“Don’t move,” I commanded and he dropped his hand. “Proof number one,” I said harshly. “Regenerative powers.” I quickly slit both of my wrists with the glass.
“Deirdre, no!” Mitch gasped as he saw the bright blood flowing down my hands.
“No doubt, you have seen more than a few suicide cases.” He was still riveted to the couch by my command but he nodded and I held my arms out to him. “These would be fatal wounds, wouldn’t they, if I didn’t get prompt attention?”
He looked away from me. “Let me call an ambulance, please. You didn’t have to do this. Let me help you.”
“Look at me,” I ordered and he did. “I do not need help with this.” I rubbed my wrists on the side of my jeans and held them out for his inspection again. The blood had congealed and the cuts, although obviously recent, were already healing. “Touch them,” I said gently and moved toward him. He ran a trembling finger over the wounds. “By tomorrow,” I said matter-of-factly, “there will only be small scars. Within a few days, there will be no sign that this ever happened.” I turned my back on him and went to the window. “You see,” I said bitterly, “I have tried this little trick before.”
When I looked at him again, his face was ashen, the expression in his eyes, bleak. “Deirdre, I’m so sorry, I had no idea . . .”
I smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, Mitch, it really is. Now, if you’ll let me continue.”
“No more, please,” he interrupted. “I believe you.”
“No, Mitch, I don’t want you to have any doubts at all. We’ll do this my way.” I stood back and opened the heavy draperies about an inch. “Test number two,” I said, taking a deep breath, “sunlight.” I thrust my hand into the ray streaming into the room. It began to smoke immediately, but before the smell of burning flesh became overwhelming, I withdrew my arm and shut the drapes again. “Damn,” I said, walking to him. “That really hurts.”
He reached up to me and gently took my hand. “Will this heal, too?” he asked in awe as he surveyed the damage. The skin was blackened and withered in the small area that had been exposed.
“Yes, in a day or two.” I pulled away from him and sat back in my chair. “Now just let me rest up a bit and we’ll go for number three.”
“Is that really necessary?” His voice now reflected fear and although I could not determine if he was afraid of me or for me, I could see the belief in his eyes.
I responded with a weak smile. “I had hoped it would not be. The next one is the worst of all.”
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Mitch spoke again. “Deirdre, I hate to ask, but I have to know. What’s test number three?”
“Oh, that,” I said disparagingly. “It’s the test of immortality.”
“How can you prove that?”
“Quite simply, I take your revolver and shoot myself through the heart.” I shuddered slightly and went on. “It hurts like hell, but only for a little. As long as the bullet goes clear through there are no serious complications.”
He stared at me in horror, then dropped his face into his hands. The minutes ticked by, seeming like hours. I made an attempt to clear our cups, but found that my hands were shaking, so I sat back down again and studied his body for some sign of what would happen next. Eventually, he raised his head. “Oh, God,” he said quietly, then wiped his eyes and looked into my face. His expression was strangely composed, his voice calm and confident, as if knowing the worst about me had strengthened him in some way. “Thank you. This explains so many things for me. And it must’ve been hard for you to tell me all this.”
I nodded. “At least now you don’t think I’m crazy. Of course, I am crazy,” I gave him a little smile, “for telling you this. I could have let you believe what you wanted to believe. But I thought that you would try to drag me off to see a doctor this morning and that would not only have killed me, it would have been a shock to your comfortable theory. So now instead of killing me accidentally, you can be fully aware of your actions.”
“Kill you? Why would I want to do that?”
I laughed again. “I can think of several reasons, offhand. I am an inhuman monster who should be exterminated. I am a damned soul who should be released. I am a drainer of blood, a leech on mankind. And then you have your three murders.”
“No,” he said with a sidelong glance at me. “I have four murders.”
“Four? But surely Gwen doesn’t count in that number? Larry should account for her death.”
“No, I wasn’t counting her.” He gave me a curious look, partly surprise, partly relief. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Last night there was another murder. Like the first three. And the time of death has been pinpointed during the time that you and I were, ah, otherwise engaged. So, even if I suspected you, which I did not, you would be free on this.”
“Why don’t you suspect me? I could have left quietly and come back, you never would have known.”
“No.” He looked at me sharply. “I would have known. Besides, you may be a, well, what you are, but you are not a killer. You have lied to me about many things, and now I know why you did. You are secretive and crafty, but I know you, maybe better than you think. You could not kill anyone, not like this. Oh, you might be capable of murder, in passion or anger, most people are, but not in cold blood and not repeatedly.”
“Thank you. What will you do now?”
“Damned if I know. This is all a little hard to take. And to believe. Oh, I do believe you,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to give me any more proof. But all along, I’ve been believing that the person we wanted was deranged. Now I’ve learned that he may be a true vampire,” he winced as he said the word, “how on earth am I going to catch him or make anyone else believe what we are looking for?” He glanced at me in an appeal for help.
“I do not know, Mitch. If the question had arisen one month ago, I would have denied the existence of others of my kind. In all my years, I have only had proof of one other, the one who made me what I am. However, I’ll be more than happy to help you any way I can.”
