Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 17

"Wow," I whispered. "Deja vu."

"Whispering is fine as long as you don't overdo it."

"What happened?"

"That's what we'd like to ask you. Hold on a moment." While he left the room I had a better opportunity to study my surroundings.

It wasn't so much a room as a cubicle: three of the four walls were tracked curtains, separating my bed from the rest of the infirmary. I checked my left arm. Yep: more tubes and needles bringing me that tick, tick, tick of hemoglobin and plasma. I looked at the cat. "And what do you want?"

It merrowed and began licking a paw while its two tails danced like an animated caduceus.

Burton returned. "The Doman's on his way. How are we doing?" Close up, he looked a bit haggard.

"Well, judging from the way I feel and the way you look, I'd say we're both in trouble."

He smiled. "I've been pulling double duty for the past twenty-four hours."

The Doman came in now. "How is he doing, Gerald?"

Burton gave him a wry look. "Oh, he's definitely feeling better."

"You forgot to observe that I am awake," I said.

"What does that mean?" He addressed the question to Dr. Burton instead of me.

"After-effects of shock and blood loss," was the less than solemn reply.

Lupe limped into the cubicle area. "Hey, you're awake."

"Ah," I sighed, "much better."

"What?"

"Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more!' " I rasped.

" 'Macbeth doth murder sleep,' " the Doman murmured.

"I need to reduce his pain medication," the doctor muttered.

The cat merrowed again.

I looked around the room. "So what happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Pagelovitch said.

Burton leaned in. "What do you remember?"

I told them.

It took a while with many sips of water. I had to stop and rest my throat at the point where I was tossed in the trunk of the other limousine.

"Three nights ago," the Doman said, "the bell was rung at the service entrance at about three o'clock in the morning. Someone had driven that limousine to the kitchen loading dock and left it there with the keys in the ignition and the motor running. You were in the backseat, smelling heavily of blood and garlic.

"The handkerchief they knocked me out with, it was soaked in garlic oil.""The others were in the trunk."

"Others?"

He nodded. "Three men and a woman."

"Dead?"

"Yes."

"So who drove?"

"That's what we'd like to know. We'd also like to know who administered your first aid."

"First aid?"

"Somebody cut your throat, Christopher. From ear to ear. Were you completely human, you would have been dead in seconds. Were you undead, the wound would have temporarily inconvenienced you.

Instead, you fell somewhere in between. When we found you someone had used duct tape to close your throat."

"Duct tape?"

"Not exactly standard treatment, but effective under the circ.u.mstances," Burton said.

"Duct tape?"

"And there was blood on your face and in your mouth."

I reached up and felt the line of scar tissue around my neck.

"But it seemed atypical for even a wound such as yours so we took samples and Dr. Mooncloud's a.n.a.lysis determined that the blood wasn't yours."

"Wasn't mine?"

"Most of it, anyway. Do you remember any of this?"

I shook my head. "Duct tape?"

"Is there anything else you can tell us?"

I nodded and told them the last little bit with the exception of seeing the face of the old man. For some reason my mouth wouldn't work when I got to that part.

"It was a mob hit," the Doman said.

I stared at him.

"The New York enclave has mob ties and they've been moving against some of the other demesnes this past year."

"Mob ties?"

"We were able to ID two of the bodies in the trunk. Hitters from New York."

"Hitters?"

"Apparently, they were under orders to bring you back alive, if possible; put you down if they couldn't."

"Put me down?"

"They nailed Damien before you came out. You were already on our doorstep before Elizabeth knew anything was wrong. So the question is: who took down four members of a New York black bag team and saved your life by closing the wound, giving you fresh blood-apparently from one of the a.s.sa.s.sins while they were still alive-and left you on our doorstep in time for us to pull you through the rest of the way?"

Now I really wanted to tell them about the old man-but, for some reason, I couldn't.

I reached up and felt my throat again. "Duct tape?"

I slept and when I woke again the cat was sleeping on my stomach and Dr. Burton was standing at the end of my bed, checking my chart. The presence of a cat draped across his patient didn't seem totrouble him in the least.

"Where's Dr. Mooncloud?" I croaked.

"Gone." He closed the clipboard and rehung it on the metal footboard.

"Gone?"

He came around to the side of my bed, slipping the ends of his stethoscope in his ears. "A problem came up and the Doman sent her out of town." He pulled the covers back, disturbing the cat. "Which I doubt he would have done if your life was still in any danger." He slipped the stethoscope's metal bell down inside my hospital gown. "Inhale."

