SIX

I call several of my old-time associates in the detective field to help research the origins of the IIC. To my surprise, they are not enthusiastic to hear from me. The problem is simple; I should have anticipated it. They’re not sure it’s me they’re talking to. Teri and I look more alike than we sound. As a result, on the phone, I’m far from convincing. A couple of my trusted allies actually threaten to investigate me instead of the IIC. I’m off to a great start.

But with Paula’s help, we start to make our own progress. The IIC is controlled by a board of directors made up of five people: Thomas Brutran; his wife, Cynthia Brutran; Noel Brent and his wife, Wendy Brent; Fredrick Wild. These five have been with the company since its inception, forty years ago.

It’s interesting that, before founding the company, the board members attended a graduate program at the University of California, Berkeley. Their curriculum was taught by a Professor John Sharp. On the surface it seemed to be connected to the psychology department. But a closer examination reveals that it was focused almost exclusively on parapsychology, on proving the existence of ESP, or extrasensory perception.

That was pretty much all we could learn about the program, other than the fact that it had lasted three years before suddenly being canceled when Berkeley decided Professor Sharp was performing studies of “questionable moral value.”

The four of us, Seymour, Paula, Shanti, and myself, are intrigued. We find an address for Professor Sharp online. He appears to be living in the Bay Area, in San Mateo. He’s retired, and based on how long ago he taught, we assume the man must be in his eighties.

We decide to visit without calling ahead. If he’s still friendly with Ms. Brutran, she might invoke the Array before we can reach him, and God only knows what will happen to us. Yet it’s not a big worry. Professor Sharp appears to be living in a modest apartment, and if he’s connected to the IIC in any way then they are not paying him.

Before leaving Denver for the Bay Area, the police question me about the disappearance of Ken. They come the afternoon after our war council, when I’m alone in the hotel suite and feeling the first stirrings of my thirst. The police are lucky to show up in pairs, or else I might have had one of them for dinner.

They knock on the door as if they would prefer to kick it in.

I answer wearing the sweats Teri wore in the Olympics, and leave my gold medal on the living room table. I’m shameless, I know, but the glint of the shiny medal has a powerful effect on them. Their eyes are immediately drawn to it and they smile when I invite them inside. Already, I believe, I’m halfway home.

They sit on the couch across from me and talk about how they saw my world-record race on TV. They’re detectives; they have on sports coats rather than uniforms.

“How did you feel going into the last lap?” the taller and older of the two cops asks. His name is Lieutenant William Treach. He’s close to forty, with a thin build but a wiriness that projects strength. He’s friendly but alert, very much in charge. I may have made a strong initial impression, however, I quickly notice that the man prefers clear answers.

“I was hurting and I was at the rear of the pack. Plus I was boxed in. It looked pretty hopeless. But in running, there’s a burning pain and then there’s a weak kind of pain. The burning kind can actually feel worse than the exhaustive kind, but it means you’ve still got something left. You can still go for it, and that’s what I did. I had to shove two women out of my way to get out of my box. If the race had been in America, I would have been disqualified. But European runners treat races like soccer matches. When it comes to the metric mile, they see pushing and shoving as part of the race.”

“It must have been a thrill to hit the straightaway and know the gold medal was waiting for you if you could just get in front of that Russian,” Lieutenant Sean Astor says. Short and stout, ten years younger than his partner, he has a boyish innocence that tells me he’ll be easy to fool. He adds, “What was her name?”

“Olga Stensky. I’m never going to forget Olga. She elbowed me and cut me off in the last eighty yards. I was lucky it backfired on her. As she swung into the second lane to try to block me, I moved inside. She lost a stride trying to stop me, and I won by a stride. Most track experts say if Olga had just ignored me and run her race, she would have won.”

“How did it feel to stand on the winners’ podium and hear our national anthem?” Treach asks.

“I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. I still haven’t come down from the high.”

“I imagine you’ve received a ton of endorsement offers since the Olympics,” Treach says. I notice how he studies the room.

I shake my head. “Not as many as you would think. I just won one gold medal. Sure, it was in a big event, but it’s like I had my fifteen minutes of fame and now it’s over.”

