Night Shift (27 page)

T
he day following the death of Ellery McGuire, the Reeds were afraid to come out of their trailer. “We’re in the open now,” Teacher said. “I went down there with a shotgun when McGuire showed up. They know Melanie’s dad hired me.”

“Olivia,” Madonna corrected him. “We’ve called her Olivia for two years, we might as well keep on going.”

“Mama play?” Grady asked, bringing her one of his puzzles.

“Sure, honey,” Madonna said, sitting on the floor with him. Since this was not her usual answer, Grady was delighted. His broad smile was so happy that Madonna had to smile back. “We may have a lot of time to play, little man,” she told Grady. She dumped the puzzle pieces out between them and said, “You put one in first.”

The puzzle was big and wooden and Grady’s little hands fumbled a bit, but he put the boat in the boat-shaped cutout, and Teacher clapped. “You smart, Grady,” he said, and bent to kiss the child on the head.

“We may need Grady to get us out of this mess,” Madonna said. “It’s good that one of us is smart. We got to make a living, and since we weren’t open yesterday . . .”

There was a knock on the trailer door, which was such a rare occurrence that both the Reeds started. Madonna held out her hand to Teacher, who pulled her up off the floor easily. They faced the door.

“I have to answer it,” Teacher said finally.

“All right,” Madonna whispered. She opened a cabinet that was above Grady’s height and pulled out a Sig Sauer P220. “I’m ready.”

Teacher grabbed up Grady and went to the door. He took a deep breath and opened it from the side, awkwardly. He didn’t want to block Madonna’s line of fire.

Joe stood on the steps. His face was calm, and his hands were clasped in front of him. Madonna’s gun hand fell to her side without her willing it to do so.

“We’re cool,” Joe said. He nodded, to show that was his entire message. Then he left.

“This
town
,” Madonna said when Joe was out of hearing. “This damn town!”

“At least we know,” Teacher said, more philosophically. “Couldn’t ask for more straightforward than that.”

“You’re sure he means it?” Madonna returned the Sig Sauer to its hiding place.

“Yes,” Teacher said, not even taking a moment to think it over. “That was Joe, and he speaks the truth.”

“I’ve never lived in a place like this,” Madonna said, shaking her head. She took Grady from Teacher and nuzzled his neck. “Mama loves you, little man.”

“Mama,” Grady said, and patted her on the cheek. “Play.”

Mama did play with Grady for twenty minutes, and then she decided to open the diner for dinner, at least. Teacher said he’d help, since she’d told the local boy who bussed for her to take the day off. Madonna was glad she hadn’t given Lenore Whitefield an answer about making the nightly meals for the resident old folks in the hotel, because she would have had to scramble to get anything prepared in time.

The little Reed family walked over to Home Cookin, and Madonna felt much better when she began food preparations. She was a woman of many talents, but this was the one that made her happy.

Teacher’s cell phone rang as he was setting the tables. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller. “It’s the man,” he called to his wife, and answered the phone in a completely different voice.

“Yessir.” He listened. Then he spoke. “She’s going to be fine. I bribed an orderly to listen and look. Two more days in the hospital, maybe. Then home.” He listened some more.

“No, I don’t think you ought to come, Mr. Wicklow,” he said, trying not to sound horrified by the idea. “Her next of kin now is her husband. He might not want you to see her. You’re the boss, you’ll do what you want, of course. But if you wait until she gets out of the hospital . . . all right, then, good-bye.”

“How’s Wicklow handling the situation?” Madonna said, popping her head out of the kitchen. Her husband was putting his phone away, and he looked relieved.

“He’s plenty worried about her. But now that McGuire is dead and Olivia’s out of danger, I think he’s scared of actually facing her again. And maybe the old man doesn’t really want to know what Olivia does to make her money.”

Madonna shrugged. “Girl’s got to keep alive.”

“I think everybody in Midnight knows Olivia’s business. Everybody but us,” her husband said bitterly. “And that would be a good thing to know. He’d be sure we were on the job. We just can’t get anyone in this town to
talk
to us.”

Madonna said, “You better take that from Grady.”

Teacher swooped down on his son and took the pepper shaker away. “You’ll sneeze and wheeze if you eat that stuff, Grady,” he chided.

“Neeze,” Grady said, and Teacher laughed.

For the first time since the break-in, Fiji came to eat in the café that evening. She gave Teacher a very direct look, and he looked back, and after that she behaved as though the incident had never happened, or at least as far as Teacher could tell.

