Hunger (18 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
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“I promise. Good night, Chris.”
“Good night.”
Chris wasn't out of the bar for more than a second when the man appeared at the table. I didn't have a chance to move before he grabbed my arm. “Hey, baby,” he said in a voice that made my identification a certainty. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”
“I don't think so.” I tried to brush him off but he held on.
“I'm sure we met, and not that long ago, neither.” He rubbed his neck absently with a glazed look. “I couldn't never forget a babe like you.”
“Excuse me, you must be mistaken.”
He pulled me to him roughly. “Now I know. We had an appointment in a dark alley. You left too soon, as I remember it. Now that your friends is gone, maybe we can finish up.”
“Leave me alone,” I hissed at him. “Take your hands off me.”
He laughed, and tried to kiss me. I looked around and noticed that no one was watching. Our conversation had been quiet and his invitation was probably nothing out of the ordinary for this place. Mitch was nowhere to be seen and I didn't want to wait for him to reappear. If it were an ordinary night, if I were on my own, I would simply accompany him to some dark place and feed on him again, this time being sure to implant the thought that he didn't know me. But I had no time for that now. Instead, I looked him full in the face and smiled. My teeth had grown and I saw a look of doubt and fear enter his eyes. “Next time a lady says no, you really should listen.” I picked him up by the front of his shirt and tossed him on to the table next to us. He and the table collapsed with a loud crash and the sound of breaking bottles; by this time I was sitting down again and staring at him, like the other customers. No one looked at me and no one went to help him up. There was a lot of raucous laughter and some good natured joking about how Sammy couldn't hold his liquor. He lay without moving and I thought for one moment that I had killed him. Then just as Mitch was coming in to see what all the commotion was about, he moaned and rolled over.
“What's happening,” he said as he rushed to my side. “Are you okay, Deirdre?”
“I'm fine—he's drunk.” I indicated the man rising uncertainly to his feet. “Let's get out of here.”
 
“I'm scared, Deirdre. I guess it all boils down to that. It's been a long time since I felt this way about anyone, and eventually even that got hopelessly screwed up. I don't want that to happen this time.” Mitch had haltingly begun to apologize for our argument last week and I tried to console him without giving him too much hope for a lasting relationship.
“I know, Mitch.” We arrived at the door of my hotel; he held back to allow me to go through the revolving door first. I did not enter, but pulled him to one side, away from the entrance. The things that needed to be said, should be said privately. “It's been a long time for me, also. And although I do care for you, I can't make any promises.”
His eyes reflected pain, but he gave me a small grin. “I can wait around while you make up your mind though, can't I? Just don't take too long with it. I'm not getting any younger.”
“Who is?”
“You, for one.”
“Why do you say that?” I questioned him sharply, seeing my angry reflection in his eyes. “I'm not getting younger, either. How could I?”
“Whoa, calm down a bit. It was a compliment. Most women like to hear that they don't look their age.” He pulled me to him, kissed me and I responded as usual. When it was over, he held me close. “You're a strange one, Deirdre. But somehow, I like it.”
“Coming up for a drink?” I moved away from him and he followed me through the door.
Once on the elevator, he kissed me again, teasingly this time. When he bit my lower lip I jumped back and wiped my mouth. He had drawn no blood. The doors opened on my floor and we entered the room.
“Help yourself.” I indicated the bar and walked back to the bedroom. I set my key down and started to take off my shirt when suddenly he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist.
“Don't mind if I do.” His voice was scratchy in my ear. I watched in the mirror as he undressed me. Each piece of clothing was removed gently and slowly until I stood naked before him. The new mirror displayed my reflection, unflawed and whole once more. Mitch and I might have been any human couple, any two lovers wrapped up in each other. My skin seemed to glow, it was so white beneath his tanned, calloused hands. He examined me, with his hands and his eyes. “Not a mark,” he whispered in a voice full of awe. “You're perfect.” He leaned his head on my shoulder and made a face at the mirror. “And then there's me . . .”
I turned around and unbuttoned his shirt; I could not match his unhurried pace, I wanted him so much. Two of the buttons dropped to the floor, sheered off by my sharp nails. He looked at me, smiled and carried me to the bed.
 
Shortly before dawn, he got up and began to dress. I lay, watching him and he jumped when he turned around and saw that my eyes were open. “Sorry.” He finished zipping his pants and came to sit next to me. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“Do you have to leave?”
“I've got to get home to change, then get to work. What are your plans for today?”
I stretched and reached a hand up to his face. The sun would be up soon, and I fought back the lethargy that dawn always caused. “I'm going to stay right here and wait for you to come back.”
He laughed. “And if I don't?”
“You'll be back.” My voice was low, throaty and I rubbed my head on his arm.
