"That's my problem. Tell me."
"She died hard, Lacey."
"Somehow, I figured that. Tell me. All of it."
So I did.
I tried to pretend that I was giving a deposition to a grand jury or coroner's inquest. I tried to describe what had been done to the victim in proper sequence, to the best of my recollection. I tried to be cold and clinical, neither adding unnecessary details nor leaving anything out. I tried not to pay attention to Lacey's breathing and the other small sounds she was making. I tried to do all those things, and the only one I failed at was the last one.
At some point, Karl came out of the building and headed for his car. He saw me on the phone and waved, to let me know he was going home. I nodded, but didn't stop talking to Lacey.
"And then she became unresponsive," I said finally, my voice flat as a corpse's EKG, "even to flame from the blowtorch. From this I concluded that the woman had expired. The video ended shortly thereafter."
It was a cool evening, but I hadn't turned the heat on in the car. Still, I was sweating buckets.
Now that my "deposition" was finished, I didn't know what else to say, so I sat there and listened to the sound of Lacey quietly crying. Finally she spoke, in a voice that sounded like she was being choked. Maybe, in a sense, she was.
"Thank you, Stan. That must have been very… difficult for you."
"It was a lot more difficult for you – I know that. I only did it because you wanted me to, Lacey – and it had nothing to do with getting into your pants someday. Nothing."
"I-I believe you, Stan. Thank you."
What was I supposed to say now? You're welcome? I told you so? I decided to keep my mouth shut, a decision I should make more often.
Eventually, Lacey managed to say, "I have to go now, Stan. I will always remember that you did this for me."
"Lacey – you're not about to do something stupid, are you?"
"No… nothing like that. I am going to sign out early, and tell them I'll be taking a vacation day tomorrow. Then I'll go home, where I will proceed to get very, very drunk. I'll talk to you in a few days, Stan."
"Lacey, if there's anything…" I let my voice trail off.
"I know, Stan. I know. Gotta go. Bye now."
"Bye, Lacey."
Sometimes I hate my job, my life, and the world I live in. I wondered if Rachel had a potion for that.
After I finished ruining Lacey's life, I didn't waste any time signing out and heading home. Even so, there were only about five minutes left until sunrise as I pulled into the garage – which was, fortunately, goblin-free this time. I was relieved to see Christine's blue Ford Carpathia parked in the driveway. Worrying about her was about the last thing I needed right now.
Christine was at the kitchen table with the paper, but she stood up as soon as I walked in the door.
"Daddy! Oh my God, are you all right?"
She threw her arms around me and hugged me more vigorously than usual. If it was anybody else applying that much pressure, I'd have made them stop – vampires are pretty damn strong, and I was starting to worry about my rib cage when she finally let go.
She stepped back, and must have seen something in my face because she said, "Oh, my gosh – that must've hurt! I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I've just been so worried."
I opened the refrigerator and was glad to see that we still had some pineapple juice. It's pricier than OJ, but nothing tastes better after a long night than a tall glass of cold pineapple juice. Actually, a couple of beers would have been even better, but I had to stay awake for the locksmith, who was coming at 9am. After the shift I'd had, two beers would probably put me in dreamland.
As I poured my juice I asked, "What's got you so upset, babe? Is there something in the paper about my little goblin infestation last night?"
"Oh, is that what the smell is? No, there's nothing in the T-T, but the driveway's half covered with this sticky green stuff and it smells just awful. And I found some of these, too."
She picked up several small round objects from the table and showed them to me. I knew at once they weren't silver, or she couldn't have handled them.
"Let me see," I said, and took them from her.
Each little sphere was the size of a dried pea and the color of an old nickel. "Shotgun pellets," I said. "Double-ought buckshot, looks like. These appear to be cold iron. And the green stuff in the driveway is definitely goblin blood."
"Why were you shooting goblins with a shotgun in our driveway?"
"I wasn't," I said. "Not with a shotgun, anyway. That was my guardian angel."
She ran a hand over her face. "Now I am really confused."
"I'll explain everything later," I said, and looked out the window. Dawn was just reaching the horizon. "You better get downstairs, babe, and quick. I'm OK. Stressed beyond belief, but physically undamaged. Now go – I'll fill you in at sundown."
"OK. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you're all right." And then she was through the cellar door and gone. Vampires can move fast when they want to. And at thirty seconds to sunrise, they usually want to.
Hank, the locksmith, showed up at 9.05am and installed state-of-the-art locks on the front and back doors. I've known him for years, and can trust that he won't be giving out duplicate keys to anybody but me. He noted the window alarms and said, "Never saw much point in those. They don't do much good, some guy breaks in while nobody's home."
Or while Christine is – literally – dead to the world. I kept that thought to myself.
"These don't make noise," I said. "Anybody breaks the circuit, they send a signal to the security company, Semper Fi."
"Oh, I see." Hank nodded, keeping his face blank.
"I know – you're thinking that rent-a-cops are pretty much worthless, and you're right, for the most part. But Semper Fi only hires ex-Marines with combat experience. And they're all licensed to carry."