Chapter Eighteen
Palmer leaned against the headboard of the bed, cradling Lethe in the corner of his left arm while holding her bottle in his right. He was amazed something so tiny could possess such an appetite. He didn't look up at the sound of the hotel room door being unlocked.
"That you, Sonja?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"You know, you were right about her, Sonja. She's not like the other one! She's got such tiny fingers! And each one has a perfect little fingernail..."
"Uh, Palmer? We got company."
Palmer stared at the young man standing next to Sonja. One side of his face looked like someone had used a tenderizer on it. There was blood crusted on his nose and right brow. He shifted uneasily, like a schoolboy brought before the principal.
"Palmer, this is Fell. Lethe's father."
"Is - is that her?" Fell's voice was almost a whisper.
Sonja nodded. "Sure is."
Fell took a hesitant step forward. "Can I hold her?"
"I don't see why not," Sonja said. "After all, she's your daughter."
Fell moved to take the baby. Palmer frowned and tightened his hold on Lethe, pressing her tightly against his chest.
"It's okay, Palmer. Fell's his own man now."
Grudgingly, Palmer surrendered Lethe to her father's embrace. Fell's bruised lips pulled into a smile at the sight of his daughter's face.
"She's beautiful! She looks so very much like Anise." Fell's voice began to shake. He sat on the end of the bed, the baby in his lap gurgling and cooing contentedly. "This is happening too fast. There's too much to think, too much I'm remembering!"
Sonja knelt beside Fell, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Start from the beginning. Who are you really?"
"My name is - was? - Timothy Sorrell. I was a sophomore at Berkeley. English Major. I'm from Indiana, originally. My parents and older sister were killed in a car crash when I was ten.
"I got passed around a lot by my relatives. They were good people, but they didn't know what to make of me, so they left me to my own devices. I was a morbid child. Fascinated and terrified by death at the same time. I really got into stuff like vampires, ghouls - the undead. By the time I went to college, I dressed in black all the time and spent most of my money on occult literature.
"My first few months at Berkeley were okay. I even met people who didn't think I was all that weird! But during my sophomore year I started having these... dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
"Bad ones. Full of blood and walking dead things. When I was younger I used to dream I was a vampire, but these were different. In the old dreams, I played Christopher Lee or Frank Langella, seducing nubile young women. But these newer dreams... They were different.
"Sometimes I'd see myself and I looked like a rotting corpse. My victims weren't beautiful women but old bag ladies and scuzzy-looking whores - they screamed and tried to get away instead of surrendering, so I hurt them even more for trying to escape. It wasn't at all like in the movies!
"But what scared me the most was the pleasure I got from watching them scream and die. I'd always been considered eccentric, but this was the first time I was honestly worried about my own sanity. That's when I decided to seek professional help.
"Dr. Caron was highly recommended." Fell laughed, the sound dry and brittle. "He seemed to understand what I was going through. Soon after I began seeing him the nightmares returned to the old familiar erotic dreams. He told me I should not feel ashamed for being... well, dissatisfied with my station in life. After a few sessions, he invited me to partake in a special experimental therapy session at his estate in the SonomaValley. I think you know the rest."
Sonja nodded. "He picked people who wouldn't be readily missed and displayed certain... tendencies he could work to his advantage. Of the ten he hand-picked, you and Anise were the only ones to survive, am I right?"
Fell nodded, looking down at his daughter, who was innocently playing with one of his blood-smeared fingers. "It was horrible - I can still hear the screams, even now. But, in a weird way, it wasn't all bad.
"I remember thinking how beautiful Anise was back... back when we were human. I knew I didn't stand a chance with a woman like that. I was kind of surprised she was even in the group. She seemed so together. I was happy for the first time in my life - or after it. I know now that Anise never really cared for me - that, unconsciously, she was only doing Morgan's bidding. But Morgan didn't have to make me love her! That's why losing her hurt so much. It was real love, not pretend!
"When Morgan told me that you'd killed both her and the baby, I went mad. I wanted to avenge myself and prove to Morgan that I was worthy to be his son." His laugh was bitter. "So what do I do now?"
"You come with us to the Yucatan. Raise your child in peace."
"How can I? Look at me! I'm not human!"
"Neither am I. Nor is your child. Fell, you don't have to go through this alone. I know what you're feeling! I can teach you how to master your powers! That's a luxury I never had. I learned things on the streets, the hard way. There's still plenty of things I don't know or understand, but maybe, together, that'll change. But I can tell you that the next stage of your development will be dangerous, and if you're not careful, it will cost you your soul."
"You mean I still have one?"
"You're not truly undead, Fell. You never died. Just like I never did. Usually it takes years for a vampire to reclaim the intellect and memory he had before his resurrection. Some never do. The only difference between the two of us was that I was a fluke, while you were deliberately created.
