1-800-Psychic Hotline

Chapter Three

"Hey, Danny Boy! Who's the pretty lady? Don't tell me you finally got a girlfriend!" Detective Allan Matthews beat them to the scene. He may have been a playful dude, but when it came to crime scenes, you could bet on him being the first one there. Some kind of competitive spirt, one might think.

"Her?" Daniel gestured with his thumb towards Lydia. "Oh, no. That's been done before. She's just a friend."

"Just a friend, huh?" Allan laughed, however he turned his back to the giant blood splatter on the wall. "We were just about to test the blood sample. The tech crew was held up by a double suicide on 49th. Or at least, that's what they're saying. No way of telling for sure right now."

Lydia stuck to Daniel's side. The other cops gave her looks. Not the leering kind but the kind that said she wasn't exactly wanted here. Daniel eased her, or tried to, when he put his hand on the small part of her back and gently pushed her along, guiding her past the glaring security officers.

"Don't mind her. She's a writer. She—"

Allan c****d his brow. He looked at Lydia up and down. "You a reporter?"

"Author. I write books," she answered.

"You here to, uh, do research?" Allan asked.

"Yes." Lydia added with the biggest smile she could manage. This was how they managed to get past so much yellow tape. For Daniel's sake, they were lucky to get away with it thus far.

"You wanted to add this in your book?" Allan pointed to the giant red splatter still dripping down the wall. The sun barely hit it; the smog and cloud cover hadn't reached it yet.

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe. Not every day you see a giant puddle of blood dripping down a wall. It's something Stephen King would write about."

"Becky's comin' back with the equipment. Do you need a note pad or something? To write down notes with?" Allan had been looking straight at her. Lydia found his dark eyes disturbing.

"Why? So she can write her number on there for you?" A short brunette with a casual Brooklyn accent came strutting towards him. She wore a dark blue cover-all jumpsuit with plastic booties on top of her shoes and rubber gloves on her hands. With her, she carried a heavy bag that looked like a tool box.

Setting it on the ground near the site of the blood, she pried it open. She removed a Q-tip and a spray bottle.

"No," Allan sniped. "I was wonderin' if the writer over here would like to take down some notes for her book."

"Uh huh, sure, Allan. And my name's Archibald Winston the Third," the woman swiped some of the blood from the enormous sample.

"Just do your thing and test the blood will ya, Cassidy?"

Cassidy sprayed the end of the Q-tip she already painted with the blood. Even from afar, Lydia could see with some mild amazement how the red on the tip turned blue. Cassidy turned to the detectives, waving around her sample before sealing it up in a glass vial from her tool kit.

"Better grab a couple more samples. Take 'em to the lap for further testing." Allan whipped out his note pad and pen.

Lydia was surprised that Daniel didn't beat him to the punch. With all these cops around, no way she would get near the scene. She looked at Daniel, puzzled. He shrugged his shoulders. What a wonderful answer! Lydia had no choice but to grab him by the collar and pull him close.

"What do you want me to do? I can't exactly go up there with all these people watching?" She hissed in his ear.

"I'll see about getting you back here before your shift starts. Or ends. When it's dark out and people won't notice." Daniel whispered back.

"Notice us? There's a big freakin' blood splatter. There'll be all sorts of weridoes trying to get a picture with that thing! Do you really think that under the cover of night will help us?"

"Is there a problem, Danny Boy? Can't keep your girlfriend's hands off you even at a crie scene?" They heard Allan laugh.

Lydia quickly released Daniel's shirt and took a few steps away from him. No doubt her cheeks were quite red. Beet red. Like tomato red, bleeding…Well, you get the picture.

"Sorry, I was just asking him—"

"If it would okay if she could get a better look at the…larger sample," Daniel gestured at the splatter.

Cassidy took two or three more swabs of the giant blood stain. She packed them away safely in her kit before locking it tight. She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm done here. As long as she doesn't touch it."

"Does she have the paper work?" Allan chimed in. He continued to leer at Lydia.

"No, not really." Lydia bit her lip. This did not bode well.

"Look, Daniel," Allan walked over and clapped his hand on his shoulder. "There are a lot easier ways to impress a girl than taking her to the scene of a homicide."

