Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  “Well,” she said over my shoulder, “what do you think?”

  “Much better.”

  “Much better, my ass. You looked like a hag when I came and now you’re gorgeous. I doubt that your Mitch will be able to control himself.”

  I began to laugh. “I hope you’re wrong. Last night he knocked me out.”

  “What? He hit you?”

  “Yes,” I began, then saw the expression on her face. “Well, no, I mean, he did, but it isn’t like you think. He wasn’t himself last night.”

  She nodded knowingly. “Funny, he didn’t seem the type. Drinker, huh?”

  “No, he isn’t a drinker. It is just that, oh, hell, Betsy, it would take much too long to explain.”

  She put her hand to her hip. “I’ve got the time.”

  I glanced at the clock. “Some other time. I’m supposed to meet him at six.”

  “Okay.” She seemed reluctant to leave. “Just don’t take any shit from him. No one is worth it.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, Deirdre, this was fun.” She met my eyes with her customary directness. “I know you don’t really like me much; no one does. I’m far too outspoken, too brash for most people to take. Some of that is a defense, I guess, and some of that is just the way I am. But I really appreciate your calling me. Maybe we could meet for lunch sometime if you’re not too busy. I have a good head for business, but I just don’t have the flair you do. Do you think you could help me out a bit?”

  “I would be happy to do that, Betsy. But make it dinner instead. We could go to The Imperial again, I suppose. My treat, of course.”

  “Well, of course, you didn’t think I’d pay, did you?” The ungracious words were softened by a sincere smile, and she slowly walked to the door. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  “No, I’ll take a cab.” Walking over to her, I put my hand on her arm. “Thank you so much. You’ve been wonderful, and I think you do have a flair all of your own. When shall I make reservations for dinner?”

  “I don’t know, let me check my calendar first and then I’ll call you. Will you still be here?”

  “Yes. Oh, and Betsy don’t forget to let me know what I owe you.”

  “Hell, Deirdre, even you know me better than that—I never procrastinate when money is involved. Why, I’ll probably write up your bill just as soon as I get back to the office.” She laughed and closed the door behind her.

  By the time I arrived at the hospital, I was shaking with nervousness. I paid the driver and got out, looking reticently at the front doors. Coward, I admonished myself, and forced myself to mount the steps and enter. Slowly I walked down the corridor and stopped at the nurses’ station.

  “May I help you?”

  I was relieved to find a different nurse on duty. This one I judged to be in her early thirties, with baby-fine blond hair. She could have been pretty, but the expression on her face as she studied me was extremely unpleasant. At least, I thought, I won’t have to accept countless apologies again. “I’d like to see Mitch Greer.”

  She looked up at me, the eyes behind her glasses narrowed and skeptical. “Are you a relative?”

  “No, I’m a friend.”

  She removed her glasses and gave me a scornful look. “I’m sorry, Mr. Greer is not receiving visitors this evening. Perhaps next time you could call ahead and verify visitation procedures.”

  “But he’s expecting me. And I was here yesterday evening and there was no problem then.”

  She shook her head and turned back to her papers. “Well, that was yesterday, wasn’t it? Tonight is tonight.”

  Stepping away from the counter, I stood for a second, watching her, attempting to gain my composure. “Excuse me,” I said with a cold politeness, “then would it be possible to speak with Dr. Samuels?”

  “Consultation hours are during the afternoon, from three to four, for family only.” Each word seemed to punctuate her sudden and inexplicable dislike of me.

  “Damn.” I swore quietly. I moved closer to her and said in a louder tone, “Excuse me again, and I really hate to bother you, but may I use your phone?”

  She pointed with her pencil toward the entrance. “Pay phones are in the lobby.”

  “Fine, thank you so much for your help.” The sarcasm seemed lost on her; she made an unintelligible reply and returned her attention to the papers spread out on the desk. Exasperated, I turned away and began to walk back down the hall. I figured I could call Chris; he could get me admittance. But I had come to see Mitch, and see him I would, if I had to climb up the wall and break through his window.

