Crimson Psyche (9 page)

I pitched the empty box, stashed the fork in the dishwasher and shuffled over to the staircase leading up to my bedroom. A hot shower would feel like heaven.

I’d climbed just a few steps when the doorbell rang. In my pre-vampire life, someone coming to my door was a normal, natural thing, no cause for alarm, but since I’d fallen into this alternate universe, nighttime visitors could be extremely bad news, sometimes downright hazardous to my health.

I tiptoed over to the door and eyeballed the peephole. Someone was definitely there, but I couldn’t make out who it was. I reached over and flipped on the porch light, then peeked again. A tall woman with a waterfall of white hair stood there, smiling and waving.

“Maxie? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” I was sure the frown in my voice matched the one on my face.

I’d cracked my front door open enough to stick my head out, but I hadn’t invited her in. What the hell was a reporter doing on my doorstep?

Her smile widened. “I can find anybody’s address — I’m a bit of a computer geek. Actually, yours was easy. Did you know that the American Psychological Association lists member contact information online? And it’s only protected by the flimsiest of passwords. It’s child’s play, really. Can I come in?” She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was inching her shoe into the door crack.

I tightened my grip on the handle and shifted my hip against the door. “I don’t think so, Maxie. I’m tired, and I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “I’ve left you several messages today, Doc — remember? We’re going to the vampire staking? I gave you directions, but then the location was changed, so I left you another message, asking you to call me, but you didn’t, so I thought I’d better hightail it over here and see if anything was wrong. Just being a concerned citizen, ya know?”

Maxie’s energy was intense, chaotic. My stomach tightened.

When I continued to stare at her, she pulled her foot away from the door. “I’m sorry, Doc,” she said contritely, “I do tend to come on too strong sometimes. I just got back from interviewing a pedophile and I had to hammer him with every aggressive interrogation technique I could think of. He finally caved, and it wasn’t pretty. I guess I haven’t finished decompressing. I’ve been meaning to work on my polite social skills. It’s on my list.” She smiled and studied me. “Seriously, I do apologize. I’d kill for a glass of wine.”

If she really had just come from such a horrible interview, I could understand why I was picking up so many mixed energy signals from her. I was probably even sensing the perpetrator’s residue as well. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask her in for some wine. In fact, that sounded pretty good to me too.

“A pedophile? That had to be one miserable interview.” I pulled the door open in invitation. “How can you do what you do?”

She stepped inside and gave a melancholy smile. “I could ask you the same thing, Doc. You have to listen to shitty stuff all the time. Mostly I just talk to people who claim they were experimented on in a spaceship or who saw Bigfoot — just your standard flaky loons.”

I laughed, thinking about some of my clients’ fanciful tales.

“Sit down, relax.” I pointed to the couch. “I’ll get the wine. Which do you prefer? Red or white?”

“Red.” She sat, and I noticed for the first time that she was dressed in black leather, quite a change from the jeans and football T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier. There was no mistaking the model’s body in those tight clothes.
Interesting choice for a work outfit.
I wondered if the creepy interviewee had been intimidated by all that leather. Maybe that was why she’d worn it: dominatrix reporter. I glanced down at my dress and discovered the noodle that had made a suicide leap off my fork had sealed itself to my left breast. Although I don’t usually pay much attention to fashion, I do generally make an effort not to wear my food. I suddenly felt insecure in my messy threads next to Maxie’s easy perfection.

I peeled the pasta off my chest, poured the wine and brought the glasses to the couch.

“I take it you’ve never been to a vampire staking before?” Maxie asked.

“As I already told you,” I sat on the other end of the couch and gave her a blank face, “I have no intention of going. We both know it will just be a lot of goth children, vampire wannabes and the mentally ill. No purpose would be served by my attendance.” Plus, I’d
really
had it with people forcing their opinions, desires and expectations on me. This was as good a place as any to put my foot down. I prepared myself to argue with Maxie, waiting for her to lob the next sally over the net to try to convince me that she was a better judge of how I should spend my evening than I was.

She sipped from her wineglass. “Can I level with you, Doc?”

No! Please don’t. I’m off-duty. Oh crap.

Recognizing the same emotional vulnerability in her voice that I was picking up intuitively, I slipped into my professional persona and gave her my attention. “Of course.” Her vibrant personality crumbled in front of me and she suddenly looked very tired.

