Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  I hear the carriage approach long before it comes into sight. Having left a dead body behind in the closest town, I wish to remain unseen and melt into the surrounding trees. I watch them drive by, the man and the woman inside the closed coach. They are talking and smiling, and I feel a strange twinge of jealousy for a life I will never have.

  When they are farther down the road, I step out of the concealing brush. I continue walking, but suddenly a bolt of lightning strikes a nearby tree. There is a deafening crash and it falls and catches the rear end of the carriage, which overturns on the road.

  I wait a minute, watching the upper wheels of the carriage spin in the air. The horses rear and scream in fright, perhaps they are spooked by the lightning, perhaps they sense my unnatural presence.

  The smell of blood falls upon the air, hypnotizing, tantalizing me, and although I had already fed, the deadly hunger engulfs me again. I discover the man’s dead body under the lower wheels; he lies in a crumpled heap, his neck twisted, his body crushed and his blood uselessly mingles with the muddied rain.

  But the woman, ah, the woman still lives. As I open the door of the carriage and reach in for her, she opens her eyes. There is happiness in her glance, as if she had been waiting for me. My heart twists when I realize that it is probably only relief at being rescued. But still I pull her out of the wreckage and hold her warm body close to mine, carrying her farther up the road.

  She welcomes my embrace at first, responding eagerly to my caresses and my kisses. Then she looks deep into my eyes, and her fear becomes apparent. Feebly she attempts to push me aside, and I would gladly let her go, but the feeding instinct has been triggered and cannot be denied.

  Her body tenses when my teeth sink into her neck; she is powerless to stop me, but still she fights. God, I think, admiring her perseverance, she is strong. As I drink, I feel a sharp pain in my own shoulder. She has clawed her way through my clothes and is answering my assault with one of her own. My own blood flows and she drinks, pulling upon me with a hunger almost as great as my own.

  In my surprise, I laugh and stop feeding upon her, allowing her to drink of me. Eventually, she slows and stops; her eyes flutter shut. But I continue to hold her, cradled in my arms, until I hear the approach of another carriage. I do not want to leave her, but I have no choice. I cannot permit myself to be seen.

  Reluctantly, I lay her down on the road and she opens her eyes to me once more. “If you survive, my little one,” I say before fading into the night, “we will meet again.”

  Chapter 26

  When I woke, Mitch was not in bed. I got up, wrapped a robe around me, and opened the closed bedroom door cautiously. There was no natural sunlight in the hall, so I guessed it would be safe to venture farther. Mitch was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of papers. “Good morning,” I said, my voice dull and lethargic. He turned to me, smiled, and I asked, “What time is it?”

  “A little before four. Sunset’ll be soon, but you can sleep more if you like.”

  “No, I’m awake now. But how about you? You should be tired. You were awake practically all night also.”

  Mitch shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t yet adjusted to sleeping all day. I guess it’ll come in time. How’d you manage?”

  “I had no choice, remember? It was not a conscious decision to become nocturnal. And you have no reason to adjust to it.”

  “No, maybe not.” His voice was calm, noncommittal, consciously avoiding, I thought, this particular issue that would need to be dealt with eventually. I welcomed the development with relief, not needing another argument to further complicate our lives. Maybe this was how we would survive, avoiding the painful subjects completely until they became unimportant.

  “Deirdre.” Mitch’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Would you like some coffee?” He stood up, and at my nod went into the kitchen and brought out a full mug.

  I sat down on the couch, taking a sip, and looked at the papers strewn on the floor. “What is all this?”

  Mitch sat back down on the floor at my feet. “I stopped over at the station today and picked up the personal files they had kept for me in storage. It’s been so long, it seems much longer than two years, and I thought I’d refresh my mind on some of the details of the Vampire Killer case. Thought maybe I could find something in here you could use in your defense.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing yet, but who knows? The next page may just be what we need. I won’t let them hurt you, Deirdre.”

  I sat silently and sipped my coffee. When I finally spoke, my voice sounded far away. “I had another dream.”

  “Max again?”

  I shuddered. “Yes. This one was so real, so horrible. They’re not frightening in content, but they utterly terrify me. In the dream I become a part of him, and it robs me of my self. Robs me of my defenses, of any feelings for him but sympathy and love.”

  Mitch looked at me questioningly, and I continued. “It’s strange. I hated him for so long, never completely understanding him. But now that he’s dead, I know him so much better. And when I wake, I feel empty, almost as if I’ve been torn in half.”

  Mitch reached over and stroked my leg, then laid his head on my thigh. Idly, I ran my fingers through his hair. “I just don’t understand any of this situation with Max. Will I have to live with it for the rest of my life? I’m not sure I can handle that; eternity is too long anyway.” Then I laughed a little. “Did you know that Sam thinks it’s all my imagination, that I’ve invented the entire situation to alleviate my loneliness, my guilt?”

  “Yeah,” Mitch said dryly, “and he thought I was crazy too.”

  I nodded. “I guess he can’t always be right. But he sounded so sure, so authoritative.”