  “Deirdre?”

  I spun around and faced Dr. Samuels.

  “It is you, I thought so, but you look different. What did you do?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing much. This is how I looked when I knew Mitch before. I thought it might help.”

  “You look great. Why did you ever change?”

  I looked at his face, smiling at me with admiration, and smiled back. “It’s a female thing,” I said, knowing he would never understand my need for establishing a new identity. “Sometimes we just need to look different.”

  “But you’re leaving? Don’t you want to see Mitch?”

  Although I was ready to explode into anger, I controlled my reactions. “Of course I want to see Mitch. But I was informed that I had not followed the proper procedures. I was just about to phone Chris to see if he could help.”

  “You could have asked for me.”

  “I did. ‘Consultations from three to four for family only.’”I mimicked the nurse’s condescending attitude.

  Sam laughed. “Oh, I understand, Jean must be on duty this evening. Don’t worry, I can get you in.”

  He escorted me back down to the nurses’ station. Jean looked up at him. “Oh, Dr. Samuels, there was some woman here.” Then she saw me standing behind him and stopped abruptly.

  “I know, Jean. She’s to be allowed to see Mr. Greer. This is Deirdre Griffin.” He made a gesture of introduction in my direction, but Jean merely stiffened at the mention of my name and refused to meet my eyes.

  “She’s not on the list. And she’s not family.”

  “An oversight on my part, Jean. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced. ”

  Then Jean gave me a long, cold stare; the scorn that she had in her eyes earlier was replaced by hatred. “There are proper procedures”—she addressed me, without any trace of apology in her manner—“and it’s my job to make sure that they are followed.”

  Sam’s voice was considerate but cool. “Yes, well, thank you, Jean. We all know how dedicated you are to your work.” He gave her a token smile and nod in dismissal, and we walked farther down the hall. Until we entered his office, I could feel her eyes follow us, and her surveillance made me uneasy.

  I dropped my cloak and purse on the closest chair. “What the hell is her problem?” My voice was light, but inwardly I was still seething.

  Sam shrugged. “Damned if I know. She’s a stickler for the rules, but will usually bend a little every now and then. Unless she’s jealous of you.”

  “Why on earth would she be jealous? I’ve never met her before.” And never want to again, I added to myself.

  “Well, Mitch has been here for a while, and she started working only about a week after he was admitted. So I guess she feels there’s a sort of tie between them; in any event, she’s always been immensely interested in his case. Or so she maintains. The gossip from the other nurses are that she has a case on him.”

  “A case on Mitch?”

  Dr. Samuels’s eyes ran over my body in a quick complimentary glance. “Pretty ridiculous really. And it would have to be one-sided on her part. After having known you . . . well”—he shrugged, a look of compassion on his face—“I guess it’s not pleasant seeing your fantasies dissolve right in front of you.”

  I looked away; his scrutiny of me was becoming uncomfortable. “May I see Mitch now?”

  “Yes, of course.” He m
oved to the door. “You want to see him, and here I stand, holding you up. He’s in number seventeen, about ten rooms down, on this floor. Would you like me to take you?”

  I nodded. “Please, if you would. I don’t mind admitting that I’m just a little apprehensive about this meeting.”

  He began to walk briskly, and I followed at his side. “Everything will be fine, Deirdre. Mitch and I talked today, after he called you, and I know how much he’s looking forward to seeing you. I’d be very much surprised if anything like last night occurs again.”

  My stomach twisted as he knocked on the door numbered seventeen. And when it was flung open, I jumped back in alarm. Sam held my arm gently but firmly. Reluctantly I lifted my eyes to Mitch’s face.

  He was still thin and gaunt, aged beyond the two years we had spent apart. But his eyes had lost their haunted look; they were crystal-clear and intensely blue, even more than I had remembered.

  “Mitch.” The name half choked me, and I was only vaguely aware that Dr. Samuels had dropped my arm and was awkwardly backing away.

