“Good to meet you.” There was a touch of irony in the vampire’s tone.
“Same here-I think.”
Three orderlies burst into the room, flicked on the light and paused to stare at Will, as he stood near the open window. He lowered his head, painted a look of anguish on his face.
“Listen, don’t jump,” one of them said. “It’s no answer. You know that.”
“Jesus, it’s that Stone guy,” another muttered. “Mr. Stone, you’re a hero-”
“It’s Colonel Stone,” he muttered. “Or it was.”
“It still is, man. Colonel Stone, U.S. Army Special Forces, and a fucking national icon. God, if you go out like this, then they win, don’t you see that?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said the other guy. “Man, don’t tell us you survived all that crap just to give up now.”
“Colonel Stone, sir, I just got out of the Army. I was over there. Let me tell you something, you did us proud. You cash out now, it’s gonna crush all those soldiers who see you as a hero.”
Will turned slowly, looking at them, even while swinging one leg over the windowsill. “Just stay where you are, okay? I have to think.”
The men stopped their forward progress. “Come on, come on back in here. You can think in here as good as anywhere else.”
The door opened again, and a woman stepped in. She was mid-fifties, fit, kept her hair colored, but the smokers’-wrinkles in her face gave her age away. “Mr. Stone, I’m Amelia Ashby. I’m a psychiatrist here.”
A psychiatrist was just what he needed, he thought, considering he’d just been conversing with a vampire. Shit. He almost laughed, but that would have blown the suicidal depression skit right out of the water.
“Tell me what you’re feeling. Please, I only want to help you.”
He pursed his lips, sighed, wondered if this was going to end up lengthening his stay, when he’d so been looking forward to getting the hell out of here tomorrow. He drew his leg inside, stood on the floor, closed the window, and grabbed his cane. “I’m not going to jump, all right? I was just…out walking the halls.”
“Good. Very good. And you came in here because…?”
“My leg got to aching. I was looking for a place to sit down for a while.”
“I see,” she said slowly, coming closer now.
To stop her from reaching the point where she might catch a glimpse of Jameson-the-blood-thief, Will met her halfway. “Look, I’m ready to go back to my room now, all right?”
“That’s fine. Do you mind if I walk with you?” She took his good arm, walked with him back toward the door.
“Sure. Whatever.”
One of the orderlies opened the door. Another slapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You hang in there, man. We need more like you, Colonel Stone.”
The former soldier sent him a snappy salute.
They all followed Will and the shrink into the hallway, and then the orderlies dispersed, one of them pausing to relock the door before taking off.
Dr. Ashby walked slowly. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”
“The leg? Ah, it’s not so bad.”
“Bad enough that it had you considering suicide.”
“What, you think I’d kill myself over a little pain? I can handle pain, Dr. Ashby.”
She nodded, smiled a little self-deprecatingly. “I guess I should have known that, considering. Physical pain certainly wouldn’t drive a man like you to such an extreme decision.”
“It wasn’t a decision. More like a passing thought.”
“So you didn’t really plan to jump from that window tonight?”
“No. I opened it. I even stood there a while, contemplating the notion. But I never would have jumped.”
“Because you realized that you have too much to live for?” she asked.
“Because I realized it’s not a high enough window to ensure a quick end. I may have a high tolerance for pain, Dr. Ashby, but I’m not a masochist. If I’d been seriously thinking of jumping, I’d have taken the elevator on up to the top floor-better yet, the roof.”
She blinked at him. “I’m not sure if I should find that reassuring or troubling.”
“Reassuring,” he promised. “I swear.”
6
S omehow’he wasn’t sure how’Will convinced them to let him leave the hospital on schedule. Though he was now expected to follow up by keeping an appointment Dr. Ashby had set up for him with a New York therapist. Therapy he didn’t need. Didn’t even believe in it. You were either sane or you weren’t.
He was. If his little red caboose were capable of chugging around the bend, it would have been long gone by now. He was perfectly sane.
Except, of course, for the visions. But hell, under torture, the mind did what it had to in order to survive. If that meant creating a fantasyland with beautiful Gypsies and dangerous vampires, then fine. Those little flights to La-La Land were not signs of instability. Hell, they were probably the only things that had kept his crackers from crumbling.
Of course, that didn’t explain the vampire who’d shown up in the hospital lab last night. Nor the fact that Will had…kind of liked the guy.
Making snap judgments about people was not unusual for him. He’d been trained for years to size a person up in a glance, so that wasn’t an issue. The issue was that he’d believed the guy to be a vampire. A real one. At least until he’d gotten up the next morning to examine the theory in the full light of day and realized how ridiculous it was. Maybe it was easier to believe in fantasies when you were creeping around a shadowy lab in the dead of night. Besides, he’d been through the mill, and they’d been keeping him pretty drugged-up to boot. Far more than he liked.
That must have been it. He’d probably imagined the entire thing. Hell, it was a wonder he wasn’t suffering far worse side effects after his weeks of torture, mangled foot and near-death in the desert. His brain had been baked, his body dehydrated, his senses deprived. Top all that off with a little morphine and you had a hallucination just waiting to happen.
The nurse pushed his wheelchair up to the double doors, which parted automatically. He took his first breath of fresh air in weeks, even if it was tinged with exhaust fumes. It was spring. God, how he loved the spring.
There was a taxi waiting at the curb. He glanced up at the smiling nurse. “I can take it from here, hon.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He