  “Forget about Sam.” There was only a slight tinge of jealousy in his voice. “He can’t really help you. But you should ask someone else about it, someone who might be able to give you an answer that makes sense. Victor Lange, maybe, or your attorney.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Mitch went back to sorting his papers, methodically putting them into small stacks, glancing at each page. “Well,” he said, waving one particular sheet in the air, “this one doesn’t belong with the rest.” He went to put it into a separate pile, then stopped and read it in more detail. “Son of a bitch, I don’t remember this at all.” He shook his head slightly as if to clear it, then looked up at me, an odd expression on his face.

  “What is it?”

  “A morgue report.”

  “On Max?”

  “No, on Larry.”

  At the mention of the name, I shivered as always. “What about him?”

  “Nothing much, and it’s not really that unusual. Sometimes they just lose track of the final disposition papers.” He read it again, slowly and thoroughly. “That must be what happened.”

  “What do you mean, Mitch, final disposition papers?” A cold stab of fear entered my abdomen. Vaguely I remembered the familiar face on the Ballroom dance floor. Was I destined to be haunted by everyone I touched? “Larry too?” I wasn’t really aware that I had spoken it out loud.

  “Larry too, what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well,” he said, giving me a questioning look, “I’m sure it’s just an oversight. After all, he was dead. He couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away.”

  “Are you sure?” My voice trembled. Larry’s death had been nagging at me for years; something didn’t seem right.

  “Of course I’m sure. I shot him, remember? He was dead, all right. I suspect they shipped his body out to his next of kin and just forgot to fill out the forms. Sloppy practice, but it happens all the time.”

  “If you say so, Mitch.” His words reassured me only slightly, but I did have other worries to occupy my mind. “Did anyone call?”

  “No, you expecting someone?”

  “I thought maybe Ron would set up an appointment to talk
about my case.”

  “Deirdre, it’s not sunset yet. He’s probably still sleeping.”

  “Oh, yes, I forget.” I laughed gently. “I still don’t quite believe that he’s like me. That any of them are like me. I’ve been alone in my species for so long. I wish I had known that they existed years ago.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if you’d known others of your kind, you’d never’ve fallen in love with me.” He sounded a bit defensive when he said it. I looked at him for a long time, studying the lines of his face, the strength of his shoulders, saying nothing. I wanted to imprint him on my mind so that after he was dead I would never forget the fineness of him.

  “What?” He smiled tentatively at me, seemingly unnerved by my stare.

  “None of them could ever compare with you, Mitch my love.”

  “No?” He ducked his head a bit, and busied himself with his papers to hide his pleased grin.

  “No.” I got up from the couch, went over to him, and sat next to him on the floor, taking his hand in mine and holding it up to my cheek. “Let’s do this paperwork later and take advantage of the time we have now.”

  By the time Ron called, we were out of the shower. And when he finally knocked at the door, we were dressed and composed, although I was perhaps smiling more than someone accused of murder should have been.

  “Hello, Greer.” Ron shook Mitch’s hand at the door and walked in. He nodded at me where I sat on the couch. “Deirdre.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Ron?”

  He set his briefcase on the top of Mitch’s desk and opened it. “I actually prefer tea, if you have it.”

  I moved to get up, but Mitch stopped me. “I’ll get it, Deirdre. You stay here.”

  I heard him running the tap and filling the teakettle. Ron removed a sheaf of papers and sat down on the chair opposite me. “Before we get started,” Ron said with a wary glance at the kitchen, “I’d sort of like to apologize for my involvement in this whole affair. It’s not actually my sort of thing, threatening people with guns, spying on them, you know. But Victor calls the shots, and although he seldom abuses it, his power within The Cadre is absolute. I’m too new to the life to be able to make waves.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Ron.” I lowered my voice to a level that I thought Mitch could not hear. “I just wish that I had known the kind of games you were playing those nights we spent together.”

  “I resent that, Deirdre. And it’s not really what you think. True, I was under orders to keep you under surveillance, but I had absolutely no idea why, or even who you were. I thought maybe you were being considered for admittance to The Cadre, or were romantically involved with a member. I didn’t actually realize who you were until that night in the Ballroom, when you told me you were Max’s heir. But no one asked me to seduce you into my confidence. I liked you, and”—he gave me a sharp look—“as I remember, you were more than willing.”

  I felt my cheeks redden, from embarrassment and anger. “But that was only because I didn’t know what you were. You weren’t entirely honest with me and you had me at a disadvantage. And the other night, you could have told me what you were.”

  “And you could have told me.”

  “But you already knew everything about me. You lied to me through your silence, and you betrayed my trust in you.”

  He gave me a hard, quelling look. “No more than you did. Imagine my surprise on finding you married to a man you were never going to see again.”

  “But you told him where I was.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Ron stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Look, Deirdre, we could talk about this all night, but we’d get nowhere. It’s over and done with, so let’s try to forget it and go on.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I agreed. “So, what’s on your agenda for tonight?”

  He handed me a set of papers. “ ‘The Establishment of The Cadre,’ ” he read, “ ‘and the Laws and Rules Thereof.’ ”

  The teakettle whistled, and Mitch called out, “Water’s ready. How do you want it?”

