“Hello, Gwen.”
“Oh, Deirdre, thank God. Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? I’ve been so worried.”
I glanced at the clock, it was after nine. I should have been to the office by 7:30 at the latest. “Sorry, Gwen. I was sleeping so soundly that I didn’t hear the phone.”
“I find that hard to believe; it’s never happened before. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. I was tired, that’s all.” I permitted myself a small reminiscent sigh, remembering why I had been so tired. Mitch entered the room with a sheepish smile, searching for the clothes he had discarded the night before.
“Deirdre,” Gwen continued. “When will you be coming in?”
“Don’t open the drapes,” I warned sharply as Mitch headed in that direction.
He shrugged, then went for the light switch. “Is this okay?” he asked sleepily.
“Yes, that will be fine.” I braced myself against the glare, I had forgotten to put my contacts in. “No, Gwen, I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You have someone there with you, don’t you? Who is it?” Her voice acquired the curious, voyeuristic quality it always had when she talked about my personal life.
“Never mind that. What’s the weather like?”
I could visualize her confusion as clearly as if she had been in the same room with me. “The weather? Well, it’s clear and sunny, a really beautiful day, and not too cold, but what has that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Can you handle the office today? I won’t be coming in.” I spoke absently as I watched Mitch pick up clothing from the floor. He had found his shorts and put them on, then came up behind me to wrap the robe around my shoulders.
“You’re as cold as ice,” he said quietly as he kissed my neck and wrapped his arms around my waist. I giggled softly in reaction.
“Deirdre, are you still there? What the hell is happening?”
“Nothing.” Mitch’s nuzzling was becoming more intense. I reached my hand back to caress his face. “Can you take care of everything for me today?”
“I guess so, but what will I tell everyone . . .”
“Tell them I’m going on a picnic.” I hung up the phone.
“Picnic?” Mitch questioned as he kissed my arm and hand, easing the robe back off my shoulders. “You want to go on a picnic?”
“Not really . . .” I began, when he interrupted.
“What the hell?”
I turned my head to see what caused his reaction. He was staring at my shoulder; it displayed the remains of a nasty bruise, greenish blue but already beginning to fade although it had been formed only a few hours ago. “Did I do that?” He sounded horrified. “Oh, Deirdre, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
I felt myself flush; I had inflicted the wound myself, of course, but I could not tell him that. Instead, I pulled the robe tightly around me. “No, Mitch, you didn’t cause that. It’s an old bruise.”
He looked at me oddly. “Funny, I don’t remember any bruise there last night.”
“And I don’t remember you paying very much attention to my shoulder.” I gave him a bright smile which he returned. “Now, be a love and order us some coffee from room service.” I headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
The water in the shower was as hot as possible to warm my cold skin, the heat it gave would have to last as long as Mitch was there. As it cascaded over my naked body, I enjoyed its touch, but not as much as his. He had been a wonderful lover, considerate yet passionate, gentle yet urging me to newer and more violent pleasures than I had ever known. Soaping my breasts, I thought of him touching me there, his mouth and his hands on my body, a body that responded as it never had before.
I gave a small, throaty laugh when I thought of how ridiculous I was acting—almost as if I were a bride or a novice in the sexual game. Over the hundred plus years that I had lived, I had exchanged sexual favors for blood or for protection. Or, as in Max’s case, as a way to try to keep someone with me. I had known more men than I could count in so many various ways, love, hate, anger and fear. I had even married and truly loved someone who also loved me. But no one, and I felt slightly disloyal to my dead husband as I thought this, had touched me as Mitch had done. With no one had I felt the excitement, the total joining of two persons, as I had with him.
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 me—he 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 out—you should be as hungry as I am.”
“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 wild–eyed 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 sl
eep 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 one–night 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
When 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.
Hunger Page 13
