Twilight Phantasies

"She despises me." Eric drew away from the microscope at the sound of his friend entering the lab where he'd ensconced himself for the third night running.



"She might fear you, Eric, but it's as you pointed out. She's been reared by a man who thinks us monsters. Give her time to adjust to the idea."



"She's repulsed by the idea." Eric pressed four fingertips to the dull ache at the center of his forehead. "There is nothing I can do to change that. The fact remains, though, that she is in trouble."



Roland frowned. "The nightmares have returned?"



"No, and she no longer cries out to me. But she hasn't slept since last I saw her. I feel her exhaustion to the point where it saps my own strength. She cannot continue this way."



"Not since you saw her? Eric, it's been three nights-"



"Tonight will make four. She's on the verge of collapse. I want to go to her. But to force my presence on her if she's not yet able to handle it could do more harm than good, I think. Especially in her present state of mind."



Roland nodded. "I have to agree. But it's killing you to stay away, is it not, Eric?"



Eric sighed, his gaze sweeping the ceiling as his head tilted back. "That it is. What is worse is that I am not certain I can help her when she's ready to accept my assistance. Why does she not sleep? Is it simply the blocked memory of our encounters keeping her from her rest, or something more? Is it possible that my blood changed her in some way-that its effect is felt even now, after all this time? Or is it only when I'm near she suffers this way? Would she be better off if I left the country again?"



"Use a bit of sense, Eric! Would you leave her without aid in the hands of that butcher who calls himself a scientist?"



Eric shook his head. "No. That I could never do. If these things have occurred to me, they must have occurred to him, as well. I'd not be surprised if he decided to use her for his experiments."



"Are you certain he hasn't?"



"I'd know if she were in pain, or distress."



"Perhaps he has her sedated, unconscious," Roland suggested.



"No. She doesn't summon me, but I feel her. I feel the wall she's erected to keep herself from me. She resists the very thought of me." An odd lump formed in his throat, nearly choking him, and an unseen fist squeezed his heart.



* * * * *



The nights were the hardest. She'd taken to staying late at the DPI building in White Plains. Her reasons were multiple. One was that she got a lot more work done after sunset. No matter how physically and emotionally drained she became, the energy surged after dark. She wondered why Eric would want to torture her-this way. She couldn't give in to her body's need for rest during the day. She'd convinced Daniel that she was better, and for the moment it seemed he believed her. At least he wasn't hovering over her constantly. Then again, she hadn't left the house except to go to work and come home again, in days.



Curtis was another problem altogether. He checked in on her three or four times every day while she was at work, and it was an effort to appear wide awake and bright eyed at his surprise visits. He hadn't mentioned again his outrageous suggestion that she marry him. She was grateful for that. She knew he didn't love her, and still had enough acumen in her dulled mind to understand what had prompted his words. He wanted to protect her from the alleged threat of Eric Marquand. He wanted her under his thumb twenty-four hours a day, and especially those hours after dark. He saw that she was outgrowing his and Daniel's ability to control her. As her husband, he assumed he could keep her in line. She couldn't hate him for it. After all, it was only because he cared so much and was so concerned about her that he had spoken at all.



She gathered up the files on her desk and carried them toward the cabinet to put them in their places. The sun had vanished. She felt wide awake. It frightened her. How much longer could she go on without sleep?



Another question lingered in the back of her mind, one more troubling than the first. She avoided it when she could, but at night found it impossible. Why did she feel so empty inside? Why did she miss him so? It was foolish, she barely knew the man. Or did she? She found it difficult to believe that her sense of knowing him in the past had been planted there by some kind of hypnosis. The familiar sense of him didn't seem based in her mind, but in her heart, her soul. And so was the aching need to see him again. She longed for him so much it hurt. How could this feeling be false, the result of a spell she was under?



"Tamara?"



She looked up fast, startled at the soft voice intruding on her thoughts. She blinked away the burning moisture that had gathered in her eyes, and rose, forcing a smile for Hilary Gamer.



