Hunger (15 page)
Authors: Karen E. Taylor
I turned the shower off and stepped out of the stall. I dried and, wrapping myself in a large towel, went to the bedroom. As I dressed I examined the bruise on my shoulder; it was already yellowing with age and healing. It had to be kept secret, I thought in a panic, Mitch couldn't see that it was substantially better. I pulled on a pair of jeans and put on a tight-necked sweater. He would have to leave, as soon as possible. I could not take the chance of him finding out the truth about meâhe meant too much to me for that. And I knew there would be no second chance for me, if he knew the truth. Imagining his face, his repulsion if he knew what I was and how I had to live, I shuddered. He could never know, I realized, no matter how compelled I felt to tell him, to unburden myself in confession, to throw myself into his arms and sob out my sordid, monstrous past. For a monster I was, and I must never let myself forget it.
A silent rage built up inside me and I longed to scream, to lose myself in a primitive reaction. A man that I loved was right through the door, a door that I could easily break into splinters. A body that I knew and could never forget, lived and grew old almost before my eyes. The blood that pulsed through his veins was precious because it was his. And I could never have it, never share it or his life.
I sat staring in the mirror, brushing my hair. For once I took no delight in my reflection, my eternal youthfulness. I would give it all up for one grey hair, one wrinkle, any sign that it might someday be possible to lead a normal life. If I could not have that, I would prefer that the old myths were true, that a creature such as I would have no image to mock, no daily reminder of what I had become.
“Damn.” My voice was a whisper; it would not carry to the other room. Calmly, easily, I took my hand and pressed on the mirror. Harder and harder I pushed, until I felt the glass give way under my touch. I arched my hand and flexed my nails until tiny cracks began to form and spread, making soft, tingling noises that I knew only I could hear. I applied pressure until the entire surface cracked. My reflection was distorted into a thousand images, broken and malformed, lined and twisted: a portrait of the vampire.
I pulled my hand away, picked out a few specks of glass and gently sucked the blood from the wounds. Mitch could never know, I decided again with more fervor. I had to send him away.
But before that happened I would have to use him. Not for his blood, but for his mind, his analytical sense. He had to find the other for me, and I would follow from there. I needed others of my kind, I needed to find the one who had done this to me. And I would kill him. Or he would kill me. At this time, the outcome mattered little. Only the knowlege, only the discovery. The love I felt for Mitch would have to be submerged, buried as finally as my other loves, as deeply as my humanity.
There came a gentle knock at the door and I rose quickly from my seat. “I will be right out,” I called, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
“Breakfast is here,” Mitch said complacently. “Come on outâyou should be as hungry as I am.”
Â
“So, where do you go from here?” I had made a show of eating a danish; in reality I had broken it into small pieces and pushed them around on my plate. Mitch had not really paid much attention to me, there was nothing wrong with his appetite. I had, however, finished the pot of coffee and called downstairs for more.
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you go on the case?”
“You don't really want to discuss that, do you? I had the feeling from the other night that it bothered you, a lot, and that you'd prefer not to know anything more about it.”
I reached over and took his hand. “It's important to you, isn't it?” He nodded. “Then it is important to me. Maybe it would help to discuss it with someone who has no previous experience with this sort of situation. I could provide a fresh, new viewpoint.”
He gave me a sidelong look as he finished his coffee. “I don't know, Deirdre, I shouldn't discuss police matters with you. It's not standard operating procedure.”
Although I knew I could coerce him into talking, I wanted his willing cooperation. Rising from the table, I walked behind him and began to massage his shoulders and back. “I only want to help you, Mitch.” My fingers kneaded his flesh, coaxing the tension from him. “And remember, I have a bit of a personal involvement here; after all, I did know two of the victims.”
“I remember. I don't like it, but I remember.”
I said nothing, but kept the steady pressure of my hands on his back. He moaned appreciatively and rolled his head back. “Relax, my love,” I crooned softly. “Just relax. Everything will be just fine.”
“When you say that, I can almost believe it. But honestly, we don't know how to proceed. We have no evidence, no clues, no suspect, no blood.” His voice drifted off and I hugged him to me in silence. When I heard the elevator bell ring, I put my head down and kissed his ear.
“There's our coffee, I'll be right back.”