Astor is sympathetic. “A lot of Olympic athletes say that. One week they’re getting invited to the White House and the next week they’re back home and bagging groceries.”

Treach clears his throat, signaling that he wants to get down to business. “What brings you to Denver, Ms. Raine?” he asks.

“Teri, please. I’m here with my boyfriend. We’re bumming around the country. Taking a break after all the stress of the Olympics.”

“That’s Matt Fraiser, isn’t it?” Treach asks.

“Yes.”

Matt signed in under a fake name to hide us from the Telar. A minor strategic move that has swollen in size and danger now that the police are looking at me. Treach takes out a tiny notebook and jots down a few words.

“It’s our understanding that Matt wasn’t here when you ordered room service?” Treach asks.

“That’s correct. I was alone and starving. But the room service guy never showed up.”

“Do you mean Ken?” Treach asks.

“Yes.”

“Did you call to complain?”

“No. I was about to but then they called me.”

“Was that Michael Pollak? The head of room service?”

“I don’t know his title. He said his name was Mike.”

“Why did he call you?”

“He was looking for his server.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I hadn’t seen any food or server.”

Treach consults his notes. “Mike says that you identified Ken by name even while you were insisting that Ken had failed to deliver your order.”

“That’s true. I called the guy Ken right after Mike called him Ken.”

“Mike says he never mentioned Ken by name. Not until you did.”

“He did so the second he got on the phone. But I don’t think he’s lying. I think he just forgot.”

“That happens,” Astor adds for my benefit.

“Why do you say that?” Treach presses.

I shrug. “When I spoke to Mike, he seemed like a nice guy. I think he was just worried about his employee. Is he still missing?”

“That’s why we’re here. Ms. Raine, Teri, are you absolutely certain Ken didn’t come to your door? Is it possible you were in the restroom and he knocked and left because you failed to answer?”

“It’s possible. I think I went to the bathroom at some point while I was waiting for my food. But I wasn’t in there very long.”

Treach makes another note. “What did you do after you spoke to room service?”

The way he asks his question, I realize Treach has something up his sleeve. It must be the family I ran into on the elevator. He’s probably talked to them. I’ll have to admit to leaving the hotel, which I hate to do. It looks odd.

“Well, I was still hungry so I went out to get a bite.”

“Where did you go?”

“I don’t know, somewhere local. A deli a few blocks from here.”

“Do you remember the name of it?”

“No.”

“Was it two blocks from here? Or three or four?”

“I’m not sure. It could have been as many as five or six blocks away. I don’t know the area. I just went walking.”

“How come you didn’t eat at the hotel?”

“Well, as far as I could tell, their service wasn’t very good.”

“How did you pay for your meal?”

“With cash.”

“Do you do that often?”

“What? Eat?”

“Pay for your dinner with cash. Most people use a card these days.”

“I had some cash on me and I just bought a sandwich so I used it.”

“I try to use cash when I can,” Astor says.

Treach gives him a hard look before he continues, and I realize I’ve underestimated the detective. He’s experienced and my story does not ring true to his ears. The more we talk, the greater his suspicions grow. I wish he was alone and I could try using the hypnotic power of my eyes on him. Unsure of my abilities, I don’t dare try it with both of them in the room. I realize that I have to end the interrogation soon.

“Teri, when you were leaving the hotel, you ran into a family that’s staying here. They said they tried to talk to you but you were rude to them. They also said—”

“I wasn’t rude.” I interrupt. “They thought I worked for the hotel and kept asking me directions to the Pepsi Center. Even after I explained that I didn’t know the area, they kept bugging me, especially the wife.”

“The husband and the wife said you had a room service cart with you. Is that true?”

“Why would I be walking around with a room service cart? It was in the elevator when I stepped inside. I had nothing to do with it.”

“The couple’s youngest boy thought he saw a man’s body stuffed beneath the cart.”

I stare at Treach. “You’ve got to be joking.”

The man shrugs. “It’s what the boy told us.”

I laugh softly. “That’s cute. I mean, it would be cute if Ken wasn’t missing. But no, Detective Treach, I can assure you I didn’t kill Ken after he delivered my steak to my room. And I certainly didn’t stuff his body in a room service cart.”

