Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

Which leaves one other possibility. I can take David back to his own place. Anyone following would think I'm back on the trail.

And if Avery returns and discovers David is gone, I doubt the first place he would think to look for him would be David's own place. Besides, Avery won't have the chance to get to him again. I plan to make sure of that.

And so I bring David home. It's quiet in the garage when I pull in. The guest spaces are close to the elevator, and since it's midday and most of the building's occupants are at work, I manage to get David out of the car and into the elevator without incident. I don't know how I would have explained a one hundred twenty-five-pound woman carrying a two hundred-fifty-pound man like an oversized doll, but luckily, I don't have to. No one else stops the elevator and we shoot right to the top floor.

I use David's keys to get inside. I lay him on the couch, retrieve a blanket and pillow from his bedroom, and try to make him as comfortable as I can. His breathing is still labored, but his heartbeat is strong. I think back to what Avery said in his kitchen yesterday morning. I drain just enough from them to sustain my own life and prolong theirs.

If that's true, how long would it take for a mortal to recover from prolonged feeding? When you give blood, they tell you you must wait 56 days after donating a pint before you can donate again. How many pints has Avery drained from David? He's been at Avery's two days. Somehow, I don't think Avery used caution in his feeding. He planned to kill him, after all.

I rub a hand over my face. I don't know what to do. The best thing would be to get David to a hospital where a transfusion could replace some of his lost blood. But I can't risk it. For all I know there are other doctors like Avery in every hospital who would pick up on David's condition the minute he got there. Once word got out, I might not be able to protect him.

And Avery has connections everywhere, isn't that what he said?

I glance at my watch. It's noon. I have only eight hours to decide what to do.

What else do they tell you when you donate blood? I use to do it quite often, though I imagine that's something else that stops now.

Just what type is a vampire's blood?

I drop down beside David on the end of the couch. Think. They tell you to take it easy. A glance at David's motionless form—not a problem. They tell you to drink plenty of liquids, especially juice and water. A trip to David's refrigerator reveals plenty of both. I take a bottle of water and return, propping him up with an arm while I try to get him to drink. There's no reflex swallowing action, and the water dribbles down his shirtfront.

He's pale and so limp and still. I press my hand against his chest. The heartbeat seems steady, but for how long? I have to get him help.

I'm at the window, staring out at the bay, when a germ of an idea starts to bloom. It's crazy. Risky. Probably stupid.

But it's the only way I can think of to save my friend.

I've going to take him to Beso de la Muerte.

I don't waste any time debating with myself, even though Avery is the one who told me about the place. I remember the set up they had, the triage unit with gurneys and IV lines. If I can get David there, he might have a chance.

So, I gather David in my arms again, and it's back down to the garage. This time we're not so lucky. When the elevator door opens to the parking lot, there's a couple standing there whose expression at seeing us can only be described as startled. I breeze by them with a smile.

"Pretty lifelike for a blow up doll, huh?"

I don't wait for a reply, but dump David rather unceremoniously into the back seat. The couple watches as I take my place behind the wheel and pull away. They remain watching until I'm out of the garage. But I don't see them reach for a cell phone, so I have to assume they aren't calling the police. Probably can't figure out how to explain what they saw without sounding completely crazy.

Once I'm down the road a bit, I pull over and tuck David away more comfortably. Pulling a blanket up over his head, and covering him with the garment bag. Not too successful a camouflage job, but the best I can do. I make one more stop at my bank and drive through to cash a thousand-dollar check. I have no idea how much Culebra will charge me for services, but maybe this will do as a down payment.

Then I'm heading South on Highway 5 and back toward the border.

The border crossing is busy at midday. It takes an hour, but once I get to the checkpoint, I get only a cursory nod and a wave from the guard in my lane. Another thirty minutes and I'm clear of TJ. I hit Highway 2 and speed toward Beso de la Muerte . There's more traffic during the day, but it thins as I approach the turnoff and dies completely once I've hit the dirt road that runs to town.

I've made the decision to drive straight in, not carry David in my arms, to save time.

It's very quiet. The saloon looks deserted. There's no loud music, no sound of laughter or voices from within. I guess the residents keep a low profile during the day. I don't even slow down, but continue to the cave in back. I know my approach is being monitored; my vampire alarm is tingling. I can only hope I get a chance to explain why I'm here before someone tries to kill me.

There's a man waiting for me as I pull up at the cave entrance. It's the same man I saw speaking with Max's boss the first time I was here. He's also dressed the same as before—same worn jeans, same ragged poncho. Today, however, he has a straw sombrero on his head, and a pair of expensive Ray Bans covers his eyes. Up close, he looks like a character out of a Sergio Leone western. His teeth are yellow, his nose crooked, the lines on his face etched deep as tire tracks. He's holding a crossbow in his hands and he raises it to my chest the minute I get out of the car.

Does he know I'm vampire?

A smile tweaks the corner of his mouth. “Not until you just told me,” he says. He motions with the bow. “But this is an effective weapon against all intruders, mortal or not, wouldn't you say?” His accent is heavy, but his use of the English language is perfect.

And he's read my mind. Yet he's not vampire, I can feel it. What are you?

Again the smile. But no answer. And I can't penetrate his thoughts. Still, there's a reason I'm here and I let him read it for himself.

All except the identity of the vampire who fed from David. He probably knows Avery.

He looks surprised as he picks through my thoughts. “You are concerned over the fate of a mortal?"

"He is my friend. I don't want him to die."

"And how do you think I can help?"

I let him know about my previous visit here.

He sweeps the glasses off his face and fixes me with a hard stare. Little pinpricks of light flash from ebony eyes. “Ah, yes. I remember the night you were here. The night Donaldson disappeared. I saw you in the trees."

An icy finger at the back of my neck. “I didn't kill him."

"But you wanted to. It was the reason you came, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"At least you are honest. What do you have to offer in exchange for my helping your friend?"

I pull the wad of bills from my pocket. “I can get more."

He takes the bills, fans them in his hand, thrusts them back at me. “I will help you. But not for money. You will owe me a favor. Do you agree?"

I nod, wondering if I've just sold my soul to the devil.

"Not the devil,” he replies. “But close, maybe."

He creeps me out with that, sends a shiver down my spine, but I shake it off. David is the important consideration here. Not me.

I'm the reason he's dying.

"Bring your friend inside."