I went to the door and collected the tray. When I turned back, Mitch had gotten up and was inserting his gun into the shoulder holster. I poured more coffee in both cups and smiled over at him. “If you have to leave soon, at least help me finish this.”
He accepted the offered cup and sat back down. “I don't really have to go till this afternoon. It's just,” and he indicated the weapon, “I feel naked without this, somehow.”
“That's fine with me, I like you that way.” I glanced at him, the blue of his eyes began to intensify with a reawakening of passion. How easily I could fall back into the delusion that ours could be a normal relationship. It must not happen. I could not allow it. So instead of going to him and accepting his embrace, I sat down at the table across from him. “You must have some sort of clue,” I said without preamble. “How could three people be murdered without any evidence about who had done it?”
“What? Are you back on that subject again?”
“I am only trying to help you. As I said before, a fresh perspective might be just what you need.”
He shrugged. “You may be right, Deirdre. I don't really know what to think of all this. And neither does anyone else. Let me hear what you have to say.”
My mouth twisted into a strange sort of smile. “Do you watch movies?”
“Movies? Well, sure, but I don't really see what that has to do with anything.”
“I think that right now you are all at the point where the wildâeyed doctor comes bursting into the station with the facts that everyone has been ignoring.”
“Those facts being?” He had a condescending look on his face that made me feel resentful of his calm, predictable world. I hardened myself to his response; perhaps unfairly, I decided that here was a man who could look an unpleasant fact in the eyes and still deny its existence. I was wasting my time, thinking I could use him to track down the vampire. But for the sake of the love we had shared, and for my own selfish motives I said what I needed to say.
“The fact that modern man is too stubborn and obstinent, ignorant of anything outside his self-centered definition of the world. The fact that myths and fables might all have a core of truth, however they have been distorted over the centuries. And the fact that what you may be dealing with is indeed a supernatural being, or at least a superhuman species, about which you know nothing.”
He searched my face for a long time, trying, I thought, to find some trace of humor. There was none. His mouth twitched as if he was controlling a smile or a laugh. I poured myself another cup of coffee, my eyes never leaving his. Then the ridiculousness of the situation caught up with me. I was right about the movies, it was the doctor who should bring forth the theory; never once had a vampire tried to convince the authorities of her existence. It didn't play right, it didn't feel right. I gave a weak smile at the thought of my foolishness. “It was only a thought, Mitch, just an idea that I thought might open you up to a new way of looking at the murders.”
Even with my smile, he didn't laugh. “You really believe this, don't you?”
“I do, Mitch.”
“I don't suppose you have great-grandparents that came from Romania, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“I do.” He looked embarassed to make the confession.
“You do?”
“Yeah, but don't tell anyone I admitted that. I'm already the butt of too many jokes at the station for my dedicated involvment in this case.”
“Then you agree with me?” I couldn't quite believe it.
Finally he laughed. Oddly enough, I did not resent it; it had no ridicule in it, just the good-natured sound of two people enjoying a rather inane joke. “Now wait a minute, I didn't say I believed you. I don't, but I'm not as narrowminded as you seem to think. It makes perfect sense to assume that our murderer believes himself a vampire; in this case, that belief is enough to make it true. I have three bloodless bodies and one madman responsible. The fact that he doesn't fly through the window in the shape of a bat, or that he doesn't live forever, really makes no difference. In his mind, he is a vampire. Therefore, I go to find a vampire.” He smiled wearily. “That's why everyone at the station is having a heyday at my expense. But that's also why I will solve this case.”
“Oh.” I got up from the table and walked to the window. Through the glass I could hear the city sounds below, feel the warmth of the winter sun and wondered what Mitch would think if I pulled the drapes aside, how he would explain the irrefutable facts when I began to smoulder before his eyes. Would he think that it was only my belief that I was a vampire that caused my death?
“Deirdre?”
At his quiet question, I turned around. He had put his coat on and moved to the door.
“Let's go.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I know a perfect place for that picnic you said you wanted to go on.”
“I don't want to go on a picnic.”
“But you said . . .”
“I just wanted Gwen to quit pressing me on when I would be in at the office. I don't want to go anywhere.”
