. I thought about Nancy’s challenge – her suggestion that I walk up to a handsome man and just make conversation. I cringed.

Get a grip, Kismet! You’re supposed to be an expert at these things. You can do it! Force yourself. Stop being a wuss. Just find a man and go say hello. Pretend he’s a client. You don’t have any problems talking to male clients. You’re good at hiding behind your professional persona. This weird behaviour only happens in your personal life.

Browsing through the bookshelves soothed me, and I soon found myself engrossed in reading the titles on the spines. Determined to deal with my fear, I lifted a new release off the shelf, opened it, and pretended to skim the page while looking around for an appropriate male. After a couple of minutes, I noticed a man in a tan business suit perusing the computer section on the shelf behind me. Giving myself a pep talk, I gathered my will and turned, planning to inch over to where I thought he was standing. I bumped into his back. He’d obviously moved.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry – please excuse me.’

He barely looked up from the book he held. ‘No problem.’

When I just stood there, he gave me his full attention. ‘Yes?’

‘Uh.’

He raised his left hand, displaying a wedding band. ‘I’m married. But thanks anyway.’ He replaced the book on the shelf and strode down the aisle.

Shit. How embarrassing.

My cheeks burned. Feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet and fighting the strong urge to run away, I forced myself to return to my original task: looking for vampire-wannabe resource material. The more I retreated into my psychologist role, the better I felt.

‘Excuse me?’

I glanced up at the very pleasant-looking man standing next to me, smiling. My hands went clammy. ‘Yes?’ Okay. Just smile. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.

‘Do you work here? I could use some help finding—’

‘No,’ I interrupted, smile frozen on my face. ‘I don’t. Sorry.’ That wasn’t the first time I’d been mistaken for a clerk. I was good at blending into the scenery. Chameleon Kismet. Why did I even bother?

That was all the social interaction I could handle. I set the book I’d used as a prop on the table and hurried away.

It was clear that if it were up to me, I’d never have another personal relationship. Apparently I couldn’t practise what I preached. Maybe I should just get a dog or a fish, and be done with it.