Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Hunger (35 page)
Chapter 6
“O
h, my God, Miss . . .” the nurse began.
h, my God, Miss . . .” the nurse began.
“Griffin.”
“Miss Griffin, I would never have expected that to happen. No one here would have. Mitch has never shown any tendency toward violence the entire time he's been here. I just can't imagine what got into him.”
“I did.”
She gave me a strange look. “What?”
“Never mind, it doesn't matter.”
“I hope you understand that we can't be held liable for this event; I mean, if we thought he would hit you, we would never have let you approach him. It's not a case of negligence, and I sincerely apologize for your discomfort. Shall I get a doctor for you?”
I laughed. “I don't need a doctor, thank you. And I promise I will not sue you. I believe I finally got what was coming to me.”
Puzzled, she cocked her head at me, obviously wanting more information. I chose not to elaborate; her obvious fawning was beginning to anger me.
“Think nothing more of it.” The finality in my voice drove her away, and I went out into the hallway to find Chris.
Since there was no sign of him, I assumed he had gone to Mitch's room; I found a small waiting area and sat down. Picking up a newspaper, I began to catch up on current events. I was thoroughly engrossed in the crossword puzzle when a shadow fell across the page. “Jesus,” I swore under my breath, afraid to look up, not knowing who it was. Mitch, come to take another shot at me, perhaps? Maybe my very own personal ghost, here to gloat over my disastrous choice of loving a human? Who it was made no real difference to me; I had no desire to see or talk to anyone else this evening.
“Just go away and leave me alone.” I sounded surly even to myself, but didn't care. “I've had trouble enough for one night.”
“I'm sure you have, but it's important. Please?”
And because I did not recognize the voice, I glanced at the speaker. He was tall and dark with a fresh-scrubbed sincerity in his face, his jacket and stethoscope identifying him immediately.
“Ah, one of the resident white-coats. I told the nurse I didn't need a doctor.”
“Miss Griffin.” He smiled broadly, ignoring my bad temper. “I'm John Samuels, Mitch's doctor. My friends call me Sam.”
He extended his hand and I reached up to shake it. “Dr. Samuels,” I said coolly, “what can I do for you?”
His smile faded only slightly. “You may have already done it. I just wondered if you could spare a little of your time and talk to me about Mitch. There's so much going on here, I can't tell you how excited we all are. He's talking againâa little disoriented, true, but that's to be expectedâbut, good God, he's talking clearly and lucidly.”
His enthusiasm was contagious. Reluctantly I returned his smile and agreed. “I have nowhere else to go, Doctor, and nothing but time on my hands. I am at your disposal.”
“Thank you.”
I rose from the chair; he smiled and escorted me to his office.
As he settled in behind his desk, I sat uncomfortably, glancing casually around his office. He gave me a long, appraising look, then reached into the top drawer, extracting an ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, and an engraved gold-plated lighter.
“I won't smoke one now,” he said with a guilty look. “It just calms me to have them here.” Then he laughed. “I know, you think that as a doctor I should have more control, more sense, don't you?”
“I think nothing of the sort. You are human; you may do as you like.”
“Why did you say that? âYou are human.' What does that mean?”
I shrugged. “Oh, you know what I mean.” My voice sounded relaxed and even, betraying none of my inner turmoil. “It has been a rather extraordinary evening, as you well know. As for me”âI smiled encouraginglyâ“I don't mind if you smoke, provided you share.”
“Fine.” He offered the pack, I took one, and reached for the lighter. “Allow me,” he said graciously, and quickly struck the flame. I cupped my hand around his as I lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply, then sat back and looked at him.
“Miss Griffin,” he began tentatively, “your hands are shaking.”
“So?”
“Well, if I had a suspicious mind, I might begin to wonder why you are so nervous and so hostile.”
“How fortunate for me”âI couldn't hide the sarcasm in my voiceâ“that you do not have a suspicious mind. Can I be honest with you, Dr. Samuels?”
“Absolutely, but call me Sam, please.”
“Well then, Sam, I do not like hospitals or doctors. It's nothing personal; I am sure you are very good at what you do, I would even be willing to believe that somewhere beneath your charming bedside manner lies a real person.” I took another drag on my cigarette, then reached forward to flick the growing ash away. “Right now, however, I would like nothing more than to leave. It seems quite apparent that my presence is a disturbing influence on Mitch.” My voice broke on his name and I looked away from Sam's intent gaze.
“And you were hurt by his reaction, surprised?”
“Not surprised.” I paused for a minute and thought. “Not at all. The entire event merely confirms what I suspected.”
He said nothing, but reached over and lit a cigarette for himself. He kept the lighter in his hands and tapped it on the desk, turning it over, reading the inscription. Finally he looked up at me. “Well?”
Suddenly the anger and frustration I had been reining in since I arrived exploded. “Dammit, he threw me back into the world almost two years ago, forcing me to live the kind of life that even you, with your undoubtedly keen insight into the human psyche, cannot imagine. His son coerces me back with the story that only I can save him. And then to be met with such hatred, such pain.” I pressed my fingers against my eyes to prevent the flow of tears. “I never meant for him to be hurt.” My voice softened, and Sam leaned forward to catch my words. “I wanted him, I loved him. Love him, more than I have ever loved any man, and this is what my love did to him.” I lowered my hands and balled them into fists.
