She shuddered as she remembered the way his eyes had burned red as he bent over her, her helpless horror as his fangs pierced the skin of her throat, the weakness that had spread through her, the uncanny sense of two hearts beating as one as her blood mingled with his...
She shook off the memory. That, too, must have been a nightmare, she thought It had to be a nightmare. There was no such thing as a vampire, not really. She knew there were people who pretended they were vampires. They dressed in black and drank blood and avoided the sun. No doubt some of them actually believed they were vampires.
Perhaps the man who had brought her here, wherever "here" was, was one of those. No less frightening or dangerous than an actual vampire, when it came right down to it.
She threw off the covers, surprised to find that she was wearing a nightgown, embarrassed because she knew he had to have undressed her.
Rising, she tiptoed from the bedroom. The house looked familiar, but she had no memory of having been here before, no recollection of how she had gotten there.
In the kitchen, she found an envelope with her name scrawled across it.
Curious, she picked it up and withdrew a single sheet of paper. She read it once, and then again:
I, Edward James Ramsey, being of sound mind and body, do hereby give and bequeath all my worldly goods and property, both real and monetary, to Kelly Lynne Anderson. Ms. Anderson is hereby vested by me with trusteeship of the Ramsey Trust Fund, to do all acts and perform all duties as she sees fit.
It was signed and dated.
What did it mean?
She had the irrelevant thought that he had not had a witness sign the document, so it probably wouldn't amount to much if it was contested, and dropped the paper back on the table. Whatever he had been thinking, he had left her unguarded. It was time to make good her escape.
She glanced down, wondering what he had done with her clothes. She couldn't very well go running down the street wearing nothing but a nightgown.
It was when she turned to go back to the bedroom that she saw the open cellar door. She moved cautiously toward it, her heart pounding as she stared down into the darkness below.
She stood at the top of the steps, recalling every horror movie she had ever seen where the foolish young girl, usually attired in a nightgown, walked down a dark flight of stairs to her death.
"Not me," she said. "No way."
Yet even as she spoke the words, she was compelled to move forward. She saw her left foot moving toward the top step, and it was like watching someone else's foot. Her right hand searched the wall, hoping to find a light switch, but to no avail.
Unable to help herself, she took another step, and another, her heartbeat pounding like thunder in her ears.
When she reached the bottom, she tripped over something. Something large. She put her hand on it to push herself away, shrieked when she realized it was a body. Scrambling to her feet, she backed away, gasped when she smacked into a wall. A light switch jabbed into her arm and she whirled around, her fingers trembling as she flipped the switch.
Light flooded the cellar.
Afraid of what she might see, yet unable to keep from looking, she slowly turned around. Her eyes widened. It was him. The man who thought he was a vampire.
He looked dead.
She moved slowly, warily toward him.
She could see no sign that he was breathing. He had fresh, ugly burns and painful-looking blisters on the skin of his face, hands, and arms. Summoning her courage, she touched his cheek. His skin was cold, as if he had been dead a very long time. In spite of all he had done to her, she felt a surge of pity for him.
Gingerly she picked up his arm and placed her fingertips over his wrist. There was no detectable pulse.
She laid her hand over his chest. She couldn't feel a heartbeat.
The word vampire whispered through her mind again. They slept during the day. They went Poof! in the sun. She thought of the paper on the kitchen table. What if he was a vampire? A real vampire? The sunlight streaming through a partly open curtain in the kitchen could have caused those dreadful burns, if the mythology was accurate. There was no evidence of a fire in