For me, at least, and others like me.
The frenetic streaks of energy often concentrated around the living, and they now buzzed around my ex-husband, flitting about him like living things, adding to his own brilliant aura, which was presently a soft red with streaks of blue. I have come to know that streaks of blue indicated a state of deep sleep. The red was worry or strong concern. So, even in sleep, he was worried.
Worried for our boy.
Danny was a bastard, of that there was no doubt. He had proven to be particularly nasty and sleazy and underhanded. He was also confused and weak, and neither of those qualities were what I needed in a man. I needed a rock. I needed strength. I needed confidence and sympathy.
Not all relationships are meant to last forever, I had read once. And forever is a very long time for a vampire.
I stepped through the room and over to Danny's side. His snoring paused briefly and he shivered inexorably, as if a cold wind had drifted over him.
Or a cold soon-to-be ex-wife.
I touched his shoulder and he shivered again, and I saw the fine hair along his neck stand on end. Was he reacting to my coldness or to supernaturalism? I didn't know, but probably both. Probably some psychic part of him was aware that a predator had just sidled up next to him. Maybe this psychic alarm system was even now doing its best to awaken him, to warn him that here be monsters.
But Danny kept on snoring, although goose bumps now cropped up along his forearm.
I shook him gently and his snore turned into a sharp snort and I briefly worried that he would swallow his tongue. Then next he did what any woman would want to see.
His eyes opened, focused on me, and he screamed bloody murder.
And he kept on screaming even as he leaped backward falling over his chair, which clattered loudly to the floor. He landed on his back with an umph, as air burst from his lungs. He kept on trying to scream, but only a wheezing rasp came from his empty lungs. He scuttled backwards like a clawed thing at the bottom of the ocean.
I stood there staring down at him, shaking my head sadly, knowing that he had attracted nurses from here to Nantucket.
"Are you quite done?" I said, standing over him and shaking my head at the pathetic excuse for a man.
He clutched his chest and stared at me briefly, and then he seemed to remember where he was. But he was still having trouble breathing, and that was scaring him, too.
"Just calm down," I said, kneeling next to him and taking his hand. "Calm down, you big oaf, and relax. I'm not going to eat you. Yet."
I patted his hand as he continued clutching his chest. And then his lungs kicked into gear and he took a deep breath, sucking in half the oxygen in the room.
"Sorry," he said weakly, as running footsteps sounded in the hallway. "You scared me."
"Ya think?"
I stood and pulled him up with me. Perhaps a little too roughly. He flew up to his feet and seemed surprised as hell to find himself standing.
He looked around, mouth open. "Jesus, Sam. You never cease to amaze me."
Just then a nurse rounded the doorway, hitting the lights. She looked first at Anthony in his bed, and then at us. She saw the toppled chair and our proximity.
"It's okay," I said. "I just startled Danny."
"I was sleeping," he said, lamely. He shot me a glance. "You know, nightmares."
The nurse studied us some more, then came over to Anthony's side and checked him out. Satisfied, she left, although she looked back one more time as she exited.
Danny studied me for a moment or two and seemed like he wanted to say something. His hair was mussed and there might have been a welt developing on the side of his head. Whatever he wanted to say, I really didn't want to hear it. Instead, I looked over at Anthony, who had stirred a little during the commotion. He almost appeared to be watching us, except his eyes were still closed.
"How is he?" I asked.
"The same, I think. He woke up about an hour ago and asked where he was. I told him he was still in the hospital and that he would be going home soon." Danny looked away. "And...he shook his head and said he was sorry and that he loved me." Danny fought to control himself. "I asked him what he was sorry about...and he said for...being a bad boy and for...leaving us. He said he has to go but that everything will be okay."
"He said that?"
Danny covered his face and nodded, words briefly escaping him. After a few deep breaths, he tried again. "Jesus, Sam, what the hell is he talking about?"
"He was probably just dreaming."
"But he was awake. He was looking right at me. And he didn't look sick, either. He looked...peaceful. Good God, he was even smiling."
"Calm down, Danny - "
"But what's happening, Sam? Is he dying? Does he know that he's going to die or something?"
"Don't talk like that."
Now Danny was shaking. Violently. He was going into shock, or something close to shock. No doubt a thousand different emotions and chemicals had been released into his blood-stream. I reached for his shaking hands and this time he only slightly recoiled.
"I can't lose him, Sam. I can't. I don't know what I'll do without him. He's my baby boy. My little partner. He's everything to me, Sam. Everything. I'll quit my job to spend more time with him. I'll do anything to have him back. Anything. Jesus, we can't lose him."
His words continued on, but they had turned hysterical and incomprehensible. Before I realized what I was doing, I pulled the big oaf into me and hugged him tight.
But I did not share his tears. Not this time.
Unlike him, I knew there was hope.
When Danny had cried himself out, holding onto me a bit longer than I was comfortable, I showed him to the door and told him to go home and get some rest and that everything was going to be okay.
He paused only briefly at the doorway, checked his pockets automatically for his cell, wallet and keys, then nodded once and slipped out of the doorway, wiping his eyes.
I briefly watched him go, then I turned back to my sick son.
Who would be sick no more.
Chapter Four
I stood by his side.
Opposite his bed, rain began pattering against the hospital window, lightly at first and then stronger.
Something wants my attention, I thought.
I ignored the rain, even as a strong gust of wind now shook the window, which was hidden behind the closed blinds. I ignored the rain and the wind and reached down and stroked my son's hair. My narrow fingers slipped through his hot tangled locks. He was too hot. He was too sick. He wasn't going to make it. I knew it all the way to the very depths of my being. His vitals hadn't registered anything yet, but they would.