“Why would you help? Isn’t that against your code or laws or something?”
“I have no code or laws for dealing with others. I’ve never met anyone like me. But I want this one.”
“Why?”
“Because, if he is the one who changed me, I want him dead. If not, I would like to ask him some questions. You see, I was changed into what I am by accident, I believe. I had no one to guide me, no one to teach me what I needed to know to survive. Somehow, I blundered through and lived.”
“How long?” He looked at me sadly for a minute. “How old are you?”
“I was born in 1832, changed in 1860. I’ve stayed the same since.”
He laughed. “You’re over a hundred years old? I can believe a lot of things, but not that.”
“Truly, Mitch.” I walked into the bedroom, and retrieved Larry’s scrapbook from the closet where it had been hidden. I came back and handed the book to Mitch. “My life story, or almost, as compiled by Larry Martin.”
His hands shook as he took it from me. I poured myself another cup of coffee and watched him read. There were no sounds in the room but the rustle of slowly turned pages.
When he had finished, he looked over at me with regret in his eyes. “You haven’t had it easy, have you? All that moving about, for fear of discovery. All the things you’ve seen, war, poverty, the deaths of people you’ve known.”
“Living forever is not exactly what it is cracked up to be. But short of taking a long walk in the sunlight, there’s not much I can do about it.”
He rifled through the pages again, pausing with the book open to the photograph on page one. “Where did you get this?”
“The night that Gwen died, I left your place and broke into Larry’s apartment.”
“But it was under surveillance. No one saw you go in.”
“Of course they didn’t. I
climbed up the back wall and went in a window.” I smiled at his expression.
“But there’s no way in, in the back. The fire escapes are on the sides of that building.”
“I know. I climbed the back wall.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you could do that.”
I laughed. “Actually, it was the very first time I had ever tried. It was amazingly simple. Larry wasn’t there, but you know that. I found the book, borrowed some of his private stock, and left.”
He nodded, putting the missing pieces in place. “We found the other blood and your note. But we didn’t know who it was from. We couldn’t figure that one out, or how the lock on his door got broken. I guess you did that, too.”
I nodded.
“But there were no prints.”
“I have been dating a detective, remember? I wore gloves.”
“Oh, of course, you’d been printed that night.” He stared at me for a second. “And you knew he had killed Gwen, but still you went to meet him. Obviously, he knew what you were and he came prepared to kill you. I still don’t understand why you didn’t let me help you.”
“Be reasonable, Mitch. I didn’t want you to find out about me; he would have told you then and there and been happy to do it. And I really thought I could handle him. But he surprised me; he was much stronger than I would have thought.”
“And the marks on his neck?”
“The bite marks are mine.” I said it softly, but he shuddered anyway. “Larry wanted me to transform him. I finally managed to convince him to let me close enough to him so that I could take his blood.” Mitch’s face paled and I continued quickly. “You see, when I take blood, I’m able to plant suggestions. I hoped to take enough to weaken him, and then wipe away any remembrance of me and what I am. After that was accomplished I planned to let him go; you would have caught him eventually and my secrets would have been safe.”
“What went wrong?”
“Everything went wrong that night.” My voice lowered. “I discovered that I was not as invincible as I thought. It was a sobering experience.”
He sat and thought for a while. Then he got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and took a danish. “Want one?” he said, holding out the plate.
“Not really, Mitch. You forget that I don’t need to take food. In most cases, I can’t even swallow it.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s easy to forget.” He looked at me sheepishly. “I just can’t think of you as what you are; I guess I should be frightened or horrified. And I am, a bit. But mostly, I feel sorry for you. Does that make any sense at all?”
“Perfect sense, to me. I’m still the same person I was yesterday and you and I are bonded together, to some degree.”
A sudden flare of anger entered his eyes. “You mean you can control me, control my feelings?”
“No, Mitch.” I walked over and took his hand in mine. “I don’t control you, nor would I want to. I’m not sure that I could; you’re very strong in your own right. And I haven’t taken your blood.”
His free hand went to his neck in a protective, involuntary gesture. He dropped it with an embarrassed look when he realized what he had done. Averting his eyes, as if in the presence of some perversion, he asked softly, “Why didn’t you take any blood? Don’t you have to?”
“Not always.” I smiled reassuringly at him. “And I wouldn’t take yours. But that first time we made love, well, do you remember the bruise on my shoulder?”
“Yeah,” the realization of the situation dawned in his eyes, “at first it wasn’t there. I knew it wasn’t. And then it went away much too fast.”
“Exactly, and now you know why. I did that to myself. For so long, the taking of blood has been the only intimacy I’ve had, the only one I thought I needed. I can’t fully explain the feelings I get when I’m feeding; there’s the survival factor, the needs satisfied, but there is also a union with my victims, however unwilling they may be. There is a sexuality apart from sex, a power and a fulfillment . . .” I broke off as he dropped my hand and gave a shudder of distaste. “But you’re different.” A note of pleading entered my voice. “You touch a part of me that has been repressed for over twenty years. I couldn’t sully that experience by taking your blood. So I turned my head, and drew my own.”