“Fine by me.” He moved toward me and reached an arm around my waist. “We'll just stay in. I have two hours before I'm due at work.” He pulled me closer and began to kiss me; I pushed him away gently.
“Mitch.” I felt his magnetic draw on me, wanting nothing more than to spend another two hours in his embrace, but I needed sleep, and I needed to protect myself from his inquisitive nature. And with every second spent in his presence I felt the urge to feed grow stronger, even though I had fed only two nights ago. “I'd like you to leave now.” The tone of my voice was cold and commanding.
He looked at me with shock. “Why? I thought that you and I could spend some more time together. I love you, and I suspect you love me, too, although you're too stubborn to admit it.”
“I'm afraid that you may have just jumped to one conclusion too many. I never said I loved you.”
“But last night was so good, so wonderful between us, I just assumed that . . .”
“You assumed that because we had a wonderful night of sex, that I would swoon into your arms at the next opportunity? It was wonderful, I admit, and I would like to see you again, soon. Just not today. Call me later in the week and we'll talk.”
“The hell we will.” His eyes flashed angrily and I knew I had gone too far. “There's nothing to talk about, really. I confused you with someone who had a heart and feelings. Now I see that you were using me for what you use all men for.”
I smiled sadly, he would never know how wrong he was about that. “Mitch,” I started to explain, “I'm sorry but I'm so tired. I need some sleep and I need to sleep alone. I want you to leave, but I do want you to come back.”
“So you can lead me on again? Let me believe we might have a decent relationship and not just a oneânight stand? Forget it, lady, I won't be back.” He slammed the door and left. I locked it behind him, went to the bedroom and fell on the bed.
Chapter 10
W
hen I awoke at 4:00
A.M.
well-rested and refreshed, I checked the machine in the hopes that there might be a message from Mitch. There were a few calls but none from him. I was not particularly surprised. It was possible, I thought, that I would never hear from him again, except perhaps in an official capacity. So be it, I thought and dressed for the office.
hen I awoke at 4:00
A.M.
well-rested and refreshed, I checked the machine in the hopes that there might be a message from Mitch. There were a few calls but none from him. I was not particularly surprised. It was possible, I thought, that I would never hear from him again, except perhaps in an official capacity. So be it, I thought and dressed for the office.
In the lobby, Frank was preparing to leave; I called to him and he came to my side immediately. He looked curious, I thought, and probably hoped to have some explanation of the previous evenings events.
“Yes, Miss Griffin. Is something wrong?”
“Not at all, Frank, but the mirror in my bedroom is broken. Please have it replaced before I return.” I thanked him, nodded him a curt good morning and hurried out the door lest he try to catch up and walk with me.
The sky was cloudy with impending snow and the wind howled down the empty streets. Small bits of litter blew around and the cloak I was wearing whipped about my body. But it was still night; I reveled in it and felt sadly deflated when the walk ended and I arrived at the office building.
I signed in, rode up in the elevator and unlocked the doors. My footsteps echoes through the dark, empty rooms. I opened the door to my office, placed my briefcase on the desk and turned on a small light. The cloying scent of dying roses filled the air. I turned toward the credenza to dispose of them, when I noticed a body lying motionless on the couch. A cold shock spread through me, until I heard the soft breathing and recognized the form. It was Gwen; how she came to be sleeping here in my office, I would discover later. She looked exhausted and pale, so I let her sleep and went about my work quietly. With the exception of sighs and a few sleepy murmurs she slept soundly for the next three hours while I busied myself with the finishing details for Friday's show.
While I was discarding the dead flowers, and arranging those that had survived in one of the vases, Gwen awoke and looked around in confusion. She sat straight up when she saw me. “Good morning,” I said softly with a smile.
“Hi,” she said groggily. “Have you been here long? I didn't hear you come in; you should've woke me up.” She pushed her hair away from her face with both hands, then giggled as it fell back to cover her eyes. “Boy, I must be a mess. I guess I'd better go home and clean up, but we have so much to do. And I just don't think I can face the subway now.”
“Why don't you use my rooms, Gwen? You can shower and change. Check the closetâthere should be something that would fit you in there.”
She beamed at me. “You mean it? Wow, that would be great. Ever since you told me about it, I've been dying to see inside. Are you sure you don't mind?”
