Destined for a Vampire (Blood Like Poison 2)

The next morning, I woke to the persistent buzz of my alarm. I growled at the ceiling. I’d fallen asleep.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, smothering a scream of aggravation. My irritation was impossible to maintain, however, when Bo’s mouth-watering scent wafted up from the material and teased my nose. It was strong, as if he’d lain there at some point, resting his head on the pillow beside mine. I wondered if he’d laid down beside me while I slept. The thought was as thrilling as it was frustrating.

It did serve to improve my mood, though. My body seemed to know what my mind only suspected. Bo had held me during the night, and the knowledge of that, the elation of it was enough to keep me going for a little while longer, until I could see him again.

After I showered and dressed, I realized that I had no idea how to get in touch with Denise Bowman. What little I knew of her was that she worked third shift at the hospital, which meant that, even though I hated to intrude so early in the morning, my best chance of catching her would be after she got off work. Like right about now.

I rushed through the rest of my morning ritual and hit the door at a run. I drove at breakneck speed to Bo’s house, determined to intercept Denise before she crawled into bed for the day.

The driveway at Bo’s small white cottage curved around and stopped right in front of the back door. So when I pulled to the top of the drive, I could see the rear bumper of Denise’s blue Volvo peeking out from behind the house.

Pulling to a stop just short of the wagon, I shut off the engine and sat inside my cooling car watching the kitchen window for signs of life. I could see that a light was on, but I didn’t know if that meant she was still up or she had just forgotten to turn it off. But then I saw a shadow pass in front of the glass, so I got out and walked to the front door.

As I raised my hand to knock, I thought I heard hushed voices and something scooting, like maybe a chair or some other small piece of furniture being moved.

Whoever was inside quickly quieted, however, so I just shrugged it off and rapped my knuckles lightly on the metal part of the screen door.

It only took a few seconds for Denise to answer. When she pulled open the heavy wooden door, she smiled in greeting.

It wasn’t quite the smile that I was expecting. It seemed a bit tight, like maybe she was irritated. I wondered if she wasn’t very happy to see me.

“Hi, Ridley,” she said, opening the screen door and motioning me inside.

I was relieved that she remembered me. But before I let that encourage me too much, I reminded myself that her memories of me weren’t important. It was Bo they were after, Bo they were trying to erase. If Lucius’s theory was true, that is.

“Hi, Mrs. Bowman.” I stopped just inside the living room and turned to face her.

“What brings you out so early?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep.”

Leaving the front door open, Denise only moved a short distance into the room, hovering near the exit as if she was hoping this wasn’t going to be a very long visit. I tried not to let her body language dissuade me.

“Well, you did. What can I do for you?”

Right down to business, I thought.

Luckily, I’d rehearsed a bit of what I was going to say, although it seemed that most of my planning was for naught since she was intent on rushing me.

“How are you doing?” I watched her face carefully, gauging her reaction.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

That answer didn’t tell me much. It could’ve meant that she was putting on a brave face. It could’ve meant that she knew Bo was alive. It could’ve meant that she was taking enough drugs to kill a horse in order to cope with her grief. But it also could have meant that she wasn’t grieving at all.

“I’m doing better, I guess.”

She looked at me blankly, nodding her head as if she didn’t know what to say.

“Actually,” I began. “I wondered if you had any baby pictures of Bo that I could use for school. With all the…disappearances and stuff, we’re doing a Halloween masquerade to raise funds for a memorial and I thought it would be nice to have some baby pictures of everyone to put into the slideshow at the end of the dance.”

I watched Denise’s brow wrinkle in confusion. Her expression said that she was searching for some meaning in what I’d said, but she was finding none.

“Bo?”

“Yes.”

“Bo,” she repeated, this time as if she was trying to recall something about the name, as if she was trying to remember where she’d heard it. Her own son’s name. Supposedly.

With a sinking feeling, I realized that it was highly likely that Lucius was correct in his suspicions. It appeared that Denise Bowman was not Bo’s mother.

“Your son, Bo,” I added helpfully.

“Bo,” she said again. Then, as if light was dawning, she must’ve latched onto a memory, whether real or fake I couldn’t know. “Right. Bo. Oh, um, let me see. Maybe there’s something in his room.”

She walked past me toward Bo’s room. Quietly, I followed. Denise stepped through the doorway and just stood staring at Bo’s bed as if she’d never seen it before.

Confused, she looked around, taking in the dresser and the chest then glancing back at me.

“Do you think there would be something in here?”

I felt my eyes widen in uncertainty and disbelief. She was asking me?

“Maybe. I’m happy to help you look,” I offered uncomfortably.

“That would be great.”

Reluctantly, Denise walked to the dresser and slid open the top drawer. She rifled through the contents like she was picking through the clothes of a stranger, which is what I suspected that Bo was to her—a stranger.

With a sigh, I turned to rummage quickly through the night stand and then made a show of going through the chest while she fumbled through the rest of the dresser drawers.

Even though I was pretty sure I already had my answer, I wanted something more.

“What about a baby book or a photo album from when he was little?” Those were the kinds of things that almost every mother had.

I saw Denise’s back stiffen.

“I can look,” she replied vaguely.

After we finished canvassing Bo’s room, I followed Denise back out to the living room, to a shelving unit that held the television. At the bottom were two cabinet doors, which she opened. Inside were several photo albums. She pulled out the first one she came to and turned to hand it to me.