  Then Mitch smiled at me, and I forgot the rest of the world. There were no doctors, no nurses, no patients. There was only Mitch. His arms came around me and he held me to him tightly, possessively. I began to cry softly onto his chest; he rocked me back and forth, comforting me with the warmth of his hands, the sound of his voice. Our bodies felt as if they were fitted to each other. We had both been broken, shattered by events out of our control. And now we were one, united again, through the same chain of circumstances.

  As he stroked my hair with his weakened fingers, once so strong and calloused, I knew that although I had tried to purge myself of him, tried to forget what we had shared, our bond was unbreakable; he would be forever in my blood, my soul. And as his mouth came down on mine, I realized, too, that I was lost, that I could never again leave him while he lived.

  Chapter 9

  “What the hell are you doing back in town?”

  We were sitting side by side on Mitch’s narrow patient’s bed. Nothing had been said after he kissed me; he merely led me by the hand, sat us both down, cupped my face in his hands, and stared at me, searching, questioning me with his eyes. I wondered what he was looking for—did he expect to see signs of love or age, joy or sorrow? When he finally did speak, I started guiltily, not needing any words, wanting nothing but his gaze on my face.

  I reached a hand up and stroked his cheek. “What strange greetings, Mitch—not ‘how have you been,’ or ‘I missed you,’ or even ‘long time no see.’ No, that would be too easy. Instead, I get hit and then I get profanity.” I smiled at the mischievous grin that my words caused. “Do you think that’s fair?”

  He grew serious. “Fair has nothing to do with it. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “And why not?”

  He picked up my hand and put it to his mouth, glancing warily at the partially opened door. “For a lot of reasons, most of which we can’t discuss here. It’s too dangerous in this city, for you especially. Even so.” He put his arms around me, hugging me tightly to him, breathing the rest of his words into my ear. “I’m glad you came. God, I missed you so. You just can’t imagine.”

  “I think I can, Mitch.” I stretched up to kiss him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure in hospital whites standing hesitantly in the doorway. I tensed and pulled away as Jean entered the room. She held a plastic pitcher of ice water in one hand and a set of clean sheets were draped over her other arm. Bustling around the room efficiently and briskly, she placed the pitcher and one glass on the table next to the bed. The ice cubes clattered and the water slopped over the lip. Ignoring the spill, she stood, holding the bedclothes, staring down at us expectantly.

  I remembered what Sam had said about her earlier, and I hid my half-smile on Mitch’s shoulder. He kept his arm around me, not willing to move.

  “Can I help you, Jean?” His voice was courteous and warm. Of course, I realized, he would have no idea of what she felt about him, or me, and I assumed that she could be a dedicated caregiver if properly motivated.

  “Clean sheets, Mr. Greer.” She held them forward and I could smell their fresh, starchy odor.

  “But they were changed only this morning. Besides, I have a visitor.”

  “So I see.”

  He seemed not to have caught the suppressed anger I heard in her voice and he continued. “This is Deirdre Griffin, my, ah, fiancée.” I glanced at him sharply for the unexpected escalation of our relationship. His only reaction was to tighten his grasp on my shoulder. “And Deirdre, this is Jean, one of the best nurses this dump has.”

  “We’ve already met.”

  She ignored my comment but beamed at his praise. “I do the best I can.” Flushed and smiling, Jean seemed almost pleasant. Then her expression dropped and she gestured at us. “But visitors should be seen only in the lounge, and I have work to do.”

  Mitch’s voice contained a gently teasing. “Dr. Samuels said we could meet in here. And you can change the sheets after visiting hours just this once, can’t you?”

  “I guess so.” She hesitated a moment, then placed the sheets on the pillow, lightly brushing against Mitch’s arm as if by accident. But I knew better, I saw the glint in her eye as she walked away. “Visiting hours are over at nine sharp,” she said, giving the door an angry push. It banged noisily against the wall. “And all doors are to remain open.”

  Mitch shrugged apologetically. “I think she’s having a bad day. Now, where were we?”