“Damn straight, I will.” He kissed me, then stood up and smiled down at me. “You have to sew the buttons back on my shirt.”
I blushed and threw a pillow at him. “Sew on your own buttons, Detective, I only remove them.”
“And I'll be happy to do it, if you'll tear them off again.”
“Promise.” Through the heavy draperies I could feel the sun rise. “Oh, and Mitch?” I fought to keep my eyes open until he left. “Take the key with you. You can let yourself in.”
He took it from the dressing table, tossed it up in the air and caught it. “See you tonight, then. Sweet dreams.”
Only after the door shut and he was gone, did I realize that I had allowed myself to violate one of my most important rules. My sleep that day would be undefended by the normal locks and safeguards. But the thought brought no alarm and no fear. My eyes closed and my body relaxed. I trusted him, I loved him and I held his face in my mind as I fell into the deep crevasse of sleep.
 
The corridor winds endlessly, a mist rising from the floor. I walk slowly, my footsteps echoing loudly in this silent place of death. Here are the same coffins, the same loves buried out of my reach. I do not attempt to open them, not this time, but quicken my steps to reach something, someone or some answer, waiting I know at the end of the hall. There are more coffins now, they seem uncountable. I wonder why they are here, why I am here.
“They are the fruits of your sins, Deirdre.” The voice pulses in my ears. “They died so that you might live forever.
“Who are you?” I call but my voice is lost in a loud clattering. The lids of the coffins, pummelled from within, fall to the floor, shattering into spinters.
“Look on them and rejoice. They are your children, they are your soul.” I stand in horror as they rise from their caskets, surrounding me, grasping at me with sharp fingers. I know them all; I recognize the faces, the eyes, the mouths whispering, hissing, speaking all of my different names.
“Diane,” a rasping voice calls to me. “How about some more coffee, darlin'?” Buddy's face is bloody and twisted into a lewd grin.
“Dorothy.” A rotting soldier dressed in tattered navy rags reaches out to me. “Dorothy, it hurts bad. You can help, help me.”
“I just might fall in love.” Bill's voice is little more than a croak and although his body has not yet begun to decompose, his walk is choppy, uncoordinated. He lurches toward me.
“No,” I scream, pushing them all away. They are weightless and fall to the floor with soft thuds. “No, I will not claim these. Their deaths are not mine.” I run from them, tears clouding my vision. The door is near. I see a figure, a man, guarding it. His face is obscured and he does not speak, but dissolves into nothing as I reach him. Where he had been standing, is now a pool of blood. I kneel down, I reach into it, it is deeper than I had expected. I raise my hand to my mouth and drink; I lower my head and lap at it; I am compelled to take it all. Then it is gone and I sit back on my heels, sated and dazed. As I begin to rise, I notice a shred of fabric where the pool had been. I pick it up to wipe the blood from my face and hands. The colors are bright and swirled. “No,” I scream again. “Not her, she is not dead.”
“Too late, too late,” the voices of the dead whisper through the air. They overwhelm me and I cannot seem to resist. They lay me down on the floor and wipe away my bloody tears with icy hands, caressing and stroking my hair and my face, warming their rotting bodies against mine. A darkness overtakes me; their soft words lull me. “Hush, hush,” they say. “It's only a dream, it is all just a dream.”
Chapter 13
I
tried to shake off the hands gripping my shoulders. The voices changed, blended into one, deep and familiar. The words, however, were the same. “. . . it's only a dream, Deirdre. Wake up, please.” I realized that these hands were warm, living flesh and the room was no longer dark. I opened my eyes hesitantly and squinted at the light. Mitch's face came into view and I threw my arms around him. He returned my embrace and held me until I stopped trembling. When I calmed down, he held me out at arms' length and stared into my eyes. “Well,” he said in a shaky voice, “that must have been one hell of a nightmare. Do you want to tell me about it?”
I shook my head. “In a bit, maybe. But not right now.” I ran my fingers through my hair and glanced at the curtained window. “What time is it?”
He smiled. “After six. You must have slept all day; I came in around four and tried to wake you, but you were practically comatose. I have to admit, it scared me a bit. You opened your eyes and looked straight at me. But you didn't focus on me, or even acknowledge that anyone was here. You smiled, moaned and slowly closed your eyes again. It was pretty spooky. Do you always sleep so soundly?”
“Only when I am very tired. And it's your fault.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He was grinning boisterously, his eyes sparkled and he seemed inordinately pleased with himself. I wondered what was so amusing, until I realized that I was naked and quickly pulled the covers up around me.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked as casually as possible.
“Not too bad,” he said slowly. “It was interesting at least. Some really strange things are happening these days.”
“Such as?”
“As if the murders weren't bad enough, now we've had a break–in at the local blood bank. And of course, since I'm the ‘vampire' cop, I got the job.”