"I'm not his girlfriend," Lydia ground out through her teeth. She wanted to shove Allan and his ego into the pavement.

"Didn't say you were, but unless you got some paper work to be here, I can't let you past the tape. I'm sorry. Better luck next time." Allan helped Cassidy with the samples and drove off behind her in her special white van.

Lydia waited for Allan's car to completely disappear before she spat on the ground wishing that his shoe had still been there to be splattered all over with her saliva. "Dick."

"Tell me about it," Daniel muttered. He put his hand on her shoulder as he ushered her away. He said to her in a hushed voice while they walked past the uniformed officers standing on the other side of the yellow tape. "We'll come back later."

"I can't believe you want me to…basically break the law for you! Do you realize how this works?" She growled. Lydia opened the car door herself and climbed inside.

Daniel wasn't far behind. "I know that's not how it works! Besides, you won't be breaking the law. The photos have already been taken. They already have blood samples. Even if you get caught, you won't be charged with disturbing a crime scene!"

"'If you get caught,' you mean if I get caught, doing your dirty work! I'm not a magician. I can't just poof! I found your killer! Unfortunately for me, there are consequences. If I put my sticky fingers all over that stain, I'll be the one getting questioned by police, Daniel. I'll be the one risking jail time. For you! I'd say this deserves a lot more than a free meal!" Lydia sulked, sinking into the passenger's seat with her arms crossed.

"Two free meals."

Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Three free meals and I'll take you to the Met."

"Who do you think I am? One of the tourists? Oh no, buddy, you owe me something much bigger than a few free meals and tickets to the opera. I want a guarantee that you'll keep me out of jail if things go from bad to worse!"

"I don't know if I can—"

"Daniel," Lydia huffed. "You can either promise me this or you can forget about me helping you. There's a limit to my generosity."

He waited a long time before answering. They already arrived at her doorstep. She had the door open when Daniel called out.

"I promise, nothing bad will happen to you! I swear!"

Lydia felt her heart flutter again. She should have just turned him down in the first place. In some secret place, she still loved the schmuck. She could tell by his strained voice that Daniel knew he was desperate, promising such a thing when he probably not be able to hold up his end of the bargain. He made the promise anyway, and he probably also knew that he might have to kiss his badge good-bye if caught. She turned to him even as she sat with her legs half way out the car door.

"I'll see if I can make an excuse to leave early. Pick me up around midnight."

Daniel grinned from ear to ear. Lydia swore to herself that that's how she got in this mess in the first place. Him and his stupid smile. She could never say 'no' to that smile. She offered him one in exchange before sliding out of the seat. Closing the door, Lydia started up the steps to her brownstone. With her back turned, she heard Daniel honk at her before he drove off. When he was good and gone, Lydia sighed and banged her head against the door. She didn't care if they neighbors saw, she wanted to see if she could knock the idiocy out of her brain.

Walking in, the cats seemed as normal as they could be. They didn't even touch their snacks. Casanova rubbed his furry body against her leg. He liked begging for attention. Bending over, Lydia scooped him up and they landed on the couch. Casanova curled up on her side and Lydia removed her tennis shoes. Throwing them across the room, she rested her feet on their usual spot on the coffee table. It had been a fairly warm morning; her feet felt a little sweaty.

Meh. Whatever, she thought as she flipped through the channels. Sanitary, most likely not, but it did feel comfortable.

The clock turned to noon. She made herself some lunch. She yawned while she made a BLT. The coffee decided to wear off it seemed. Lydia ate her lunch in the living room, watching some random show she flipped to that seemed the least irritating. All she knew as that one characters looked like Dean from Gilmore Girls.

She showered after cleaning up the dishes. Lydia continued to sit around for another few hours before she put on some shoes, grabbed her stuff, and headed out the door. After double checking the cats had plenty of food and water, she turned on the porch light from the inside and locked the door. Lydia climbed into her rusty maverick and turned on the radio. Traffic was heavy as usual. Backed up all the way to the bridge, she put her head out the window to scream indecencies at the schmucks ahead of her. The only thing she got in reply were a bunch of middle fingers.

Lydia pulled her head back inside just before a bicyclist whizzed past. Jerk, she spat. Blaring horns and sirens deafened her left ear. After a while longer when she moved about three feet, Lydia rolled up her windows. She tried drowning out the sound of the traffic with the radio. The damn station started to play Rockwell's one-hit wonder.

