Chapter 3 : Evaluation and Exchange

Blair’s POV

I sit there for probably five minutes, my entire body trembling, as I stare at the mystery man on my floor. Was it just a figment of my imagination? Was it a hallucination? Or did I actually just watch this guy’s eyes change colors from green to red like a Christmas tree light string as fangs protruded from his mouth?

I glance down at my elbow to see whether or not his little lunge managed to nick me, and then I see it. Right there, on my elbow, is fresh blood gathering on my skin, but it isn’t a puncture. It must have been from where I scraped my elbow on the brick when I was helping him into the building.

I swear my vision swirls like the room is a spinning tornado before I come back to my senses.

Whatever this is, it is not natural. If this is some kind of after-effect of a drug, it is the scariest shit I have ever seen in my life. My heart pounds in my chest, beating quickly as if it is pumping only air through my veins, as I swallow dryly.

Snap out of it!

I shake my head a few times and blink hard, forcing moisture into my dry eyes. Did I even blink this whole time?

I look at the guy harshly, daring to hold my breath and lean forward to check his pulse. He seems like he isn’t shuddering and shaking anymore, but that isn’t what catches my attention. His pulse is slow, but his breathing is even.

What is up with this guy? I wish I had all of that equipment from the hospital to see his vitals. Would they be like his friend’s vitals? Slow with an inconsistent pulse?

It matters and, at the same time, it doesn’t. For the moment, I see that this guy is stable, which is important. Unlike his friend, I was able to save his life.

I lean forward once more, making sure the guy is out cold, before inserting the tampon into the wound to help seal up the wound, not that it was bleeding as profusely as before. Now that a little bit of time had passed, it seemed like the lacerations weren’t bleeding. In fact, it seemed like they were already scabbing over.

What the fuck was up with this guy?

Seeing that he is out of danger at the moment, I look at the object I removed from his body. It is still in the tweezers I have clutched in my fingers. Amazing I didn’t drop it.

I stand and take it over to the sink where I start running some warm water to clean up the rest of this guy’s body and the smear stains in the hallway from where he fell. It’ll take a while for the warm water to reach me though, which gives me time to examine the object.

It is cylindrical and pointed, almost like a stubby, miniature ice cream cone. It definitely looks like a nine-millimeter bullet, but there’s something very off about it. Curious, I tap it against the counter and hear a dull thunk instead of a clink of metal against the surface. I’ve heard this sound before when I accidentally drop my chopsticks on the counter.

Wood?

This projectile was made of wood? It is a bit pitted and had a sheen to it in the kitchen light, but there was no doubt that the very end was a piece of wood.

What on earth did it mean? What kind of freakazoid would be launching wood splinters at someone? Was it shrapnel? No. There would be other fragments. Was it part of a BB gun or pea shooter like those old dart guns? Again, that didn’t make any sense, but it sounded more reasonable than someone trying to make a wooden bullet.

I glance back at my patient on the floor, apprehension swelling in my chest. Did I make a mistake bringing this guy here? Should I have just left this to the professionals? I know the statistics better than anyone else about what happens to single females in the heart of Chicago at four o’clock in the morning.

Shit.

I sound just like my parents.

I roll my eyes at no one in particular and carefully stow the fragment of wood in a plastic bag, writing “EVIDENCE” with my fading permanent marker. I leave the bag open so it can dry, but plan on sealing it later. If something happens and this guy gets loose, I need to make sure I have a solid case and evidence leading to this guy if he tries to hurt me.

I pick up some of the bloody cloths and gauze I used and also place them into the last few paper bags I have. Lesson number seven in working at a hospital—know the protocol for specific pieces of evidence.

I stare at the black-haired man on my floor in contemplation for several minutes before deciding that, ultimately, I did need to take the right precautions—despite how it might look once he woke up.

With a significant amount of effort, I lay out plastic tablecloths on my bed, drag the man to my bedroom, and wrestle him onto the mattress where I proceed to tie him to the bedposts. I search some websites and find a few knots that seem like they will secure the guy and keep him from getting away.

By this time, the water is finally warm, and I get a couple of buckets, one for him and one for the hall. It takes no time to mop up outside, but cleaning off my new house guest is a bit more interesting. As I run the warm washcloth over his chest, I see that there are dozens of scars that I didn’t notice before. Some of them are covered up by the tattoos on his chiseled body.

Was this guy in an abusive home when he was young? Did he do this himself? Or was this something that he acquired over a long period of time? Did he start fights and that was how he got these scars?

What I do know is that I need answers, and he is the only one who can give them to me.

So, for the next forty-six minutes, I stand there with my improvised long-distance weapon, which is a cheap, wooden broom, and wait for him to wake up.

His brow furrows first just as his breathing deepens and increases in frequency. I see him flex his arms, which I can see possess power. For a moment, my heart jumps into my throat as I wonder if the rope I had is going to be enough to hold him. Thankfully, he doesn’t struggle against his bindings much. It is just enough for him to realize he’s being detained, which makes him open his eyes slowly.

The way he cautiously peers through squinted eyes reminds me of a recent druggie brought in after an overdose. He thought that if he pretended to be asleep he would be left alone. He kept squinting his eyes in the same way this guy is.

This patient, however, seems to realize something happened leading up to him being tied to my bed and doesn’t continue to fake being asleep. He opens his pale green eyes and instantly makes direct eye contact with me. I feel my heart skip a beat. This is the kind of thing you read about in those naughty romance books—a strange man being tied to a bed only to reveal he kind of likes it.

