About a Vampire (3 page)

“I was headed back to the office to get my purse,” she said quietly.

His eyebrows rose and Holly suspected that meant she was missing a lot of memories, and probably important ones. She always missed the important stuff.

“Do you remember getting to the office?” he asked.

She performed a brief sweep of her memory and then shook her head before asking, “Did I get there?”

“Yes, you got to the office,” Justin assured her and then pursed his lips and shifted before adding, “We think you had papers with you when you came down to the crematorium. Is it possible you found papers you felt needed to be delivered at that hour?”

Holly considered the question and then asked, “Was there a round metal disk attached to the corner?”

He hesitated and then turned and walked to the door, opened it, crossed the hall and leaned into the opposite room. She heard him ask, “Was there a metal disk on the papers on the floor in the crematorium?”

Holly didn't hear the answer, but he closed the door and came back, nodding. “Yes, there was.”

“Then they were papers needed to cremate someone. If I found them and they should have gone down during the day but somehow didn't, then yes, I might have taken them down despite the hour,” she said on a sigh.

“You were in your pajamas,” he said and she raised an eyebrow at his tone of voice. He sounded bewildered. Or maybe disapproving. Or both. Before she could respond, Justin asked, “Has any of this sparked a memory? Do you remember heading for the crematorium to deliver the papers?”

Holly bit her lip and searched her memory again, but it was pretty spotty and nothing was coming.

“It was after midnight on a foggy night,” he prompted. “You probably couldn't see two feet in front of you, but you traipsed down past the graves to the crematorium anyway . . . in pink flannel pajamas with white bunnies on them and fluffy slippers under a trench coat.”

He described what she'd worn as if her fashion choice that night had alarmed him, and Holly supposed it had been somewhat unorthodox, but she hadn't expected to run into anyone. Apparently, she had. She didn't recall it though, so she shook her head again, but then cleared her throat and asked, “Where exactly are they? My pajamas?”

Justin hesitated, and then rather than answer, asked, “Do you remember the crematorium? Or leaving? Or falling?”

Holly's head came up slightly at that. She'd fallen? Thinking it might explain a lot, she asked, “Did I hit my head or something?”

“Yes.” Justin seemed relieved and she only understood why when he said, “So you do remember that?”

“No,” she admitted almost apologetically. “I just figure that must be why my head hurts and why my memory is missing pieces.”

“Ah. Yes, I see,” he said on a sigh, and then grimaced and asked, “So none of this is ringing bells for you?”

Holly shook her head again, and admitted, “I don't even remember who you are. Your name doesn't sound familiar, or anything.” She shrugged helplessly.

His lips twisted wryly, and he said gently, “There's no reason it should. We've never actually met.”

“Oh,” she murmured, and supposed that explained that. So . . . he must have been the one to find her after her fall, Holly reasoned. She'd made it back to the office, found some papers she'd felt she should deliver to the crematorium, and had fallen and hit her head on the return journey. She must have taken quite a knock to lose not only consciousness, but some memory. Holly hadn't noticed a head wound earlier. She hadn't been looking for one, though.

“So you found me after I fell?” she asked, and when he hesitated, guessed, “Or saw me fall?”

“Yes,” Justin said on a relieved hiss of air. “I saw you fall.”

“And I didn't have my purse or any ID on me,” she recalled ruefully and then narrowed her eyes and added, “But my purse
was
in my car and I did have my car keys.”

“You didn't have your car keys when I got to you,” Justin explained. “You must have dropped them when you fell.” He paused briefly, and then added, “When I carried you inside and we realized you were wearing pajamas and had no purse, keys or anything else, we thought you must have been sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking?” she asked with surprise, and then gave a slight laugh. “With a coat on? Do sleepwalkers usually put on coats?”

“I don't know,” he said with a shrug. “I've never known anyone who sleepwalks.”