"And I always feel like/ Somebody's watching me/ And I have no privacy…"

Lydia felt her heart racing. She quickly turned the radio off. She didn't want to risk another one. This had to be the universe's cruel practical joke on her. When she arrived at the parking garage, she waited a full ten minutes for climbing out. Lydia stuck her car and house keys between her fingers. Gripping her purse tight, Lydia started making her way towards the elevator. This time, she parked on the second floor. She wanted to keep the creeper guessing. She only agreed to doing Daniel yet another favor because she wanted something more than a stay-out-of-jail free card. She needed him to get to the bottom of this. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of telling him in the first place. Lydia didn't want him to be worried sick about her the whole day.

Of course, once she told him what was going on, she would be getting the same reaction. Despite breaking up, she and Daniel had a close relationship. Perhaps closer than most estranged high school sweethearts, but, hey, it can still happen? Right?

Riding the elevator down, Lydia had plenty of time to think. The machine would take forever. Maintenance still needed to work on the bloody thing. Twice she had been stuck between the floors and had to call in to work. Today, at least, it managed to function at its most basic operating level. When the elevator doors groaned as they opened, Lydia sighed happily. No madman in a hoody holding a sharp knife. She stepped off quickly. Looking around, Lydia saw only her co-workers and a couple of businessmen climbing into their cars. Again, she sighed. Not a sign of him.

She made her casual greetings with her co-workers, crossing the street with them. Even surrounded by people within the gaze of her work's security cameras, Lydia looked around the streets for anything that resembled that guy from the parking garage the night before. She even looked behind her when she finally reached the safety of the other side and out of the range of on-coming traffic. The building's lobby also appeared safe. Lydia clocked in with the rest of them. She took her cubicle without any issues.

That is until Aaron showed up with a note. For her.

"Yo, Lydia! We got a call during the last shift. Somebody left a message for you." Aaron handed her the bright green sticky note.

At 11:30. Be at the phone.

Her heart started pounding. She looked up at Aaron who seemed all smiles as if the note didn't bother him at all. He didn't seem to notice the vaguely threatening undertone the message sent.

"Do you know who left it?" She almost knew the answer.

"Afraid not." Aaron gave her a less-than apathetic shrug. He went on his merry way.

Lydia wheeled around in her chair. She started to rise out of her seat to chase after him, but Aaron had already ducked out of sight. He must have went to the operating booth to check on the phone lines. Lydia sat herself down again. Some of the phones were already going off, giving rise to a migraine pounding in her head. The phones started ringing off the hook before Madame Ivanka even showed up on the television screen. Lydia watched from her computer chair the film crew make a few last minute arrangements on the set. Madame Ivanka wore an outrageous purple and red robe. She looked like the head sorceress for the Red Hat Society.

With the old woman making her grand entrance, she was seated at her throne. Cameras rolling, audio adjusted, and…they were live. Madame Ivanka answered the live callers while everybody else answered the usual easily-played idiots who actually believed in psychics. But Lydia sat there doing nothing. Not once did her phone ring. The circumstances were uncomfortably familiar. Would that other weirdo be calling her again? Lydia didn't need to be a psychic to know that those were more than likely the circumstances she had the pleasure of looking forward to.

She switched on the computer. There were hours ahead of her. Watching the clock on her computer screen tick by, Lydia must have dosed off. She let herself get caught off guard.

She heard a heart pounding, but it wasn't her own. She heard a man gasping for breath. She heard him scream. Not a sound one could forget.

Ripping flesh. She could hear the sound of sharp teeth and claws rending human flesh with a sickening tear that churned her stomach. She heard blood splatter against the wall even though she was certain the victim was already dead. Lydia found herself in a long, narrow alley. A dim, yellow-tinged street lamp stood behind her. She casted a long shadow down the alleyway. The smell of rotting garbage and burning copper filled her nose. And yet, despite the awful stench, Lydia approached closer to the hulking lump squatting in the alley.

Lydia climbed over mountains of discarded trash bags full of the city's unwanted leftovers. Normally, she would see a stray dog, a cat, or a fat rat skittering out of her way. Here, there lived nothing. Lydia didn't so much as hear the tiny pitter-patter of rat feet scampering across the gravel or a cat hiss in her direction as she embarked on a journey through the mountains of filth blocking her path.

