Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (20 page)

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, trying to decide how friendly I wanted to be. He was a peer, after all. Or so he claimed. “But I am giving a lecture on a specific subculture.”

“Vampires?”

I looked around at the nearby seats to see who might be listening. All the other passengers within hearing distance wore earbuds or headphones and were plugged into personal devices or the in-flight movie.

“Vampire wannabes,” I said quietly. “Or as the conference committee refers to them, lost children of the night.”
He must not be as sharp as he appears if he’s from Denver but doesn’t recognize me after all the media attention a few weeks back.

“Well, this is a stroke of luck for me, Doctor—er … I don’t know your name.”

“Kismet Knight.” I waited for him to have some reaction, to connect the dots, but he didn’t.

“That’s a wonderful name. Kismet: fate, destiny. Is it stressful to have such a meaningful name?”

I laughed. He had no idea. Being a weird kid was bad enough. Having an unusual name was like waving a red flag at little bulls. “Stressful? Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He pressed his hand over his mouth. “I’ve done it again. Forgive me—I tend to blurt out whatever comes into my head. That’s my biggest professional challenge and one reason I’m taking a sabbatical from seeing clients.”

The flight attendant came to take drink orders. She gave a flirty smile to my seatmate.

“I’ll have a Scotch and water,” he said to her, then looked at me. “Please, at least allow me to buy you a drink for putting up with my clumsy introduction. What would you like?”

Why not? I was off-duty. “White wine, please.”

She scribbled on her pad, winked at Michael, and moved to the
next row.

I brought my eyes back to his. He wasn’t hard to look at—he reminded me of actor Orlando Bloom. “So you’re taking a break from clinical sessions? What are you doing instead?”

He released his seatbelt and turned toward me. “I’m writing a book. That’s why I said it was a stroke of luck for me to meet you. My general topic is about people who are susceptible to mind control, those who believe they’re under the power of a vampire, or an alien, for example. ”

“Mind control?” My stomach tightened for a moment. He couldn’t possibly know anything about my situation, but what a weird coincidence. “Are you focusing on the supernatural specifically?”

“No. I’m looking at everything, including followers of gurus and members of religious cults. I’m fascinated by why some people surrender their autonomy, either to authority figures in the ‘real’ world or fantasy creations. I’m studying the underlying mechanisms.”

Our drinks came, and he raised his in salute. “To synchronicities, Doctor Knight.”

“Yes,” I replied, and took a sip from my glass, appreciating the relevance of Carl Jung’s theory.

“Have you discovered your vampire-wannabe clients are looking for someone to take responsibility for them?” he asked. “Is that part of the draw?”

“Absolutely,” I said, warming to the topic. My inner nerd loves talking shop. “In every case, clients are seeking something they don’t have in their lives: structure, meaning, someone to make them feel wanted—an escape from trauma and abuse. From that perspective, wanting to die makes
total sense.”

“I completely agree. In a dysfunctional way, it’s a good coping strategy.”

We both thought about that for a few seconds.

“I had quite a few alien abductees in my practice at one point,” he said. “They were interesting and creative clients. I even had an abductee therapy group, but I disbanded it because the participants were triggering one another and incorporating the stories they heard in group into their own memories. It wasn’t helpful. Do you work with abductees? That appears to be a popular therapy topic in Denver, or at least in Boulder, where I also had an office.”

“Oh yes.” I chuckled. “Alien abductees. Denver’s an extraterrestrial hot spot—we have a very active chapter of the Mutual UFO Network. I think half the members are my clients. Hmm.” I paused. “Now that I think about it, that’s pretty strange. How
did
so many of them find me? I didn’t do any advertising for non-ordinary clientele.” But Cerridwyn had said I attracted the paranormal and supernatural. Could that be true after all?
Maybe it’s more accurate to say I attract the weird and strange.
“I had to stop using hypnosis with them because they’re very susceptible to false memories.”

He grabbed my arm and nodded excitedly. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I had the same experience.”

I looked down at his hand on my arm, and he let go.

