Blood Dreams

Chapter Seven

THE PREPARATIONS were as enjoyable as anything that followed, he had discovered.

Maybe the most enjoyable, in fact.

The first time, he had made the mistake of leaving her conscious, which had caused him all sorts of problems, not the least of which had been the mess.

The second time, he had drugged her so completely that she was deadweight quite difficult to manage and, worse, her eyes had remained closed.

It wasn't nearly as satisfying if she couldn't see him.

This time, he was experimenting with a certain drug, one very similar to the infamous "date rape" drug. The version he was using, if administered properly, kept the patient in a sort of biddable twilight state, able to move and follow directions but with virtually no physical strength.

His one reservation had been that there was no way to tell how her mind would be affected, not until he actually used it.

He really didn't want her to be dopey and unaware of what was happening to her.

That would take all the enjoyment out of it.

"Can you hear me, sweetheart?" he almost crooned.

She blinked sleepy eyes, a little puzzled, and she sounded rather like she'd just returned from a trip to the dentist when she murmured, "I hear you. Where ith-is-thth place?"

"This is my secret laboratory, and I'm Doctor Frankenstein." He laughed. "No, sweetheart, this is home. My home. And now your home. I've been working hard to get it ready for you."

Her brow furrowed. "Real-really?"

"Of course."

She tried to move, and the first hint of panic showed in her widening eyes. "I-I can't-"

"You have to be still for me, sweetheart." He checked the carefully padded leather restraints on her wrists and ankles, then returned to the head of the table.

And her head.

He frowned down at her and carefully adjusted the curved block at the base of her neck, then repositioned the basin in the sink underneath the cascading long blond hair.

Her hair was too long. Much too long.

"You should have had this cut months ago," he scolded her, picking up the scissors from the utility cart beside him.

"I-I don't-"

"Oh, it's all right. I realize you didn't have me there to remind you. But that's all changed now." A hit gingerly, fighting his dislike of the sensations, he gathered up a handful of her hair and began cutting.

"Oh-oh, don't-"

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart. You know I have always preferred your hair short."

Tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes, and he paused a moment to enjoy the way they sparkled in the glare of the spotlight high above her.

Then he went back to cutting her long hair short, saying cheerfully, "You know, I had no idea there were so many shades of dark brown. And I couldn't really remember which one I preferred. So I bought half a dozen. We'll find just the right one."

"Oh, God," she whispered.

"Just the right one. You'll see."

He continued with his work, and long blond hair began to fill the basin underneath her changing head.

Bishop sat up in bed with a jerk, his heart pounding, breath rasping as though he'd run miles. There was a leaden queasiness in the pit of his stomach, and for a few moments he thought the only way to rid himself of the poison was the literal one.

But no.

That wouldn't work. Not this time.

He finally slid from the bed and went into the bathroom, without turning on a light. He rinsed the sour taste from his mouth, splashed cool water on his face.

He didn't look into the mirror even to see the darkness.

When he returned to the bedroom, it was to go to the window, standing to one side out of habit as he pulled the edge of the heavy curtains aside far enough to look out.

Nothing moved out in the motel's parking lot. Or beyond. And Bishop had the odd sense that it was more than the usual middle-of-the-night stillness. That it was something unnatural, a threat beyond his ability to sense it.

You need to rest, Noah. Sleep.

His wife's voice in his mind, as natural and familiar as his own thoughts and far more soothing.

I need to catch this bastard. Before he does that to another woman. Before he does it to you.

I'm safe.

Are you? Then why is Dani still dreaming you aren't?

You know the answer to that. We both know.

Bishop rested his temple against the hard window frame and continued to stare out at the still, still night, this time without really seeing it at all.

I couldn't risk you.

I know. I understand.

But will Dani? Will any of them?

Yes. When it's over. When that animal is dead or caged and the world is a safer place without him. They'll understand then. They'll understand, Noah.

"I hope so," Bishop murmured aloud. "I hope so."