"What kind of problem?" I asked after I exhaled again. "Another retrieval?"

Burton shook his head. "I seriously doubt it." He moved the diaphragm. "Breathe in. n.o.body briefed me, but it sounded more like a search and destroy mission. Let it out."

"New York, again?"

"Naw. Breathe in. Another rogue surfaced. Happened a couple of days ago and there's already three people dead. The Doman figures the sooner this one's stopped-breathe out-the better, and we don't dare take time for niceties. Sit up."

He helped me bend forward. There was little pain, now, but I was still as weak as a kitten.

The cat looked at me and merrowed.

"Who else went?"

He slid the diaphragm down my back. "Breathe in. She took Garou and Bachman-which reminds me: she left something for you. Let it out. Now cough." He finished the cursory examination by checking my blood pressure and my temperature. "I'd like another blood sample, but after nearly four days of pumping it back into you, you still don't seem to be able to spare any." He handed me a cup and, as I brought it to my lips, I felt a familiar explosion of saliva flood my mouth.

"It's blood!"

He smiled rea.s.suringly. "Think of it as medicine."

"It's not medicine, it's blood!"

"It's what had kept you alive these past four days and I can't guarantee you a full recovery without it!"

"It's not human blood, is it? I told Dr. Mooncloud-and I told the Doman-that I wouldn't ever drink human blood!"

"Come now, Mr Csejthe; don't you think you're being unnecessarily dramatic? You've already ingested human blood: you wouldn't be here now if you hadn't. And what is the difference if your body absorbs it through a needle in your vein or if you take it orally?"

I stared back at him.

"I'll tell you the only real, the only important difference. Your new metabolic structure is able to absorb and utilize it more efficiently when you drink it."

I started to open my mouth, but he walked out of the room. He returned a moment later, saying: "Spare me your superst.i.tious religious dogmas. If you're a Christian, here." He handed me a paperback Bible. "Read the sixth chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. The drinking of blood is at the very heart of the Christian religion."

I could have argued the true use and interpretation of that particular ritual, but I was exhausted.

"Look," he picked up the cup and pushing it into my free hand, "this was contributed willingly. No one died, no one suffered, nothing was taken against anyone's will. This is the pure will of nature, its elixir of life. Think of it as a gift."

In the end it was not his words but my thirst and the craving of my weakened body that convinced me to drink. "Get some rest now." He took the empty cup from my trembling hand.

"You said Lupe had left something for me," I said as he started to leave.

"What? Oh! Not Ms. Garou. . . ." He opened the drawer in the nightstand and produced a small, wrapped box with an envelope attached. "This is from Ms. Bachman." He pulled the curtains closed as he exited the cubicle.

The cat shifted its position and turned to watch me as I opened the envelope. For a moment I flashed on the note I'd found in my room just hours-no-days ago, now. But the letter inside was in different handwriting with a different message: Dear Chris, I am terribly sorry about what has happened. Even though Damien was technically responsible for security that night, I feel that I should have been out there when it happened. Can you ever forgive me?

I tried to donate some of my blood for your recovery but old "Dr. Moony" is still on her kick about not letting you have any nasty ol' vampire blood.

The Doman is sending us out on a mission that should take somewhere between three to six days so I won't be there to help you with any "therapy" (hint, hint). But I have arranged for some special "get well"

medicine while I'm gone. The initiation is inevitable so relax and enjoy it! (I certainly would!) I also got you something that you really need. If it doesn't fit we'll do a new set of molds when I get back. Gotta go, now. Get well soon, and welcome to the family.

Love, Liz- P.S. Don't forget what I told you about knowing who your friends are. . . .

The cat was staring at me intently as I refolded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope.

"Parentheses," I said. "Hint, hint," I said. "Well, at least she doesn't dot her i's with little hearts or happy faces."

The cat merrowed.

I tore the wrapping paper off the box and opened it. I pulled Bachman's gift out of the cotton batting and held it up to examine it.

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!" Under the circ.u.mstances, I probably was anyway.

Bachman had taken my dental molds and had someone-someone very good, I had to admit-make a partial plate to match my upper teeth in front. It was designed to fit over my real teeth like a movie appliance-the kind that actors wear when their parts call for a different dental effect from their own.

I could tell that, even with my limited knowledge of the craft, someone had created an artistic masterpiece: up close, the detail was incredibly lifelike and realistic. They looked just like my teeth-except that the two canines or "eye-teeth" were three-quarters of an inch long, slightly curved . . .

. . . and very, very pointed.