“It’s not like any of us really believe that,” Astor says.

I smile. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“Did you get out of the elevator with the family?” Treach asks.

“I waited until they left. Then I got off.”

“Why did you wait?”

“I think I already explained why. They kept asking me questions I couldn’t answer. And the wife seemed to get mad I couldn’t answer them.”

“Did you by any chance ride the elevator down to the garage?”

“No.”

“The Johnsons said you remained in the elevator,” Treach says.

“Who are the Johnsons?”

“The family you bumped into.”

“I’m sorry, they didn’t introduce themselves. No, I didn’t stay in the elevator. I got off at the lobby. But I waited a minute until the Johnsons left the area.”

“I would have done the same thing,” Astor says.

“Lieutenant,” Treach says, annoyed.

Astor is not quite the puppy dog he appears. “With all due respect, I think Ms. Raine has explained her actions extremely well. I believe her.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I’m not saying I don’t,” Treach continues. “I just have a few more questions and I’ll be done. Would that be okay, Teri?”

“Sure. I know you have a job to do.”

“The reason I ask about the garage is because a Camry was stolen from the lower level about the same time Ken went missing. Furthermore, the cart Ken took to your room was found abandoned beside the parking spot where the Camry was parked.”

I nod, act interested. “That sounds like an important clue. How do you know the cart belonged to Ken?”

“We found samples of his hair attached to the cart tablecloth.”

“Wow. That’s kind of scary. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe we were all standing together in that elevator and his body was crammed inside the cart.”

Astor shakes his head. “It’s doubtful. Ken’s a big guy. To squeeze him into that kind of space, it would take an awfully strong person.”

“But the scenario is not out of the question,” Treach says.

“I know this is none of my business, but have you guys managed to locate the Camry?” I ask. I worry about them finding samples of hair on the driver’s seat.

Treach shakes his head. “It’s disappeared.”

He’s lying! Damn, they found the car already. His people are probably going over it with a fine-tooth comb as we speak. I assumed I would have had more time to get out of town.

“That’s too bad,” I say casually.

Treach appears to have run out of questions. He gives me his card and heads for the door. But he suddenly stops and faces me and there’s no mistaking the suspicion in his voice and expression.

“Will you be staying in Denver the next few days?” he asks.

“We plan to leave tomorrow,” I say.

“Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular. We’re just going to get in the car and drive.”

“So you do have a car?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a rental or does it belong to you?”

“It’s a rental. Matt got it at the airport.”

Treach nods. “Please, Teri, before leaving, let us know where you’re heading next.”

I give him a cold smile. “I’ll try.”

When they’re gone, I feel like I need a nap, or at least to lie down and rest. It’s clear to me that I’ve made an enemy, and that Treach is going to dog my steps in the coming days. True, I don’t possess my usual power, but deep inside I’m still ancient Sita. I still have a pretty sharp intuition and it’s telling me my best bet is to kill him.

I need to drink. I’m not feeling psycho or anything but my thirst is starting to aggravate me. It’s probably one of the reasons I was so short with the police.

I call an old private-eye friend of mine who is up in years and hard of hearing so he doesn’t notice anything odd about my change of voice. I ask him to get me Lieutenant William Treach’s personal information and the PI calls back within the hour with the cop’s home address and other assorted details.

Matt told me before leaving that afternoon that he would help me hunt that evening but I’m in no mood to wait for his return. Also, I want to make it clear that I don’t need his help. Otherwise, he’ll try to stop me from going off with the others when they travel to the Bay Area. I leave him a brief note saying I’ve gone out and not to worry.

Matt’s rented me a car and I drive to Lieutenant Treach’s neighborhood and park two houses down from his residence. The sun has recently set and the shadows are lengthening. Rolling down the window, I sit quietly with my eyes closed. Before entering Teri’s body, my hearing was my most potent sense, the one tool I could always rely on when things got tough. Although Teri’s ears are not nearly as keen as my originals, I’m relieved that I’m able to hear what’s going on in the Treach household.

Treach is not home yet. I listen as Mrs. Sandra Treach talks on the phone with her sister in New York. From the conversation I’m able to discern that Sandy, as her sister calls her, is the head of surgery at a nearby hospital. This interests me because surgeons often do transfusions during operations, and the head of the department would probably have relatively easy access to the clinic’s blood bank.

