Deeper than the Night

He called the hotel again at eight, and at nine, and again at ten. And always the message was the same: Neither Miss Crawford nor her grandmother had checked in.



Worried now, Alex left the house. Opening the garage door, he pulled his car keys from his pocket and slid behind the wheel of the Porsche. He turned the key in the ignition, listened appreciatively as the engine hummed to life. Backing down the driveway, he headed for Grenvale.



The Porsche flew down the highway. He had grown to love the sense of freedom he experienced behind the wheel. He felt attuned to the car, almost a part of it.



He arrived in Grenvale in record time. Leaving the Porsche in the motel parking lot, he locked the car door, then crossed the blacktop to the motel.



And again the message was the same: Miss Crawford had not checked in.



With a curt nod, Alex left the motel. Standing in the shadows, he let his mind expand. Kara, where are you?He waited, listening, and when he sensed no reply, he drove to the hospital. He drove through the parking lot, feeling a ridiculous sense of relief when he saw her car.



He parked the Porsche next to her Camry, then went into the hospital, determined to find out what was going on.



The night nurse listened to him patiently, then shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "Miss Crawford is in an isolation unit. She's not allowed any visitors just now."



"I want to see her doctor."



"I'm afraid he's left for the night. He should be back first thing in the morning if you'd like to call then."



"Can you tell me if she's all right?"



"Are you family, sir?"



"No. Dammit, you've got to let me see her."



The nurse glanced up and down the hallway, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I shouldn't tell you this, but Miss Crawford's fine. She's just being kept overnight while they wait for the results of her tests. She was a little upset, and her doctor gave her a sedative to help hersleep."



"You're sure she's all right?"



"Yessir. I'm sure you'll be able to see her tomorrow."



"I can't wait until then."



"Well, you could wait here a while, if you like. I could let you know if I hear anything."



"Thank you."



She smiled up at him. "You're welcome, sir."



He sat down in one of the hard plastic chairs, aware that the nurse glanced repeatedly in his direction.



Too restless to sit still for long, he paced the hallway for a time, weighing the wisdom of trying to find Kara on his own.



On the pretext of going to the cafeteria, he walked through the hospital's quiet halls. A sign announced that the Isolation Ward was located on the fourth floor.



Taking the stairs, he walked up to the fourth floor, through the double doors marked ISOLATION UNIT. NO VISITORS BEYOND THIS POINT.



A guard sat at a small desk just inside the doors. He stood up as Alex entered the room. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, "No one's allowed in here without authorization."



Alex nodded. "Sorry, I guess I took a wrong turn." He took a deep breath, felt a surge of relief when he caught Kara's scent. She was here. Deeply asleep. "I'm looking for Intensive Care."



"It's on the fifth floor, sir."



"Thank you." For a moment, he considered trying to overpower the guard. But the man was well over six feet tall, and built like a Minnesota line backer. In the end, it seemed wiser to go home than risk causing a scene, at least for now. If they didn't release Kara in the morning, he'd figure out a way to get her the hell out of there.



Leaving the hospital, Alex drew in a deep breath. A glance at the sky told him dawn was fast approaching.



It was early morning when he reached home. He slammed the car door, then stalked out of the garage and into the house, wishing he'd followed his gut instinct and done whatever he had to do to bring Kara home.



He woke late that afternoon, instantly aware that someone had invaded the house. Rising, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then padded, barefoot, down the stairs to the kitchen.



"What are you doing here?"



Gail whirled around, her eyes wide. "I've been waiting for you."



"How did you get in?"



"I . . . the back door was unlocked."



Alexander frowned. In his concern for Kara, and his need to rest and replenish his strength, he had apparently neglected to bolt the door.



Gail cleared her throat nervously. "I need your help."



He lifted one brow. "Indeed?"



"I'm worried about Kara."



"Why? What's wrong?"



"We went to see her this morning, but they said we couldn't, that there's something wrong with her and she has to stay for more tests. Nana said she wanted Kara to come home, but the nurse said the paper Nana signed authorized them to keep Kara as long as necessary. I'm afraid something's happened to her and they don't want to tell us."



Alex slammed his hand against the table. He'd known it all along, he thought angrily, known something wasn't right.



Seeing the dark look in his eyes, Gail squealed and backed away.



Alexander took a deep breath. Damn. He hadn't meant to frighten the girl. "Go on."



"That's all. Nana asked to see Dr. Barrett . .."



"Who's that?"



