“I don’t blame you if you want to let me go,” I say.
He lowers his head. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”
“Because it’s what you wanted. For me to be dead.”
I’m really raking him over the coals, but the weird thing is, I can’t stop myself. It’s only now I realize how angry I am about his behavior on top of the mountains. How he acted before the Array appeared, when he was still in control of his mind.
“I’m grateful you’re still alive,” he says softly, and for the first time since we met he sounds totally exposed. He’s trembling, and just like that my anger switches and I feel an overwhelming wave of love for him.
I don’t remember crossing the room but suddenly I’m in his arms and he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and it’s like drinking Ken’s blood all over again. Except this time I feel myself drowning in a clear, warm river rather than a sticky, red one.
Matt sweeps me off my feet with his powerful arms and takes me into the bedroom. We don’t take off our clothes, we tear them off. And our lust is good, it’s better than good, it’s natural and spontaneous. I’m not betraying Teri and he’s not betraying her because in that moment I am her.
I don’t say that casually to excuse what I do next. I honestly lose track of myself. It’s like the entire storehouse of Teri’s memories that are ingrained in my physical brain break like a tidal wave against my soul. As his tongue slips in my mouth and his hands grasp my breasts, I feel as if Teri rushes into the room and reclaims her body. Suddenly there are two of us. One rides an ecstatic wave of physical pleasure, while the other floats on a plane where bodies are unnecessary.
Because I experience both worlds, hers and mine, the personality split is disorientating and delicious. As my physical form begins to moan with pleasure, my spirit sings with joy. I’m a saint and I’m a sinner. We both make love to Matt, Teri and I, and because he knows his lover so well, nothing I said to him in the other room makes any difference. My lies are forgotten and his suspicions flee. He believes his girlfriend is not dead, and for a time it’s true.
FOUR
Late in the night I awake to find Matt sound asleep beside me in bed. All awareness of Teri has vanished. Inside at least, I’m alone again.
In the first century after Yaksha changed me into a vampire, I used to sleep as much as six hours. But that was during the day, never at night. At night I was at my strongest and I hunted.
It was only as the centuries passed that the need to sleep diminished, until I required as little as an hour of unconsciousness to recharge myself. I’m used to taking an hour nap at midday. Yet I know Matt prefers to rest for three or four hours at night. I can’t imagine lying silently beside him for that long. I feel restless and slip out of bed and go in the other room.
I try watching TV, the news, but nothing holds my attention. The suite’s living room haunts me, the area where I killed Ken. Immediately after his murder, I was too busy dealing with his body to dwell on what I had done. Then, seeing Matt, making love to him for the first time, I forgot about Ken altogether.
However, now my eyes keep straying to the spot where I shattered his nose on the tile. I notice the phone has been left off the hook. Matt must have disconnected it at some point, I don’t remember when. The police have probably tried to call. Chances are they’ll come to the hotel, probably early in the morning. It might be wise to leave before they arrive, yet that might make me look more guilty.
I’m unsure what to do, I only know that a young man, with his whole life in front of him, has been wiped off the face of this earth just to satisfy my thirst. Viewed objectively, from a state where I feel not the slightest need for blood, to kill a person simply to satisfy an unnatural bodily urge seems ridiculous. The pettiness of my motive coupled with the brutality of my act makes my guilt feel all the deeper.
I recall having the same thoughts five thousand years ago. Immediately after my first kill, I shared them with Yaksha, and what did he do? He just shook his head and said I would get used to it. And I did.
Now it looks like I’ll have to get used to it all over again.
“No,” I whisper aloud. I can drink without killing. I can take a pint from a person—preferably a large person—then hypnotize them, make them forget. Matt can help me, he promised he would.
Yet the thought of having to depend on another, when I have taken care of myself for so long, depresses me. I don’t want to be Matt’s pet, always having to follow him around. I have to find another way.