A lamp hanging by a door flickered on as if it expected her arrival. Lydia shouldn't have stepped any closer. That's what she kept telling herself as she edged towards the mass in the alley. The closer she got, the more fine details she could make out. The thing sitting there wore the world's largest trench coat. Its hems were covered in muck and patches of dried blood spotted elsewhere over the coat's exterior. The thing huddled over something in the dirt. The folds of the coat were stretched out so Lydia couldn't get a look at what the thing hid underneath.

She stepped closer and could hear it breathing. The hulking mass before her very eyes couldn't be human. It breathing with a rough, grating sound through snarling teeth. She finally saw a thick, leathery, lizard's tail the size of a man unfurl from underneath the trench coat. Its dark green skin looked almost black in the dim lamplight; its scales were too small to make out in the poor lighting and with the dark color of its skin. A clawed hand with just three fingers poked out through the muck and blood-stained sleeve. She watched as the hulking mass straighten its shoulders, lifting its head.

Lydia's eyes snapped open just as the thing in her vision turned around to face her. She didn't if she screamed only in the dream or in real life. Either way, she booked it to the women's restroom and turned on the closest facet. Running some cold water in the sink, Lydia ran a fistful of paper towels under the water until they were nothing but a soggy mess. She patted down her face with the cool, wet paper towels. Looking into the mirror above the sink, Lydia saw how frightfully pale she looked. It appeared as though all the blood had been sucked out of her face.

She continued to wet her face with the paper towels. Her blood ran hot and sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Lydia wiped down there too. She wanted to sigh with relief, but found no breath to do so. Her lungs were a little busy trying to deaccerelerate. She suddenly released that her chest felt heavy. She'd been hyperventilating this whole time.

Frozen, Lydia stood in front of the sink, gripping the rim with all of her might. She wished it away. She wished it all away.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, take this away from me. Take it away. I don't want this so-called gift." Lydia muttered.

Lydia stayed like this until her heart rate returned to normal. Hastily, she tossed the paper towels towards the trash can. She heard a small thud as she pried open the bathroom door, but wasn't in the mood to turn back and pick it up again. Lydia left and returned to her seat. She turned to look at the clock on the screen, only to find out that her computer had fallen asleep on her. Lydia grabbed the mouse and pressed down on the left cursor. Thankfully, the computer switched back on. Looking at the clock in the corner of the screen and the one on her desk, Lydia looked at the phone with dread.

11:29

A minute went by, but the phone remained silent. Two minutes passed, and Lydia started feeling anxiety build up in her. Another three minutes and she might have lost it. The wait slowly killed her.

Riiiinnnnggggg.

She whipped her head. No, it wasn't her phone. Lydia sighed. She rubbed her head. After this, she would go on vacation.

Riiinnnggggg.

Lydia's heart thudded against her rib cage. There would be no escaping now. The rings came from her phone. Her hand shook as she reached for it. Clearing her throat, Lydia answered.

"Hello, Jersey Shore Psychic Hotline. W-what answers do you seek?"

"No need to be shy, my darling. I had a feeling that you would answer."

"You!" Lydia hissed into the phone.

"You remember me! Splendid!" She heard Nicholas chuckle. "I have a few questions for you. Well, actually, let us skip the formalities altogether."

"I'm hanging up. Right now. I'm going to put the phone down, and I'm going to have my supervisor block your calls," Lydia started to put the phone back on the receiver when Nicholas' voice stopped her.

"It wouldn't be of any use. He's under my control."

Lydia put the phone up to her ear again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm controlling him. I have him under my spell, shall we say?"

"What are you? A loan-shark? A psychologist? A hypnotherapist? A vampire?"

"No, no, no, and yes." Nicholas answered without a single hint of playfulness.

Lydia sat there so aghast, she didn't speak a word. She held the phone to her ear while she tried to wrap her mind around his answer. Surely, she knew he had to be crazy by now.

"I'm hanging up." Once more she tried put the phone back, but like the flame and she the moth, it drew her closer to danger. Nicholas's hypnotic voice drew her in when she should have hung up.