"I'm not sure how, but Morgan succeeded in altering your genetic structure into that of a vampire's without killing you. Right now you're still more human than vampire - that's why you were able to impregnate Anise - but soon the vampiric side of your personality is going to emerge. And, believe me, you're going to need advice on how to control it. There's no going back to what you were, Fell. Adapt or die. Those are your only choices."
"What about Morgan? He's not going to simply let us go."
"I'm well aware of that. I promised Anise I'd protect her baby from Morgan. There's only one way I can do that, and that's kill him."
There was still enough of the old programming clinging to Fell's synapses to make her words sound blasphemous. "Do you think you can really do that?"
"There's no way around it, Fell! As long as Morgan continues, we'll be constantly looking over our shoulders. We'll never know a moment of peace without wondering when he'll make his next move. We won't be safe and, more to the point, neither will Lethe. It's got to be done."
"When?"
"How about tonight?"
Palmer jumped up, making "time-out" gestures with his hands. "Now wait a minute! What happens if you end up getting killed instead of Morgan? What then?"
"If I'm not back at dawn, take Fell and Lethe to the airport. There are one way tickets to Merida waiting for you at the Taca International desk. Once you've arrived in Merida, check into the Smoking Gods Hotel. The manager there is holding an envelope that, essentially, transfers Indigo Imports - and all its assets - over to you. It's the best I could do on such short notice."
Palmer frowned. "You had this planned, didn't you?"
She shrugged. "I told you I'd take care of things, didn't I? You were planning on retiring from the detective racket, anyway. Now you can relax and sell stuffed toad mariachi bands and Day of the Dead tableaux to trendy Manhattan boutiques, just like you always dreamed."
"I'm going with you."
Sonja glanced down at Fell, still holding his newborn daughter in his arms. "Are you sure about that?"
"The bastard used me! He preyed on my weaknesses and exploited me! If I don't deserve to help kill him, who does?"
Sonja nodded. "We'll take the car. I'm betting he won't expect us to move against him so quickly. In fact, it's likely he thinks I've killed you by now."
"What about me?" asked Palmer.
"I need you to look after Lethe and make sure our luggage is ready. If you don't hear from us come dawn, take a cab to the airport and do what I told you."
"But - "
Sonja took Palmer's hands into her own and squeezed them gently. He felt her voice inside him, whispering in his brain.
I have to do this, Palmer. You can't stop me from going. We both know that. But please try to understand why.
Palmer struggled to answer her on the same plane and was surprised to hear his own disembodied voice echoing inside his head.
I understand. At least in part. I need you. Please come back.
You're going to do just fine, whether I'm with you or not.
That's not what I meant.
Oh.
She smiled, and it was as if she were sixteen and human again. Palmer turned to retrieve Lethe from her father. The poor bastard looked like a mile of bad road.
"Don't worry. I'll take good care of your baby." Palmer smiled, doing his best to reassure Fell. "I used to have a kid, myself, a long time ago."
Palmer didn't like what was happening at all, but there wasn't much he could do about it. When it came down to battling powerful six-hundred-year-old vampire lords, twenty-five years of street-smarts weren't much help.
Still, a part of him chafed at being ordered to mind the baby and pack the bags. Not that he resented looking after Lethe. If anything, he was astonished by how easily the golden-eyed infant had managed to override his ambivalence toward children.
He put Lethe back in her makeshift cradle and tossed an open suitcase on the bed. He didn't envy Sonja and Fell their task, but part of him wished he could be with them. After all, he'd been in on the case since the beginning, and it was only natural for him to want to be there when it ended - no matter what the outcome.
Sonja was right, though. Lethe was their biggest concern. Since she was unable to protect herself, it was up to him to make sure she didn't fall into Morgan's hands. The very thought of the bastard turning the child into one of his drones made Palmer so mad he felt giddy.
There was a knock on his room's door, interrupting his train of thought. Palmer paused at the threshold connecting his and Sonja's rooms. It couldn't be maid service, not at one in the morning. There was second knock, this one heavy enough to rattle the doorjamb.
Palmer pulled his backup gun, a Luger, free of its case on the bed. Checking the breech, he stepped into the other room, closing the connecting door behind him.
"Who is it?" he barked.
The hinges on the door bulged inward as the doorknob turned sharply left then right. There was the sound of metal and wood grinding together, and the door flew open, its lock snapped. It hung from its hinges like a broken bird's wing.
The ogre had to duck his head under the lintel to enter the room. Dressed in a trench coat over a black turtleneck sweater and corduroy jeans, Keif looked like a young, upwardly mobile linebacker on the go. He emitted a rank odor of bull-ape aggression that made Palmer's testes crawl.
"Pangloss say you come now."
"He promised to leave me alone! I - I'm Sonja's renfield now!"
