Amy’s face, at that moment, looked an awful lot like his mother’s. “A vampire, dammit! Haven’t you listened to anything I said?” “Charley,” she said. Her voice was flat and slightly forlorn. “This is really childish, do you know that? This is a really dumb way to try and get me back.” “Forget it,” Charley fumed, turning for the door. “I’m going to the police.” They were in Amy’s kitchen, on a sunny and cheerful afternoon. The room was spacious and clean, brightly painted, flooded with light from the huge bay windows. It was an unlikely spot for a major confrontation, but that didn’t make a bit of difference. “Charley, this is crazy!” “Tell me about it.” His voice was blunt as a truncheon. Amy ran in front of him and blocked the door. Her expression had turned desperate. Her hands clamped onto his shoulders as she looked him straight in the eye.
