forcing her to close her eyes. When she could open them again, Rachel found herself standing in the doorway of a bathroom. A large sauna tub lay directly before her. There was also a toilet and a bidet. The owner of this establishment obviously had European taste, which provedmore than anything that she was definitely not in a hospital. Unless it was a hospital in Europe.
Which was a possibility, Rachel supposed. She might be in a special clinic for coma patients. Although the bathroom was larger and more luxurious than the average hospital bathroom, and she didnât think that European clinicsâeven expensive European clinicsâwould waste this kind of space on a comatose patient. Besides, Rachelâs health insurance wouldnât cover such expensive care, and her family was middle class, hardly able to pay for such extravagant accommodations.
More confused than before, Rachel started to turn away but paused as she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Caught, she eased closer until the vanity counter halted her progress.
She stood for several minutes, staring. She looked good. Darn good. Her hair was shiny and vitalâa dark red with its natural wave and not the usual flyaway orange-red that needed a good oil treatment. She hadnât looked this good since she was a teenager. The fast-paced, stress-filled life of University, then the working world had not been kind. Her face was flushed and healthy now, however, hardly the complexion of someone recovering from a chest wound. Nor like the pale undead. A wry smile tugged at her lips. Vampires had no reflection. She was not a vampire.
Not that she had believed she was, Rachel assured herself. She grimaced then admitted, âOkay. For oneminute I was afraid those dream memories of a silver-eyed man telling me Iâd been âturnedâ to save my life were true.
âSilly girl,â she chided. But she also lifted her lips into a snarl so that her teeth showed. They were normal, and Rachel could have sobbed with relief. âThank you, God,â she breathed.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she unwrapped the sheet she wore for the final test. She found her upper chest and the mounds of her breasts smooth and unblemished. Shoot. Not that she wanted to be wounded, but it would have been better for disproving the validity of her dreams.
It was then that Rachel also realized the sheet she wore was the same pale blue as sheâd dreamt. A moment of panic swamped her, but she forced herself to control it.
âOkay. Stay calm,â she ordered. âThere is a perfectly sensible, sane explanation for all this. You just have to find it.â
Reassured a little by the sound of her own voice, Rachel turned away from her reflection. Peering back into the bedroom, she surveyed the furnishings now visible in the light. Her heart sank. It was indeed the room from her dream.
Her gaze went to the IV stand. The bag was mostly empty, but as before there was a drop or two of red liquid remaining. Blood.
âOh, jeez.â Rachel shifted from one foot to theother, then walked to the other door and out of the bedroom. She had to know what lay beyond. Surely not the hall from her dream?
âDamn,â she breathed as the door opened onto just thatâthe long, empty hall she remembered so well. This was getting spooky. Taking a deep breath, she tried for rational thought. Okay, so the hallway and even the bedroom had been in her dream. That was simple enough to explain. Perhaps she hadnât been totally comatose when sheâd been transferred here. Perhaps sheâd been semiconscious, or feverish or something, and awake enough to see and remember the hall and the bedroom.
Ignoring any flaws in that reasoning, Rachel stepped out into the hall and walked to the landing. In what she had thought was a dream, the entry below had been dark and empty. It was still empty, but no longer dark. Light spilled out of one of the adjacent rooms, and she
Which was a possibility, Rachel supposed. She might be in a special clinic for coma patients. Although the bathroom was larger and more luxurious than the average hospital bathroom, and she didnât think that European clinicsâeven expensive European clinicsâwould waste this kind of space on a comatose patient. Besides, Rachelâs health insurance wouldnât cover such expensive care, and her family was middle class, hardly able to pay for such extravagant accommodations.
More confused than before, Rachel started to turn away but paused as she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Caught, she eased closer until the vanity counter halted her progress.
She stood for several minutes, staring. She looked good. Darn good. Her hair was shiny and vitalâa dark red with its natural wave and not the usual flyaway orange-red that needed a good oil treatment. She hadnât looked this good since she was a teenager. The fast-paced, stress-filled life of University, then the working world had not been kind. Her face was flushed and healthy now, however, hardly the complexion of someone recovering from a chest wound. Nor like the pale undead. A wry smile tugged at her lips. Vampires had no reflection. She was not a vampire.
Not that she had believed she was, Rachel assured herself. She grimaced then admitted, âOkay. For oneminute I was afraid those dream memories of a silver-eyed man telling me Iâd been âturnedâ to save my life were true.
âSilly girl,â she chided. But she also lifted her lips into a snarl so that her teeth showed. They were normal, and Rachel could have sobbed with relief. âThank you, God,â she breathed.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she unwrapped the sheet she wore for the final test. She found her upper chest and the mounds of her breasts smooth and unblemished. Shoot. Not that she wanted to be wounded, but it would have been better for disproving the validity of her dreams.
It was then that Rachel also realized the sheet she wore was the same pale blue as sheâd dreamt. A moment of panic swamped her, but she forced herself to control it.
âOkay. Stay calm,â she ordered. âThere is a perfectly sensible, sane explanation for all this. You just have to find it.â
Reassured a little by the sound of her own voice, Rachel turned away from her reflection. Peering back into the bedroom, she surveyed the furnishings now visible in the light. Her heart sank. It was indeed the room from her dream.
Her gaze went to the IV stand. The bag was mostly empty, but as before there was a drop or two of red liquid remaining. Blood.
âOh, jeez.â Rachel shifted from one foot to theother, then walked to the other door and out of the bedroom. She had to know what lay beyond. Surely not the hall from her dream?
âDamn,â she breathed as the door opened onto just thatâthe long, empty hall she remembered so well. This was getting spooky. Taking a deep breath, she tried for rational thought. Okay, so the hallway and even the bedroom had been in her dream. That was simple enough to explain. Perhaps she hadnât been totally comatose when sheâd been transferred here. Perhaps sheâd been semiconscious, or feverish or something, and awake enough to see and remember the hall and the bedroom.
Ignoring any flaws in that reasoning, Rachel stepped out into the hall and walked to the landing. In what she had thought was a dream, the entry below had been dark and empty. It was still empty, but no longer dark. Light spilled out of one of the adjacent rooms, and she
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