He jerked and opened his eyes. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know this. Our psychic connection was strong, although I kept my own wall up, keeping him out of my own thoughts, as I had always done with him, never wanting to reveal to him my true nature, or just how freaky I really was.
I had wanted to build a real relationship.
Little did I know that I was controlling him more and more. In effect, I was inadvertently doing to him what the bitch wanted to do to me.
I couldn’t do that. Not to Russell, not to anyone.
“Is that you?” asked Russell. “In my head?”
I nodded and thought: Yes. Now close your eyes, Russell. And keep them closed and focus on my words.
“Okay,” he whispered.
His hands, I noted, were shaking. A part of him was scared. That part of him was not allowed to surface, hidden beneath the spell, no doubt frightened and lost and confused as hell.
I literally felt myself slip into the flow of his thoughts. They were not jumbled, as many thoughts were. Indeed, poor Russell’s thoughts were a steady stream of love flowing toward me. I had to admit, that felt nice. What girl wouldn’t want her man to think such thoughts?
But they weren’t natural.
I dipped into these loving thoughts, reveled in them briefly, and pushed forward...and downward.
I’d never slipped this deeply into anyone’s thoughts. Never thought I had to nor would want to. In fact, I had doubted I could. But sex did wonders, connecting two people deeply...perhaps deeper than they realized. Certainly deeper than I had realized.
After my attack, Danny and I had never had sex again. Maybe that had been a good thing. After all, he would have been bound to me like a lovesick puppy. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have cheated on me, either, and my family would have remained intact.
But that would have been controlling, and I wouldn’t have learned his true scumbag nature.
Russell wasn’t a scumbag. At least, I’d never seen evidence to the contrary. Then again, within a few weeks, we had gotten intimate, and, perhaps, the spell had begun then. So, again, I wasn’t seeing the real Russell. Perhaps I never had.
No, I had seen the real Russell in those first few weeks: strong, jovial, confident, driven, and sexy as hell.
Down I went through Russell’s thoughts, deeper and deeper. And the deeper I got, the more chaotic they got, too. Gone was his undying love for me. Here were thoughts about boxing, working out, the death of Caesar Marquez. There were thoughts about me, too— wondering what he felt about me, wondering if we really had something here, wondering why I always felt cold, wondering why I never ate, wondering why I was so pale, wondering why he couldn’t see a section of my face when we had walked past a mirror, wondering why I was so strong, wondering why I only slept during the day. These were his normal thoughts, and they were thoughts from many, many months ago.
Russell was in a sort of holding pattern, I knew. Which made sense. He hadn’t fought for three months now, and he rarely worked out.
He had been, of course, focused on me, while the rest of his life was forgotten.
Yes, I had to stop this. Now. Despite the heaviness in my heart. Then again, perhaps what I felt for him wasn’t real, either. His sweetness, kindness, and attention was all a sham. It was all spurred on by a spell.
No, he was sweet. I’d always remember the quiet, confident boxer who first came into my office and hired me last year.
I went deeper still, slipping beyond phobias and fears and secret sexual desires. I paused briefly at one, raised my eyebrows, and then continued down deeper into his subconscious.
How, exactly, I did this, I didn’t know.
But I saw it almost as a physical journey, flying down through the various layers of his consciousness. I knew I was sitting in the garage, in dirt and oil and filth, holding his hands, eyes closed, but I was on a surprising journey through another person’s consciousness.
But I still hadn’t reached the real Russell Baker.
I passed through some of his oldest memories, and down into his early childhood. I watched him both picking fights and being picked on. Those who picked on him soon found themselves in a lot trouble. I almost laughed as I watched him single-handedly beat up two bullies.
Down I went. Deeper and deeper.
Early childhood memories. A loving mother. An asshole father. The father beat him, but Russell always fought back.
Deeper and earlier, and soon I saw something rather amazing. Burning brightly in his deepest memories was a furious ball of white light. Hovering there in his thoughts.
Waiting for me.
Two words appeared in my mind: Hi, Sam.
Russell? I thought.
But, of course.
Chapter Twenty-two
I smiled, although I kept my physical eyes closed.
Yes, this sounded like the real Russell. Confident, humorous, carefree. Not obedient, agreeable and, well, love-struck.
I did fall in love with you, Sam, but something funny happened on the way to the Forum...
You fell under my spell.
I sensed him chuckling. Something like that.
So, who am I speaking to, exactly?
It’s me, Sam. The Russell you met and remember, I’m just sort of...buried down here. Watching myself from a distance, watching myself act like a love-starved schoolboy. That’s some spell.
The ultimate pussy-whipped spell, I thought, and blushed, although I didn’t think Russell could see me blush. I was still talking to his ego. The part of him that was him. Not his higher self or spirit.
He laughed lightly in my head. I was still looking at a very bright spot...what this was, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps his focused energy. Or perhaps this is what the mind looked like at its deepest, most unreachable spot.
Unreachable by most, Sam. Not you, apparently.
So, you believe me now? I asked. That I am, you know...
A vampire?
Yes, I thought.
You have a hard time saying it, don’t you, Sam?
Yes, I thought. I do.
Why is that?
Because it’s crazy. I can only handle so much crazy.
You’re in denial, Sam.
Oh, yeah? And what do you know of vampires?
Not much, but it’s pretty obvious you are one.
That obvious, huh?
I knew something was up by our third or fourth date.
What gave me away?
Your skin, mostly. You were always so cold.
But I used hand warmers!
Russell laughed, the sound reaching me distantly. True, but the rest of you was always so cold. Your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. And I mean cold. Ice cold. Dead cold.
Ouch, I thought.
There are no secrets here, Sam. We’re both an open book. At least, I am. I can see that your mind is still closed.