The ogre chuckled, exposing a mouthful of yellow, serrated teeth. "She leave. Gone play with Morgan. She not corning back. Pangloss say he got dibs."
Palmer pointed the Luger at the ogre. "Back off, Kong! I don't care if the Pope himself wants an audience! I'm not going anywhere with you!"
Keif growled and advanced. Palmer fired. The bullet struck the thick ridge of the ogre's brow and slid across his bald pate like a pad of butter on a hot skillet. Except for a thin red line bisecting his skull, Keif showed no ill effect from being shot in the head at close to point-blank range.
"That sting," the ogre grunted, cuffing Palmer with the back of his hand.
It was like meeting the business end of a weighted Louisville Slugger. Palmer sailed across the double bed, landing on a small table in the corner that collapsed under his weight.
Palmer struggled to sit up, his vision swimming from the blow. He cringed at the sight of the ogre lumbering closer, displaying his fearsome shark's grin. Then, to his amazement, the giant halted.
Keif tilted his head and sniffed the air with wide, gorilla-like nostrils. He beamed an idiotic smile, a rope of thick saliva dangling from his lower jaw. The ogre's behavior was gruesomely familiar.
"Baby. Keif smell baby. " A gray, forked tongue snapped out of the ogre's gaping mouth, licking cracked lips. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Palmer. "You got baby around here?"
"No! I mean, of course not. What would I be doing with a baby? You must be smelling the Joneses down the hall. They've got plenty of babies - at least three or four! Nice big, fat, juicy babies. There are no babies here though! No, sir!"
The ogre didn't seem convinced. "Baby smell strong." He snuffled again, casting for scent like a bloodhound. "Real strong!"
Lethe began to cry.
The ogre grinned in triumph. "Keif right! You got baby!"
"Leave her alone, damn you!"
But it was too late. Keif was already heading toward the connecting door, following the infant's thin, kittenlike wail. Palmer pulled himself to his feet and staggered after the ogre, trying to ignore the pain in his head. The door connecting his and Sonja's rooms now stood wide open, yanked off its hinges.
Gasping for breath, Palmer stared in horror at the sight of the ogre holding the crying baby upside down by her ankles like a live chicken.
"I said leave her alone! I'll go peacefully if you just leave her alone!"
The ogre didn't seem to hear him. "Yum-yum! Babies good eatin'!" Keif tilted his head back and dropped his jaw, lifting the frightened infant at arm's length, lowering her into his gaping maw.
Suddenly Palmer smells copal burning and he is back in the jungle. He is walking along the narrow path that runs from his people's village to the natural spring that provides them with their drinking and cooking water. His young son, Tohil, is several lengths ahead of him. Tohil laughs and tosses rocks and sticks at the monkeys and birds in the nearby trees. He turns to wave at Palmer with his small six-fingered hand. Palmer envies the boy his spirit and energy. He has no doubt that Tohil will grow up to be a fine ballplayer. Before he finishes the thought, the green parts and jaguar leaps from its hiding place and grabs the startled boy. Palmer sees the jaguar's sharp fangs sink into his son's shoulder, sees the blood leap from his son's skin. Palmer hurls his spear at the great cat, but it is deflected by a branch. Tohil screams his father's name as he is pulled from the path into the jungle. Palmer runs to where the jaguar ambushed his only son, but all he finds are bloodstains, bright as rubies, splashed across the broad leaves. The men from the village search for Tohil the rest of the day, but the boy is never seen again.
"No!"
Grief and rage pulsed through Palmer. He seized the anger coursing through him and channeled it outward, and it was as if he'd suddenly discovered a third arm, invisible to him until that moment. Palmer squeezed the ogre's skull just as it was about to drop Lethe, headfirst, into its razor-toothed mouth.
The ogre grunted as if stricken by a gastric attack. It staggered drunkenly, thick black blood trickling from its nostrils and ears. Keif gave a bullfroglike croak and let go of the squalling baby, pointed a trembling finger at Palmer and took an unsteady step in the detective's direction.
"You..."
A pink fluid seeped from around the ogre's eyes. A froth of blood and mucus dripped from the corners of his mouth. Palmer took a step away from the advancing child-eater.
"Did... this..."
Jesus, what does it take to kill one of these bastards? A direct nuclear strike?
Keif collapsed onto the floor, his brains reduced to a jellied consomme seeping from his eyes and ears.
Lethe was still crying. Palmer stepped over the fallen giant and checked on the child. Luckily, when Keif dropped her he'd been standing over the bed. The minute Palmer picked her up, Lethe's wails died down to whimpers.
"There, there, sweetheart. Bad monster's gone now."
Or was it? If Pangloss was still hot for his bod, he was sure to send other operatives once Keif didn't show up with the goods. He couldn't stay at the motel - that was certain. Even if the management had overlooked the hot plate in the room, Palmer doubted they were willing to ignore gunshots, a screaming baby and an undeniably dead motherfucker.
