Embrace The Twilight. Maggie Shayne
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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 got upright, his weight on the good foot. The nurse pulled the chair out from behind him, then handed him his cane and the plastic bag filled with his belongings. The few that were here, anyway. He didn’t own much, or hadn’t until he’d come home. Uncle Sam had secured an apartment for him in the city of his choice, which was New York. They’d furnished it and told him there would be a car waiting in the parking garage when he arrived. His worldly possessions, most of which fit easily into a large Army-issue duffel bag, had already been sent on ahead of him.
He muttered his destination to the driver as he got into the back seat, then settled in for the ride to the airport.
It was a short, easy flight. The landing, though, was a bit of a surprise. When he limped off the plane, keeping to one side so the other passengers could rush past him in their hurry to the gate, he had no idea what was awaiting him in LaGuardia’s main terminal. In fact, when he first glimpsed the press, the cameras, the people waving their tiny flags and holding up their signs, he wondered what celebrity had been on that airplane with him.
Then a reporter said, “Welcome to New York, Colonel Stone! How does it feel to be back home?”
The microphone hovered in front of his face, and he thought about laughing out loud. This wasn’t home. Home was a camouflage-colored tent or sometimes a hole in the ground. It was men in fatigues carrying automatic rifles, and bad food and warm water, and anti-nerve-gas injections. It wasn’t this.
But aloud, he only said, “Great. It feels great. I’m glad to be back.”
“Colonel, how is your leg?” another one shouted, shouldering her way to the front of the pack.
“Foot, not leg,” he corrected. “It’s as good as can be expected, I suppose.”
“What’s your reaction to the news that earlier today a daisy-cutter was dropped on the caves where you were held?”
“I hadn’t heard.” He wondered if any of the men who’d held him were stupid enough to have remained in the same place this long and doubted it. “They get anybody?”
“A pile of them. They’re still sorting through the remains.”
He swallowed his reaction to that and wondered who’d been killed for the sake of avenging the latest American hero. He stopped answering questions, shouldered his way through the mob, not without effort, but they didn’t give up until he got into a cab outside the airport.
It was only as the cab pulled away that he saw her.
She was getting into a long black limousine. She wore dark glasses and real fur, and her hair was wild and loose. Her pale, pale skin, like alabaster, was almost luminous in the dusky light of sundown. Her legs were endless, her nails as red as her lips.
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