As he slid in, he clicked the doors locked. "It's just me and you, kiddo," he said. "Now talk."
"I have an artifact," I started. "A very valuable artifact for some people. I suspect that whoever took the boy wants this artifact. No doubt he thought he was taking my son."
"Ransom," said Sherbet. He hadn't taken his eyes off me.
"That's what I'm thinking."
"And the man in the bow tie?"
"I have no idea who he is."
"But he was following you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I think so."
Sherbet absorbed these strange details silently, his fine investigative mind sorting them out mentally, labeling them and filing them in his mental file folders. "What's the artifact, Samantha?"
Sherbet was staring at me. I could hear his heart beating steadily, strongly. Sherbet smelled of aftershave and potatoes.
I took a deep breath, held it, and looked my friend in the eye. Sherbet returned my stare, his eyes wide and hungry, searching for information.
"Please, Samantha," he said. "Talk to me."
I continued staring at him, and finally came to a decision. I said, "I'm not what you think I am, Detective."
"What the devil does that mean, Sam?"
"When I was attacked six years ago, I was changed forever."
"No shit, Sam. An attack like that would change any - "
"That's not what I meant, Detective. It changed me in a physical sense. In an eternal sense, too."
"Eternal? What the devil are you talking - wait. Good God, you're not telling you're one of those were-thingies?"
I smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. "No, Detective. I'm a vampire."
Chapter Thirty-five
"A vampire?" he said.
"Yes."
"And you're serious?"
"As a corpse."
"I don't know whether to laugh or be afraid."
"You can laugh, if you want. Lord knows I've done it a few times. Of course, my laughter usually turns into tears. But you certainly don't need to be afraid, Detective."
Yet another police car pulled up to the hospital. A young officer dashed out and headed for the hospital's main doors. Through it all, Sherbet hadn't taken his eyes off me. I didn't blame him.
"I have a secret, too," he said finally.
"Oh no," I said. "Please don't tell me you're the Werewolf King or something."
He chuckled lightly. "No, but I would have loved to see the look on your face."
"What's your secret, Detective? Seems like a good night to spill them."
"I've known you were a vampire for some time."
"Really?"
"It's the only thing that made sense. Your strange disease, the dead gang banger drained of blood, the punch through the bulletproof glass, the dead prisoner."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because it was a new theory and I was still debating whether or not I was going insane."
"A question I've asked myself a thousand times."
"I have another secret," he confessed.
"I don't think I can handle any more secrets," I said.
"I've seen Twilight five times."
I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. "You saw what five times?"
"Twilight. My boy loves it. He can't get it enough of it. We've seen the sequels a few times, too. Also, I watched them for, you know, research."
Detective Sherbet loved his boy. Of that there was no doubt. That he had been worried sick that his young son was showing early signs of homosexuality was almost comical. With that said, I had been touched by Sherbet's ability to come to terms with the concept. If anything, he loved his boy even more. Still, the thought of the gruff detective sitting through the various naked torso scenes in Twilight and its sequels for "research" would normally have had me laughing so hard that I might have peed. But not tonight.
"Anyway," he said, clearly embarrassed. "You could say I'm something of a vampire expert now."
"I see," I said, and now I did laugh. "I hadn't realized I was sitting next to an expert."
He laughed, too, but then quickly turned somber. "But those are just movies. This is real, isn't it, Sam?"
"I'm afraid so."
"You really are a vampire."
I shrugged, my old defense kicking in. "I don't know what I am, Detective."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm the same person I've always been, except sometimes when I'm not. It means that I feel the same that I've always felt, except sometimes when I don't. It means I act the same, think the same, and do the same things I've always done.
"Except when you don't," said Sherbet.
"Yes, exactly. It means I'm still me. I'm still a mom. I'm still a woman. I'm still a sister. And I'm still a friend."
"But you're also something else. Something more."
I nodded. "And sometimes I'm that, too."
We were silent for a minute or two. The detective's heart rate, I noted, had increased significantly. "It happened six years ago, didn't it?"
I nodded.
"It left you...the way you are now."
"Yes."
"You never asked for this, did you?"
I shook my head.
"And it's ripped your life apart, hasn't it?"
I nodded and fought the tears. Enough crying. I was sick of crying, but it felt so damn nice to be understood, especially by a man I respected and admired so much.
"And now you're doing all you can to keep it together."
Shit. The tears started. Damn Detective Sherbet.
He reached over and patted my hand. A grandfatherly gesture. A warm gesture.
"So you believe me?" I asked.
"I believe something. What that is, I don't know. Most of me thinks you're insane, or that I'm insane. Most people would think, in the least, that you're a hazard to your kids."
"Do you think I'm a hazard to my kids?"
"No. I think you're a wonderful mother. I really believe that."
"Thank you," I said, moved all over again.
Sherbet touched the back of my hand again. My instinct was, of course, to retract my hand, but I didn't. Not this time. His fingertips explored my skin, almost like a blind man would the face of his lover. "Your cold skin always confused me. And your skin disease never felt right."
"Because it wasn't."
He nodded. "And Ira Lang...sweet Jesus. The visiting room."
Sherbet was referring to the time a month or so ago when I had punched through a bullet-proof piece of glass to grab a piece of shit named Ira Lang, and proceeded to let him know what I thought of him threatening me and my kids.