Lover Revealed

The pale man got in close. Jesus, he smelled funny. Like… baby powder?

'Don't threaten me, boy.' The voice was low and the body that backed up the words was coiled for action.

Well, well, well… what do you know. A real contender.

Van pushed his face even closer. 'Then get to your fucking point.'

'Appendix?'

'Not anymore.'

The man smiled. Eased back. 'How would you like a job?'

'I have one. And this.'

'Construction. Knocking strangers around for cash.'

'Honest work, both of them. And just how long have you been nosing around my biz?'

'Long enough.' The guy stuck out his hand. 'Joseph Xavier.'

Van let that palm hang out there. 'Not interested in meeting you, Joe.'

'That's Mr. Xavier to you, son. And surely you wouldn't mind listening to a proposition.'

Van cocked his head to the side. 'You know something, I'm a lot like a whore. I like to get paid by jerkoffs. So how about you palm me a benji, Joe, then we'll see about your proposition.'

As the man just stared, Van felt an unexpected shot of fear. Man, something about this guy was not right.

The bastard's voice was even lower as he spoke. 'Say my name properly first, son.'

Whatever. For a hundred bucks, he'd flap his gums even for a freak like this. 'Xavier.'

'That's Mr. Xavier.' The guy smiled like a predator, all teeth, no jolly. 'Say it, son.'

Some unknown impulse had Van opening his mouth.

Right before he let the words fly, he had a vivid memory of when he'd been sixteen years old and had taken a dive into the Hudson River. In midair, he'd seen the massive underwater stone he was going to hit and knew there would be no change in course. Sure enough, his head had made contact as if the collision had been preordained, as if there had been an invisible string around his neck and the rock had pulled him home. But it hadn't been a bad thing, at least not right away. Immediately after the crack of impact, there had been a floating, a sweet, satisfied calm, as if destiny had been fulfilled. And he'd known instinctively that the sensation was a forerunner of death.

Funny, he had that same spacy disorientation now. And the same sense that this man with the paper-white skin was like death: inevitable and fated—and coming specifically for him.

'Mr. Xavier,' Van whispered.

When the hundred-dollar bill appeared in front of him, he reached forward with his four-fingered hand and took it.

But he knew he would have listened without the cash.

Hours later, Butch rolled over and the first thing he did was look for Marissa.

He found her sitting in the corner of the room, a book open next to her. Her eyes weren't on the pages, though. She was staring at the pale linoleum tiles, tracing the pattern of flecks with one long, perfect finger.

She looked achingly sad and so beautiful that his eyes stung. God, the idea he could infect her or endanger her in any way made him want to slit his own throat.

'I wish you hadn't come in here,' he croaked. As she winced, he thought about his choice of words. 'What I mean is—'

'I know what you mean.' Her voice hardened. 'Are you hungry?'

'Yeah.' He struggled to push himself up. 'But I'd really like a shower.'

She got to her feet, rising like mist she was so graceful, and his breath caught as she walked to him. Man, that pale blue dress was the exact color of her eyes.

'Let me help you to the bath.'

'No, I can do it.'

She crossed her arms over her chest. 'If you try to get to the bathroom on your own, you will fall and you will hurt yourself.'

'Call a nurse, then. I don't want you to touch me.'

She stared at him for a moment. Then blinked her eyes once. Twice.

'Will you excuse me for a moment?' she said in a level tone. 'I need to use the lavatory. You can call the nurse by pushing that red button on the remote there.'

She went into the bathroom and shut the door. Water started to run.

Butch reached for the little button pad, but stopped as the rush of the sink continued to bleed through the door. The sound was uninterrupted, not as if someone was washing their hands or their face or filling a glass.

And it continued, on and on.

With a grunt, he shuffled off the bed and stood up, hanging himself on the IV pole until the thing shook from the effort of keeping him upright. He put one foot in front of the other until he got to the bathroom door. He pressed his ear against the wood. All he could hear was water.

For some reason, he knocked softly. Then knocked again. He gave it one more shot, then turned the knob, even though he would embarrass the hell out of them both if she was using the facilities—

Marissa was on the toilet, as it turned out. But the seat was down.

And she was weeping. Shaking and weeping.

'Oh… Jesus, Marissa.'

She let out a shriek, as if he were the last thing on the planet she wanted to see. 'Get out!'

He lurched in and sank to his knees in front of her. 'Marissa…'

Burying her face in her hands, she snapped, 'I would like some privacy, if you don't mind.'

He reached over and shut the water off. As the basin emptied with a little gurgle, her muffled breathing took over where the sound of the faucet had left off.

'It's all right,' he said. 'You'll leave soon. You'll get out—'

'Shut up!' She dropped her hands long enough to glare at him. 'Just go back to bed and call the nurse if you haven't already.'

He sat back on his heels, woozy but determined. 'I'm sorry you got trapped with me.'

'I bet you are.'

He frowned. 'Marissa—'

The sound of the air lock being broken cut him off.

'Cop?' V's voice was unmuffled by protective gear.

'Hold up,' Butch called out. Marissa didn't need more of an audience.

'Where are you, cop? Something wrong?'

Butch meant to stand up. He really did. But when he grabbed onto the IV pole and pulled, his body gave out, just went right to rubber on him. Marissa tried to grab him, but he slid from her grasp, ending up sprawled on the bathroom tile, his cheek next to the seal around the toilet base. Dimly, he heard Marissa talking in urgent bursts. Then V's goatee came into his line of sight.

Butch looked at his roommate… and shit, his vision got blurry, he was so happy to see the bastard. Vishous's face was just the same, the dark bearding around his mouth right where it should be, the tattoos on the temple unchanged, those diamond-bright irises still glowing. Familiar, so familiar. Home and family wrapped up in a vampire package.

Butch didn't let any tears fall, though. He was already hopelessly incapacitated next to a toilet, for chrissakes. Sapping out would be the cap to this gown of shame he'd pulled on.

Blinking fiercely, he said, 'Where's your fucking gear, man? You know, the yellow suit.'

V smiled, his eyes a little shiny as if he too were choked up. 'Don't worry, I'm covered. So, I guess you're back, true?'

'And ready to rock and roll.'

'Really.'

'For sure. I'm thinking about a future in contracting. Wanted to see how this bathroom was put together.