“If I minded, I wouldn't offer, would I? You go and I'll make the coffee.” I reached into a desk drawer, removed the key and opened the door.
“Thanks a lot, Deirdre. What a day we had yesterday without you. I'll fill you in when I get out.” She smiled mischievously. “And I'll tell you about my weekend if you tell me about yours.” With that provocative comment, she entered my apartment and closed the door.
I left the office and went to the coffee maker, shaking my head and grinning. Gwen could be so outrageous at times; I would miss her companionship when the time finally came for me to leave. And that time was coming soon, I knew. The masquerade would not last much longerâI only hoped to have enough time to discover the other vampire before I had to leave.
I was pouring my second cup of coffee when Gwen finally emerged, dressed in a black suede skirt and white blouse. She stood and studied me for a moment, as if in expectation. I motioned for her to sit down. “Now, shall we get started?”
“You bet!” She smiled at me impishly, as she settled into her usual chair. “You go first, okay?”
“What?”
“You know, tell me about your weekend.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You met someone, had someone there with you when I called Monday morning, didn't you? Tell me all about it . . . did he spend the night? Was he any good?”
I felt my face grow flushed. “Gwen, I really don't think . . .
“Deirdre, you're blushing. I don't think I've ever seen that happen before. He must have been good.”
“I really don't wish to discuss it, if you don't mind, Gwen.”
“Honestly, Deirdre, you can be so Victorian at times. I thought we were friends; you can tell me about it. It won't go any further than me, I promise.” She made a small crossing motion over her heart and the gesture was so childlike and endearing I couldn't resist sharing with her.
“Well, since it looks like no work will get done until I oblige that insatiable curiousity of yours, I have no choice. Yes, Gwen, I met someone and he spent the night.” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes to recall that night. When I spoke again my voice was soft and distant. “It was wonderful, wild . . .” I said no more but clasped my arms to myself, thinking of his strong, warm body enfolded around me.
Gwen interrupted my reverie with a small sign. “Wow,” she said, in a hushed voice. “I guess you'll be seeing him again. Who is he? Or is that a big secret, too?”
I opened my eyes and focused on her smiling face. “You met him Friday night.”
“The cop?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Believe me, I was as surprised as you are. Everything clicked into place with him. I can't really say why. It seemed right, that's all.”
“Seemed? Why the past tense?”
“I don't know, Gwen. I can't see it going any further; we're too different.” I gave a sigh of regret. “Can we drop the subject, please?”
“Sure, Deirdre. No problem. But if you like him, and I think you do, you should give it a chance. Differences can be overcome.”
I laughed at her naive statement. “Not our differences, I think. You don't know the half of it. And,” I interrupted her objections, “I don't want you to know. You should not be involved.”
She took my reprimand good naturedly. “Okay,” she agreed. “Now it's my turn. Guess where I went Sunday night.”
“Nick's place?” I questioned tentatively.
“Oh, no. We had a horrible fight Saturday.” She grimaced in remembrance. “He can be so impossible at times. We're not married yet, I told him, and if he keeps up his nonsense we may never be.”
“I hate to hear that, Gwen.”
“Well, there's this girl he works with, he talks about her all the time. I don't have any proof, of course, but I think he's been sleeping with her. So when I confronted him, he didn't deny it. Didn't admit to it either, but I know him well enough to know that something's up.” She sniffed a little and wiped the beginnings of tears angrily from her eyes. “That son of a bitch, I deserve better than that and I told him so. He laughed and said I was welcome to try. So I did. Sunday night I got all dressed up and went out by myself. I called a cab and asked him to take me to the hottest club in town. You know, a real meat-market type. And you'll never guess where I ended up.”
I felt a strange foreboding at her words. I nodded slowly and answered her. “I think I know, Gwen. You went to the Ballroom of Romance.”
She was disappointed that I guessed correctly, but did not let it dampen her enthusiasm. “Yeah, what a great place. I thought for a while I wouldn't be able to get in, it was really crowded. But I remembered you once said you went there a lot, so I mentioned your name.”
“And did it help?”
“It sure did. They gave me the royal treatment; I didn't even have to buy a drink all night.” She gave me a sly smile then continued, “And I met some friends of yours.”
“Oh?” I glanced at the clockâsoon the other employees would begin to arrive. I wished she would get on with her story. There was work to be done. And the delving into my personal life was making me extremely uncomfortable.