“Oh.” Holly nodded slowly and then tried to work it out, speaking her thoughts aloud. “So you brought me here because I didn't have my purse or ID.” Before he could respond, she asked, “But why didn't you just take me to the hospital?” When he was silent again, she said thoughtfully, “Without a purse I wouldn't have my HMO card and I suppose a hospital would be reluctant to treat me without proof that I could pay.”

Justin seemed to hesitate, and then he sighed and dropped to sit on the end of the bed. Peering at her solemnly, he said, “This situation is a little more complicated than you realize.”

Holly tilted her head curiously, but simply asked, “Oh?”

“Yes, you see . . .” Justin paused, several expressions flickering across his face before he finally said cautiously, “I have to tell you some things that might sound . . . well, a bit crazy.”

Holly merely raised her eyebrows.

“You see, it wasn't just your head you hit. I mean the head injury wasn't the only one. You were carrying scissors and—­”

“Scissors?” she interrupted with surprise. “Why would I be carrying scissors down to the crematorium?”

“As I said, it was dark and foggy . . . a graveyard. Spooky.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you were nervous.”

Holly nodded slowly, supposing that would be enough to make her want a weapon of some sort. She wasn't usually a nervous Nelly, but then she'd never before even considered walking through a graveyard alone on a dark and foggy night.

“Anyway,” Justin said when she remained silent. “You were running and fell and not only hit your head, but—­”

“Why was I running?” Holly interrupted.

The question made him grimace. He also took a good deal of time to think before answering. “You saw something that you misunderstood.”

“What did I see?”

“I'll get to that,” he assured her. “But first I want you to understand that I would never harm you. In fact, when you fell on your scissors and stabbed yourself in the chest, I—­”

“What?” Holly interrupted sharply. She hadn't noticed anything when she dressed. Holly tugged the T-­shirt collar away from her skin to peer at herself, but there was nothing there. Scowling at him for scaring her like that, she said, “I'm not wounded.”

“No. Well, I healed you,” he explained.

Holly blinked several times at this claim and then asked slowly, “You
healed
me?”

Justin nodded.

“How?” she asked at once, unable to hide her doubt.

“Well, this is where it gets tricky,” Justin said, looking uncomfortable.

“Oh?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yes. You see . . .” He paused, rubbed one hand over his face, and then said determinedly under his breath, “I am not going to make a pickle of this like Bastien and the other guys did.”

“That's good,” Holly murmured, not sure what he was talking about.

“I mean seriously, how stupid is starting with, “Have you ever seen
An American Werewolf in London
?” he asked with disgust.

“Er . . .” Holly paused, growing confused.

“It was just stupid. I mean, we aren't werewolves, are we?”

“No?” Holly guessed. That seemed a pretty safe bet.

“Exactly,” he said with satisfaction. “So why lead with that? It just confuses the matter further. Right?”

“Right?” she guessed.

He nodded. “Okay, so . . .” Justin paused and frowned and then repeated, “Remember, no matter how crazy this sounds, I'm not crazy. You are safe with me. I would never harm you. Ever. I promise you that.”

“Okay,” Holly murmured. But really, the more he said that, the more worried she got. It was the old, “The lady doth protest too much.” But in this case it was a man doing the protesting. The more he assured her that he wouldn't harm her, the more anxious she got that he might.

“Right . . . so, you see . . .” He paused again and then warned, “I'm just going to tell you flat out.”

“Okay,” Holly said.

“Right.” He nodded, and then added, “It's going to sound crazy.”

“Okay,” Holly repeated, not at all surprised. She was already beginning to think there was something wrong with the man.

“So here goes,” he said, and then blurted, “I'm a vampire.”

Holly stared. She'd thought she'd been ready for anything from his weird prefacing, but “ . . . Vampire?”

“Yes. But we're not really vampires,” he assured her. “I mean, sure we have fangs and used to feed on mortals, and yes we're strong and all that stuff, but we aren't dead or soulless.”