"He's the doctor who admitted Kara to the hospital. But they said he couldn't be reached. So Nana came home and called Dr. Peterson."



"He said he'd get in touch with Dr. Barrett and find out what was going on, only I don't believe him. I want to see my sister."



Gail tried to blink back her tears. She didn't want to cry in front of this man, didn't want him to think she was just some whiny kid. "What do you think's wrong with her?"



Alexander swore a very old, very vile oath. "I don't know, Gail, but I'll find out. I promise you that. Here," he said, offering her a paper towel, "dry your tears. Does your grandmother know you're here?"



"No. She's so upset, she's taken to her bed. Mrs. Zimmermann is staying with her." Gail blew her nose and wiped her eyes. "Do you really think you'll be able to find out what's wrong with Kara? I know it's something awful, or they'd tell us."



"I'll find out what's going on," Alexander said. "Don't doubt it for a minute."



Gail sniffed, then smiled. "I believe you."



"Good. You'd better run on home now. You don't want to upset your grandmother. She has enough to worry about."



"All right. You'll call as soon as you find out what's wrong with Kara?"



"I will."



Impulsively, Gail wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug.



Startled, Alexander could only stare at her. In two hundred years, no child had ever embraced him. It stirred old feelings, familiar feelings that belonged to another life, another time. He felt oddly bereft when she let him go.



Flashing him a shy smile, Gail ran out of the house.



Alexander stared out the window. Kara was being kept in isolation. He digested that fact, and knew he was to blame.



He had given Kara his blood without considering the consequences. Mixing his blood with hers must have caused some sort of chemical imbalance. No doubt the doctors in charge of her case had been told of the abnormality, and when they couldn't pinpoint it, they had decided to do some experimenting. And what better way to do research than with the source close at hand?



The thought of Kara being kept in isolation while doctors examined her filled him with fury.



And a rising sense of dread as he considered the consequences if Kara's doctors somehow discovered the true cause of the abnormality in her blood.



He could not leave her there. The risk of discovery was too great. He hadn't survived for two hundred years by taking unnecessary chances. For her sake, and for his own, he had to get her out of there.



She woke to darkness. There was a foul tastein her mouth; her stomach felt queasy. For a moment, she lay still, wondering where she was, and then, in a rush, it all came back to her: the examination, Dr. Barrett telling her they wanted to do further tests, her refusal, the prick of the needle in her arm.



She slid her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Groping in the dark, she found a light switch and turned it on.



She was in a small, square room furnished with nothing save the bed and a small table. A door led to a tiny bathroom that had a small sink and a toilet. No shower; no tub. There was a plastic glass on the sink, a thin white washcloth, and a bar of soap.



She washed her hands and face, then filled the glass with lukewarm water and rinsed her mouth. Where was she?



Returning to the other room, she looked around again. There was a window above the bed. Climbing on the mattress, she pulled back the shade. The window was barred.



She whirled around as the door opened.



"You can't get out that way," Dale Barrett said.



"Where am I?"



Barrett closed the door, then leaned against it. "In isolation." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a nasty-looking syringe. "I need to take some blood."



"No."



"We can do this easy or hard, Miss Crawford, it's up to you." His eyes narrowed ominously. "But mark me well, we will do it."



"I want to go home."



"All in good time."



Kara glanced at the syringe, then at the door.



Barrett smiled and shook his head. "The hard way, then." He opened the door, and two men dressed in white lab coats and masks entered the room.



Kara backed away, but there was no place to go, nothing to use for a weapon, no one to hear her if she screamed. She screamed anyway.



Screamed in anger when the two men grabbed her arms, screamed with frustration when they forced her down on the bed.



Screamed in panic when they uncovered the restraints on the bed and strapped her arms and legs to the solid steel frame.



Barrett stood over her, shaking his head. "This would be so much easier for all of us if you would just cooperate."



"Why are you doing this?"



"I told you before. We found an unknown antibody in your blood. We haven't been able to identify it as yet, but it might be toxic. Until we know for sure, we need to keep you isolated, not only for your own protection, but for that of your family and anyone else you might come in contact with."



"An unknown antibody," Kara remarked. "But that's impossible."



"I wish it were. We needto make sure your life isn't in danger." Barrett smiled inwardly, pleased with how readily she had accepted the lie. The unknown antibody in her blood seemed to possess remarkable healing powers. If what he suspected was true, if he was able to reproduce that antibody in quantity, he would be able to save countless lives. It was something he had dreamed of all his life. "Henry, roll up her sleeve."