Hilary smiled back, but her chocolate eyes were narrow. "You look like you've been ridden hard and put away wet," she quipped. "And you've been doing a great impression of a recluse lately, Tam. Haven't even been coming outside for lunch. I've missed it."



Tamara sighed, and couldn't meet the other girl's eyes. Hilary was the closest friend she had, besides Daniel and Curtis. They used to do things together. Lately, Tamara realized, she'd had no thought for anyone other than Eric. "It wasn't intentional," she said, and shrugged. "I've had a lot on my mind."



A soft hand, the color of a doe and just as graceful, settled on Tamara's shoulder. "You want to tell me about it?"



Tears sprang anew, and her throat closed painfully. "I can't."



Hilary nodded. "If you can't, you can't. You aren't going home to that mausoleum to brood on it all night, either, unless you're going through me." The mock severity of her voice was comforting.



Tamara met her gaze, grateful that she didn't pry. "What, then?"



"Nothing wild. You don't look up to it. How about a nice quiet dinner someplace? We'll get your mind off whatever's been bugging you."



Tamara nodded as all the air left her lungs. It was a relief that she could put off going home, pacing the hollow house alone while Daniel and Curt either huddled over their latest "breakthrough" in the off-limits basement lab, or took off to spy on Eric for the night.



Daniel appeared in the doorway and Tamara flashed him a smile that was, for once, genuine. "I'm going to dinner with Hilary," she announced. "I'll be home later and if you waste your time worrying about me I'll be very upset with you."



He frowned, but didn't ask her not to go. "Promise me you'll come straight home afterward?"



"Yes, Daniel," she said with exaggerated submissiveness.



He dug in his pocket and brought out a set of keys. "Take the Cadillac. I don't want you stranded in that old car of yours."



"And what if you end up stalling the Bug alongside the road somewhere?"



"I'll have Curt follow me home." He held the keys in an outstretched hand and she stepped forward and took them. She dropped them into her purse, extracted her own set and handed them to Daniel. He gave her a long look, seemed to want to say something, but didn't. He left with a sigh that told her he didn't like the idea of her going out at night.



It was worth it, though. For three wonderful hours she and Hilary lingered over every course, from the huge salad and the rich hot soup to the deliciously rare steaks and baked potatoes with buttery baby carrots on the side, and even dessert-cherry cheesecake. Tamara ordered wine with dinner. It was not her habit to imbibe, but she had the glimmering hope that if she had a few drinks tonight, she might be able to sleep when she got home. She allowed the waiter to refill her wineglass three times, and when dinner was over and Hilary ordered an after-dinner seven-seven, Tamara said, "Make it two."



The conversation flowed as it had in the old days, before the nightmares and sleepless nights. For a short time she felt as if she were a normal woman with a strong, healthy mind. The evening ended all too soon, and she said goodbye reluctantly in the parking lot outside and hurried to Daniel's car. She took careful stock of herself before she got behind the wheel. She counted the number of drinks she'd had, and then the number of hours. Four and four. She felt fine. Assured her ability was not impaired, she started the car, pulled on the headlights and backed carefully out of the lot.



She'd take her time driving home, she thought. She'd listen to the radio and not think about the things that were wrong in her life. When she got home, she'd choose a wonderful book from Daniel's shelves and she'd lose herself in reading it. She wouldn't worry about vampires or brainwashing or insane asylums.



The flat tire did not fall in with her plan, however. She thanked her lucky stars she was near an exit ramp, and veered onto it, limping pathetically along the shoulder. She stopped the boat-sized car as soon as she came to a relatively sane spot to do so, and sat for a moment, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "I never replaced the spare," she reminded herself.



She looked up and spotted the towering, lighted gas station sign in the distance, not more than three hundred yards from her. With a sigh of resignation she wrenched open the car door, and hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder with her thumb. She spent one moment hoping the attendant would be a chivalrous type, who'd offer her a ride back to the car. . . and maybe even change the tire for her.



