“That’s not a problem. It’s just that our server is missing and you sound like I just woke you up from a nap. I was just wondering if—”
“You know, you’re being awfully pushy. What kind of hotel is this anyway? I’ve told you I haven’t seen Ken and I meant it. Now cancel my order and quit bugging me.”
I go to hang up but hear him ask, “How did you know his name is Ken?”
Shit! How could I be so stupid? The old Sita simply did not make such mistakes. I struggle for a way to cover my error.
“You just said his name, Mike. Or did you forget already?”
Another long pause. “I suppose I must have. You have a nice day, Ms. Fraiser.”
He hangs up the phone before I can respond. It is just as well. With every remark I make, I keep burying myself deeper.
I stare down at Ken’s body and realize I’m going to have to bury him, and quick. I have to get him out of my room before Mike grows impatient enough to call the police. Hell, for all I know, he’s already dialed 911.
The one plus in all this madness is that I have left few blood stains on the floor. There’s a small puddle beneath his nose that I’m able to wipe up with a napkin. In the last fifty centuries, I’ve done this thousands of times—cleaned up after feeding on victims. Yet I’m shocked at the emotion that shakes me as I turn Ken on his back and stare down at his extraordinarily pale face.
I weep, salty tears, made of water, not blood. My vampire body is too young to shed red ones. Too young to enjoy the calm detachment I’m used to. Ken really was a nice guy. Even when I hurt him, he still wanted to help me. It kills me that I killed him.
Yet my instincts are old, they take over. The food cart, with its rubber wheels and cotton tablecloth, is an ideal tool to use to dispose of the body. There is a steel tray that blocks the center portion of the cart but I’m able to use my Swiss knife and remove it. Squeezing Ken into a ball tight enough to fit beneath the white sheet is a task but the freshly dead are extremely limber. I bend him until the bones in his back crack but I finally fit him in place.
I don’t have a car. I’m going to have to borrow one, or steal one, as the case may be. With the cart, I need the elevator, but the only one I can find in my wing, on the miniature map posted to the back of the door, makes it clear that it passes through the lobby on the way to the garage. Great. With the luck I’ve been having lately, I’ll run into Ken’s mother.
I move fast. When it comes to murder, to hesitate is to get caught. I can grieve over Ken later. Physically, I actually feel a lot better than I have at any point since my transformation. Despite the Prozac, Ken’s blood was strong.
After peering out the door and making sure the exterior hallway is empty, I push the cart outside and casually wheel it toward the elevators. From the outside, I probably look cool. But inside I’m a nervous wreck. I pray for an empty elevator.
I’m on the top floor of the hotel, in the expensive suites. I push the button and wait for the elevator to arrive. It appears quickly, and it’s empty. I push Ken inside and select the lowest button on the panel. Best to steal a car from the bottom floor of the garage, there will be less traffic.
My elevator stops on the fifth floor. A mother and father, and four rowdy kids, pile inside. The kids are between the ages of six and twelve, totally hyperactive. The family is obviously on vacation but Mom and Dad look burned out. The woman turns to me.
“Do you know where the Pepsi Center is?” she asks.
“No,” I say flatly.
“It’s the arena where the Denver Nuggets play. You must know where it is.”
“I’m not from around here,” I reply.
The woman persists. “What do you mean? You work for room service, don’t you?”
“Nope,” I say. The youngest boy tries to lift up the cart’s tablecloth. The kid is short. He might see a dead hand or finger hanging down there. I come close to slapping his hand away but change my mind at the last second and reach down and grab the kid’s hand. “Please don’t touch that,” I say.
The woman really is a pain in the ass. She pulls her kid close and scowls at me. “Why are you returning the cart if you don’t work here?”
I go to snap at her but turn to the husband instead. Our eyes meet and I smile sympathetically. “Is she always this way?” I ask.
The man smiles back and nods faintly. The woman gives us both a look to kill but I have finally shut her up. I silently wish the husband well.
They get off in the lobby. The door stays open forever, probably because it’s the main floor. I feel naked standing there with a dead body inches away. Finally, though, I’m on my way to the bottom floor.
I’ve stolen hundreds of cars in my time. I’m good at it but once again I usually rely on my strength more often than my knowledge of how ignition systems work. The last thing I want to do is set off an alarm that won’t stop. For that reason, an older car or truck would be best. Too bad I’m staying at a rich hotel and there’s a shortage of jalopies. After scanning the two lowest levels, I settle on a Camry that has been in a serious accident but had tons of body work. My eyes are sharp enough to detect the damage and repairs. I shatter the driver’s window with the back of my elbow. The blow stings but I don’t care. I’m just happy the horn hasn’t started blaring.
I’m inside in a moment and have no trouble breaking the steering column and pulling out the ignition wires. The wires spark as I rub them together and the engine turns over. Only when I have all systems working do I pop the trunk. I wrap Ken in the cart sheet before I dump him in the back. I leave the cart and its supply of utensils behind, but I put the plate carrying the steak and potato in beside the body. I slam the trunk tight. I’m fortunate I’m able to lower the broken window. A cop might have spotted it.
Denver is one of the few major cities in America I know almost nothing about. Rather than drive around aimlessly, I stop at a mall where I buy a map of the area, a shovel, a box of heavy-duty garbage bags, and two rolls of duct tape.
What a miracle God created when he invented duct tape! It would take a vampire who has a constant and annoying need to get rid of bodies to fully appreciate how important it is. I know that once I find a place to bury Ken, I’ll be able to seal his body in several layers of garbage bags and attach them so tight that a bloodhound could walk over the grave site and not smell a thing.
The map is useful. It leads me to a small national park not far outside the city. The softness of the soil and the site’s proximity to the road factor in my decision of where to bury Ken. I don’t fancy digging through rocky dirt, and I’m not strong enough to carry the body far. Still, Ken deserves a decent grave. I bury him as best I can and take a few minutes to pray over his grave.
“I’m sorry about this, Krishna. What can I say? I screwed up. Please take care of Ken. I just met him but he seemed like a nice guy.”
After wiping down the stolen car thoroughly, I park it two miles from the hotel and take a bus back to the Hilton. I have to walk the last few blocks to reach my room. I don’t mind the exercise. The day is getting on; it is near evening. The air is fresh and brisk. The walk gives me time to figure out what I should tell Matt. Should I try to conceal what happened in the room? That would probably be best, I decide.
Yet the instant I open the door, and see his face, I know he’s already figured out what’s happened.
THREE
Matt’s face. A thousand years old and he still has the look of a young god. Gazing at him now, at the faint but intense lines that create his varied expressions—along with his sensual lips, his strong jaw, and the depth of his dark eyes—I don’t understand how I didn’t recognize him the moment we met.
Yaksha’s son—it’s so obvious to me now. Yet maybe it was the sheer power of his gaze that hid his true identity from me. He’s a sorcerer. As with his father, I seldom know what he’s thinking or how he feels.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re having trouble adapting.”
He’s not asking. “That’s putting it mildly,” I say.
He gestures to where the blood stain was. “The front desk called. So did the police. It appears the hotel has lost an employee. Someone from room service.”
I sit on the couch not three feet from where I broke Ken’s nose.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
“Nothing. They insist on talking to you. You might want to give them a call.”
I sigh. “I’d rather not.”
Matt crosses the room and sits beside me, taking my hand. “You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to say. My thirst overwhelmed me and I attacked the guy. I thought I could drink a little and stop the craving, but I couldn’t stop myself.” I let my eyes flood with tears. I need to appear upset, as Teri would. “He was dead before I knew it.”
Matt moves to hug me. “I should have been here. I could have helped you.”