The Becoming

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I don't waste any time debating with myself, even though Avery is the one who told me about the place. I remember the set up they had, the triage unit with gurneys and IV lines. If I can get David there, he might have a chance.
So, I gather David in my arms again, and it's back down to the garage. This time we're not so lucky. When the elevator door opens to the parking lot, there's a couple standing there whose expression at seeing us can only be described as startled. I breeze by them with a smile.
"Pretty lifelike for a blow up doll, huh?"
I don't wait for a reply, but dump David rather unceremoniously into the back seat. The couple watches as I take my place behind the wheel and pull away. They remain watching until I'm out of the garage. But I don't see them reach for a cell phone, so I have to assume they aren't calling the police. Probably can't figure out how to explain what they saw without sounding completely crazy.
Once I'm down the road a bit, I pull over and tuck David away more comfortably. Pulling a blanket up over his head, and covering him with the garment bag. Not too successful a camouflage job, but the best I can do. I make one more stop at my bank and drive through to cash a thousand-dollar check. I have no idea how much Culebra will charge me for services, but maybe this will do as a down payment.
Then I'm heading South on Highway 5 and back toward the border.
The border crossing is busy at midday. It takes an hour, but once I get to the checkpoint, I get only a cursory nod and a wave from the guard in my lane. Another thirty minutes and I'm clear of TJ. I hit Highway 2 and speed toward Beso de la Muerte . There's more traffic during the day, but it thins as I approach the turnoff and dies completely once I've hit the dirt road that runs to town.
I've made the decision to drive straight in, not carry David in my arms, to save time.
It's very quiet. The saloon looks deserted. There's no loud music, no sound of laughter or voices from within. I guess the residents keep a low profile during the day. I don't even slow down, but continue to the cave in back. I know my approach is being monitored; my vampire alarm is tingling. I can only hope I get a chance to explain why I'm here before someone tries to kill me.
There's a man waiting for me as I pull up at the cave entrance. It's the same man I saw speaking with Max's boss the first time I was here. He's also dressed the same as before-same worn jeans, same ragged poncho. Today, however, he has a straw sombrero on his head, and a pair of expensive Ray Bans covers his eyes. Up close, he looks like a character out of a Sergio Leone western. His teeth are yellow, his nose crooked, the lines on his face etched deep as tire tracks. He's holding a crossbow in his hands and he raises it to my chest the minute I get out of the car.
Does he know I'm vampire?
A smile tweaks the corner of his mouth. "Not until you just told me," he says. He motions with the bow. "But this is an effective weapon against all intruders, mortal or not, wouldn't you say?" His accent is heavy, but his use of the English language is perfect.
And he's read my mind. Yet he's not vampire, I can feel it. What are you?
Again the smile. But no answer. And I can't penetrate his thoughts. Still, there's a reason I'm here and I let him read it for himself.
All except the identity of the vampire who fed from David. He probably knows Avery.
He looks surprised as he picks through my thoughts. "You are concerned over the fate of a mortal?"
"He is my friend. I don't want him to die."
"And how do you think I can help?"
I let him know about my previous visit here.
He sweeps the glasses off his face and fixes me with a hard stare. Little pinpricks of light flash from ebony eyes. "Ah, yes. I remember the night you were here. The night Donaldson disappeared. I saw you in the trees."
An icy finger at the back of my neck. "I didn't kill him."
"But you wanted to. It was the reason you came, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"At least you are honest. What do you have to offer in exchange for my helping your friend?"
I pull the wad of bills from my pocket. "I can get more."
He takes the bills, fans them in his hand, thrusts them back at me. "I will help you. But not for money. You will owe me a favor. Do you agree?"
I nod, wondering if I've just sold my soul to the devil.
"Not the devil," he replies. "But close, maybe."
He creeps me out with that, sends a shiver down my spine, but I shake it off. David is the important consideration here. Not me.
I'm the reason he's dying.
"Bring your friend inside."
He waits as I lift David from the car and leads the way into the caves. This time, all the residents of Beso de la Muerte are in attendance, forming a kind of human barricade on both sides of the walkway, watching as I pass by. I pick up the whispers of the vampires among them, greeting one of their own and curious about the mortal she brings into their midst. Is she willing to share? It occurs to me that I might be delivering David like a lamb to slaughter. Something I should have thought of before.
But Culebra senses those fears. "He is under my protection," he announces in a voice loud enough for all to hear. "No harm will befall him."
It seems to work. Morbid interest dissolves once again to simple curiosity. I pass by unmolested, and we arrive at the room I remember from my last trip here.