She almost laughed aloud at that notion. She knew full well that a few minutes from now she'd be heading back to her car, on foot, rolling a new tire and rim along in front of her. Oh, well, she'd changed tires before. She walked along the shoulder, glad of the streetlights in addition to the moon illuminating the pavement ahead of her. Her cheerful demeanor deserted her, though, when a carload of laughing youths passed her, blasting heavy metal from open windows despite the below-freezing temperature, and came to a screeching halt. Two men-boys, really-got out and stood unsteadily. Probably due to whatever had been in the bottles they both gripped.



She turned, deciding it would be better to drive to the station, even if it meant ruining the rim. As soon as she did, the rusted Mustang that seemed to have no muffler lurched into Reverse and roared past her again. It stopped on the shoulder this time and the driver got out. He came slowly toward her. The object in his hand that caught and reflected the light wasn't a bottle. It was a blade.



She stiffened as they closed in on her, two from behind, one dead ahead. No traffic passed in those elongated seconds. She considered darting off to the side, but that would only put her in a scrub lot where they'd be able to catch her, anyway. Better, she decided, to take her chances here. Any second now a car would pass and she'd wave her arms. . . step in front of it, if necessary.



She glanced over her shoulder at the two youths. One wore tattered jeans and a plaid shirt, unbuttoned and blowing away from his bare, skinny chest in the frigid wind. The other wore sweats and a leather jacket. Both looked sorely in need of a bath and a haircut, but she couldn't believe they'd hurt her. She didn't think either of them was old enough to have legally bought the beer they were swilling down.



She caught her breath when her arm was gripped, and she swung her head forward. The one who held her was no kid. His long, greasy hair hung to his shoulders, but was rooted in a horseshoe shape around a shiny pate. He was shorter than she and a good fifty pounds overweight. He grinned at her. There were gaps in his slimy teeth.



Without a word he took her purse, releasing her arm to do so, but still holding the knife in his other hand. She took a step back and he lifted it fast, pressing the tip just beneath one breast. "Move it and lose it, lady." He tossed her purse over her head, where the two boys now stood close behind her. "Her big Caddy has a flat. You two get it changed, and we'll have ourselves a little joyride."



"There is no spare," she took great pleasure in telling him, thinking it might thwart his plan to steal Daniel's car.



"But you were on your way to buy one, right, honey?" She didn't answer, as the boy in the leather jacket pawed the contents of her purse. "Ninety-five bucks and change in here."



The man with the knife smiled more broadly. "Take it and go to the station. Take the Mustang. Bring the tire back here and get it changed." He traced her breast with the tip of the knife, not hard enough to cut, but she winced in pain and fear. "I'll just keep the lady company while you're gone."



She heard the patter of their feet over the pavement, then they were past her, on their way to the noisy car. They spun the tires as they headed for the gas station. The man turned her around abruptly, twisting one arm behind her back. He shoved her down the slight slope toward the brush lot. "We'll just wait for 'em down here, outta sight."



"The hell we will." She struck backward with one foot, but he caught it with a quick uplift of his own and she wound up facedown in the snow with him on her back.



"You want it right here, that's fine with me," he growled into her ear. She cried out, and immediately felt the icy blade against her throat. Her face was shoved cruelly into the snow, and then his hand was groping beneath her, shoving up inside her blouse, tugging angrily at her bra. When he touched her, her stomach heaved.



My God, she thought, there was no way out of this. Daniel wouldn't worry. He thought her out with Hilary. Even if he did come looking for her, he'd never look here. She'd only used this exit because of the flat. Her normal route home was three exits farther on the highway. His breath fanned her face. With one last vicious pinch he dragged his hot hand away from her breast, and tried to shove it down the front of her jeans, while his hips writhed against her backside.



He's going to do it, she thought. White panic sent her mind whirling, and she fought for control. She couldn't give up. She wouldn't allow herself to feel the hand that violated her. She refused to vomit, because if she did, she'd likely choke to death. She needed help.



