999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [239]
“What do you …” He didn’t find out what she meant. Blessed unconsciousness arrived first.
When he awoke again, Danny could barely move at all. Louisa sat beside the bed with a cup of hot coffee brewed and ready. She carefully helped him sip it.
“I’m afraid your legs aren’t doing so well,” she said.
“They hurt like my shoulders,” he whimpered.
“You’ll be staying at home for a while,” she said sympathetically. “I’ll make sure you’re all right.”
“We don’t have to drive over to see Ifetayo,” Danny said.
“Damn straight,” she replied. “Wouldn’t do much good anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer. “That woman hated you,” Louisa said. “The effigy I destroyed? The one she left? That was to make you impotent. I guess she figured it was poetic justice.” Louisa sighed. “But she had no right.”
Danny tried to raise his head to look at her. His fingers crawled along the top of the blanket like crippled spiders.
She glanced down. “Careful,” she said. “Any more mischief and things could happen to all ten of those, even the thumbs.” Then she grinned sunnily. “But I told you, I can take dictation. You’ll do fine.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he mumbled. His vision suddenly irised in on something new crowning the bureau behind her. It was his picture in an antique metal frame. Something else leaned against the frame. It looked like a Ken doll wrapped tightly in monofilament—so much stranded bondage it could have been cocooned for the winter. Those tight bonds looked as though they were pulling the doll’s limbs out of true, contorting them into unnatural positions. The arms, legs, hands, there the bonds stretched the thickest and tightest.
The meaning started percolating through his bleary, pain-shot mind. Weezie loved him.
As though reading his mind, she said, “Danny, I’ll love you forever. I couldn’t let her injure you. There was no way. I’ll take care of you always. Count on it.”
This was a delirium he knew he would not wake from.
It was hard now to hold on to anything secure. But he knew something beyond all else as he stared up at her serene smile.
Love will always triumph over hate.
Always.
Steven Spruill
HEMOPHAGE
I find it fitting and highly pleasing that Steve Spruill and F. Paul Wilson have provided this hook’s two vampire stories, because, when I met them, a long time ago in a publishing galaxy far, far away, they were the best of friends (they still are, and not too long ago collaborated on a novel, Nightkill), each turning out wonderful books for the Douhleday Science Fiction line I’ve already mentioned ad nauseum (see headnotes for Wilson and Lustbader).
Since those days of tiny advances, Spruill has done just fine for himself; he is the author of thirteen novels, the last five of which have been Literary Guild selections. A trilogy based on the fascinating characters you are about to meet was completed in 1998; it consists of Rulers of Darkness, Daughter of Darkness, and Lords of Light.
“Hemophage” is set between the last two novels. In Spruill’s own words (which I happen to agree with): “It gives us a glimpse of the powerful and complex creatures who just might be the reality behind the vampire myth.”
The first whiff of blood, as the elevator doors parted, was rather like rose stems steeping in a vase, and then the carnal undertones hit, making Merrick’s throat crawl. The cage settled a prodding inch, but he held fast, staring out at umber carpeting, gray wallpaper chased with silver. In the box of light from the elevator, dust motes swirled, telling him of people hurrying back and forth. No one visible from in here, though. He could press “Close,” tell the uniform in the lobby he’d left something in the car, and get back home to Katie where he belonged. But the corpse had already become part of him, atoms from her veins soaking with each breath into his own capillaries.
Merrick let go and stepped into the hall, his palms prickling where