Fiji seemed wobbly to Teacher, and he noticed that the other Midnighters all took a moment to hug her or pat her or just say a quiet word. And when she’d eaten, the Rev himself walked her home, though Bobo wanted to, Teacher could tell.

Madonna and Teacher cleaned up the kitchen and were out the door by eight thirty. The night was dark and cool, with a promise of rain. Teacher stood looking up for a moment at the heavy clouds skidding across the sky, driven by the wind.

It was less than seven yards to the door of the trailer, but in that short space Teacher went from thinking of playing a game on his laptop to fearing for his life. Lemuel stood between Teacher’s family and home.

In the only light available, a weak security light over the rear door of the diner, Lemuel’s white skin seemed to glow like mother-of-pearl. Teacher bit back a scream, Madonna made a gulping noise, and Grady stirred sleepily on her shoulder.

“If Olivia had died, you would have died at this moment,” Lemuel said. “You were coming to her aid, they tell me. So you are saved.” And then he was gone.

“Oh my God,” Madonna said, after a moment of shuddering silence. “Oh my God.” Teacher felt even more unsettled by the whole incident when he realized that Madonna had tears running down her cheeks.

He had never seen his wife cry before.

L
ater that same night, in the hospital in Davy, Olivia woke when a cold hand took hers. “Lemuel,” she said weakly.

“I was here last night, but you slept the whole time,” Lemuel said. “I understand you will recover. I talked to the doctor myself.”

Her room was dim but not dark, and she could see his outline against the light coming in the partially open door. “Lem,” she said. “I almost left you for good. If he’d gotten an inch to the left or an inch to the right . . .”

“And me sound asleep,” Lem said bitterly. “No use to you at all.”

“He shot me,” she said. “Fucking asshole.”

“He’s a dead asshole now,” Lemuel said.

“I thought I heard one of the EMTs say that,” Olivia murmured. “I expected to see Fiji or Bobo today, but they said I couldn’t have any visitors. Was that your doing?”

“Yes, that was my doing. I’m sorry if you wanted company, but I was scared someone bad would come in, and I would not be here to protect you. Now that we are married, I had the right to prevent it.”

She nodded. “Okay with me. I didn’t feel like talking. Did I see Teacher with a shotgun? Guess we know for sure why he’s in Midnight.”

“I’ve had a talk with him and Madonna,” Lemuel said. “Now that I know your father hired them to protect you, not to kill you, we’ve come to an understanding.”

“Did you scare ’em to death?” Olivia said. She smiled at him.

“Pretty near. I’m going to stay here until I have to go, close to dawn,” he said, smiling back.

“They’re gonna come in here to check my blood pressure,” she said, protesting, already half asleep.

“Yes, I know. But they won’t turn me out,” he said. “I’m your husband.”

“You know what’s silly?” she breathed. “For a little while yesterday, I forgot!”

“You’ve been shot and you’re weak,” Lemuel said practically. “I’ll do the remembering until you’re better.”

“That’s good,” she said, and a little smile crossed her lips before she was out again.

Vampires like Lemuel did not have the gift of glamour, so he couldn’t hide himself from the nurse who came in an hour later, even if he’d wanted to.

“How’d you get in here?” she demanded. “No one’s supposed to be here!”

She wouldn’t have been so abrupt if he hadn’t scared her, he figured. That was why he kept his voice calm when he replied.

“I came to sit with my wife as soon as it was dark and I could rise,” he said in a very reasonable voice.

Olivia opened her eyes at the sound of voices.

“Ma’am, do you want this man here?” the nurse asked Olivia directly.

Olivia said, “Yes, very much.” And that was that. The nurse took a half step back because she couldn’t help herself, and she said, “Don’t upset the patient, sir.” Then she wheeled around and marched down the hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking as she hurried.

“It feels weird to have someone looking out for me,” Olivia said, a bit to Lemuel’s surprise.

“I feel the same,” he admitted. “It’s strange. But strange-good, as Fiji says.”

“Fiji!” As if the word triggered a flood of memories, Olivia gasped and tried to sit up. In an instant, Lemuel was on his feet and pushing her down with a hand that was like a weight of iron on her chest. Olivia lay back. Her eyes were wide and she was panting with remembered panic. “Lem, he was going to shoot me again and she saved me! What happened to her?”

“She’s fine,” he said. “Now, hush, Olivia. Hush. Calm.”

“Tell me!”

“It was Fiji killed McGuire.”

Tears began oozing from Olivia’s eyes. They trickled down to her hair. Lemuel took a corner of the sheet and patted her face.

“Poor Fiji,” Olivia said. “She had to kill someone because of me.”

“She was willing,” Lemuel said cautiously.

