helped her free them, then helped her struggle to her feet. The ground beneath Paul swayed and he staggered away from her drunkenly, staggered toward the concrete bench. He had to sit down before he fell down, but as he turned to do so he saw two identical Katherines standing over Joe Stalin, who lay between them groaning. One Katherine kicked Joe hard in the head and he stopped groaning, then the two Katherines looked at each other and their jaws dropped. Both Katherines wore the same torn and ripped suit, torn and ripped stockings, torn and ripped coat and blouse exposing a black lacy chemise, blood trickling from identical cuts and bruises on their faces, makeup smeared and hair in wild disarray, with bits of twig and bush tangled into it. It occurred to Paul that seeing double meant he had a serious concussion, but then he realized he wasn’t seeing double Joe Stalin, or double anything else for that matter.
The two Katherines backed warily away from one another, one toward the hospital entrance, the other toward the bench and the bushes. Both turned to Paul, said in identical Katherine voices, “It’s the vamp, throwing a glamour.”
Blink ; the image of the Katherine standing in front of the hospital entrance did that strange little flash of something not quite real. Behind her, Paul saw McGowan and the hippie-woman inside the hospital running their way.
The Katherine in the entrance took a step toward Paul and both Katherines said, “Let’s get to my car.” They both turned and pointed to the other and said, “Don’t trust her, it’s the vampire.”
The Katherine in the entrance took another step toward Paul, reached out carefully toward him and said, “Trust me, Paul.”
The Katherine near the bench cringed back and said, “Don’t let it touch you.”
Paul looked at the Katherine in the entrance; blink , and again blink , and again blink . And with her hand only inches from his cheek he had it, the image in the blink , the black, leathery bat-like thing.
At that moment Paul reached the limit of his patience, reached the end of any sanity or reason or forbearance he might possess. The world no longer made sense, was filled with strange and completely inexplicable creatures. He just wanted Suzanna and Cloe back. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone so he could understand how they had come back to him, or, if he was nuts, the certainty of which seemed more and more likely every day, he wanted them to leave him alone in his insanity so he could at least enjoy their return. It all finally boiled up in him, coalesced into his fist as he swung a wild, roundhouse punch. He put his shoulder behind it, put every bit of strength and frustration and anger he had into it, heard the real Katherine shout, “Nooo don’t touch it,” felt her hand grab his left wrist just as his right fist slammed into the vampire’s cheek, heard a satisfying crunch as it connected, felt a not-so-satisfying pain in his fist that shot up his arm. A blinding flash exploded from his fist where it connected. A thunderous clap accompanied it, numbing his arm to the shoulder and lifting him off his feet. Reality shifted and slid along a sideways track, a strange sensation at the same time both sickening and thrilling. Then he landed face down in the dirt. It was warm dirt, uncomfortably so.
He could recall no dirt in the hospital entrance, just concrete sidewalk, the blacktop street, and across the street a paved parking lot. As he lost consciousness his last thought was that there was no reddish-brown dirt in front of the hospital; he shouldn’t be lying on dry dirt . . .
The explosion had shattered the glass in the front entrance of the hospital. McGowan struggled painfully to his feet, noticed Colleen sitting on the floor nearby, her back against the wall, her legs splayed out in front of her. She shook her head dazedly and mumbled, “What happened?”
McGowan helped her to her feet, trying to recall what he’d seen
The two Katherines backed warily away from one another, one toward the hospital entrance, the other toward the bench and the bushes. Both turned to Paul, said in identical Katherine voices, “It’s the vamp, throwing a glamour.”
Blink ; the image of the Katherine standing in front of the hospital entrance did that strange little flash of something not quite real. Behind her, Paul saw McGowan and the hippie-woman inside the hospital running their way.
The Katherine in the entrance took a step toward Paul and both Katherines said, “Let’s get to my car.” They both turned and pointed to the other and said, “Don’t trust her, it’s the vampire.”
The Katherine in the entrance took another step toward Paul, reached out carefully toward him and said, “Trust me, Paul.”
The Katherine near the bench cringed back and said, “Don’t let it touch you.”
Paul looked at the Katherine in the entrance; blink , and again blink , and again blink . And with her hand only inches from his cheek he had it, the image in the blink , the black, leathery bat-like thing.
At that moment Paul reached the limit of his patience, reached the end of any sanity or reason or forbearance he might possess. The world no longer made sense, was filled with strange and completely inexplicable creatures. He just wanted Suzanna and Cloe back. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone so he could understand how they had come back to him, or, if he was nuts, the certainty of which seemed more and more likely every day, he wanted them to leave him alone in his insanity so he could at least enjoy their return. It all finally boiled up in him, coalesced into his fist as he swung a wild, roundhouse punch. He put his shoulder behind it, put every bit of strength and frustration and anger he had into it, heard the real Katherine shout, “Nooo don’t touch it,” felt her hand grab his left wrist just as his right fist slammed into the vampire’s cheek, heard a satisfying crunch as it connected, felt a not-so-satisfying pain in his fist that shot up his arm. A blinding flash exploded from his fist where it connected. A thunderous clap accompanied it, numbing his arm to the shoulder and lifting him off his feet. Reality shifted and slid along a sideways track, a strange sensation at the same time both sickening and thrilling. Then he landed face down in the dirt. It was warm dirt, uncomfortably so.
He could recall no dirt in the hospital entrance, just concrete sidewalk, the blacktop street, and across the street a paved parking lot. As he lost consciousness his last thought was that there was no reddish-brown dirt in front of the hospital; he shouldn’t be lying on dry dirt . . .
The explosion had shattered the glass in the front entrance of the hospital. McGowan struggled painfully to his feet, noticed Colleen sitting on the floor nearby, her back against the wall, her legs splayed out in front of her. She shook her head dazedly and mumbled, “What happened?”
McGowan helped her to her feet, trying to recall what he’d seen
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