Culebra motions to one of the gurneys and I lay David upon it. Another man joins us, his eyes on Culebra's, and without a word, he starts to work on David. He strips off my friend's shirt, covers his torso with a blanket, checks both arms. He finally looks at me, raising piercing blue eyes to meet my own.
"Do you know his blood type?" he asks in perfect, unaccented English.
I nod. I've seen it on company medical records. "O positive."
"Good." He turns to the refrigerator. "Universal. I have a good supply. Do you know how much blood he's lost?"
"No. I know he's been fed from for at least two days."
He draws a bag of blood from the refrigerator, sets it on the counter. He crosses to the cabinet and retrieves another bag, this time with a colorless liquid. "It's as important for us to restore his body's fluid levels as it is to restore the blood," he explains. He moves to David as he talks, arranging needles and tubes as he goes. I wince a little as he sticks one of those needles into a vein on the back of David's hand. It brings back my stay in the hospital and the beginning of all this.
But I push that out of my head. I don't want Culebra to pick up on it. Instead I watch the "doctor." He's obviously American, tall, six-something, thin. He has blond hair and blue eyes and when he reaches over David to secure one of those tubes to the side of the gurney, I see track marks on the inside of one of his arms.
Gets high on his own supply.
Explains his presence here. He may not even be a real doctor, but he seems to know what he's doing. He doesn't say anything else to me until he's finished, and the two tubes running liquids into David's body are secure. The he turns to me.
"Now it's just a matter of time. He'll either pull through or he won't."
Not very encouraging. "How long before we know?"
"A day or two. I'll keep a close eye on him."
Culebra steps beside us at David's bedside. "You have done all that you can."
Have I? David lies so still and pale on that gurney. He hasn't moved, hasn't made a sound. If he dies-
The doctor is examining his neck wounds now, and he turns to look at me. "Did you do this?"
A rush of cold fury. "No. I didn't. Can you fix it?"
He shakes his head. "Only one way to heal vampire bites. I don't have the proper equipment, so to speak."
Culebra touches my elbow.
I know immediately what he is trying to convey. A vampire bite can only be healed by another vampire. But to do that, I'd have to reopen the wound. I'd be tasting David's blood. I've only fed from other vampires before this, never a mortal.
The doctor has stepped away, giving me a clear shot of the ravages inflicted on David's neck. The wound is open, weeping, the skin torn away in jagged slices. If I don't do it, he'll bear the scars for the rest of his life-an open declaration to any other vampire that he has been fed from. Like Avery's maid.
Culebra senses my decision and motions to the doctor to follow him. He pulls the drape over the door and leaves David and I alone in the cubicle.
Can I do this?
I move to David's bedside. Physically, I know how it's done. I've done it to Avery. But with Avery it was all bound up in sex and excitement and the safety of knowing I couldn't go too far. This is David, and I don't know if the taste of mortal blood will send me into some kind of uncontrollable frenzy.
But what choice do I have? And time is running out. I have only two hours until Avery sends that car to pick me up.
And so I bend over David, gather him up and lay my lips gently against his neck. I don't have to tear at his skin, the vein is right there, close to the surface. When I break in, his blood is warm and sweet and full of the vitality of life. But I don't allow myself to drink, the puncture is only to start the healing process. My saliva mixes with his blood and tissue and I feel it begin. Sinew and vein reattach, torn skin becomes elastic. The wound closes.
When I sit back, all that's visible now is a flush of color at his neck. And even that fades as I watch. I lean down once again and kiss David's cheek.
"Are you staying the night?"
The doctor has moved back into the room. I have no idea how he knew that I had finished with David, but he is examining the wound and nodding as if finding it acceptable.
"No. I can't stay. Not tonight. But I will be back tomorrow morning."
I hope.
I feel Culebra's eyes on me. He, too, has reentered the room. I turn to face him. We have a deal?
He nods and holds out a hand. His grip is dry and firm.
As I return the handshake, I realize if I don't come back tomorrow, I must make arrangements for David. Culebra is the only one I can trust now.
He tilts his head as if listening to some internal dialogue. He probably is. Mine.
After a moment he says, I will look after him if you don't return. You have a friend here in Mexico who knows him, do you not?
A jolt. Max. But how does Culebra know?
He shrugs the question off. If something happens, I will notify him.
I stare at him in confusion and alarm. Who are you?
But he simply takes my hand again. "Vaya con Dios," he says.
Go with God. I turn away. A strange benediction from a devil.