“I always hoped that Fiji could stay . . . herself.”

This didn’t make a lot of sense to Lemuel. Fiji was still herself, she’d just added another experience to her repertoire. But he could tell it was an important thought to his Olivia, so he simply waited for her to elaborate.

“She won’t be the same,” Olivia said.

When it seemed clear that she wasn’t going to say anything else, Lemuel said, “She’s always been stronger than anyone seemed to think.”

“I know, you’re thinking, ‘Olivia never liked Fiji that much, anyway, so why is she so upset?’” Olivia said.

Lemuel hadn’t been thinking any such thing, but he felt it was wiser to nod.

“The thing is . . .” Olivia stopped, and turned her head a little. Lemuel realized that was his cue to wipe her face again, and he did so with tenderness. “The thing is, I do like her. I was just envious. Everyone likes Fiji. She’s sunny and cheerful. She bakes bread. I wanted her to stay that way . . . while I kind of hated her for having all that.”

“So now that she’s killed someone, and she has to complete a ritual in front of an audience, you are distressed.” Lemuel understood. “Sooner or later she was bound to do something that would serve to keep herself safe, and sooner or later she was bound to have sex, Olivia.”

“That is not the point,” Olivia said. “And you know it.”

Lemuel felt completely at sea. “I’m sorry,” he said, because that seemed a safe thing to say.

“Me, too,” Olivia said, in a voice so low he had to bend forward to understand her, even with his sharp hearing.

“I have to be there for her,” Olivia said, in a stronger voice. “I have to get out of the hospital in time to be there.”

“If they won’t let you go, I’ll give you some blood,” Lemuel promised. “Would you like some now?”

Olivia said, “We’ve only done that during sex before.”

“It’s wonderful to exchange blood when we are being man and woman. But you would heal faster now if you had some of my blood.”

“I would love to heal faster. Bring it.”

Lemuel had wondered, at first, if Olivia was seeking a relationship with him because his blood would heal wounds much faster. In her line of business, quick healing was an undeniable plus and might mean the difference between life and death. Lemuel hadn’t volunteered blood-giving or -taking when their connection had become sexual; he had been waiting for Olivia’s cue. If she had brought up blood first, he would have been even more cautious in letting their relationship develop. But Lemuel had become assured that whatever Olivia wanted from him, quick healing was not on her agenda.

Without hesitation, Lemuel opened his own wrist and offered it to her. He was amused to see that she made a little face. A little bite in the heat of passion was very different from this exchange.

But his Olivia was nothing if not determined. She managed several good gulps before she fell back on the pillow. “Thanks,” she said, in a somewhat stronger voice. “Not fun, but functional, huh?”

“When you come home, dearest dear, we will spend good times together,” Lemuel promised.

“Sounds like a plan,” Olivia said. “Sounds great.” She smiled at him and fell asleep.

Lemuel stayed by her bedside until nearly dawn. Olivia slept while the nurses came in and out, checking her vital signs. They mostly pretended he wasn’t there, or gave a little nod in his direction without meeting his eyes. He was used to this, and it didn’t bother him. The price he paid for being able to take energy rather than blood from people was that he stood out sharply from the herd, was unmistakably not human. Even when he did take blood, he did not look lifelike.

Now Lemuel wondered if he, along with the other citizens of Midnight, would live to see many more days.

It all hinged on Fiji.

To Lemuel, who had never been modest about his body, Fiji’s sacrifice seemed—maybe not trivial, since to Lemuel sex was a very private thing—but a low priority in the grand scheme of things. A woman Fiji’s age should not balk at such a sacrifice. Lemuel himself would not.

If she had been a dewy teenager, he might have held another opinion. And Lemuel understood the procedure would not be pleasant, but then, having a demon loose on the town would not be pleasant, either, and that would affect many more people.

Though Lemuel had told Fiji that he must be off her list of potential partners as a married man, during the long hours of night he wondered if some chance occurrence would force him to take the role. In that remote case, Lemuel hoped that Olivia would forgive him. Olivia’s forgiveness was not an easy process. Lemuel sighed, the air stirring in his dead lungs. He watched her sleeping profile. He would do anything for her.
You’re caught, good and proper,
he admitted to himself.

When the vampire could feel the very first tinge of dawn approaching, he slipped out of the hospital and got in his car. He siphoned energy along the way: from a sleeping orderly slumped on a chair, a visitor in the waiting room who was dead to the world, a middle-aged woman recovering from minor surgery. A sip of life force here, a sip there.

Lemuel was in his room below the pawnshop thirty minutes before the sun rose. He slept the sleep of the dead.