From experience I know about blood banks and the quality of blood that can be found in such places. In the past, for the most part, I’ve stayed away from that source of nourishment. It’s not merely the components of blood that feed a vampire, but the life essence itself in the blood.

What this essence is would be difficult to describe scientifically. In the West, they don’t have words for it. A Chinese acupuncturist might call it chi. A yogi from India would refer to it as prana. Whatever it is, it exists, and blood that has been stored for several weeks usually has a low charge. However, it is better than nothing and if I can get ahold of a few gallons it could save me a lot of grief while we travel to California. I hate the thought of constantly having to put my life on hold to satisfy my thirst.

I decide to strike now while William is out. But I wait until Sandy finishes talking with her sister. I don’t want to be waved away at the door because she’s on the phone. Leaving my car, approaching the house, I listen as Sandy fiddles with an assortment of pots and pans. This venture is something of a test for me. Finally I’m going to see how much of my psychic abilities I have left.

Sandy answers quickly, after I ring the doorbell. Like her husband, she’s about forty, tall and slender, but there the resemblance ends. The woman has bright red hair—it is close to orange—and wonderful green eyes. They sparkle; she is the kind of person that glows. And here I expected to find a stuffy old doctor.

“Hello. Can I help you?” she asks.

“Hi. My name’s Teri Raine. I met your husband today. He came to the hotel where I’m staying. He’s investigating a missing employee there.”

“Teri, yes, I know who you are. Bill called me after he spoke to you. He said you were delightful. You were in the Olympics, weren’t you?”

“That seems to be my main claim to fame.”

“Well, of course, you won a gold medal and set a world record. How many women your age can say that?”

“Not many, I suppose. Look, I know it must seem kind of weird to stop by your house, but I was sort of short with your husband today and I wanted to talk to him about something I remembered from when that guy vanished. Would he be home by any chance?”

“He’s not here right now but I can give him a call. Would you like to come in a sec? I’m just starting dinner.” She opens the door wider and gestures for me to enter.

“That would be great, thanks,” I say as I cross the threshold. The home is three stories tall, custom designed, with lots of open wood beams. I assume it’s Sandy’s salary that paid for the place. The woman bubbles with energy. I follow as she leads me into the living room and offers me a seat. Once again, I’m not surprised she trusted me enough to invite me into her home. Teri’s fame and her wholesome looks work wonders with complete strangers.

Yet the inevitable question quickly comes up. Sandy wants to know how I happen to know where her husband lives. I’m sitting across from her when she asks and I catch her gaze and let my power flow through my eyes.

“Bill gave me your address,” I say softly. “He told me to contact him if I remembered anything about the missing young man.”

Sandy stares back without blinking, and I know I have her to some extent. Yet it is all a question of degrees. I need to start with small orders and lies and work my way up.

“Bill is puzzled about the missing boy,” Sandy whispers.

“The case is puzzling. But I’m here to help Bill.”

Sandy smiles faintly. “That’s good you can help.”

“I want to help because I’m a good person.” Although I channel the energy through my eyes, I experience its source as a magnetism that radiates from my forehead. It projects out from me like an invisible hand. My grip on Sandy is not nearly as firm as it would have been in my old body, but I’m pleased that she’s repeating what I feed her.

“You are a good person,” she says. “Can I get you something to eat? To drink?”

“Soon. Tell me, when will Bill come home?”

Sandy blinks and frowns, not a good sign. “He’ll be home soon. But he’ll wonder why you’re here.”

“I’m here because Bill invited me here.”

“Oh.”

“When you say he’ll be here soon, how soon do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. In a half hour.”

“Good, that’s good. Now close your eyes, Sandy.” She immediately shuts her eyes as I continue. “Listen to the sound of my voice. My voice is all you hear. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You work at Springfield Hospital. You’re a surgeon there. In fact, you’re the head of the surgery department.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have access to the blood bank at your hospital?”

The woman frowns again and I fear I’ve made my question more complicated than it needs to be. Of course, as a surgeon, she would not get the blood herself.