“Sorry. I’ve been so isolated for the last few months that my social skills are rusty. Plus it’s such a pleasant surprise to find a like-minded therapist on the plane going to the conference. But as I was saying, I did have some iffy situations with my abductees. Even giving emphasis to a certain word in a question I asked while they were in trance could stimulate their imaginations and cause them to fabricate.” He shrugged. “It was too stressful. I think I prefer the
worried well
—those who are basically healthy and who want to explore themselves spiritually or grow personally.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here, Michael. As fascinating as I find my chronically disturbed or nontraditional clients, it’s a relief to have a few metaphysical seekers along the way. Have you worked with any other unusual kinds of clients?”
I haven’t had any werewolves or faeries show up yet. Do they exist? Is that something else I have to look forward to?

He smiled. “I performed an informal exorcism once.”

The flight attendant shoved the box of snacks she’d been carrying down the aisle in front of Michael. “Would you like some cookies or crackers? You can have as many as you like.”

“What? An exorcism?” I asked. Bad timing.

She raised her eyebrows at me and pursed her lips.

“No, thank you,” Michael said.

She didn’t offer me any and hurried on past.

Michael laughed softly. “I think our topic of discussion startled the attendant. She probably thinks your head is going to spin around while you puke green pea soup now.”

Well, at least I’m not that bad. Yet.

“I’ll try to behave myself. So, exorcism—are you affiliated with a religious group?”

“No—that’s why I said it was informal. One of my attached-entity clients insisted I was the only person who could cast out the demon in his chest. One day, in the middle of a session, he threw himself onto the floor and began having a seizure. Or at least that’s what I assumed it was.”

“Wow. I’ve never had an attached-entity client go quite that far. What happened?”

“He flailed and kicked his feet on the carpet and started speaking in tongues, something he’d told me about earlier. I was sure the massage therapist downstairs would call the building manager or the police or something, so I used my most theatrical voice and demanded the demon leave his body.”

“Did your command work?”

“Amazingly, it did.” He grinned. “He twitched a few times then got to his feet, shook my hand, and told me he felt reborn. I never saw him again.”

I shook my head. “Never underestimate the power of suggestion. And professionals used to think hypnosis wasn’t effective. Now we know better. But it can be dangerous if a clinician isn’t properly trained.”

“That’s for sure. I’ve done my share of repairing damage caused by so-called hypnotists who only took a weekend workshop.” He looked at my computer keys. “I’m really sorry—I distracted you from the work you were doing. I’ll be quiet now so you can finish.” He gave a thumbs-up and straightened in his seat.

A glance at my watch told me we were more than halfway through the flight. He’d been such a pleasant conversation partner that I hadn’t given any thought to my bizarre problems. I didn’t want to end the discussion.

“You haven’t kept me from anything. The presentation was already finished—I was just adding last-minute notes.” I met his gaze as he turned to me again. “I enjoyed our talk.”

“That’s good.” His eyes lingered a few seconds, then he cleared his throat. “Maybe we could meet at the conference if you have time?”

The large man sitting behind me stood up to go to the restroom and pushed my seat so far forward I almost knocked my computer onto the floor. “Sorry,” he said in a gruff voice.

I caught the computer and spoke over my shoulder. “That’s okay. No harm done.”

“So what do you think about hooking up?” Michael asked.

“Hooking up?” My clients usually gave those words specific meaning.

“Yeah.” He saw the question on my face and chuckled. “Oh no—not
that
kind of hooking up. I mean hanging out at the conference.”

“I knew what you meant. I just wanted to rattle your cage a little. It’s a possibility, but I’m meeting a friend there.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to be in the way.”

“Not at all—I think you’d enjoy meeting him.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

What a nosey guy!

“Just a friend. Or maybe more than that, I don’t know. And why I’m telling you that, I have no idea.”

What the hell, Kismet? Just spill your guts to a stranger for the second time in a single day, why don’t you?

He laughed. “Something about me encourages people to tell their secrets. It’s one of the reasons I’m a good therapist. My former partner was going to come to the conference with me, but we broke up a few months back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is she a therapist, too?”

“He.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry—how narrow of me to assume. … So you’re gay.”

Crappy gaydar you’ve got there, Kismet. But he was flirting with me, I’m sure of it.

