Blood Pact

have to go out looking.”

    Vicki's fingers whitened around the key. "It's my responsibility, Mr. Delgado.”

    He spread his hands. "Why?”

    "Because she's my mother.”

    "No." He shook his head. "She was your mother. But your mother isn't anymore. Your mother is dead. Finding her body won't bring your mother back to you.”

    Celluci watched a muscle jump in Vicki's jaw and waited for the explosion. To his surprise, it didn't come.

    "You don't understand," she said through clenched teeth and moved swiftly into the apartment.

    Celluci remained in the hallway a moment longer.

    "I'm right. I watched her grow up." Mr. Delgado sighed, the deep, weary exhalation of an old man who'd seen more death than he cared to remember. "She thinks it's her fault her mother died and if she can just find the body it'll make amends."

    “Is that such a bad thing?”

    "Yes. Because it isn't her fault Majory died," Mr. Delgado pointed out, turned on his heel, and left Celluci standing alone in the hall.

    He found Vicki sitting on the couch, staring down at her notes, all the lights in the apartment on even though it was barely mid-afternoon and the living room was far from dark.

    "He doesn't know about Henry," she said without looking up.

    "I know," Celluci agreed.

    "And just because I've reacted to my mother's body being stolen by attempting to find it again, well, that doesn't mean I'm repressing anything. People grieve in different ways. Damn it, if you were in my situation, you'd be out looking for your mother's body.”

    "Granted.”

    "My mother's dead, Mike. I know that.”

    So you keep saying. But he closed his teeth on the words.

    "And my mother isn't the fucking point anymore. We've got to find Henry before they turn him into . . . Christ!" She ripped off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. "You think Donald Li's made a run for it?" she asked, somehow forcing the question to sound no different than it had on a hundred other occasions looking for a hundred other young men.

    "I think that if a university student spends the night away from home it usually means he's gotten lucky.” Celluci watched her closely but matched his tone to hers.

    "On the other hand, if he was Tom Chen, he's probably aware we're looking for him and he's gone to ground. Maybe we should stake out his apartment.”

    "The little old lady on the first floor promised she'd call the moment he came home. My guess is she doesn't miss much.”

    "My guess is she doesn't miss anything." Her glasses back in place, Vicki scowled down at the pile of papers on the coffee table then jumped to her feet. "Mike, I can't just sit here. I'm going back to the university. I'm going keep poking around. Maybe I'll turn something up.”

    "What?”

    "I don't know!" She charged toward the door and he had no choice but to get out of her way or be run down.

    "Vicki? Before you go, can I ask you something?”

    She stopped but didn't turn.

    " Do you think you're responsible for your mother's death?”

    He read the answer in the lines of her back, the sudden tension clearly visible even through shirt, sweater, and windbreaker.

    "Vicki, it wasn't your fault when your father left and that didn't make your mother's life your responsibility.”

    He almost didn't recognize her voice when she answered. "When you love someone, they become your responsibility.”

    "Jesus H. Christ, Vicki! People aren't like puppies or kittens. Love isn't supposed to be that kind of a burden." He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Then wished he hadn't when he saw the look on her face. It was almost worse when that expression smoothed into one that told him nothing at all.

    "If you are completely finished, Dr. Freud, you can get your god-damned hands off of me." A twist of her upper body, a step back, and she was free. "Now, are you going to help or are you going to sit around here all day with your psychoanalysis up your ass?”

    She whirled, flung open the door, and stomped out into the hall before he had time to answer.

    Well, Mr. Delgado. Celluci dragged both hands up through his hair and tried very hard not to grind the crowns off his teeth.
    When you're right, you're really right. Still, she asked for my help. Again. I suppose that's progress of sorts. Closing and locking the apartment behind him, he hurried to catch up. Mind you, I'd feel better about that if it wasn't so obvious that she now feels responsible for Mr. Henry fucking Fitzroy.

    Dr. Burke acknowledged