I dropped my gaze, not wanting him to see the interest his words had caused. Breaking into a blood bank was a possibility that always intrigued me, although I had never tried it myself. It always seemed too risky; if you got caught you would have to explain why, and probably spend time in jail. Much easier to obtain it the way I always had. Still, it was one more indication of the other's operations. Or perhaps there was more than one; how ironic it would be after searching for over a century to find a community living in the same city. But I didn't actually believe that theory; although I sometimes longed for companionship of my own kind, I would never want to share my hunts or my territories.
“Deirdre, you're not listening.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Mitch. I was just thinking how it might all fit in.”
“If you had been paying attention, you would know by now. As I was saying, we actually have a few suspects now, based mostly on the testimony of an eyewitness near the blood bank. You might be interested to know that you are acquainted with one of them.”
“Who?”
“I'm not sure I should divulge that information.”
“Jesus, Mitch, don't give me the policeman line on it. I want to know. It might be that I could be threatened by him, also.”
“Actually, the department was afraid of just that. But I let them know that I would hold you in protective custody.”
“I guess that's as good a name as any for what you've been doing,” I said dryly. “Now tell me who it is.”
“We're not positive of course and I really shouldn't tell you, but I don't see that it can hurt. It's Larry.”
“Larry?” It would explain why he was so curious about my past, it might even explain his obsession with me. But somehow I just couldn't believe that he was a vampire.
“Yes, Larry Martin, the club doorman. You do remember him, don't you?”
I shook my head.
“You don't remember him?”
“Of course I do, Mitch. But he is not a vampire.” I was sorry as soon as the word was out of my mouth, Mitch did not believe in vampires.
He smiled but did not laugh. “Yeah, well, whatever he is, he's associated with all three of them. He was the last person seen with Andrews, knew the hooker and was reported to have quarrelled with Mr. Leigh.”
“What about the other suspects?”
“I'm putting my money on Martin. He has a history of instability as long as my arm; he's been in and out of institutions since he was fourteen. Based on what we've uncovered about him so far, he's one sick dude.”
“Do you think I could,” I shifted uneasily and the blankets slipped away from me, “do you think I could speak with him?”
“If we had him in custody, sure.” He looked at me intently. “Look, Deirdre, I can't concentrate on anything if you're like that. Get dressed,” he jokingly ordered as I covered myself again, giving him a shy smile. “And come on out. I brought us some dinner.”
I dressed quickly and left the bedroom. Mitch had spread the dinner he brought on the bar. It was from a variety of fast food places. “I didn't really know what you'd want, so I brought a lot.” He patted the barstool next to him. “Sit down and eat.”
I laughed a bit and crossed the room. I selected a roast beef sandwich; it at least had the dubious distinction of being slightly rare and I thought I could eat enough of it to satisfy him. I pulled the meat from the bun and began to eat.
“Too bad Gwen's not here,” I said after the first mouthful. “She would love the assortment. You should see some of the junk she brings in . . .” At the thought of her I grew serious, fearful at the remembrance of my dream. The abrupt change was not lost on him.
“What's the matter?”
“Oh God, Mitch, the dream,” I began disjointedly with a shiver. “She was in my dream. I didn't see her, but I knew she was in danger.”
“You hinted at something like that the night of the show. Why would Gwen be in danger? What has she got to do with any of this?”
I ignored his comments and continued, thinking out loud. “She wouldn't have gone with him. I warned her and she promised not to see him again. Even Max warned her. She should be safe.”
He looked at me sternly. “Who didn't she go with?”
“Larry. She met him at the club last Sunday. I'm afraid she developed a crush on him. She was with him before the show, too. But he left after that, I'm sure of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” He, too, was growing concerned.
“Everyone said she left alone, even you said so. And Max said that Larry had gone, long before that.”
“But you warned her, you say, to stay away from him. Would she listen?” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “But you had no knowledge of him being a suspect until tonight. Why would you warn her away? What the hell is going on here?”
I looked at him in confusion for a minute and shook my head to clear it. Of course he had no idea of what had occurred between Larry and me, no comprehension of the truth that seemed to hold us all entangled. “He just seemed unstable to me and I did not want her to get hurt. She'd had a fight with her fiancé, you see, and she was on the rebound. I did not like the thought of her being with Larry. Neither did Max, he said . . .”
“Spare me the thoughts of the great Max,” Mitch snarled as he said the name. “Anyway, it can hardly matter. I seem to remember that Gwen lives clear across town and Larry was last seen in the area of your office. So their paths shouldn't have crossed at all.”
“But she wasn't going home, Mitch. She was going to stay at my place for the weekend.”
“Your place?” He smiled, not comprehending. “But we are at your place. And she's not here, so she must be at home.”