I’m not used to taking so much time to hypnotize a victim. Usually I just say a word or two and people do what I want. I feel my hold on Sandy wavering. However, I know if I weaken her physically—and I can think of the perfect way to do that—she’ll respond to my commands more readily.

“The blood is there,” she says. “The nurses bring it when we need it.”

“Good. If I drive you to the hospital, will you be able to get me in the blood bank?”

“Yes.”

“In the evening, how many people work in that department?”

“Usually there is one person on duty. Sometimes two.”

“Good, we’ll drive there soon. You want to drive to the hospital. You want to go with me.”

“I do.”

I get up and stand above her. “Before we leave I want you to relax in your chair. Just relax and go to sleep for a few minutes. You won’t awaken until I tell you to. All right? Now sleep, Sandy. Sleep deeply.”

The woman doesn’t speak but her breathing grows heavy and I know she’s out cold. Ideally, I would have waited until after I had her out of the house to drink her blood. The threat of her husband coming home cannot be taken lightly. Yet my thirst clouds my judgment. I figure if I can just drink a pint or two, and take the edge off my discomfort, I’ll be better equipped to handle the situation at the hospital.

Sitting beside Sandy, I tilt her head back and expose her jugular. Her skin is thin and pale—I can see the pulse of the vein through her flesh. I’m hungry but I’m in control. I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Ken. That’s why I turn away from her neck and reach for her right wrist instead, twisting the back of it upward, toward my mouth.

I don’t possess the fangs the popular vampires always seem to be flashing but Teri’s teeth are sharp and as I bite down a delicious flood of red fluid fills my mouth. Like Ken, Sandy must take care of herself—her blood is intoxicating. I’ve opened the vein most depressed people slit when they try to commit suicide. The flow is ample but it’s nowhere near the flood I unleashed when I bit into Ken’s neck. I’m able to monitor to the ounce how much blood I suck from Sandy’s body. I do catch myself moaning, though, unconsciously, and have to make a point to stop.

I’m through drinking and spilling a few drops of my own blood on Sandy’s wounds—which instantly seals them—when I hear a man coming up the front steps. I know who it is for I remember the sound of William Treach’s gait from a few hours ago.

“Damn you, Sita!” I swear at my own foolishness. I should have listened to my head, not my thirst, and gotten Sandy out of the house before feeding. Now I will have to deal with Bill quickly, not necessarily an easy task. He’s not just an armed cop, he’s smart, and he won’t be lulled by my enchanting eyes and sweet voice. If he catches me standing over his unconscious wife he’ll draw his gun and shoot.

I can’t let him see me. I have to knock him out quick, or else kill him. But I’m suddenly troubled. I don’t want to kill him, not now, not after being in his home and meeting his wife. Since I specifically came to his house to eliminate him as a threat, the feeling is totally illogical. Yet that doesn’t make it any less real. I can’t just make it go away. At the very least, I need more time to think about the situation. As he reaches for his doorknob, I rush across the room and hide behind the front door.

“Sandy, I’m home!” he calls as he opens the door. His focus is toward the rear of the house, in the direction of the kitchen. I’m able to come up behind him and wrap my right arm around his neck before he can so much as blink. There is a curious irony to my tactic. The choke hold I apply to his neck is the one most often used by the police. But with my strength, it works extremely fast and I’m able to close off the blood supply to his brain and render him unconscious in a few seconds. He sinks quietly to the floor.

Duct tape! Don’t leave home without it. I have brought my duct tape with me from yesterday. It’s on the front seat of my car and I hurry outside and hastily retrieve it. I bind Bill to a leather chair in the living room. It’s heavy, not easy to move around, and it’s comfortable. I tie him up before he has a chance to regain consciousness, going so far as to tape his eyes shut.

But I worry about my binds. No matter how thorough I am, he’s a cop and he might escape. The best thing to do would be to drug him but I have not brought any narcotics. Then it strikes me. I’m in a doctor’s house! Chances are they have some kind of drugs on hand. Rushing upstairs, I check out their medicine cabinet and find a bottle of Ambien, a popular sleeping pill, plus a bottle of Percocet, a relatively strong painkiller.