Palmer reclaimed his Luger, wrapped Lethe as warmly as he could and put on his coat. It looked like his only option was to take a cab out to the airport, sans baggage, and wait things out there.
With Lethe tucked inside the front of his raincoat, Palmer felt like a pistol-packing kangaroo. He could just imagine what some of his old cronies would have to say about this. He hurried to the stairway exit just as the elevator down the hall pinged open. He didn't look to see who - or what - got out.
Four flights later Palmer strolled through the lobby, trying his best to look nonchalant while gasping for breath like a landed trout. The wizened Asian seated behind the registration glanced up from a Cantonese newspaper, shrugged and resumed his reading.
Once outside, the panic Palmer had been suppressing since the ogre had appeared in his room finally kicked in. He hurried through the shadowy streets, no longer sure of what he thought he was doing or where he was going. The plans he'd made back in the hotel seemed to belong to someone else.
He'd become so distraught, he didn't realize he'd gotten lost until he turned a corner and found himself at the end of a blind alley.
Palmer stared at the peeling movie posters and graffiti scrawls for a moment before seeing them. His heart was beating way too fast and his breathing sounded ragged. He wanted a smoke real bad, but he'd left his Shermans back at the hotel room.
Lethe, curled inside his coat, was a ball of warmth pressed against his belly. Feeling her there reassured him and helped him swallow the fear rising inside him. Behind him, a bottle skittered across pavement and broke.
There were several of them blocking the entrance to the alley, huddled together like mounds of ambulatory garbage. Palmer felt the tension drain as he realized he was looking at street people and not Pangloss's hirelings. Lethe stirred against him and gave out a kittenish mew.
A man dressed in filthy castoffs with newspapers swaddling his feet shuffled forward. To Palmer's surprise, the vagrant responded to Lethe's call with his own, slightly deeper version. The others grouped behind him grew excited and muttered among themselves.
Palmer took a tentative step forward. "Uh, look, I know this sounds weird, but can anyone here tell me where I am?"
An old woman, her hair the color and consistency of a dirty string mop, sidled closer to him. She wore several layers of sweaters over a dingy, printed housedress. She smiled, displaying bare gums and golden pupil-less eyes that glowed in the dark.
"Shit!" Palmer jumped back from the old woman, his skin tingling as if he'd just received a mild electric shock. Although he'd never really seen them, he knew these were what Sonja had referred to as seraphim.
The seraph with its feet wrapped in newspapers made a reassuring hand gesture, then it spoke. From cracked, filth-caked lips rushed a mixture of crystal chimes, bird song, silver bells and crashing tide. The beauty of the seraph's language brought tears to Palmer's eyes. And even though he could not make out a single word, he understood perfectly.
Nodding his assent, Palmer unbuttoned his coat and held Lethe so the assembled seraphim could see her. They grew agitated and crowded in closer so that they could touch her dusky baby flesh with their callused, dirty hands. Lethe did not seem to mind and responded to their strange, ethereal language with her own, babyish version.
The sweater woman made a sound like a dolphin and began spinning in place, like a bedraggled whirling dervish. Soon the others joined in her dance. Palmer watched in dumb fascination as blue-white sparks leapt from the twirling seraph's outstretched hands and hair. Within seconds the ragged street people had been transformed into pure light, spinning around him like luminous dust devils.
Palmer was so dazzled by the beauty of what was happening, he was caught off guard when one of the light-beings danced forward and plucked Lethe from his hands.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing! ? Give me back my baby!"
Lethe giggled and clapped her hands as she was lifted high into the air on a pillow of colored lights. The other seraphim joined in, transforming themselves from electric-blue tornadoes to rainbow-colored clouds.
One of the seraphim twined about Palmer's shoulders, whispering to him in its strange nonlanguage.
He need not fear for the child. She would be returned to him when it was safe. Palmer tried to snare the bright intelligence with his own mind, but it was like trying to trap quicksilver in his bare hands. The seraph eeled its way free of his grasp, more amused than insulted by such a clumsy attempt at interrogation.
Lethe bobbed in the night air, smiling down at Palmer like an infant saint taken up by angels. Within moments she had drifted away from view, like a balloon caught in a jet stream.
Palmer knew he had nothing to fear from the seraphim. If anything, Lethe was safer with them than with him. Now he was free to follow Sonja. Provided he could find ready transportation.
As he left the alley he scooped up a loose brick, hefting it experimentally. It'd been a long time since he'd boosted a car without his tools. Not since the Sex Pistols' American tour, at least.
The Tiger's Cage
Thou who, abruptly as a knife,
Didst come into my heart; thou who
A demon horde into my life
Didst enter, wildly dancing, through
The doorways of my sense unlatched
To make my spirit thy domain.
- Baudelaire, The Vampire