The Isis Collar

Everybody has a weakness due to a particular sense. Some people are visual and can’t stand to see the sight of blood. Some are really bothered by bad smells, to the point of nausea or vomiting. Touch is what gets me. I’m squicked out by things that squirm—maggots and things crawling on me. Apparently, Dawna reacted to sound.

At least, I hoped it was only sound. I planned to watch Dawna closely to see if she was getting traumatized. She didn’t need any more therapy bills. Alex looked at the computer screen. “Resume training mode.”

Fortunately, over the next half hour, I didn’t see the sign of any heightened panic in Dawna. We watched, enthralled, as Alex pushed, kicked, and talked to the dummy. She would give me a good run for my money at hand- to-hand combat and was really good at the talking part. I had a feeling she could normally get the mannequin to surrender even at level six. But not at level eight. “If you don’t surrender quietly, I’ll be forced to draw my weapon. Now, get on the ground! Facedown, hands behind your head, legs spread apart. Do it!”

She was breathing hard and a sheen of sweat made her bangs droop and stick together. I caught a glimpse of the display as they circled around the mat. F*ck you, b*tch. I wondered what that sounded like because I knew the department dummies weren’t programmed to say actual swear words. The dummy moved fast and Alex was put on the defensive again. This time, she missed her mark and wound up spin-kicking through open air. The dummy used that moment to swing backward and catch her supporting leg. She went down with an oof and Dawna and I winced when the dummy came down again and hit her in the stomach with the side of its head, hard enough to force a pained sound from her throat. The dummy’s head always turned at the last second to protect the computer screen. The display now showed fangs and the words: You’re afraid. You’ll taste sweet. Die, human!

Alex had struggled to a half-sitting position by the time the dummy came down again. Ooh, that was going to hurt.

But I was wrong. As the dummy approached, Alex pulled a stake from her sash and used the dummy’s own momentum to drive the sharpened wood into its heart. There was a beep and red fluid spilled over her in a wash that made Dawna gasp. The scent of mint filled the air, which was just as well. The spray of red had made me twitch uncomfortably for an instant, but mint held no appeal to my vampire nose.

Alex said, “Pause. Hold position. Teaching mode.” She and the dummy froze as if they were on a movie screen, locked in a final death battle. Alex moved only her head, turning toward us with her hand still locked on the stake. “Do you see what I’m doing here? The reason you were struggling with the stake was your hand position. See how I’ve got the bottom of the stake against the heel of my palm? If you grip the stake like a golf club, you can’t get enough force behind a strike. You have to use your body weight to push the stake in. Think of it like an extension of your arm. You have more strength when you punch straight forward than when your wrist is bent. Down is always best if you can get on top of the vampire. But when all else fails, sometimes you have to allow the bat to attack toward you. Drop and roll. Make it come to you and then push it in.”

The screen was displaying Ahhhh! [hisses. screams]. But Dawna’s eyes were fixed on Alex. She was using every muscle, every nerve of her being, to take it all in. There was clarity and understanding in her eyes. Whew, this was actually working. I’d just have to figure out some way to get her past the sounds of death. Maybe I needed to talk to her psychologist about that.

“Resume program.” The dummy returned to an upright position and the screen read Congratulations, Heather. You have killed the vampire. Please replace cartridge. We needed to put a new heart package into the center of the ballistic gel.

I rose and helped Alex to her feet. Dawna excused herself to the bathroom, pausing to ask Alex, “Unless you need to clean up before you start again?”

She shook her head, accidentally showering me with tiny droplets of minty red. “Naw. I don’t get that luxury when I’m actually in the field. They seldom come at me in singles, so I need to be able to work when I’m messy.” As Dawna left the room with an odd look on her face, Alex leaned closer to me and whispered, “Will it bother her if I stay bloody? Be honest. How’s she doing?”

I shrugged lightly and kept my voice down. “Fine. As far as I can tell, there are no problems without the sound. Don’t know what to do about that issue, though.”

“We’ll talk later. I have some ideas.” She wiped away the trickles of sweat dripping down toward her eyes and we replaced the heart cartridge just as Dawna came back into the room.

* * *

An hour later, we were all sweating. I’d had a turn at level six on civilian mode, which didn’t require me to talk to the dummy or wait to pull out my stake. It was easy. So easy it frightened me a little because I started to get really aggressive. I found out later that as I was fighting, Alex began to raise the levels with voice commands I didn’t even hear. She upped the six to an eight and then to police mode. Then to ten.

I was moving and dodging, kicking and stabbing without even realizing it. When I finally shoved the stake into the gel chest, it went all the way through to stick out the dummy’s back. I heard my own battle scream as I drove in the wood, and it was a freaky sound.

Panting with sweat and minty blood running down my face, I finally turned to my friends. They stared at me with an odd mix of awe and wariness. Neither said a word. They just stood up from the couch, replaced the cartridge in the dummy, and, while I wiped down my face, began their own practice again.

Dawna had used Alex’s tips to good effect and had killed the vampire twice. Of course, Dawna had also died twice, but that was the nice thing about training. You got to get up again when you died and you didn’t wind up with fangs.

I sat down while Alex did another session. I was still breathing hard, which said I hadn’t been working out as often as I should. Dawna had barely raised a sweat and seemed a little disappointed that it wasn’t her turn again. She was really getting into this and was flexible enough that once she’d mastered the whole “stake” thing, she would be pretty good at it. Except for those annoying sounds. If only we could push the mute button on real monsters.

My cell phone rang across the room. I skirted around the action on the mat and picked it up, walking into the kitchen so I wouldn’t bother the others. The display showed a number I didn’t recognize. “Celia Graves.”

“Celia? It’s Molly Murphy. I’m sorry to bother you. I just needed to hear a friendly voice.” She sounded like crap. The little hiccupping sounds in her breathing told me she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong, Molly? Is Julie…?” No, I wouldn’t say the word. But my brain kept thinking it, no matter how hard I tried to shove it away. Dead dead dead. You’ve failed.

“Not … yet. But she keeps getting worse, Celia. The medicine isn’t working. The doctor doesn’t know what to do. He told me I had to … prepare for the worst. How am I going to tell Mick, Celia? He’ll be here from the airport any minute. How am I going to tell Beverly?”

I didn’t have any answers and found a chill settling over me. “I don’t know, Molly. But I’ll come to the hospital.” Maybe whatever guardian angel was watching over me would take pity on her.

I hung up the phone and walked back to the living room. Alex was working with Dawna, explaining how she should turn her body when attacked from behind. “Hey, guys. That was Molly Murphy on the phone. Julie’s taken a turn for the worse and she’s asked me to run over to the hospital.”

Alex responded immediately, taking her hands off Dawna’s arm. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry, Celia. Just give me a minute to pack up the dummy and we’ll be out of here. We can pick this up another time.”

I shook my head and grabbed my purse. “No, don’t bother. You guys are welcome to stay here and keep working. Just lock up when you leave. I trust you both and who better to watch the house than a cop who’s looking for a fight?” I smiled, fangs and all, and they both laughed.

It only took me a few minutes to get out of my sweats and change into something more presentable and put on enough makeup to not look three days dead. The trip to the hospital was slow because of traffic. All the hospital lots were full, and there were news vans parked on the street. Crap.

I had to park blocks away, far enough that even with the sunscreen I’d slathered on my skin was feeling the burn. Dark sunglasses cut down on the glare, but the combination of bright sunlight and the workout with the dummy had brought the headache back with a vengeance.

There were reporters at both the main and ER entrances. I’m not exactly a celebrity, but recent events had raised my profile enough that I didn’t want them to notice me. So I slipped around to one of the unmarked