I feel the urge to go for a run. My body does, at least. The desire should not surprise me. Teri ran every day of her life. Changing into shorts and a sweat top, lacing up a pair of Nikes, I slip my card key and a credit card in my pocket and leave the hotel.
It’s after midnight. The streets are relatively empty. I run without direction, without purpose, and yet it feels good, so I suppose that is reason enough. I run fast and don’t feel tired. Surprisingly, a portion of my endurance comes from the rigors Teri subjected her body to as a mortal. The girl just won the gold medal in the metric mile at the Olympics. Teri’s legs are longer than my old ones and I enjoy the longer stride. Sweat pours from my hair and into my eyes. My heart pounds. I feel as if I fly over the ground.
An hour goes by. Two.
I’m twenty miles from the hotel when I spot the cemetery.
And here I thought I was running aimlessly.
I have come back to my grave for a reason. Something is happening with my body, something that calls to me. I remember studying my chest wound that morning, how it appeared to be closing, to be healing, despite the fact the body was dead. But is it truly dead? Why should it draw me so intensely if there’s no living spark left inside it?
I don’t stop running until I stand beside my grave.
The plot has been disturbed.
Hell, forget disturbed. Whoever replaced the dirt was in a hurry and didn’t give a damn how suspicious it looked. I don’t have to dig the coffin up to be sure. I know that someone has stolen my body. The mud and dirt are strewn all over the place and I can actually hear my violated coffin groaning under the weight of the earth dumped on top of it. Whoever tore off the lid of the box used a crowbar or an axe, some such subtle instrument, obviously, and cracked the wood in a dozen places.
On the far side of the cemetery, half a mile away, I hear a car start. Summoning every bit of Teri’s finishing kick, I race toward the sound. But I’m too late, all I do is catch a glimpse of a vanishing station wagon.
Yet I see the license plate, a California plate, HJK2622. The IIC and Ms. Brutran have offices in California, a fortress I’ve been to. And faintly, I catch a glimpse of the driver. He looks like a she, like a woman.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Why would someone want my dead body?
My vampiric blood would be of no use to them.
Who knew I was dead?
Did we have a spy in our group?
A wave of fatigue sweeps over me. I’ve had enough exercise for one night. Outside the cemetery, I flag down a taxi and ride back to the Hilton. I’m practically at its doorstep when I redirect the cab to the Sheraton, where Paula Ramirez and her son are staying. It’s time I talked to John. I feel he owes me an explanation.
Paula answers the door, wearing red and white cotton pajamas. As usual, she doesn’t look surprised to see me. It’s hard to take a psychic by surprise. At the same time, she doesn’t look happy to see me.
“Teri. It’s late. What can I do for you?”
I push her aside and she gives way before me.
“I’m not Teri and you know it, so drop the act,” I snap, glancing around, looking for her son. I can hear him in the adjoining room. He sounds like he’s playing a computer game. Does the kid do anything else?
Paula folds her arms across her chest. “I sensed it. I wasn’t sure.”
“Right.”
“Believe what you want.” She pauses. “How did it happen?”
“That I switched bodies? Gee, I don’t know, isn’t that more up your alley?”
“Sita, stop. I had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
“Can your son say the same thing?”
Paula hesitates. “I don’t know.”
“I want to talk to him. And don’t tell me he’s busy or he doesn’t want to talk to me. I saved his life. My daughter died saving him. Even if he is a divine incarnation, he can stop playing his goddamn game for ten minutes and answer my questions.”
My rudeness is left over from the last time I tried to talk to John, on the Greek island Santorini. That was only a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t even see me.
Paula considers. “All right, let me talk to him, tell him you’re here. But I warn you . . .”
“No threats, Paula, I’m not in the mood.”
She leaves and is gone longer than I expect. But when she reappears she nods and gestures for me to enter the last room on the right, the master suite. As I trudge down the hall to confront John, my anger and impatience vanish. Either I hold the kid in too much awe or else he deserves it. My heart pounds harder than when I was running. My mind goes blank. What does one say to a god?