"You can't. I'm afraid I can't let you do that," his voice lost all sense of humor. Nicholas was through with playing games.

Lydia shuddered in her desk chair. That's funny. It didn't feel like the game had run its course. As a matter of face, Nicholas placed so far ahead of her in the game, he could call all the shots, both when and if the game ended. He baited her, and she took it. Like an i***t.

"And why not?" She shouldn't have asked them.

"Because I'm not through with you. Not just yet."

"Out of all the hotlines, of all the psychics in the world, you contact me. Why?" Lydia snapped.

"Because you're the only one that's real." Nicholas knew how to cut to the quick when he felt he needed to.

"Psychics aren't real," Lydia answered back, "You're delusional."

"The only one delusional here is you, my dear. You can accept your fate or can continue fruitlessly paddling against the current running the opposite direct. Sooner or later, the waters will swallow you whole."

"And how do you know any of this?"

"I have my sources," Nicholas purred. Great. This side was back. "But my side of the story is not important. Yesterday's call was unimportant. Now, I have a real task for you."

"Oh yeah," Lydia chuckled, rolling her eyes at the same time, "What's that?"

"There is somebody murdering my friends around town. I'm sure you've seen it in the news somewhere."

"Last time I checked, nobody's reported any missing vampires, buddy. You're barking up the wrong tree!"

"Is that so? Perhaps you, by now, know about the blood splatter they found in the Upper East Side. You've seen that, haven't you?"

Lydia felt her heart stop. "That…that's a…was a—"

"What remains of an executed vampire? Yes, to answer your question, yes it is. It's becoming a nuisance. I'm the strongest one in this area, both in New York and New Jersey. It falls on me to solve this problem. Which is where you come in, pet."

She could just seem him sitting by a burning fireplace, drinking from a goblet of wine. Or blood. The details were so vivid in her mind, she could almost feel the fire, the tang of blood in the air, feel the caress of his hand on her...

Lydia shook her hand. No. Not again.

"What did you see?" Nicholas asked.

"Huh?" She answered. Her brows burrowed.

"What did you see?" He asked again, slowly this time as if she didn't hear him the first time.

"How should I know? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie. Dishonesty is unbecoming of a lady. You've got quite the vivid imagination, dear heart. It must be very useful to you…with your novel writing."

"How'd you—"

"I have a little birdie. That is all you need to know," Nicholas chuckled.

"This, pal, I don't have all evening. What do you want?"

She looked at her clock. Yep, she didn't. It was already eleven forty-five. She didn't have time to make an excuse to her boss. Daniel should be picking her up in only fifteen minutes. There was no way she could get out of here in time!

"Tell me what you saw. Don't scrimp or try to lie your way out of this. You already know that I know. So, let us, how you Americans say, cut to the chase. Tell me what you saw just a moment ago."

"How am I supposed to know?" Lydia felt like running her head through a wall.

"You're psychic. You tell me."

"I'm not…There's no…there's no such thing as psychics."

Lydia heard him click his tongue at her through the phone.

"Denial is such an ugly thing. This secret will be between you and I. No need to be shy around me."

"I'm not shy, I just, I just—"

"Tell me what you saw." This order seemed final. Lydia knew that if she evaded his request a third time, there would be consequences.

She closed her eyes. "There's a fireplace and a big chair. I see an end table by the chair with a glass of wine on top of it."

"What else? What color is the chair? What is the material of goblet? Does the chair seem to face away or towards you?"

"The chair's faced away from me, toward the fire," Lydia could see it in her mind's eye. If she continued she would get a clear picture of the man's face. All she had to do was concentrate. "The chair…is a burgundy, velvet maybe, with bronze rivets along all the sides. It's a high-backed chair with an embossed leaf-pattern. The cup is made out of red glass. Can I hang up now?"

"You've done splendidly, darling!" Nicholas took a sip from his glass. "Now, focus on those details. Zoom in on my face as if you were recording with a video camera. Get a close up of me, Mrs. Speilberg."

Lydia concentrated harder. Her head felt like it would explode, blowing brain matter all over her cubicle. She shut her eyes real tight, so tight that they watered. She could see the room he sat in as if she stood in the middle of it. Damask wallpaper covered the room with ugly green and gold patterns. Framed portraits were hung on the walls with the greatest care. A fire place drew in the viewer's eyes to the burning logs. The flames cast a warm yet eerie glow across every knick-knack in the room. Lydia could feel the fire against her skin. She let her mind wander. It felt so real.