She met my eyes and hers shone with moisture. “I don’t want to go to this ridiculous thing, but I have to. I’m in trouble at work — my job’s on the line. That’s why I asked you to go with me. I was just hoping for some company. For someone to... be there. I have lots of acquaintances, but nobody I can trust. I’ve got myself in some hot water financially. I made some stupid decisions, and if I lose my job, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down on me.”

She heaved a sigh. “You seemed like such an understanding person that I guess I got carried away. I just wanted to hang out with someone I could be myself with, whatever that is. I’m great at putting on a tough façade, and I’m good at never letting anyone know how I really feel. Shit, I don’t even let myself know. But I can say for sure that I’m both burned out on my job and at the same time worried I’ll lose it. In other words, I’m totally screwed. And don’t even get me started about my boyfriend...”

Apparently she’d sought me out — consciously or unconsciously — because of my job. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. I had to acknowledge that her seeking unofficial counseling was marginally better than just trying to use me to get a story.
Everybody has an agenda.

One fat tear slid down her cheek and she glanced around, then plucked a tissue out of the box on the table in front of her and blew her nose, making an unusually loud, multi-octave honking noise.

The unexpected sound caused us both to stare at each other for a moment before we burst out laughing.

“Whoa! Where’d that come from?” Maxie said, smiling. “Do I know how to lighten a mood, or what? Barnum and Bailey, sign me up!”

I’d put my hand over my mouth in a futile effort to muffle my own laughter. It was terrible of me to have such an inappropriate reaction after someone had shared something so emotionally intense, but it was why people sometimes laughed at funerals: stress can cause really unexpected reactions.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth to force myself to stop chuckling, but all that did was cause me to snort too, and we both lost it again.

After an endless amount of time, the frivolity calmed and we each reached for a tissue. I fanned myself with my hand, shaking my head, grinning. “I think we both needed that, don’t you?”

“Hell, yeah! I’m already better just being around you. I think you’ve got the healing touch, Doc.” She sipped her wine, not making eye contact any more.

Well, apparently she needs to talk.
I gave a mental sigh. “Do you want to tell me about your situation? And your boyfriend?”

Her anxious gaze quickly shifted to mine and away again before she set her glass on the table. “I didn’t come over to spill my guts, Doc. Denver’s full of shrinks if I need one.”

Uh-huh.
I relaxed back into the couch cushions and waited.

She glanced at me a couple of times before twisting her body to face me. “I’m just a fuck-up, Doc. Everything I touch turns to shit.”

“Hmm. Give me an example.” I retrieved my wine glass and sipped.

“You want actual specifics?” At my
go ahead
gesture she started, “Well, my job for one. I screwed up a while back and slept with the boss, then I asked him to front me some cash to pay off a debt. After he gave me the money I managed to lose that, too.”

“Are you saying you have a gambling problem?”

“Bingo, Doc.” She picked up her glass and took a healthy sip. “I love casinos — I’ll bet on anything. And sometimes I even win, but I can’t walk away, so I end up broke and swearing I’ll never do it again.”

“So you lost the money the boss gave you?”

“Yep, but it was worse, because that wasn’t the first time. He gave me an ultimatum: get my shit together or get out.”

“Are you still in a relationship with him? Is he your boyfriend?”

“Nope. I only had sex with him a few times to keep him in a good mood. If my boyfriend found out, he’d go berserk. In fact, he’d probably beat the shit outta my boss, which wouldn’t help my employment situation.” She finished her wine. “Can I have a refill?”

“Sure.” I pointed. “The bottle’s on the kitchen counter. Bring it back with you.”

At least if I listen to her, maybe she’ll forget about the vampire staking plan.

She came back to her place on the couch, filled both our glasses and lifted the bottle to read the label. She burst out laughing. “Perfect, Doc! Vampire merlot. You
do
have a sense of humor!”

“I can’t take credit for it.” I chuckled. “It was a gift from a friend.”

She set the bottle on the table. “You must have some strange friends.”

You have no idea.
“A few. So, back to your boyfriend. Tell me about him.”

She frowned. “We’ve been together, on and off, for years — he’s gorgeous, smart and funny.”