“Actually, I’m bi, but the last couple of relationships I’ve had were with men. And now
I
don’t know why I’m telling
you
that.”

Well, at least I wasn’t
totally
wrong.

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. Let’s definitely plan to meet up at the conference.”

“I’d like that.”

We sat silently for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.

The man returned from the bathroom and dislodged my seat again, but this time I was prepared and held on to the computer.

After a couple of minutes, I was unable to restrain my curiosity and asked, “I’m wondering why you didn’t recognize my name.” My infamy had spread worldwide, so it didn’t matter where he was from—I’d been the media topic du jour for weeks in the very recent past.

He frowned, looking confused. “Why would I know your name? Are you famous? Have I been politically incorrect yet again?”

Glad I’d chosen a Wi-Fi flight, I swiveled my computer screen around so we could both see it, called up a search engine, and typed in my name. Thousands of hits came up. I scrolled down to a
New York Times
story about the “vampire murders” in Denver last October, brought up the information, then lowered the tray on the middle seat and slid my computer over.

“Take a look,” I said, pointing to the screen.

He read through a few paragraphs, then looked at me. “Wow,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “That’s one helluva tale. I can’t believe I missed it. I spent most of the last four months in a Buddhist retreat center up in the mountains, meditating and working on my book.” He poked my arm playfully. “You really
are
famous.”

I pulled the computer back onto my tray and clicked out of the article. “Yeah. Lucky me. Are you a Buddhist? Is that why you were at the retreat?”

“No. I’m not a Buddhist—or any other denomination, for that matter—but I do enjoy meditating, and it was a great place to observe religious devotees for my research. I highly recommend it if you ever need to get away from the everyday world for a while. No phones or computers allowed—I had to write on legal pads. It was a powerful and humbling experience.”

I laughed. “So was mine.”

“I can only imagine,” he said, his tone serious. “Have they caught the killer yet? The article only says he left Colorado. Are you still involved with the case?”

“They haven’t found him yet, but the FBI’s hot on his trail, as well as every local cop in every jurisdiction where blood-drained bodies have turned up. They’ll catch him eventually.” I didn’t answer his question about my involvement or mention the maniac’s fixation on me. The purpose of going to the conference was to get away from all the vampire bullshit. Nobody else needed to know about it. I turned off my computer, packed it into its case, and tucked it underneath the seat in front of me. I momentarily wondered if I should tell him about the psychologist murders since we were about to join a large gathering of the same, but if the police hadn’t informed the media yet, I didn’t think I should jump the gun.

Unfastening my seatbelt, I said, “I need to get out.”

“Get out?”

“Yes.” I pointed to the bathroom.

“Oh! Of course.” Michael jumped up and stood in the aisle so I could pass.

I hurried into the closest lavatory, turned to flip the lock, and was immediately overwhelmed by fear. I leaned back slightly and pressed against something solid. Somebody was in the tiny cubicle with me. Holy shit! I’d just sucked in a big breath, preparing to scream, when a hand clamped over my mouth and a familiar voice said, “It is I, Kismet, Devereux. Do not scream. Please nod if I can take my hand away.”

My knees almost gave out in relief. Devereux? At least it wasn’t Lucifer. The thought that the monster could materialize inside a plane hadn’t occurred to me. How the hell had Devereux found me in the airplane bathroom? My heartbeat tripped. Vampires really were going to give me a coronary. I nodded, and he released me. Almost without thinking, I started the mental hum, pleased it was becoming automatic.

I faced him and was stunned by his appearance. His usually sleek and shiny hair was twisted up into a rat’s nest, sticking out everywhere, littered with debris. His clothes were stained and shredded; dirt and various unidentifiable substances covered his face. “What are you doing here and what happened to you? Wait—more importantly, how the
hell
did you know which plane I was on and that I’d stood up to go to the bathroom? I thought you couldn’t read me anymore. And
please
turn down the fear.” My stomach was roiling. “I’m going to pass out.”
Oh God—are the effects of Anne’s intervention already fading?
But that couldn’t be, because he was giving off the same intense fear resonance I’d felt in my office last night.