“Miss Griffin.” The doctor's voice was compassionate, warm, and I relaxed. When I opened my hands, there was a slight smell of burnt flesh, and I looked down with surprise at the stub of the cigarette crushed between my fingers. I dropped it into the ashtray.
His concern for me showing in his face, Sam stood up and moved toward me. “Did you burn yourself?”
“No.”
“May I see?”
“No.” Petulantly, I put my hands behind my back.
“Miss Griffin . . .”
I looked at him for a minute. “Oh, what the hell. Call me Deirdre. If I stay here much longer, you will manage to worm out all my deepest secrets.” I smiled at him, honestly this time, for I was beginning to like him. “Damn, you are good at this doctor thing, aren't you?”
He flushed at my praise and sat back down at his desk. “Yeah, I'd like to hope so. Do you feel better?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then maybe we can start over. Deirdre”âhe nodded at meâacknowledging my permission to use the name, “how long ago did you and Mitch meet?”
“Two years ago, just a few days after Thanksgiving.”
His head jerked in surprise. “Is that all?”
“Yes, why?”
“No reason, I just had the feeling that your relationship was of longer term than that.”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. And you left the country when?”
“New Year's Eve.”
“The same year?”
I nodded and he reached over and put his cigarette out. “So you knew each other only a short time.”
His statement seemed like a question. “Love at first sight?” I suggested in reply with only a small tinge of sarcasm.
“Could be.” Sam met my eyes, and I saw a cautious admiration begin to form. “Do you mind my asking how old you are?”
I tried to evade the question, but quickly searched my memory for the last recorded age for Deirdre Griffin. “What possible difference can that make?”
“None, I suppose. I hope I didn't offend you.”
“Not at all, Sam. I'm thirty-eight.”
He looked unconvinced. “I'd have guessed from your appearance that you were younger, but your eyes are older, somehow. You're an interesting case, Deirdre.”
“Case?” I jumped up from the chair.
“Oh, sorry. I didn't mean that, it's just an expression we use around here. Please sit down again.”
“Actually, I would like to leave now. I would be happy to come back and talk again sometime if you think it will help Mitch.”
“Even if it doesn't, I'd like it.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
He hung his head. “Yeah, I guess I am, maybe just a little.”
I extended my hand. “Well, I'm flattered. Thank you.”
Before Sam could shake my hand, Chris entered the office. “Deirdre, I'm so glad I found you. It's wonderful. He's better, really better. He wants to see you, wants to know if you're still here. I told him I'd find out.”
I sighed, knowing that I could not face Mitch again, so soon after his initial and forceful rejection of me. “Tell him I'll come back tomorrow night. I have to go now.”
“Wait!” Chris came after me. “I'll drive you home.”
“No, you stay here with your father. I'd like to be alone.”
Â
Some habits die hard. For one of my kind, they can often be the only things that keep you alive. So I was not really surprised to discover that my walk led me that night to the Ballroom of Romance. More amazing was the fact that the club was still in business and open.
There was no crowd waiting at the door; its popularity as a night spot must have waned during the years I was away. The doorman was unfamiliar to me; his expression of bored disinterest was apparent as he pulled open the entrance.
Inside, everything was exactly as it was when I had left. The tables, the bar, the dancersânothing had changed. I caught myself scanning the dance floor for someone I knew and stopped immediately. Who did I expect to see? Max? Larry? Dead, they are dead, I reminded myself, and would not return. Pushing gently through the group of people standing near an empty seat, I laid my bag down on the bar and ordered a drink.
I thanked the bartender for the prompt service when he brought my wine. At the sound of my voice the man tending the other end of the bar turned and glanced at me; his eyes narrowed, as if to focus more clearly in the dim light.
“Miss Griffin?” He recognized me and came over. “It is you. I thought so. Long time no see, huh?”
“Yes, it has been a while. How are you?” I could not remember his name, but I remembered quite plainly the scornful attitude he had shown me in the past. Now, however, he was pleasant, courteous, and respectful.
“Fine, thank you. Can't complain, I suppose. Can I get you something?”
I pointed to my full glass and shook my head. “But you can do me a favor, if you would.”
“Anything for you, Miss Griffin. It's nice to have you back.”
I listened for a sarcastic note in his voice and found none. I smiled at him; it was nice to meet someone I knew before who had no ulterior motives, no hidden resentment, no open hatred. “Well,” I began, “I would like to look around a bit, you know, for old time's sake.”
“Be my guest.” He threw his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “You're the boss.”
“Thank you.” I picked up my wine and headed toward the door that led into the offices and lounges behind the club. This too had not changed. I had a strange feeling that if I waited here long enough, I would see a younger Deirdre walk these halls, her intended victim in thrall, willing to follow, to give her what she wanted. I shivered slightly, then walked without hesitation to Max's office.
The room was dark, but I did not bother to put on the lights. There was no need; my night vision was good enough to see that it was exactly as Max had kept it. And I knew this room so well, I could find my way through it blindfolded.
I closed the door and leaned my face up against it. They had replaced either the entire door or the wood panels within it, for there were no gouges in the wood to show where the makeshift stake had entered, no indication that a living being had once hung impaled there, spewing its life out upon the floor. Even the carpet was new; there had been too much blood spilled for the stains to be removed. Nothing in this room gave any sign that a baffle for life had been waged within its walls; it was sterile and empty. But still I searched for his presence; surely he would be there if he were anywhere.
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