By now I have badly wrenched Slim's neck. Behind us I hear men entering the forest, six of them, spreading out, searching for us. I can hear others at the gas station, moaning in pain, the sputtering breath of still others dying. I literally pick Slim off his feet and carry him a half mile upstream, running faster than a deer in her prime, even with the bullet in me. Then I throw Slim down behind a cluster of bushes. I straddle his chest. He looks up at me with eyes wide with fear. I must be little more than a shadow in his vision. Yet I can see him perfectly. I reach around to my back side, digging my fingers into the torn tissue. I pull out the bullet and toss it aside. The wound begins to heal immediately.
"Now we can talk," I say.
"W-who?" he stutters. I lean over, my face in his.
"That is the magic question," I say. "Who sent you after me?"
He is struggling for breath, although I am no longer holding him by the throat. "You are so strong. How is it possible?"
"I am a vampire."
He coughs. "I don't understand."
"I am five thousand years old. I was born before recorded history began. I am the last of my kind ... I believe I am the last. But the person who sent you after me knew of my great strength. You were carefully prepared. That person must know that I am a vampire. I want that person." I breathe on his face and know he feels the chill of the Grim Reaper. "Tell me who he is, where I can find him."
He is in shock. "Is this possible?"
"You have seen a demonstration of my power. Do you really want me to give you another one?"
He trembles. "If I tell you, will you let me live?"
"Perhaps."
He swallows thickly, perspiring heavily. "We work out of Switzerland. I have only met my boss a few times. His name is GrahamRick Graham. He is very wealthy. I do odd jobs for him, my people and I. Two years ago he set us searching for someone who fit your description."
"How did he describe me?"
"The way you look. Other things as well. He said you would be rich, private, have no family. He said there would be mysterious deaths connected with your name."
"Did he know my name?"
"No."
"Has he had you look for anyone else?"
"No. Only someone who fit your description." He grimaces in pain. "Could you get off me? I think you broke several of my ribs when you pulled me through the trees."
"You were not concerned about my comfort in the car."
"I stopped to let you go to the bathroom."
"That was your mistake." My voice is cold.
He is very afraid. "What are you going to do to me?"
"What is Graham's address? Is he in Switzerland?"
"He is never in one place. He travels constantly."
"Why?"
"I don't know why. Maybe he looks for you."
"But is he on the West Coast now? In Oregon?"
"I don't know."
He is telling the truth. "But you were taking me to him tonight, weren't you?"
"I don't know. We were to drive you to San Francisco. I was to call from a certain phone booth. I can give you the number. It is in Switzerland."
"Say it." He gives me the number. I consider. "I faxed you in Switzerland earlier tonight. Yet you were here. It is possible Graham is here as well?"
"It is possible. We have relays."
"Do you have a business card, Slim?"
"What?"
"A card. Give me your card."
"My wallet is in my front right pocket."
I rip away his pocket. "So it is." I stuff the wallet in my back pocket. My pants are soaked with blood, some of my own, some of the woman's. In the distance I hear two of the men coming my way. Farther off I hear a police siren, heading south on Coast Highway. The men hear it as well. I can practically read their thoughts, they are so obvious. This woman is a monster. If she has Slim, Slim is dead. She will probably kill us if we do catch up with her. The police are coming. We'd better get the hell out of here and chalk it up to a bad night.
The men reverse their direction, back toward the gas station. I lovingly stroke the sides of Slim's face. Of course there is no possibility I will let him live.
"Why do you work for Graham?" I ask.
"The money."
"I see. Tell me what Graham looks like?"
"He is tall, six three maybe. His hair is dark. He wears it long."
Now I am the one who trembles. "What color are his eyes?"
"Blue."
"Pale blue?"
"Yes. They are frightening."
My voice whispers. "Like mine?"
"Yes. God, please don't kill me. I can help you, miss. I really can."
Yaksha.
It is not possible, I think, after all this time. The stories, why did I listen to them? Just because they said he was dead? He probably invented them. But why does he come for me now? Or is that the most foolish question of all? These people had orders to shoot if I so much as burped. He must want me dead.
He must be afraid of what Krishna told him.
"You have helped me enough," I tell Slim.
He pants. "What are you going to do? Don't do it!"
My fingers reach down to his throat, my long nails caressing the big veins beneath his flesh. "I told you what I am. And I'm hungry. Why shouldn't I suck you dry? You are no saint. You kill without conscience. Atleast when someone dies in my arms, I think kind thoughts about him."
He cries. "Please! I don't want to die."
I lean over. My hair smothers him.
"Then you should never have been born," I say.
I open him up. I open my mouth.
I take my pleasure slowly.
7
The body I bury beneath the stream. It is a favorite place of mine. Police seldom look under running water. I hear them in the distance, the law, at the gas station, maybe two black and whites. They have a shoot-out with the boys in the limos. The boys win. I hear them tear away at high speed. They are clever. I believe they will get away.
Yet if I want them, I will have them later.
More police can be heard approaching. I decide to exit the forest the back way. I jog through the trees, setting cross-country records. Six miles later finds me at a closed gas station on a deserted road. There is a phone booth. I think of calling Seymour Dorsten, my archery buddy. It is a mad thought. I would do better to keep running till I find a busier road, a few parked cars. I can hot-wire any car in less than a minute. I am soaked through with blood. It would be madness to involve Seymour in this night's dirty business. He might tell his mother. Yet I want him involved. I trust the little guy. I don't know why.