I discover an enema bag beneath the sink, and crush four Ambiens with four Percocets, and pour the powder in the bag with twelve ounces of water. The advantage of the enema bag is that it comes with a rubber hose I can directly feed into Bill’s stomach. This way I don’t have to resort to using needles, which Sandy does not appear to have on hand anyway.

I run into a small problem when I cut the tape on Bill’s mouth open. He must have woken up when I was upstairs preparing the drugs and now he’s only pretending to be unconscious. He almost bites my finger off when I try to slip the tube into his mouth.

“Stop! Who are you?” he snaps.

I have already told his wife my name. I told her because I’m a public figure, and my name was the quickest way into their house. But I made that decision a half an hour ago, when I was planning to kill them both. Now I’m not sure what to do.

I grab a pillow and muffle my voice. “I’m not here to harm you. But I need to knock you out. It will be easier if you cooperate.”

“Where is my wife?” he demands.

“She’s resting on the living room couch. She’s unharmed. If you listen closely, you can hear her snoring.”

He does stop to listen. Sandy snores loudly.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

“I can’t explain right now. But you have to trust me, I mean you no harm.”

He struggles in his chair. “Who are you? You sound familiar.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t want to know me.”

I drop the pillow and slip behind him. He hears me move but there’s nothing he can do to stop me from slipping my arm around his neck again. He goes out quicker this time, and a minute later I’m sliding the petroleum jelly–coated rubber tube down his throat and holding the bag above his head so gravity will drain the solution of drugs into his stomach. I leave his duct tape slit open. I don’t want him vomiting in the night and smothering.

When I’m done with Bill, I return to Sandy. I don’t shake her awake but use the power of my voice. I instruct her to open her eyes and lead her outside to my car. Night has fallen and the street is old and devoid of lights. The dark provides us with plenty of cover. I steer her by her arm and once she’s seated in the front, with her seat belt on, I ask her for the hospital address. I know it already but I want to start engaging her, getting her ready for the performance she’s going to put on at the hospital that will hopefully bring me to the blood bank.

“At the hospital you will tell people that I’m your niece,” I say as she sits fixed-eyed beside me.

“You are my niece, Teri Raine.”

“No. Say I’m your niece, Kim Treach. Say Kim, Sandy.”

“Kim Sandy.”

“No. I want you to call me Kim. From now on, that’s my name.”

“Kim.”

“Yes. Kim Treach. And when we reach the hospital, if anyone asks what you’re doing there, say you have to catch up on some paperwork.”

“I do have to catch up on my paperwork.”

“When we reach the hospital, I want to go to your office first.” Sandy is dressed for a casual night at home. I want her to get her doctor’s coat on her, have her badge in place.

“We will go to my office,” she repeats.

We reach the hospital ten minutes later and our entry goes off without a hitch. Sandy’s office is on the fourth floor and she has brought her keys. While she is changing into her hospital clothes, I hurry back down to the security area and find a sole guard overseeing a bank of monitors. Before he can even get a good look at me, I belt him in the temple and knock him out cold. Then I turn off all the hospital cameras and remove the digital cards they were transferring their data to. Now the hospital will not even have a record of Sandy and me entering the hospital.

I return to Sandy and find her dressed and ready to go.

Yet I run into a mental block I find difficult to overcome.

Sandy is a surgeon and like most surgeons she’s used to calling down for blood before or during an operation. She’s too important to actually run to the basement and collect it herself. The habit is so ingrained in her that when I suggest we’re ready to pay the blood bank a visit, she reaches for the phone.

“I’ll call them and tell them we need blood,” she says.

“There’s no need. We’ll get it ourselves.”

“I can call. They’ll take my call.”

I take the phone from her and put it back down.

“This is a special case, Sandy. We need to get extra blood and we need to take it out of the hospital.”

She frowns. “Why?”

One simple word, but it’s enough to shake my world. The woman should not be questioning my orders. I struggle to come up with a scenario that might fit a pattern already locked into her brain. It doesn’t help that my thirst has returned and I’m feeling pissed off. Obviously, I didn’t drink nearly enough of Sandy’s blood.

What’s so cool about craving blood and having the urge drive you crazy half the night? I remind myself to tell Seymour that he’s crazy to want to be a vampire, especially a newborn.