Calm descended as Eric's face filled her mind. His words, soothing her with the deep tenor of his voice, rang in her ears. I'd never harm you. I'd kill anyone who tried. She closed her eyes. Had he meant what he'd said? Have you realized yet, his voice seemed to whisper in her mind, drowning out the frantic panting of the pig on top of her, that you can cry out to me, across the miles, using nothing but your mind?



Could she do it? Would he answer if she did?



If you need me, Tamara, call me. I will come to you.



He had managed to unbutton her jeans. The zipper gaped. He rose from her slightly, removing his filthy, vile hand, to fumble with his own fly. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to make her thoughts coherent. Help me, Eric. Please, if you meant what you said, help me. At the sound of his zipper being lowered she felt the oddest sensation that her mind was literally screaming through time and space. It was a frightening feeling, but not unfamiliar. She'd felt it before. . . in her dreams. The urgency of her thoughts pierced her brain with a high-pitched pain. I need you, Eric! For God's sake, help me!



* * * * *



Eric paused in swirling the liquid in the test tube, and his head tilted to one side. He frowned, then shook his head and continued.



"So what's this hocus pocus?"



He glanced at Roland, one brow raised. "I am trying to isolate the single property in human blood that keeps us alive."



"And what will you do then? Develop it in a tiny pill and expect us to live on them?"



" It would be more convenient than robbing blood banks, my friend." He smiled, but it died almost instantly. His head snapped up and the glass tube fell to the floor and shattered.



Roland jerked in surprise. "What is it, Eric?"



"Tamara." He whipped the latex gloves from his hands as he moved through the room. The white coat followed and then he raced through the corridors of the enormous house, pausing only to snatch his coat from a hook on the way out. By the time he reached the gate he was moving with the preternatural speed that rendered his form no more than a blur to human eyes. He used the speed and momentum to carry him cleanly over the barrier, and sensed Roland at his side. He honed his mind to Tamara's and felt a rush of sickening fear, and icy cold.



Minutes. It took only minutes to reach her, but they seemed like hours to Eric. He stood still for an instant, filling with rage when he saw the bastard wrench her onto her back and attempt to shove her denims down her hips as his mouth covered hers.



Her eyes closed tight, she twisted her face away, and sobbed his name. "Eric. . . oh, God, Eric, please. . ."



He gripped the back of the thug's shirt and lifted him away from her, to send him tumbling into the snow. He bent over the stunned man, pulled him slightly upward by his shirtfront and smashed his face with his right fist. He drew back and hit him again, and would have continued doing so had not her soft cry cut through the murderous rage enveloping him. He turned, saw her lying in the snow and let the limp, bloody-faced man fall from his hands. He went to her, falling to his knees and pulling her trembling body into his arms. He lifted her easily, cradling her, rocking her. "It's over. I'm here. He can't hurt you now." He pressed his face into her hair, and closed his eyes. "He can't hurt you. No one can. I won't allow it."



She drew one shuddering, slow breath, then another, and yet another. Suddenly her arms linked around his neck. She turned her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder and she sobbed-violent, racking sobs that he thought would tear her in two. She clung to him as if to a lifeline, and he held her tightly. For a long while he simply held her and let her cry. He whispered into her hair, words of comfort and reassurance. It was over now. She was safe.



With an involuntary spasmodic sob she lifted her head, searched his face, her eyes brimming with tears and wide with wonder. "You came to me. You really came to me. I called you. . ."



He blinked against the tears that clouded his vision, and pushed the tangled hair away from her face. "I could not do otherwise. And you should not be so surprised. I told you I would, did I not?"



She nodded.



"I cannot lie to you. I never have, and I swear to you now, I never will." He studied her, knowing she believed him. Her blouse had been torn, and hung from one shoulder in tatters. The fastenings of her denims hung open. She was wet from the snow, and shaking with cold and with reaction, no doubt. He carried her up the slope to the pavement. Roland moved around the automobile. Eric saw that the tire lay on the pavement. Roland had the jack and its handle in his hands and he tossed them into the open trunk.



