But it isn't aftershave.
Garlic. Darryl reeks of garlic.
Bradley watches us with a puzzled frown. "What's going on? What's the matter with her?"
Darryl's smile is self-satisfied and arrogant. "You don't know about Anna, do you?"
"Know what about Anna?"
"I have such a surprise for you." He grips my arm tighter and pulls me toward him. "And for you, too, Anna. Come on, let's go inside."
My legs tremble from the mere effort of walking. He holds me against his side with an arm around my shoulders so I can't escape the smell. One of the old myths about vampires is undeniably and irrevocably true. We can't abide garlic. Avery tried to explain it once - something about garlic containing a compound that affects our energy source. Erases it actually. I've experienced it in a small way when I've been exposed to food laced with garlic. But this is beyond mild queasiness. And there is something else happening. An overwhelming feeling of lethargy. I'm powerless and too overcome with exhaustion to care.
Darryl opens the door and shoves me inside. Relief to be out of his grasp washes over me. But the relief is temporary. I'm in a living room - small, cramped, almost pitch black because of heavy drapes covering the windows. I stumble over an ottoman, straighten up, and immediately lose balance as the nausea hits. Wreaths of garlic are hung on the walls and festooned over furniture like macabre party decorations. I double over and start to retch.
Darryl laughs.
Bradley's puzzled voice seems very far away. "What the hell did you do? God, the smell in here is awful. Open a window."
"Oh no," Darryl says. "Couldn't do that. Anna would like it. And for once, Anna is not going to get what she wants."
Bradley moves into my line of sight. He's looking at me, confusion casting a shadow on his face. "Is she allergic to garlic? How would you know that? I don't get this, Darryl."
Darryl comes close, grabs my arm, and flings me toward the couch. I land on my side, fighting to clear my head, still retching.
Darryl sits on the ottoman facing me. "I'm going to tell you what's wrong with Anna," he says. He's watching me as he directs his words to Bradley. "She's a vampire."
Bradley laughs. "Yeah. Right. Whatever you've been smoking, I'd like a hit."
"I'm serious," Darryl says. He reaches out a hand and smoothes a lock of my hair away from my face, as if to get a better view.
I snarl and snap at the hand, but he's too fast. I'm snapping at air. It takes all the strength I can muster to get a few words out. "I'm going to kill you."
He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, then, go for it. I'm right here."
Bradley's voice cuts in. "Whatever delusions you two share, I'll leave you to them. I'm out of here. You've got the computer. I've got to get back to my partner and the Chief."
Darryl never takes his eyes from mine. "You going to take care of that other little problem?"
"As soon as I can find her. That girl seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth. But I'll stay on Frey. He's the key. I'm sure of it."
Bradley leans down so that his eyes lock onto mine. "Are you going to need a trash pickup?" His expression makes it clear who the "trash" is. "We don't want to make the same mistake we made with Carolyn."
Darryl grins. "I told you, Anna's a vampire. Won't be anything left but a pile of dust."
Bradley exhales with a huff. "Whatever." He straightens up. "Well, Anna, it's been a pleasure. I'll let Darryl answer any questions you may have about our partnership. I have a feeling he'll be eager to share. You've made quite an impression on him."
He starts toward the front door and I realize my only hope is to follow him outside. If I don't get out of this room now, while I can muster a rational thought, I'll be at Darryl's mercy.
But Darryl seems to be anticipating what I'll try to do. He reaches out an arm and just the mere pressure of his hand on my shoulder keeps me from moving. He remains like that until we hear the door shut behind Bradley. Then he lets the arm drop.
"You don't want to go until you've heard the story, do you?" he says.
"Tell me." I can barely form the words. "About Carolyn."
He shrugs. "We wanted to know where Trish was. She wouldn't tell us. She gave you up, though. She didn't like you very much."
He reaches behind, to the coffee table where he's placed the computer, and pulls it onto his lap. He opens it, powers it up, and from the audio, I know it's one of Trish's videos that he's watching.
His eyes are riveted on the screen, and lust, like oily sweat, glistens on his face. When it's over, he closes his eyes and smiles.
"She's great, isn't she? So young. So pretty. She's not old enough to understand that the way her body responds is a natural thing beyond her control. She feels shame. Well, that will change. We'll have to take her to the next step. Her fans are growing impatient. The video of her deflowering will bring big bucks. I'm thinking of participating in that one myself. The spanking is a new twist. We can milk that for awhile."
