Demands of Reinvention

Originally written Saturday, January 7, 2006 (cont.)

“What did you learn? How? What happened?”

“I can’t tell you right now. My house isn’t safe anymore. I’m living in my office.”

My pulse stirred. “Rick, tell me what happened, at least.”

“When can I come over? The vampire still doesn’t know your place, right?”

My rush of adrenaline tapered then, and wariness returned. Whether or not he’d seen Moshe the other night as he’d reported to my email inbox, or whether he’d seen him that night at the museum weeks ago, he still didn’t know the whole truth of the matter and was probably still lying. The main difference, it seemed, was that he was doing a better job of it than before. Since the demands of reinvention spill so easily into those of invention, however, I’ve never had much trouble in that regard, and so I said, “No. Not as far as I know.”

“Is Thursday OK?”

“Should be, but why wait so long?”

“We need to stay apart for a few more days. Kay knows you have a piece, and now that she knows I have one too, I don’t want to lead her to you.”

“Kay?” The adrenaline came back like lightning up my vertebrae, leaving an electric, tingling buzz at the base of my skull (not far from where she’d crushed it). “Who’s Kay?”

The texture of his reply was something between ice and ice cream, simultaneously firm and deliberately enticing. “I’ve told you all I can for now. We can talk more on Thursday. I’ll come over right after work.”

He was trying to end the conversation then, but I managed to squeeze in a final inquiry: “What night did you say you saw Moshe? I know you emailed me about it, but I can’t remember.”

“Sunday. We can talk about that on Thursday, too.”

I don’t know what to make of his reduction in anxiety. Perhaps it’s only because we were speaking on the phone and I couldn’t see his nervous tics—the head swiping, the knee shaking—but even while he was indicating awareness of a concrete, viable danger—Kay—he was speaking more self-assuredly, knowledgeably, than at any other point during this series of events. I was also impressed with his mastery of the art of the cliffhanger. Rather than hanging up frustrated or impatient with his reluctance to divulge anything new or useful this time, I did so with a sense of curiosity. His confidence was infectious; he left me with no doubt that if we stayed apart for the next five days, we had nothing to worry about.

Dennis arrived, and I led him through the circuitous series of library stacks, stairwells, and unused maintenance rooms to return to the others. He had never come to the tunnels alone and still didn’t know many of the access spots, having always relied on Patrick to lead the way. I made certain to explain the route while we navigated it so that he would not have to rely on either of us in the future. Access to the tunnels under the college is barred to most by physical means in some places but by psychological means in others. The latter applied to the library route.

The events of this day to be continued...