Once again I had forgotten how little Mitch knew of my life. “She was staying at my apartment at the office.”
“You have an apartment in your office?” He stopped for a moment. “I didn't know.” He gave me a suspicious look. “But then apparently there's a lot I don't know. We'd better get over there.”
We hesitated only a second, he to throw on his coat and I to put on my shoes. We rushed out of the hotel to his car, a regulation police–issue this time. “My car's still in the shop,” he explained as he started the engine and turned on the siren. “I don't like to drive marked cars ordinarily, but this one'll help. Buckle up.”
We sped the two blocks and pulled up in front of the building just as an ambulance was leaving. One other police car was parked at the curb. Mitch pushed through the small crowd that had gathered around the doors and we entered. As we approached the two policemen inside, I noticed that they were the same two who had questioned me last week. They both nodded at me in embarrassed recognition; one of them addressed Mitch.
“Well, Greer, I might have known you would show up. How do you manage it?”
“Never mind,” he snarled at them. “What happened here? Is she okay?”
“She?” He shook his head. “We came on a call about the security guard. The guy coming on to the next shift found him slumped at his desk. Someone gave him a pretty rough knock on the head. He should be okay, though. What's this about a woman?”
Mitch gave me a angry look. “I have reason to believe that Miss Griffin's secretary is in the office. We're concerned about her safety.”
The policeman shook his head again. “We checked all the floors and found nothing unusual; there were no signs anywhere of a break–in. We think it was an attempted robbery; but the guy got scared after hitting the guard and cleared out.”
Mitch nodded slowly. “Mind if I check it out?”
He smiled, “No, you will anyway. We were just about ready to leave. Want some help?”
Mitch considered this for a moment. “I might need the back–up,” he conceded. “It won't take too long, I hope.”
The four of us rode the elevator in silence. I noticed the few curious glances they gave first to Mitch, and then to me, but chose to ignore them. My whole body was tensed in fear and I silently urged the elevator upward. When it arrived at the top floor, I hurried out and unlocked the door. The office looked exactly as it had when I had left; there were no signs of struggle or unusual activity. I led them back to my office and when I opened the door, I saw that everything here also looked normal.
Mitch turned to me. “Well,” he said curtly, “where's this apartment you told me about?”
With a doubtful look at the other policemen, I went to my desk and found that the key was gone. Gwen, of course, would have taken it in with her. Silently, I walked to the back wall and pulled aside the draperies to expose the door. “There's only one key,” I said shakily, “and Gwen has it now.” In what I thought was a futile gesture I turned the knob; to my surprise the door opened easily and we walked in.
Mitch glanced around, walking quickly over to one corner of the room and retrieved a multi-colored garment that was lying on the floor. “This is Gwen's, isn't it?” he asked, handing the dress to me.
I rubbed the material absently, “Yes, she was wearing it last night. Maybe she's still sleeping.” As I said it, I knew it wasn't true. The apartment was too empty, too silent, to be occupied. And suddenly the smell overwhelmed me, the smell of blood and death. “Gwen,” I called, my voice wavering in a hopeless attempt to deny the obvious. “Gwen, are you here? It's Deirdre.” There was a note of hysteria in my voice.
Mitch walked over to me and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “She might not be here at all.” How could he say that, when the odor was overpowering. “Shall I check upstairs?”
I nodded, my hand over my mouth, and he walked up the staircase. There was a long silence, an audible gasp, then he called out. “She's here.” But even before he spoke, before his pause, before his quietly whispered, “fucking maniac,” I knew what he had found.
I sat down on the couch, her dress crushed against my face and began to cry silently. Both of the policeman dashed up the stairs. A few seconds later one of them came back down and his face was yellow with shock. When he asked for the telephone, I gestured at the doorway. As he began to make his phone call, I rose slowly from the floor, and dropping Gwen's dress back on to the floor, I mounted the stairs.
Mitch tried to stop me from entering the loft, putting his arm around me. “You probably shouldn't see this,” he said and attempted to lead me back downstairs, but I broke away and pushed past him.
I expected to see Gwen, grey and drained, like the body of David Leigh. I had imagined her as I walked up the stairs, waxen and doll–like. What I saw rocked me back, causing even me to choke back the contents of my stomach.
The room was covered in blood, the ceiling, the floor, the bed, everywhere I looked. I could smell its sweetness, turning rancid now from exposure to the air. Where it had pooled, the blood had clotted over, thickened and crusty. I must have gasped or cried out, for Mitch came to me again and tried to move me away. I ignored him and walked to the bed. I stared for a moment at the uncomprehendable shape lying there, someone had pulled a sheet over it, and the center was peaked as if a tent. Danger, my mind whispered, danger, but my hand moved as if by its own volition to pull aside the sheet.

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