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Then I see the envelope on the night table, with my name written across it in large, flowing letters. "Shit," I think, "guess I'm not getting off easy after all." I pull a letter opener out of the drawer and slash the envelope open. There's a card inside with a message in the same beautiful script:

"Darling Will--
          Do not leave this apartment until I return this evening. I am sorry to have left you alone at this time, but a matter of the utmost urgency required my attention. Help yourself to whatever refreshments are in the refrigerator--after last night, I have no doubt that you might be somewhat thirsty.
          Once more--do not venture into the city until I come home. There are things we must discuss.
                                        Yours,
                                        Anja"

Hmph. I toss the letter aside and resolve to stay only long enough to shower, dress, and shave. Great. Class-A psycho bitch. Just what I needed. She'll be hell to ditch now that I'm a celebrity, too. Shit. I shake my head and find the bathroom, remembering that I can't shave because I don't have any toiletries with me. Terrific. On the bright side, I can still have a shower, and hey--no hangover! That's got to be some kind of miracle, since I'm sure I had enough hard liquor to stun a rhino last night.

Not being one to look gift horses in the mouth, I luxuriate under the hot spray in Anja's opulent shower. It's big enough for four or five people, I'm sure--whatever the crazy bitch does, she makes a lot of money doing it.

After a good half-hour in the steam, I reluctantly step out and grab for a towel. As I'm drying myself off, I notice something REALLY wierd: there's no mirror. The door to the medicine cabinet is just plain oak with some kind of funky engraving carved into it. How can she make herself presentable in the morning without a mirror? Not only that--the windows in here are covered with black curtains, making the room--like the others in the apartment, I realize--pretty damn gloomy. I shrug and dress myself, intending to head straight for the door, when I pass the kitchen. A powerful thirst stops me in my tracks, and my mouth feels like I've been chewing on sandpaper. Well, she said to help myself...

An examination of the contents of the fridge uncovers only several unmarked bottles of wine--and, naturally, condiments. Time for a little hair of the dog, I think. I grab a glass from a cupboard above the sink and pour myself a generous portion of the dark red fluid that slurps from the bottle. The smell of it hits my nostrils and I find myself gulping it down like a man who's found a can of Coke in the desert.

"Wow!" I gasp. This is GOOD shit! Kind of sharp, metallic, even. I pour another glass and chug it back. It kicks like a mule, making me exhale loudly even as I feel a burst of energy surge through me. I feel like I could kick over a tree! Two more glasses and I'm sated. "Anja, you may be a little strange, but your taste in wine is superb," I tell the empty room. The silence, as they say, is deafening. Time to leave.

The hallway is as dark as the apartment--strange, because this is an upscale building. Are all tenants vampires or something? I ask myself, laughing. I don't encounter a single soul on my way down to the ground level, even though it's almost 9 am.

What a wierd night. Almost over, though. The doors to the outside world, the sane, reasonable world, are right in front of me. I push through them into the bright Vancouver sun--

--and I scream. Suddenly it feels like my entire body is on fire. Smoke is issuing from me, like I'm a cartoon character, and the pain has me shrieking like a madman. Howling, I dive back into the building, and after my panic fades, I realize that the pain is gone as quickly as it came. Hallucination?

No. Even looking at the ray of sunlight coming into the lobby causes me to shrink back into the shadows. It will kill me, some new instinct screams, and I am helpless to argue. Numb, I make my way back to Anja's apartment--lucky for me I forgot to lock it behind me when I left. I flop down on the unmade bed, shivering.

"What do I do? What's happened to me?" I actually say it out loud, like one of my own characters. I stand up again and begin to pace, wringing my hands, pulling at my hair--in short, I'm in panic. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anja's telephone, hanging in a hutch in the hallway. I dive for it like it's a life preserver and dial the only number I can...

"Hello?" Laurel answers on the fourth ring, sounding mildly annoyed.

"It's me. Laurel...Laurel, something bad has happened..."

"Good. You acted like a real asshole last night, Will--"

"Will you listen to me?" I scream into the phone, "I need you! I--I think I'm sick or something--I think the woman I left with last night gave me AIDS or something--"

"Will, calm down. Where are you?"

I give her the address. She arrives a half hour later, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, her long brown curls tied back in a ponytail. I tell her everything about what happened, and her dark eyes stare back into mine, not doubting, not questioning, just absorbing every detail. When the tale is told, she frowns and rubs her chin thoughtfully.

"You said you had something to drink..." she begins. I take her to the kitchen and offer her the half-empty bottle of wine. She pops the cork, sniffs it, and even as I feel a sudden surge of thirst, Laurel winces and stuffs the cork back into the neck of the bottle.

"God, that can't be what I think it is," she says, clearly horrified.

"What?" I say, spreading my hands. "It's good stuff--I only mentioned it at all because it cut my thirst like nothing else ever has."

Laurel gives me a doubtful look, but unstoppers the bottle again and pours a little sample into a tumbler. Another sniff...and then she dips her finger into the liquid and brings it to her tongue, tasting gingerly. She instantly recoils, staring at me like I'm a serial killer.

"Will, that's blood."

"What? That's crazy..."

"It's blood, Will. You're right, you did get some kind of disease. We should go to the hospital right now."

"I can't. I tried to leave and the sunlight...burned me."

"Oh, come on," Laurel replies in a near-whisper.

"It's true...I..."

Everything comes together for us at the same time. We look at each other in shock.

"No, that's ridiculous. It's some kind of virus..."

Suddenly, I don't want Laurel to be here. A terrible sense of dread arrives, overpowering, overwhelming. "Laurel, you have to leave."

"I know," she says, surprising me, her eyes wide with terror. "Oh God Will, what's happening?"

I lead her to the door and walk her back down into the lobby. "She's coming back tonight. I'll call you...I don't think you should say anything about this to anyone. Tell anyone who asks that I'm sick or something."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Laurel said, her voice shaking even as she attempted to use the old Star Wars quote that we bandied about whenever we tried to make light of a difficult situation.

"I'll call you," I said again, and she sobbed once before she turned and crashed through the doors into the light.

Once more into the apartment, and I waited...