Seymour smiles. “Don’t tell me. He scored better than thirty percent with Dr. Rhine’s standardized ESP deck of cards.”
Mary chuckles. “I can see the professor is still trying to keep Freddy a secret. No, Freddy scored a lot higher than that.”
“How high?” Shanti asks.
“He would guess correctly over eighty percent of the time.”
Seymour frowns. “But we just listened to an hour lecture on how weak and impractical the ESP signal is when it comes to the individual.”
“I suppose that’s true. Except when it comes to Freddy.”
“I’m surprised Sharp didn’t tell us about his abilities,” Seymour says.
“Are you?” I ask. “The whole basis of his research was his discovery of the array. If he went around talking about Freddy, people would have just wanted to go to him and get a personal reading.”
“Are the four of you students of parapsychology?” Mary asks.
“In a manner of speaking,” I say. “Right now we’re researching the firm that a few of Professor Sharp’s graduate students founded after they left Berkeley. Infinite Investment Corporation, IIC. Have you heard of them?”
Mary’s expression darkens. “Freddy knows all about the firm. He might even still be connected to them legally. But he’ll have nothing to do with IIC, and my advice to you is to stay away from them. They’re not nice people.”
“Because they’re rich and successful?” Seymour asks.
“Because they’re ruthless. Freddy used to date their leader, a woman named Cindy Brutran. I met her once. It was like meeting the serpent that killed Cleopatra.”
I find Mary’s choice of simile interesting.
“So Freddy never talks to any of them?” I ask.
Mary shrugs. “He talks to Cindy on the phone now and then. But that’s for personal reasons. He has nothing to do with the company.” She turns to Seymour. “Professor Sharp said you want to write a book about them.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t. They won’t let you publish it.”
“I’ve published a number of books. I doubt they could stop me.”
“I’m giving you a friendly warning. I hope you heed it. I’m not a gloom-and-doom sort of person. But I feel obligated to tell you that you’ll regret it if you don’t listen.”
“You must have a reason for your concern,” Seymour says.
“Talk to Freddy when he gets back. He’ll tell you the whole story.”
The man of the hour arrives minutes later, hot and sweaty from his run. Before showering, he greets each of us individually. Freddy appears as polite as his girlfriend, and in his own way he’s just as striking. He has lost the hippie look Sharp mentioned, but he’s kept his long maroon hair, which drapes over the hood of his sweatshirt. And it doesn’t take a vampire’s eyes to see that he looks no older than thirty, the same age as Mary. He reminds me a bit of Matt, with his handsome features and large dark eyes. But he is on the thin side, jerky in his movements. It’s like he’s seen things in his life he wishes he could forget. The man is friendly, yet he looks like he needs a friend.
He has Mary, though, wonderful Mary. She should be enough.
Freddy showers and returns dressed in black pajamas. After fetching a plate of lasagna and garlic bread, and a cold beer, he sits beside Mary and me on the floor. Mary isn’t into sports, but Freddy is a track fan and he’s excited to talk to me about the Olympics. He says he’s got a video of my gold medal race on his iPod.
“I even recorded your trial races in London,” he says.
I smile. “It’s nice to meet a true fan.”
“Hell, I followed your career all the way from the U.S. trials in Oregon. But to be honest, despite your great times, I was sure the Africans were going to eat you up. They practically own all the middle- and long-distance races.”
“They train all day,” I say. “They don’t do anything else.”
“Do you think that’s their secret? I can’t say I agree.”
“You think it’s the altitude advantage.”
“Altitude can only help you so much. And don’t forget that plenty of American and European runners are living at altitude year-round and they’re still getting their butts kicked by the Kenyans and the Ethiopians, especially in the marathon. No, I think the answer is genetic. They’re better runners because their ancestors were great runners. They had to be to survive. There are more wild animals in Africa than any continent on earth.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” I say.
“You can’t deny the evidence. You were the only white person to win an endurance race in track.”
“I got lucky,” I say.
Freddy’s interest in track makes for an excellent ice breaker. Too bad it’s all he wants to talk about. It grows late, and Seymour and Shanti start to yawn. I try steering the conversation toward IIC with no success. Near two o’clock in the morning, Mary bluntly informs her boyfriend that we have stopped by to discuss the IIC. Freddy doesn’t flinch. He offers to talk about his college days tomorrow.
“We would appreciate anything you can tell us,” I say.
Freddy nods as he stands, although I notice his jerkiness increases the instant Mary mentions the IIC. “That will be great,” he says. “To tell you the truth, I’m flattered to have a famous person in my house.”
“I’m far from famous,” I say.
“Get off it. I’d rather meet you than Madonna or the Dalai Lama. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you guys stay here tonight? We have an extra room at the end of the hall, and we’re almost finished remodeling our guesthouse. It’s out back beside a well that supplies us with incredible drinking water. You’ve got to taste it.”
“Which means you’ve got to stay,” Mary says.
“We’d hate to put you guys out,” I say.
“You’re not,” Mary says. “Besides, you might have no choice but to stay here. It’s the weekend, and Santa Cruz is a resort town, at least to those who are from out of town. Unless you have reservations, you’re not going to find a room this late.” Mary pauses. “I’d be honored if you’d be our guests.”
I turn to the others, who nod their heads. I especially seek Paula’s approval. Like myself, she mustn’t sense any danger. Still, there’s an odd feeling in the air, a sense of the unknown that I can’t place, and that has me on guard. It’s not a sense of malice, it’s more like a mystery.
“Thank you. We’ll stay,” I say.
NINE
An hour later Seymour and I sit on our respective beds in the guesthouse. Both Paula and Shanti were exhausted from all the travel and wanted to go straight to sleep. For that reason they took the room in the house. Besides, Seymour and I, we belong together. He sits nearby, smoking a cigarette and scratching the blisters on the back of his hands.
“How bad are they?” I ask.
“Bad enough. I could use another shot.”
“I have a small vial of T-11 and syringes in the car. I can get them for you.”
“It can wait until morning.”
“There’s no reason you should be uncomfortable.”
“If Charlie and Matt don’t get their lab up and running, a lot more of us are going to be feeling uncomfortable real soon.”
“You don’t put much stock in them.”
“Hell, Matt’s like Superman. And I’m sure Charlie’s a genius in his field. But we’re asking too much of the guys in too short a time. The Telar have been around forever. They didn’t design a virus and vaccine that can be reconfigured in a few days. They designed it to destroy humanity. When you’re that pissed off at seven billion people, you’re going to come up with a pretty complex formula.”
“I hear ya.”
“Then how come you didn’t fight Matt to abandon his plan?”
“I would have fought him. Teri couldn’t.”
Seymour takes a drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t complain. I’m still here, ain’t I? Besides, with Matt and Charlie off doing their thing, I can do what I have to.”
“Can you? You don’t have your invincible body anymore. How are you going to face Brutran as a newbie vampire? Even when you were Sita, she practically wiped the floor with you.”
“Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“Sorry. I just never had the end of the world staring me in the face before.”
“It did in a few of your books. That must have helped you get used to it a little.”
“Let me tell you a secret that only writers know. All the stuff we write about, we’re glad it happens to other people. Because if it happened to us, we couldn’t handle it.”
“And that’s why you write about it.”
“Yep.” Seymour coughs and grinds out his cigarette in a plastic cup. He scratches his hands before feeling the hardness of his mattress. “What do you think of our hosts?” he asks.