For several seconds, we simply stare at one another in complete silence until I decide to take the initiative.

“Hey, buddy, how’re you feeling?” I ask. I can’t separate my hint of sarcasm from my professional question. Silently, he looks around the room, measuring everything with his eyes, before glancing down at his body to the ripped and torn shirt which still covers him.

“Fine,” he says when he looks back up at me.

“Great,” I say with a smile. “Because I have some questions, and you are going to answer them.”

The man scoffs under his breath ever so slightly and has the audacity to roll his eyes. I refuse for this little shit to disrespect me in my own house after I just saved his life.

I spin the broom like you see monks do in those fantasy movies and pause just before the handle smacks him in the chest. I watch his eyes flare with curiosity and alarm as his body flexes and then relaxes. It isn’t enough to scare him, but it is enough to let him know I mean business.

Something switches in the man’s eyes. Is it respect? Is it amusement? More curiosity? I don’t know. I don’t care.

“So,” he says softly, breaking the silence between us. “What are these questions?”

Now it is my turn to scoff.

“Well, where to begin? Oh, here’s a good one. What actually happened to you? More importantly, why did you lunge at me? Why did your eyes change from green to red? Why does your blood act like it’s already coagulated? Why did I pry out a wooden splinter from your chest? There are so many questions, and I’ve got the rest of the morning to get them answered. So, spill,” I say.

At the mention of the wooden splinter, the man’s eyes narrow and avert, darting around as if trying to put together the pieces of some invisible puzzle. Then, after a moment, he smiles politely, revealing a row of perfectly straight teeth.

“Why don’t we start with something simpler?” suggests the man. “Like, introductions?”

I look at him, suspicion consuming my features. “Fine,” I mutter. “It’s a start, which I think I’m owed.”

The man clears his throat and gives a curt nod. If he were standing, he would be bowing ever so slightly. What kind of guy is this?

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances. My name is Raven Black,” states the man. I look at him incredulously.

“Raven? Like the bird? Is that what your parents decided to name you? Or is this something you fancied for yourself?” I ask.

At this, Raven gets exceedingly quiet. I watch his jaw clench and unclench. Does he not like that I’m questioning him? Is he trying to lie? Or does he not like that it sounds like I’m poking fun at him?

I rub my eyes and sigh. This is definitely not the right way to make friends. Despite my eagerness, I need to make sure I am actually being polite. I can manage even the most unruly patients at the hospital, so this guy shouldn’t be any different.

Fuck, I need sleep. No sleep makes me snarky and cranky. I remove the pole from being right next to Raven’s face and keep it by my side.

“Okay then, Raven, do you remember who did this to you?” I ask.

No response.

“Was it the same person who hurt your friend? Angelo, right?” I ask.

Still, nothing.

This is getting ridiculous. Raven stares at me as though he is in deep contemplation. Is he still hung up on the first set of questions?

Then, he speaks. “One for one. You answer my question, I answer yours,” he states.

Ah! That’s it then. He’s got questions of his own.

“Okay. Go for it. I’ll let you ask first,” I say invitingly.

Raven readjusts ever so slightly against the binds, but doesn’t struggle as he nods.

“Very well. First question is what is your name? I’ve given you mine,” says Raven. I knew this was probably coming.

I bite my lower lip and nod slowly. “Blair. Blair Evans,” I say. He obviously memorizes my name in an instant.

“Well, Ms. Evans…”

“Ew… gross… Don’t do that. Makes me sound old. It’s just Blair,” I interrupt, not meaning to, but I want to nip that in the bud as soon as possible.

Surprised, Raven’s eyebrows raise as he nods slowly. “Of course, Blair. Allow me to thank you for saving my life,” says Raven. Again, he gives a respectful nod before turning his eyes back onto me.

“Of course,” I reply. “I’m glad I was able to. But, if I’m being honest, I don’t understand why you were in such bad shape. A handful of superficial scratches and one penetrating wound. Your injuries were sizzling. Was it some kind of acid?”

Raven looks contemplative once more. It looks like he is measuring his answer, figuring out what he should and should not say. It’s like watching a tightrope walker.

“Something like that,” he replies quietly. “My turn. Why did you save my life? I’m no one to you.”

“That’s your question? Okay,” I shrug. “Everyone is someone to somebody, even if I’m not that somebody. Also, it’s kind of my job to save people and it makes me feel like I’m doing something good in a terrible world. I guess I also felt guilty that I couldn’t do anything to save your friend. I pinned everything on you being able to pull through. There. Going to ask any more deep questions?”

Raven listened quietly and then nodded. “I can respect your answer, even if I think it’s foolish,” states Raven.

Is he teasing me back? If he is, I don’t like it.

“Okay, my turn again. What was up with your teeth and eyes when you lunged at me? I’ve never seen someone’s eyes change color like that before. What’s up with your blood being almost black and your frigid skin? You’re not running a fever, but you’re giving my freezer a run for its money. And don’t lie. I can tell when people are lying,” I ask, making sure he understands that I want the truth.

Raven eyes me suspiciously before, a few moments later, he sighs and nods.

“It is only fair. I do owe you my life after all,” says Raven. I see him take a breath and, had I known better, I would have also taken a breath and sat down on the bed. “All of your questions can be answered with a simple explanation. I am a vampire.”