“Why didn't you ever mention that your Max was the owner?”
“Didn't I? I suppose it never seemed important. So, you finally met Max.”
“Yeah, briefly. He came over to our table and introduced himself; he's real nice and so handsome. But he didn't stick around.”
I permitted myself a small smirk. “No, Max doesn't stay very long. Who else did you meet?”
Gwen looked away dreamily and toyed with a strand of her hair. “Oh, Deirdre, he's so cute and he doesn't seem to know it. I guess he's shy or something. But after a few drinks he really loosened up. Said I was the answer to his prayers; isn't that sweet?”
I suppressed a shiver. “Who, Gwen?”
“Why, Larry, of course. I think I could really fall for him.”
A warning went off in my head. “Gwen, I don't mean to presume, but I think you should stay away from Larry and the club. It is not the best place to be these days and you might get hurt.” I thought of Larry and his vow of revenge. “Don't you think you should give Nick another chance? I can't believe you would give up on him so quickly.”
Gwen looked at me defiantly. “I never realized you approved of Nick so much. I always had the feeling that you hated him. You wouldn't happen to be just a little jealous that I got along so well with Larry, would you?”
“Jealous of you and Larry? No, it's not that. You're free to do whatever you want. But promise me you'll be careful. Don't get involved so soon with someone you just met.”
She shrugged and avoided my eyes. “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “I'll be careful. But I'm not as inexperienced as you think. And I can't see that your advice has done you much good.” She seemed to be thinking out loud and instantly regretted her comment. “Oh, I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean . . .”
I laughed a bit and the tension fell away. “Don't worry about it. After all, you are probably right. Now, can we please get to work?”
The days and nights of that week seemed endless, yet when I awoke in my office apartment early Friday afternoon I could scarcely believe that the day for which we had prepared so many months had finally arrived. The line was good, I knew, and the clothes would sell.
I showered and dressed and went into the office. Everyone had been given the day off to prepare for this evening, so when the phone rang I picked it up and was surprised to hear Gwen's voice answering. “No, she's not in right now, may I take a message?”
As I began to put the receiver down, the caller spoke and my spirits lifted when I recognized the voice. “I've got it, Gwen, thank you.” There was an awkward silence after the click that signalled Gwen's hanging up. “Hello,” I said tentatively and somewhat breathlessly. “Mitch, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I'm here. Deirdre, I want to see you again.” He sounded hesitant, fearful of my response. “I didn't really mean the things I said to you. I'd like a chance to start over again. Will you be home tonight?”
“Tonight is the night of the show. But we could meet afterwards.” I told him where the show was being held and the time it was scheduled to start. “I'll leave word at the entrance that you should be admitted.”
“Thank you. And, uh, Deirdre?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I wanted to call you sooner, but I just didn't know how to approach you again. I'm really sorry for what I said. There are no excuses for it, I know that. It's just that our relationship flared so suddenly, it's overwhelming. I can't imagine where it will lead. But I do know that not a moment has gone by that I haven't thought about you.”
“It is the same for me,” I admitted gently. “I'll see you tonight.”
I hung up the phone softly and stared at it ruefully for a few seconds. There was a knock on the door and Gwen walked in still wearing her coat.
“Surprise,” she said breezily. “I know you gave me the day off, but I didn't really want to stay home. Nick keeps calling and I don't want to talk to him. I want him to sweat it out for a bit. Besides, I wanted to show you the dress I'll be wearing tonight. I hope you don't mind.”
“Why would I mind? Bring it in.”
“Don't have to, I'm wearing it. She pulled off her coat and stood before me awkwardly. “Do you like it?”
I gave her a long, appraising stare and motioned for her to turn around. The dress was an amazing creationâswirls of bright, primary colors, each color sewn on individually in a seemingly haphazard manner. It was sleeveless with large bows of different colors forming the straps. The low cut bodice was formed into an empire waist, then fell straight to her knees. The back dropped to waist level and the skirt was gathered and flowing. The look was avant garde, modern; the complete opposite of the Griffin Design look.
“Gwen, it's lovely, it really is. I like it very much and it suits you, but . . .”
“But what?” she questioned petulantly.
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