“There’s been a major train accident outside of town,” I say. “Many people have been injured. It’s so serious that triage units are being set up near the track. A lot of people are so badly hurt they can’t wait until they reach a hospital. They need immediate care. It’s your job to get as much blood as possible and take it to the scene and start operating on people.” I pause and focus on her eyes. They have turned bloodshot, another fact I’m not wild about. Could I be damaging her? “Do you understand?” I ask.

“How did this happen, Kim?”

“Teenagers were fooling with the track controls and derailed a train. We need the blood and we need it now. Let’s get it.”

I manage to get her in a nearby elevator and push the button for the basement. It’s half past eight. Most of the patient visitors have gone home but the hospital isn’t as empty as I would like. It probably would have been wiser to wait until midnight to try to steal the blood. Tell that to my thirst. The blood I drained from Sandy is beginning to feel like a mere mouthful.

There is only one guy manning the blood center. At first glance I feel relieved. He’s young, maybe twenty. He looks neither very strong nor very intelligent. He just looks bored. Unfortunately, he flashes a smile when he sees Sandy, and it’s obvious he knows and likes the woman.

“Dr. Treach, I thought you went home hours ago,” he says. His name badge reads GARY STEVENS. “What are you doing here?”

Sandy replies like a zombie robot. “There’s been a major train accident outside of town. Many people have been injured. It’s so serious that triage units are being set up near the track. A lot of people are so badly hurt they can’t wait until they reach a hospital. They need immediate care. It’s your job to get as much blood as possible and take it to the scene and start operating on people.” She turns and gestures to me. “This is my niece, Kim Treach.”

Oh shit, I think. Could there be a worse example of crossed brain circuits? Now, it’s clear my psychic abilities only go skin deep.

On the plus side, Gary must not be a sports fan. He couldn’t have watched much of the Olympics. He doesn’t appear to recognize me.

At the same time that doesn’t make Dr. Treach’s request any less unusual. Gary stands and comes around his desk, and as he does so a cloud of doubt crosses his face. He scratches his head.

“I’ve been online most of the night and didn’t see anything about it. And no one’s called down from the nurses’ station. Dr. Treach, are you sure about this accident?”

“Teenagers were fooling with the track controls and derailed a train. We need the blood and we need it now.” She stops and seems to glance at me for support. “Let’s get it.”

I would laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. Gary does chuckle but it sounds forced. He glances at his phone like it might be a lifeline to a saner authority.

“How much blood do you need?” he asks.

“As much blood as possible and take it to the scene,” Sandy says.

He nods uncomfortably. “I heard you the first time.”

I catch his eye. “Show it to us and we’ll take care of everything,” I say softly but firmly. Unfortunately, I don’t feel much power in my voice or in my head. Also, Gary appears to be one of those people who are simply difficult to hypnotize. I run into them every now and then.

“That sounds like a pretty screwy plan if you ask me,” Gary replies and suddenly reaches for the phone. I have no choice. In a flash I take two steps forward and slug him in the jaw, in the sweet spot, as the boxers like to call it. I catch him as he falls and then let him down gently. Sandy stares at me with a bewildered expression.

“Why did you hit him?” she asks.

I grip Sandy by the shoulders and focus on her face as best I can.

“Forget I hit him. What’s important is the blood. We have to get the blood so we can help the people who were hurt in the train wreck. That’s all that matters.”

The suggestion appears to strike home. Sandy nods vigorously.

“We have to get the blood,” she says.

Being a vampire, I’m not unfamiliar with blood banks. I know the variety of forms doctors store it in. A common one is blood plasma, which I’ve sampled in the past with disastrous results. Plasma is blood with the red cells centrifuged out of it. When it comes to vampires, it would seem the red stuff is essential.

Yet straight blood platelets are of no use when it comes to satisfying my thirst. I need whole blood, preferably from a healthy donor.

Sandy leads us into a long narrow room packed with exceptionally large refrigerators. The room is warm; the coolers give off heat. It’s not hard to identify the refrigerators that hold the blood that’s been tested for diseases. Everything in the space is clearly labeled. Opening the cooler nearest the door and seeing row after row after row of plastic baggies filled with dark red fluid, I feel a rush of excitement that is almost sexual. I have to restrain myself from ripping open a bag and downing it in front of Sandy. The fewer disturbing images I put in her mind the better. Also, blood tastes much better warmed to body temperature.