“Well that's . . . good?” She ended the comment on a question because, frankly, Holly wasn't sure what the right response was here. The poor man was obviously delusional. Vampire? Yeesh. She'd thought the craze for vampires had died out, but apparently Justin Bricker had been affected by its brief outbreak. The poor deluded soul thought he was one. It was sad, really. He was a good-­looking man, personable and seemed smart enough, but he obviously had mental-­health issues.

However, she kind of owed him one. He'd picked her up after she'd taken a tumble and knocked herself out. Holly suspected that part of his story was true. It made sense and explained her headache and memory loss.

The rest of his story, however, that she'd fallen on scissors and stabbed herself and that he'd healed her with his . . . well, she wasn't sure what he supposedly healed her with. Vampires bit and sucked blood, they didn't usually go around healing ­people. That was Jesus. Perhaps he was getting religion mixed up with his delusional fantasy, she speculated. She understood religion often played a role with crazy ­people.

“Yes, it
is
good,” Justin assured her. “Life is much less complicated now that we don't feed off mortals.”

“I can imagine,” she said, keeping her voice soothing. At least he didn't take his fantasy to that level and go around trying to bite ­people. If he did, she'd be concerned. This seemed a mostly harmless fantasy though. He didn't bite, so didn't do anyone physical harm, which left sleeping in a coffin and avoiding sunlight and garlic as his M.O. and that was fine with her. Live and let live and all that stuff. Although Holly did wonder if she might not be doing him a disser­vice by not calling in some help, like maybe the police, and suggesting a seventy-­two-­hour evaluation in a psych ward.

“In fact, we're nothing like the television and movie versions of vampires,” Justin assured her.

“Well, no, I guess not. None of them can heal,” Holly murmured, her gaze sliding to the door as she wondered if she dared try to leave. Would he get physical in his effort to stop her leaving? She suspected he would unless she handled him right. She would have to remain calm and talk her way out of this room. She had to get home and . . . well, Holly wasn't sure what she should do after that. She had no idea what time it was. The bedside clock read 7:34 but was that morning or night? How long had she been here? She'd thought it was morning when she'd first woken, but now that she knew she'd been unconscious, she wasn't so sure. And the curtains were closed and thick enough to block out sunlight if there was any.

“We can't heal either as a rule,” he explained, drawing her attention again. “I was only able to heal you by turning you.”

Holly blinked at this and then tilted her head. “Into a vampire?”

“Yes. Well, we prefer the name
immortal
.”

“Uh hmm.” She hesitated and then stood. “Well, then I'd best get home and take care of things.”

“You can't go. I have to explain everything,” he said, straightening and positioning himself in her way.

“Can't you explain later?” Holly suggested, trying not to sound desperate, but wanting to leave. Hoping to use reason he might agree with, she pointed out, “If I'm a vampire now, there are loads of things to take care of. I mean I'll need to buy a coffin and maybe find some nice Igor type I can get to bring me . . .” She let her words trail away and simply waved a hand vaguely. She'd been going to say ­people to feed on, but recalled at the last moment that his delusion didn't include biting ­people.

“I think you mean Renfield,” he said with a faint smile.

“Do I?” she asked, turning sideways as casually as she could in the hopes of maneuvering past him toward the door.

“Yes. I wasn't around when it first came out, but I read Stoker's work as a teenager. It's been a while but I have a good memory for names. I'm pretty sure it was Renfield who did Dracula's bidding.”

Well at least he wasn't imagining he was hundreds of years old. So his delusions weren't completely out there, she assured herself and said with determined cheer, “Right. Sorry. Renfield then.”

“You don't need a Renfield,” he assured her. “Like I said, we don't bite mortals anymore. It's not allowed.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Holly asked, with feigned interest, her gaze sliding sideways to the door and back.

“It was too risky,” he explained. “There was too much chance of drawing attention to ourselves that way.”

“Hmmm.” Holly nodded as if she believed him and sidled toward the door an inch or two under the pretext of shifting her feet. “So how do we feed? Do we buy pig's blood from the slaughterhouse? If so, I guess I need to arrange for that instead. Lots to do. Must get to it.”