He talks as if to himself. My gut twists with rage. I have to get out of here.
Darryl continues, lost in the swampland of his own thoughts. "My dad started this business. Years ago when we lived in Boston. Of course, then there was more risk involved. You actually had to get out there and find the talent. That was my dad's downfall. In fact, it was how I came to know Bradley and Donovan. They arrested my dad. Couldn't do anything for him, but when Bradley saw the money we were making... Well, let's just say he underwent an attitude adjustment."
He gets up from the ottoman and moves to a chair opposite me. "It was Bradley's suggestion I move west. He made sure I wasn't indicted with my father, for a price, of course, and a cut of any future business. I had some money the Feds didn't find, so I bought this place and a few apartment houses in areas I thought might prove fertile hunting ground. I was right. Carolyn Delaney moved in with her daughter. She had lousy taste in men, and she had expensive habits. She was always behind in the rent, always short of money. And she had a kid. In short, she was perfect. We'd fuck once in awhile for credit. But Trish was the real reason I hung around."
As he talks, I take mental stock of my condition. Now that he's moved to the other side of the room, my head seems to be clearing. He must have ingested a shit load of garlic. It's impregnated his system and exudes through his pores with such intensity, his touch renders me immobile. The garlic cloves on the wreaths in front of me are not peeled, however, which blunts their potency. At least a little.
I shift, raising my head and drawing my legs up, testing my range of movement. He sees it and wags a finger.
"Don't try to get up. You won't make it." He reaches behind the chair and pulls out a three-foot length of some dark wood that's been chiseled to a point at one end. "I don't want to rush this, but I will if I have to."
I nod. My best chance is to keep him talking long enough to gather strength. I can't fight him, but if I can make it outside, I can get away.
"How does Frey figure into all this?" I ask, letting my head fall back onto the couch.
He nods approvingly and places the stake at his feet. "Frey had a hard-on for my father. It started in Boston when Dad enlisted one of his students to star in a specialty video. Much like the one we envision for Trish. But the girl got a streak of conscience afterwards and attempted to kill herself."
He waves a hand. "Such a waste. Anyway, one of her friends went to Frey and he set the Feds on us. But he was too clever. He couldn't explain how he knew so much, and he wouldn't reveal the girl's name. He came under suspicion himself. There wasn't enough evidence to charge him with anything, but he had to leave the state just the same. School districts are funny about things like that."
He barks a short, brittle laugh. "Can you believe it? He showed up here. We'd just gotten this thing started with Trish and he shows up here. Good thing Bradley was keeping track. He made sure he and Donovan were assigned the case to investigate Frey."
The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling. There's an eerie feeling of energy being restored. Cell by cell, my system is repairing itself, releasing the poison through my pores.
But it's not enough. Not yet.
Darryl is watching me with keen eyes. Best to keep him talking.
"What happened with Barbara Franco? Why did you kill Trish's friend?"
There's a pause while uncertainty casts a shadow over his face. But his need to brag wins out over caution. It's what I'm counting on.
He shakes his head, frowning. "I know what you're asking. Did we kill her for a snuff film? That's the kind of thing that gives our business a bad name. In the first place, snuff films are urban legend. They don't exist. They don't have to. Technology makes it unnecessary to take that kind of risk. Special effects nowadays - "
He's ramping up for a lecture. Jesus. "I don't care about special effects. What happened to Barbara?"
The irritation in my voice sends a second flash of doubt skittering across Darryl's face. He reaches for the stake and starts to get up. "You wouldn't be trying to fool me with all these questions, would you?" he asks.
It's now or never. I heave myself up and leap as far away from Darryl as I can. He comes after me, lunging across the room. I can't make the door. The only other way out is the window, shrouded in heavy drapery. I run at it full speed and clutching the drape, plunge headfirst through the glass.
I strike the ground and roll. Glass fragments shower around me, but the curtain protects my face and head. The fresh air hits me with the clarifying force of a douse of cold water. I let the curtain fall and run.
Darryl is howling at the window. I glance back once to see him trying to follow me, blood seeping from wounds on his arms and legs as he snags himself on broken glass. Too bad it's not his neck.
Then I'm off, racing the wind.