I’m fortunate there’s a large metal cart in the room. With its wheels and steel compartments and narrow crossbars that are ideal for hanging filled baggies, I know I’m looking at the very tool the hospital uses to make blood deliveries. I quickly load it to capacity—about ten gallons’ worth of whole blood—before covering it with a couple of white sheets I find in a closet. The sheets help give the cart the vague appearance of a gurney.

We leave the hospital without incident. Just stroll right out the front door and no one asks us a single question, although almost everyone says hello to Dr. Sandra Treach. Yet I worry about leaving Gary Stevens lying unconscious on the floor. He is the worst of loose ends. He will assume I helped steal the blood. He will wonder at the amazing punch I gave him. He will almost certainly end up talking to the police.

But the thought of snapping his neck, before leaving the hospital, repulses me. For years now, centuries actually, I’ve striven only to kill those I consider evil. I’ve not always succeeded with the vow but I have drawn a line at murdering the completely helpless. And quietly sleeping off my right uppercut, Gary could not be more helpless.

And since I no longer desire to kill the Treaches, my idea is to plant the most powerful “FORGET ME” hypnotic suggestions I can summon in both Sandy and Bill’s minds. Yet my plan has two weaknesses. I have drugged Bill heavily. I’ll have to hang out at least until morning to take care of him. Plus my powers are questionable. Actually, they are pathetic and Bill is very strong-willed. He won’t be easy to control.

Of course I could call for Matt. He would help his dear love Teri Raine in an instant. I’ve no doubt he could make the Treaches forget their first and last names. But running to him for help will reinforce his belief that I’m too weak and inexperienced to be left alone. With the important trip to California coming up, that’s the last thing I need.

Inside Sandy and Bill’s home, I plop the good doctor in front of the TV and turn the channel to the Shopping Network and order her to enjoy herself. Then, after checking on Bill to make sure he’s breathing easily, I heat up a quart of blood and sit on the back porch and slowly sip it. The blood may not be fresh from a human vein but it goes down awfully smooth.

I instruct Sandy to get ready for bed and when she’s finally ready to slip beneath the sheets, I have her sit on the edge of the mattress. Her pupils swell in size as I focus my eyes on her. She appears much more relaxed now that she’s back in her bedroom.

I kneel beside her and speak in a quiet but forceful tone.

“You’re to forget me, Sandy. You’re to forget everything that happened after I came to your door. You never met any Kim or Teri or Olympic runner. You never returned to the hospital, nor did you speak to Gary Stevens tonight.” I pause. “Do you understand?”

She stares. “Yes.”

I repeat the instructions several times before I tuck her into bed. Now I have to wait for Bill to awaken so I can repeat the process. Unfortunately, sitting around has never been my strong suit. I soon grow impatient. Then it strikes me that if I pump his stomach, I can probably get the majority of the medicine out of his gut before it can enter his bloodstream.

I free him from his chair, undress him, and carry him upstairs to the bathtub. There I use the enema bag to force a stream of warm water mixed with Epsom salts down his throat. Even though he’s unconscious, I’m able to trigger his instinct to vomit, and he throws up a large amount of white guck. When I turn the cold shower on his face, he quickly wakes up.

But the good news is he’s stoned out of his mind from the drugs he did absorb, and they’ve put him in a very suggestive state. I lock eyes with him and command him to forget about me, not only being in his house, but as a possible suspect in the mysterious disappearance of Ken. I realize his partner will eventually remind him about me at some point but I load him with suggestions about how innocent Teri Raine truly is.

I don’t know if it’s the drugs or my own wishful thinking but Lieutenant William Treach seems to swallow everything I say. He repeats my orders back to me word for word.

I dry the detective off, tuck him into his pajamas, and slide him into bed beside his wife. Then I go downstairs and collect my ten gallons of blood and leave the Treaches to their dreams. The evening has had its ups and downs but I feel confident that I’m ending on a positive note.

Time will tell.