  He kissed me again, a long and hungry kiss, and I responded in kind. When it was finished, he glared at me. “Now, why the hell are you here? And how did you know where I was?”

  “Chris came for me. He said you needed me.”

  Mitch grimaced. “Why, that little—I expressly asked him not to contact you. When I was still coherent, I told him that you were not to get involved.” He ran his hand through his hair, a puzzled expression on his face. “At least I’m pretty sure I told him. I seem to have lost track of a lot of things, including time.”

  “What is the last thing you remember, Mitch?”

  He looked at me, and I could see the pain enter his eyes. “About three months after you left, they started coming to me. At first I thought I was dreaming because they came only at night, while I was in bed. Then suddenly they were there, everywhere, after dark, watching me, laughing at me, their teeth pointed, dripping blood.” He shivered and stopped talking abruptly, staring at the bare white wall.

  “Mitch?” Alarmed, I grabbed his arm and shook it. “Mitch?”

  He jumped and turned to me again. “Sorry, did I drift off?”

  I nodded. “Like you were in another world.”

  “It is another world, Deirdre. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “How terrible they are. How inhuman.”

  “Mitch,” I said as softly as I could, attempting not to betray the rush of panic I felt at his words, “I don’t know who they are. The only other like me that I knew was Max, and he’s dead.”

  “Is he?” His eyes showed doubt and uncertainty.

  “Yes, he is dead, Mitch. He can’t threaten you anymore. You must believe that.”

  If he took any reassurance from my words, he didn’t show it. “You see, that’s just it. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I had just flipped out, gone completely crazy. There was no evidence of what I knew, of what I saw, and yet they were there with me, inside my head, mocking and torturing. I eventually got to the point”—and he lowered his head, not looking at me “that I wasn’t sure that you existed either. My memories of you were vivid, but so were the others, the ones that plagued me, the ones that no one else saw, that no one else believed in.”

  “But Chris knew me.”

  “I wouldn’t listen to him; I shut him out, because if you were real, then so was all the rest of it. I think I really wanted to believe that I was crazy. It was safer
that way.”

  “And you wrote me the letter.”

  “Letter? I didn’t write to you. I wanted to at first, but you said six months and I waited. I guess I just couldn’t hold out against them that long.”

  “But I received a letter from you.”

  Mitch shook his head. “I wish you had, but it wasn’t from me. I didn’t write; I know that for sure. What did it say?”

  I got up from the bed and walked over to the window. “It said that you couldn’t accept my life, that you could never see me again.”

  “Oh, God. Deirdre, I’m so sorry, I didn’t have any idea.”

  I turned and gave him a bitter smile. “How could you have known, Mitch? You didn’t send it.”

  “Even so, you should’ve known that I wouldn’t have said that.”

  “And why not? You said so yourself, we’re terrible, we’re inhuman. Why would anyone in their right mind want to take that on themselves? I had no choice, but to walk into it willingly.” I shook my head. “No, Mitch, it made perfect sense then, and it makes sense now.”

  Mitch sighed wearily and lay back on the bed. “Let’s not fight about it now.” He rolled over on his side and bent his knees, patting the open space on the bed. “Come here.”

  I settled in next to him. “You look tired, Mitch. You should try to get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow night and we can talk some more then.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a pretty busy two days.”

  Tenderly, I reached over and stroked his hair. The texture of it on my fingers was soothing, and the gesture seemed to calm him. He closed his eyes and gave an appreciative moan, then opened them again, sat up, and kissed me on the jaw.

  “What’s that for?”

  “To make up for last night?”

  “Oh, last night, forget it. It didn’t hurt for long. But maybe you could tell me why you did it.”

  He smiled ruefully. “It was the only way I could be sure you were real.” His expression grew thoughtful. “That, plus the fact that you’re so bloody contrary, showing up when I least expected you. And when I saw your face, I felt such a strong rush of anger, not so much at you, Deirdre, as at the circumstances, at the sheer impossibility of what you are. Well, I just lashed out without thinking. Do you forgive me?”