“And the other times?”
“I fought the urge. I don’t want to hurt you, Mitch. For what it’s worth, I love you. So you’re in no danger from me in that respect.”
He left my side, went over to the window and peeled back the drapes slightly to look outside. Although I was out of reach of the sunlight, I instinctively jumped back. Lost in his own thoughts, Mitch took no notice and went on, quietly as if to himself. “Shit, I really can pick them, can’t I? The first woman I’ve allowed myself to love for years and she turns out to be a . . .” His voice broke and he turned back to me with an odd pleading look in his eyes.
“You can say it, Mitch. I don’t care much for the word myself, but in this case it is appropriate. And you have used it before.”
“But not about you. And not for real. I don’t want to say it. Jesus, I don’t even want to believe it. Right now I need to get out of here, away from you. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.” He walked to the door.
I found I could not move toward him. “Mitch,” I said in a soft, choked voice.
His name stopped him and he turned to me. Quickly he gathered me in his arms and held me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“So am I, Deirdre.” He kissed me gently and held my face between his hands. “I’ll be back,” he promised and walked out into the hall.
I stood against the door after he left, until I heard the elevator close and start its journey downward. Then, bearing the weight of many years, I locked the door and went into the bedroom.
Chapter 20
I slept fitfully that day, and when the phone finally woke me at three, I got up to answer it, expecting that it would be Mitch. I was disappointed to hear my attorney’s voice, but he had good news for me.
“I’ve got a buyer.”
“So soon? You sure didn’t waste any time, Fred.”
There was a pause on the end of the line. “But you said you wanted it over quickly.”
“I did. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. That’s great.” I tried to put enthusiasm into my voice and failed.
“The deal isn’t final yet, of course, so you could still change your mind.”
“No, I won’t change my mind. Tell me about it.”
He talked for some time, going into details that were not terribly important to me; I only half-listened to him, thinking instead of the conversation Mitch and I’d had that morning. He had taken it better than I thought he would, and that confused me somewhat. Maybe I had underestimated his grasp of the situation or the depth of his feeling for me. Could it be possible that he would still wish to continue our relationship, knowing what he did about me? And even at that, how long could either one of us expect it to last? I sighed and Fred was startled.
“Deirdre?”
“Hmmm?”
“You aren’t even listening, are you? If you’re so uninterested, why did you ask me to call you?”
“I am sorry, Fred, please continue.”
“They’d like to meet over lunch, tomorrow. Can you fit that into your schedule?”
“No, lunch is out of the question. What about dinner, tonight?”
“Tonight? Jesus, Deirdre, you don’t know what you’re asking. It’ll take us at least another four hours to get the contracts reviewed and typed. I work fast, but not that fast.”
“Did they meet my two conditions?”
“You weren’t listening—I knew it! Yes, they met your conditions and upped them a bit. They’re very interested.”
“Then get it ready for tonight. We can eat late, say around nine or nine-thirty. The office is still closed today; tomorrow when I go in I want to inform the staff of what’s been done. After everything else, I
don’t want an office full of hysterical women, worried over the rumors of a sale. You know how fast this kind of situation gets broadcast on the gossip mill. Can you handle it?”
“Well,” he thought for a moment, “if I take everyone off what they’re doing now, yes, we can probably make it.”
“Great, arrange for whatever bonuses you think are necessary. And make reservations for us at The Imperial. I’ll cover the bill.”
“Fine with me,” he said. There was a trace of a smile in his voice now.
“And bring your wife. That should make up for all the long hours I force you to work.”
“I should hope so. Well, I’d better go. Are you sure you don’t want to go over the details again?”
“No, I trust you. If you say it is a good deal, I can believe it. Oh and Fred?”
“Yeah?”
“Reserve an extra seat for dinner. I might want to bring a guest.”
“You, a guest? I can’t wait. You really are full of surprises these days, Deirdre. See you tonight.”
I laughed to myself when I hung up the phone. Poor Fred. I guess I had given him a harder job than I should have, but I wanted that portion of my life ended as quickly as possible. There was really no sense in continuing; I didn’t need the money or the hassle at this point. I felt a sudden lightening of my mood. The worst was over, things could only improve. Mitch had been told the truth, I could look him in the eyes with no dishonesty or lies. I had faced off someone who wanted me dead, and had lived through the attempt. My time would be my own again, to use any way I wished. When the other was found and dealt with, I was free to begin an entirely new life, or stay in the old for a while. That decision would depend on Mitch.
I rang the police station and found him at his desk.
“Greer speaking.” His voice sounded hurried and distracted.
“Mitch, I’m sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you would be free tonight for dinner. The Imperial at nine?”
“Whew,” he said, surprised at my request. “I’d better check my bank book first.”
“Don’t be silly; I’m paying. It’s actually a business dinner but I would like you to be there, if you can make it.” I suddenly realized that I was making a big assumption. Just because he didn’t rant or rave this morning or attempt to kill me straight out didn’t mean that he would want to see me again, ever. “I mean,” and my voice was soft, less confident now, “that is, if you can stand to be with me after today.”
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