Part 13 (1/2)

”To drive over, park, get to the floor?” he said, staring at her. ”Twenty to thirty minutes. My guys are only human.” ”Maybe I should head back over myself?”

”An officer will be there just as quickly as you can get there.”

She sighed. ”I guess you're right.”

”So what's wrong?”

”I just should have thought of it before,” she murmured. Then she grimaced at Sean. ”So...should we head over to his lecture?”

Jeremy had been awakened several times. The nurses had been in and out.

Mary's folks had been and gone, her father insisting her mother had to spend time with the rest of the family, too.

The doctor had been in, and the news had been encouraging.

Mary was holding her own. Even though the doctors couldn't understand why her blood platelet count wasn't completely stabilized, it was getting there.

Jeremy had decided he wasn't leaving that night, even though everyone seemed to think she was out of the woods. His mind was in such turmoil that he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway.

He would just keep waking up, thinking he should be here.

So he watched reruns on TNT. He talked to Mary now and then, and made himself comfortable on the visitor's chair. He'd already drifted in and out of sleep several times. He didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't fight it.

Sleeping brought on dreams.

And the dreams were always the same.

He was back in the old ruined castle in Transylvania. Watching, paralyzed, forced to see the scene replay over and over again, except in his dream, he was watching the film again, but it was playing on the hospital television set.

Mary was there, but not in the bed, on the screen. She was awake and smiling, at the mirror and unafraid. She was brus.h.i.+ng her hair, her movements sensual. She turned, knowing that someone...something...was in the room.

Jeremy felt the leaden darkness, like something that sat on his chest, stealing his breath, stealing his resolve, his thoughts...his humanity. Whatever had entered the room was evil.

But Mary welcomed the presence. She turned, as sensual as a cat, eyes hooded, wicked, waiting. She longed for the touch of darkness. The breeze came, lifting her hair, baring her throat, her breast. The gossamer gown drifted low.

She ripped the cross from her neck.

He struggled to awaken, to stop her.

The shadow moved closer, enveloping her. She lifted her chin, rapture in her eyes. She waited....

No, no, no, it was a dream.

”No!” He cried the word aloud, startling himself awake. The television had gone to static.

He jerked his head around. Mary was still in her hospital bed. He looked across the room, feeling a cool breeze, as if the windows had been opened.

A chill had entered the room. Not from the too-efficient air-conditioning.

This was a different kind of chill.

But no windows were open. They were sealed shut, he reminded himself, probably to keep patients from jumping.

He realized then that the door to the hallway was ajar.

He looked at Mary. Her eyes were opened, but she was staring straight ahead, as she always seemed to do now.

But something was different.

His blood turned to ice as he realized what had changed.

Mary was smiling.

He stood, walking to her side, taking her hand. She didn't protest; she just kept smiling.

”It's all right,” he a.s.sured her.

It was then that he noticed her silver cross, the chain broken, lying on the floor. A tap at the door made him jump.

A police officer was standing there. ”Hey, son, I just wanted you to know I'm out here, if you need anything,” the man said.

He was a big guy.

With a heavy silver cross only half-hidden beneath his uniform.

Jeremy nodded. ”Thanks, but why are you here?”

”Lieutenant said his friend, some psychologist, was worried about you all. So I'm here. And everything is going to be okay.”

”Sure.”

Jeremy wondered why he was so certain that everything wasn't going to be okay, that in fact it had already gone straight to h.e.l.l.

And Mary just kept smiling.

7.

B ryan MacAllistair was an excellent lecturer. Not only did he know his subject, but he could be grave, then allow laughter, then drive home the seriousness of a point in a way that a straight diatribe could not.

He was also strikingly handsome, Jessica thought, not for the first time.

She felt a stir of something in her heart; a glimpse of a long-gone memory she couldn't touch. She shook her head.

The rest of his charm was in his voice, in the grin he offered now and then, even the absent way he pushed back a lock of stray hair falling over his forehead now and then. Watching the man speak, Jessica realized he literally seduced his audience.Whatever they were paying him, he was worth it.