Barrett pulled a vial of alcohol and a cotton swab from his pocket, then prepared her arm.



Kara flinched as Barrett inserted the needle into her vein. Watched, in morbid fascination, as the syringe filled with blood. "I don't understand. I've had blood tests before, and they've never found anything unusual," she said, her voice betraying her panic. "Maybe one of the donors is the one with the unusual blood type. Why don't you examine them?"



"We have. Nothing irregular about any of them."



"But there has to be!" She stared at the blood. Her blood. Would they take more and more until there was nothing left?



The room began to spin. Barrett's face began to blur. "Alexander." His name was a moan on her lips, a plea, a prayer. "Alexander, help me."



She was afraid, so afraid. "No, don't," she begged, butit was too late. Barrett had pulled another syringe from his pocket. The needle pricked her arm, and the world spun faster.



"Alexander!" She tried to scream his name, but no sound emerged from her lips . . . .



Alex paused as he entered the hospital, all his senses suddenly alert.



And then he heard Kara's voice, screaming in his mind, calling his name.



The lobby was crowded with people. Stifling the urge to run, he made his way down the hallway to the staircase, then took the stairs two at a time until he reached the Isolation Unit.



He peered through the glass on one of the doors. There was no one in sight.



Thanking Fate for his good fortune, he stepped through the door. Kara's scent was stronger now, tinged with fear. He followed it to a green door located at the end of the hall.



He listened a moment to ascertain that she was alone; then he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, but he saw her clearly. She was lying on a narrow bed, breathing deeply.



Silently, he crossed the floor and drew back the covers. He noted absently that she was wearing a pale green hospital gown, but it was the heavy straps confining her arms and legs that held his attention. He swore under his breath as he unfastened the cruel restraints. She stirred slightly, but didn't awaken.



The sound of footsteps alerted him that someone was coming. A moment later, the door opened and a slender man in a white lab coat stepped inside and flicked on the light switch.



"Damn, you gave me a start!" the man exclaimed. "Who are you, anyway?"



Alexander stared at the tray in the man's hands, at the number of syringes it held. A line from a movie sprang quickly to mind. He uttered it with a wry smile. "Your worst nightmare."



"Yeah, well get the hell out of here. I've got work to do."



"Indeed?"



For the first time, the man seemed to realize he was in danger. "I . . . uh, I can come back later."



"I don't think so. What kind of tests are you doing on the girl?"



"Just blood tests," the man said, taking a wary step backward. "One of the doctors seems to think her blood has some sort of unusual healing agent."



"Indeed? Tell me more."



"I can't. I'm not a doctor or a scientist. I just take samples of blood and urine, that's all."



"You're lying."



The man swallowed noisily. "I . . . uh, overheard them saying they'd injected a diseased rabbit with a little of her blood and the animal recovered completely in a matter of hours."



Alexander swore softly. He knew his blood had saved Kara's life; it had not occurred to him that her blood might now have the same ability to heal. He glanced past the man, closing the door with the power of his mind.



The man glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of panic as he watched his only means of escape slam shut. Before he could scream, Alexander choked him into unconsciousness.



With a sardonic grin, Alexander filled the empty vials with the man's blood, then carefully replaced the glass tubes in the tray. He stared at the vials for several moments, feeling his mouth water with the ancient urge to drink his enemy's blood. He was reaching for one of the vials when Kara moaned. Muttering an oath, Alex slipped an empty syringe into his pocket, then turned away from the tray.



Lifting Kara, he held her against him with one arm while he picked the man up and put him on the bed in her place.



Cradling Kara against him, he carried her out of the room and shut the door behind him. Moving quietly, he made his way down the corridor to the stairway.



He paused when he reached the ground floor and peered around the corner. A security guard stood at the back entrance, a cigarette in one hand, a Styrofoam cup in the other.



Alexander held Kara close, debating whether he should look for another exit, or knock the guard out. He was still debating what to do when the telephone rang. Grimacing, the guard snubbed out his cigarette and went to answer the phone. With a sigh of relief, Alex hurried down the corridor and out the back door.



Kara stirred in his arms. She moaned softly, then snuggled against him. He tried to tell himself she didn't know it was him, that she was only seeking the comfort of another body, but the urge to shelter her, to protect her, swelled within him. He had gotten her into this predicament, and he would get her out.



He walked swiftly down the street to where he'd left the Porsche. After settling Kara on the passenger seat, he sat behind the wheel, pondering his next move.