"I see a man in the chair."

His back faced towards her. He propped one arm up and his finger swirled around the rim of his glass. His long tapered finger danced around the edge of the wine, playing with it. His other arm she couldn't see. The chair's large back obscured the rest of him. She couldn't make out his other arm. It must have been holding the phone to his ear. He wore a dark purple shirt, a button-up by the looks of it. In the firelight, Lydia saw that his complexion looked like a very pale olive tone.

"He's got a purple shirt on. A button-up. I can't see the rest of him," Lydia felt her heart racing. She gnawed on her lower lip.

"Come closer, tell me what you see."

Lydia obeyed without whining or complaint. "I'm not sure if I can."

"Just listen to the sound of my voice. Come closer to the fire and see me."

Swallowing hard, Lydia allowed her subconscious, or whatever you may call it, step further into the vision. She walked over some old, musty carpets towards the fireplace. Her heart thumped inside her chest, threatening to break lose. The man in the chair stopped moving his fingers around the rim of the glass. He sat stock-still. Lydia approached the chair from behind before tip-toeing around to the side.

"Come, come, my dear. There's no need to be shy," Nicholas purred in her ear, almost breaking her concentration.

"You've got…olive toned skin but it's been a while since you've stepped out into the sun."

"Approximately three-thousand years. Give or take a century."

"You have…black hair." Yes, she could see it now. The features were slowly coming together like the pieces of a puzzle. "A strong, Greek nose. Lithe but muscular build. And green eyes."

Lydia must have focused too hard; her mind started to haze over. It felt like mist creeped up inside her brain. She couldn't think straight anymore.

"Tell me more about my eyes." She saw him lean forward in the chair. Eyes fixed on her.

"They're…bright. Green with…gold flecks. No, maybe not green per say but maybe green-brown with gold flecks around the center."

"How do they appear to you? How do they make you feel?"

"They are," Lydia swallowed as she felt those eyes boring into her. "Intense."

She gasped as she watched him stand from his chair. He seemed tall for a Greek, a head taller than she was. Lydia walked backwards away from him, but after two steps she froze. Under his powerful gaze, she became rooted to the spot. She watched his lips move and form words, by then everything got lost in translation. He stared down at her like he prepared to devour her. As if to make his point, Nicholas gave her a big toothy smile with his fangs snapping into place.

"My, what big teeth you have," Lydia chuckled to lighten her mood.

Vampires were real. Just as real as she was. Now, she had one steal itself inside of her subconscious mind.

"Lydia!" Aaron's voice snapped her out of the trance.

She blinked and the whole thing vanished. Lydia, groggy, turned to her supervisor who hovered by her cubicle.

"There's a cop who said your dad's place got broken into. Says you have to come with him right away." He pointed towards the vending machines.

Her heart slowed down. Of course, Daniel stood there waiting for her. She had completely forgotten. She looked at the clock on her desk. It was ten past midnight.

"But my call—"

"I'll take care of it." Aaron grabbed her bag from the floor and put it in her lap. "Go check on your dad."

Slowly, Lydia stood from her chair. "Um, thanks."

She made her way quickly over to the vending machines. Daniel touched her arm causing her to shudder.

"Are you okay? You look pale." He had the worried look on his face that made her think about the time she fainted in the middle of gym because she forgot to eat breakfast that morning. His big hazel-green eyes looked at her like she would waste away in his arms.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just a weirdo on the phone. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

"We can do this another time." Daniel offered as they hopped into the elevator.

"No, no, I'm good. I'll be good. Some fresh air will clear my head. Aaron will take care of it, I'm sure." She tried not to look at him. If she did, she would end up telling him too much too soon. She wanted to get this favor of his out of the way in order to get him to pay her back immediately. Starting with tracing that call at the psychic hotline to whoever had been stalking her over the phone, and then there was the creeper with the gold eyes following her car in the parking garage. So much to deal with, not enough alcohol in the world to solve her problems.

"Well, I don't know about the fresh air part," Daniel added with a small laugh.