When he reached the car he glanced down at Tamara once more. She still clung tightly. "Are you injured? Can you stand?"



She lifted her head from his shoulder. "I'm okay. Just a little shaky."



Eric lowered her gently to the pavement, and opened the passenger door of the car. He kept hold of her shoulders as: she got in. Roland had just tossed the flat tire into the trunk and slammed it down. Eric called to him. "Where are the others?"



Roland answered mentally, not aloud. Ran like rabbits, my friend.



You let them go? Roland, you ought to have thrashed them for this, Eric answered silently, falling into the old habit of speaking that way with his friend.



What of her attacker? Did you kill him?



Not yet. His anger returned when he thought of how close the bastard had come to raping Tamara. But I intend to, and then those sorry curs that helped him.



Murder doesn't suit you, Eric. And the other two were mere lads. Leave this as it is. It will be for the best.



Tamara rose from her seat in the car, and Eric realized he hadn't closed the door. Her hand came to his shoulder, and with surprising calm she said, "Roland is right, Eric. They were just kids. When they see the shape you left their friend in, they'll realize how lucky they were tonight. And you know you can't go back there and murder that man in cold blood. It isn't in you."



Both men glanced at her, Roland's gaze astonished. He lifted his brows and spoke aloud. "This will require getting used to. It is odd to think a human can hear my thoughts, although I assume it only occurs when I am conversing with you, Eric. She hears what you hear."



Eric nodded. He slipped his coat from his shoulders, and arranged it over her like a blanket. "She hears what I hear," he repeated. "She can feel what I feel, if she only looks deeply enough. She can read my thoughts and my feelings. I can keep nothing from her." He spoke to Roland but his words were for Tamara's ears. He longed to have her trust. "I'm going to drive her home. Care to ride along?"



Roland took a step away from the auto as if it might bite him. "In that?"



Tamara smiled. Her gaze slid to Eric's and he smiled, as well. She would be all right.



"I am glad you both find my aversion to these machines so highly amusing. I shall manage to travel under my own power, thank you." With a dramatic whirl of his black cloak he vanished into the darkness.



Eric closed Tamara's door, circled the car and got in beside her. For a long moment he simply looked at her, drinking in the familiar beauty of her face. Her eyes moved over his in like manner, as if she, too, had craved the sight of him.



He dragged his gaze away, and searched the car's panel. "It's been a while," he told her, frowning. "But I assume you still need a key."



Her smile sent warmth surging through him. She glanced around, and pointed into the rear seat. "It was in my purse."



He glanced where she pointed and spotted her handbag, spilling over the back seat. He leaned over, located the keys and returned to the correct position. It took him a moment to locate the switch. The last time he'd driven a car the switch had been on the dashboard, not the side of the steering wheel.



He inserted the key, turned it on and jerked at the mechanical hum the car emitted. She laughed aloud, the sound like music to him. He felt some of her tension leaving her with that laughter.



"How long has it been?" she asked him, amusement in her voice.



Smiling, he looked at her. "I don't recall, exactly. But fear not, I am a quick study. Now then. . ." His feet did a little tap dance on the floorboard. "Where's the clutch?"



"It's automatic." She slid across the seat, closer to him, and pointed to the pedals on the floor. "There is the brake and that's the accelerator. Now hold your foot on the brake."



He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to his side. He pressed his foot onto the pedal she indicated. She put her finger on the indicator. "Look. Park, Reverse, Neutral, Drive. Put it in Drive." He did, smelling her hair, then jerking his head around when the car began to move.



He eased it onto the street and moved it slowly until he got a feel for the thing. Soon he maneuvered the car easily, finding the correct ramp and bringing them onto the highway.



"You said you could never lie to me," she said softly, settling close to him. "Is it true?"



"I could attempt to lie to you, but if I did, and you paid attention, you would know." He tightened his arms on her shoulders. " But I'd never have reason to lie to you, Tamara."



She nodded. "I don't want to go right home. Could we stop somewhere? Talk for a while?"