“That sounds pretty good. So why are you frowning? What’s the problem?”

“Can’t put anything past you, Doc.” She paused while she drank more wine, then she admitted, “There’s a problem — a few of them, actually. He just can’t keep his cock in his pants, and he’s got a hair-trigger temper.”

Uh-oh.
“He’s violent? With you?”

“Sometimes.”

Shit!
“Maxie, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I don’t know — like I said, I’m a fuck-up. Trust me to find the biggest asshole in town, and to keep believing his stupid apologies.”

“But what—”

“Ya know,” she bolted off the couch, “I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore. There’s nothing you can do. I just have to stop being a coward and make a new decision.” Her face was pale and her eyes dull. She drained her glass before replacing it on the table. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m gonna head over to the meaningless event and let you get on with your evening. I’m sorry I vomited my dramas over you like that. It wasn’t fair, since that’s the kind of crap you have to listen to all the time. I hope you’ll forgive me for being such a loser.”

Damn. I can’t leave her like this...

I emptied my glass and set it on the table alongside hers. It wouldn’t kill me to spend a little time with her, give her some resources, encourage her to get help.

“I don’t think you’re a loser, in fact, just the opposite. I think you’re a survivor.”

“Yeah.” She gave a cynical laugh. “Survivor — over and over again. I think I’ve got a theme going.”

And maybe it
would
do me good to get a firsthand taste of Denver’s occult underworld. Maxie had been right this morning when she suggested I could use the material in my private practice and for my book. And if I was really serious about expanding my social horizons, here was a perfect opportunity for me to step outside my rigid routine, to follow my own therapeutic advice and take a chance. After all, I was client-free for the weekend, and I had no other plans.

“Why not change the theme?”

“As if it’s that easy, Doc.”

“It isn’t easy at all, but it can be done.” I stood, because staring up at her was putting a crick in my neck. “You seriously want me to go with you?” I frowned. “My being there will make things easier?”

Her face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning as a huge smile curved her lips. “No shit? You’ll actually go with me? Well, hot damn! Maybe I should whine more often.” She laughed. “Thanks so much, really. How cool! I have a pal — someone to share the bullshit with!” She plopped down on the couch again with a wide grin, back to her effervescent personality, all angst sufficiently repressed.

I watched her for a few seconds, waiting for another mood shift.
Borderlines are such amazing manipulators...

“Are you going to change clothes?” she said. “I don’t think a dress would be the best choice for the lunatic festivities, but if you’re going as you are, I have to say I really miss the fat noodle you had on your tit when you opened the door. Maybe we could fish it out of the garbage and stick it back on? I thought it made a powerful statement. Sort of a metaphor about being willing to bend, or knowing when to cling to what you have...”

She hooted out a laugh as I picked up a cushion from a chair and sailed it at her head. She deflected the fluffy assault and continued laughing.

I folded my arms over my chest, grinning. “If you’re going to make fun of my fashion accessories, I’ll have to rethink my offer.”

She stood and bowed from the waist, her silky hair cascading to the floor. “Many humble apologies, my new buddy, for my thoughtless remark about your... noodle. I promise never to have another opinion about whatever you plaster to your tit. Unless it’s some hot guy’s hand, then I might have to speak up.” She gave a mini wolf-howl and flopped onto the couch again.

I paused for a moment, reconsidering my decision to spend the evening with a crazy woman, but her words gave me a quick memory-flash of Devereux’s hand on that very tit and I smiled. Maxie was clever — wounded and probably nuts, but clever. She reminded me of Alan Stevens, a certain cocky FBI agent I’d befriended a while back. He was out of the country with his mother the vampire now. I missed talking to him. Maybe it would be fun for me to spend some time with someone else who enjoyed laughing. It was no secret that I tended to take things way too seriously — definitely another downside to my profession, and a downside I wouldn’t mind uplifting. And there was no time like the present.

“Yeah, you’re a laugh riot. I’ll go upstairs and change. I’ll be right back.”

***

We walked out of my front door onto the street still arguing about whose car to take. Maxie was insisting on her Jeep, saying it would come in handy.

“What do you mean? Are we going off-roading?”

She tugged on my coat sleeve as I veered off in the direction of the garage to fetch my BMW, pulling me over to the beat-up vehicle at the curb.