It was late. He would take her to his place for the night, he thought. Tomorrow . . . Alexander frowned. He couldn't let her go home. Not now. He had a terrible feeling that he knew what the doctors had discovered in her blood. If he was right, they wouldn't stop until they had her in their clutches again.



It was near dawn when he reached home. He parked the car in the garage behind the house, then lifted Kara into his arms and carried her inside, up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was the only room he had furnished on the second story. He put her to bed, an odd feeling welling within him as he tucked his blankets around her. He had often imagined her in his bed, but not like this.



For a moment, Alex stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at her. He would kill anyone who tried to harm her. He did not vocalize the thought, was hardly aware that it had crossed his mind. It was simply a fact, irrefutable, inevitable.



"Rest, Kara," he said quietly. "You're safe now."



"Alexander?"



"I'm here."



Her eyelids fluttered open. "Alexander?"



"I'm here, Kara." He moved to the side of the bed and took her hand in his.



She stared up at him, her eyes unfocused, her expression muddled. "Where am I?"



"Safe now. How are you feeling?"



"Kind of woozy."



He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. "It will pass."



"I'm so thirsty."



"I'll get you a drink." He left the room, returning in moments with a cup of cool water.



Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew her into his lap and held the cup to her lips. "Slowly," he said.



He could feel her body trembling as she drank the water. When she was finished, he set thecup aside, then wrapped his arms around her.



"Sleep now," he whispered.



Like an obedient child safe in her father's arms, Kara closed her eyes, trusting that he would make her bad dreams go away.



Alex held her until he was certain she was sleeping soundly, then settled her under the covers and left the room.



Outside, he stared, unseeing, into the darkness. An unusual healing agent in her blood, the man had said.



Lost in thought, he moved through the woods, his ears attuned to the sounds of the night. A faint rustling sound caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a large rat regarding him from a pile of leaves. Holding the rodent's gaze, Alex quickly caught the creature.



Returning to the house, he fed the rat a small amount of poison, then watched impassively as the rodent collapsed.



Taking a knife from one of the kitchen drawers, Alex went upstairs and pricked Kara's finger. She stirred, but didn't awaken as he drew a small amount of her blood into the syringe he'd taken from the clinic. Her blood was unusually dark, he mused, almost as dark as his own.



Returning to the kitchen, he injected her blood into the rat. Within minutes, the rat's strength returned.



"Amazing," Alex muttered as he scooped the creature off the table, careful to avoid its bared teeth.



He frowned as he stared at the empty syringe. His blood had saved Kara's life and, in the process, had wrought a mysterious change in hers. No wonder the doctors were so curious about the unusual antibody in Kara's blood, so eager to test it. No doubt they would be even more interested to discover the true source of that healing power.



He stared at the syringe for a long moment, wondering if mingling his blood with that of another human would produce the same healing agent.



Feeling morbidly curious to see the effect of his own blood in action, he gave the rat a second dose of poison; then, when the rodent was on the brink of death, he injected the rat with his own blood. In less than twenty seconds, the rodent recovered completely.



Alex swore softly as he turned the rat loose outside, then went into his study to work, and to ponder the events of the last few minutes.



The study was his favorite room in the house, the only one that held anything remotely personal, and those items were few: a lock of AnnaMara's hair, kept in a lacquered box; a piece of jade he had picked up in China more than a century ago; an ivory elephant he'd bought in Ceylon; a tapestry that had been woven for him by a woman he barely remembered; several pieces of Navajo pottery; a statue he had found in a small shop in Venice.



There were several paintings on the walls: a peaceful landscape done in muted shades of green and gold, a picture of a young woman who looked remarkably like AnnaMara, a turbulent seascape that was painted in shades of dark blue and gray.



The largest painting hung over the fireplace. It was a brooding piece of work by an unknown artist. The scene depicted a man clad in a long black cloak, looking small and alone as he stood on a mountaintop, his head tilted back as he gazed at a magnificent sunrise.



Not much to show for two hundred and thirty-five years, Alexander mused, and yet he had never been one to pick up souvenirs, to keep mementos of his past. Perhaps because he had such a long past. Or perhaps it was because there had been few occurrences, or people, he wished to remember.



But he would remember Kara. If he lived another two hundred years, he would never forget her. Though he had known her but a short time, she had become a part of him. Knowing it was wrong, knowing that his interference in her life had already cost her dearly, he was nevertheless determined to stay with her as long as possible.



To protect her, if necessary.



To love her, if she would let him.



For as long as she would let him.