  “Plain will be fine, thanks.”

  “And how about you, Deirdre? Do you want more coffee?”

  “Just bring the pot out, Mitch, and join us. You don’t need to play host all night. I’m quite sure that Ron is capable of helping himself.”

  “There’s no doubt about that.” Mitch came out of the kitchen, glaring at us and balancing two mugs and the coffeepot. He handed the tea to Ron, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the couch next to me, setting the pot on the floor. Ron handed him a set of papers identical to the ones I was holding.

  We all read in silence for a while until Mitch groaned and pitched the papers across the room. “Jesus, is everything The Cadre does this bloody pretentious? I don’t see where a history lesson on the holy organization will do Deirdre much good at this point?! Can’t we get down to the facts without having to wade through a goddamned written lecture?”

  Ron looked at him in surprise, then gave a small chuckle. “I guess the material is rather dry,” he admitted, “but I thought you might want some of the background before we started preparing your case. Keep them anyway.” He looked over to me and shrugged. “Read them later on, when you feel like it.”

  “Thank you, Ron.” Actually the origins of The Cadre were of interest to me, but Mitch was right. Knowing how it started really did not help my case.

  “The facts we really need to know”—Mitch glanced at me and I nodded my acquiescence—“are the sort of extenuating circumstances that are acceptable in the killing of other vampires and the type of punishment possible if she’s found guilty.”

  Ron gave Mitch a look that could have been admiration. “Fine, I appreciate your no-nonsense approach. And I can answer the second fairly succinctly, so let me start there. There is no death penalty provided for by The Cadre. We’re not a vigilante group out to subject the world to vampire justice. We banded together for protection and preservation of the species; as you know, our reputation among humans is deplorable. We might have a thirst for blood”—he gave a funny, twisted smile—“but we are not bloodthirsty in the way that you think. Punishment, even for the murder of one of our own, can range anywhere from exclusion from the group to a period of supervised incarceration and starvation.”

  He stumbled a bit over the last word, and I glanced at him in surprise.

  “Starvation? That sure sounds like a death sentence to me.” Mitch’s voice was soft, but I could feel the anger flowing beneath.

  “Actually, it isn’t,” Ron said, shaking his head. “No vampire has ever died from a starvation sentence. But”—he shuddered—“it is extremely grueling for both the prisoner and the keepers. A starving vampire is someone you would never want to meet or be, I promise you that. In fact, many under the starvation sentence choose suicide instead.”

  “How?”

  Ron looked over at me again, his eyes sad. “The most accepted way is to go to a secluded but open area and simply wait for the sun to rise. Even should you change your mind, there is hardly even enough time to find shelter.” His voice trailed away.

  “But some take the starvation?”

  Ron’s voice took on a more definite tone. “And they survive it. After the time’s up, sustenance is provided so that the weakened individual doesn’t need to hunt for a while.” Ron shuddered again, his eyes gaining a far-away look. Then he seemed to shake himself free of his thoughts and smiled at me. “Very few of those who’ve gone through the starvation need to be disciplined again. Actually”—he gave Mitch a wary look from the side of his eyes—“it’s a much more humane and effective deterrent than your human judicial system.”

  Mitch laughed a bit uneasily. “You’ll get no argument from me on that. But I don’t want Deirdre to go through it regardless of the results.”

  “Of course.” Ron nodded his agreement. “We’d all like to avoid the starvation sentence if w
e can. So we need to work on your motive for the murder, Deirdre. Why did you kill Max?”

  I took a sip of my coffee, warming my hands as usual on the mug. “Max was out of control. He had murdered four people, and was threatening Mitch.” I stopped and shook my head slowly. “No, that’s not exactly true. What he did was much worse. Max attempted to coerce me into killing Mitch.” My voice broke and my hands trembled, splashing coffee on me. I set my cup down and stood up, rubbing my hands on my jeans. “I understand from Victor that The Cadre does not consider the murder of humans to be a terrible crime. But I had lived all my many years hurting no one, human or otherwise. I would not even have killed Max unless he himself had brought the situation to such an impasse. He knew how I felt about Mitch, and yet he persisted. He gave me no choice.” I walked around behind the couch and massaged Mitch’s shoulders, easing both his tension and mine.

  “Can anyone else substantiate your evidence?” Ron’s expression included both interest and surprise. Apparently he had not heard the true story of Max’s death. But then, I thought, no one actually had.

  “I ask only,” Ron continued, “because the killing of one’s maker, and the founder of a house, is a serious charge, maybe the most heinous crime a vampire can commit, and yet, if you had made a case before The Cadre at that time, and told us of Max’s deeds and his attempted coercion of you before you killed him, then the outcome might have been different.”

  “I can testify to what happened,” Mitch said firmly. “I was there.”

  “Sorry, Greer.” Ron’s voice was condescending. “We can’t accept the testimony of a nonvampire. You wouldn’t help her case much anyway; there are too many who are opposed to marriage with humans. The fewer who know about your involvement, the better. At this point it’d be much better if you just laid low for a while. I’m stretching the rules as it is to allow you to be present at this briefing.”

  “And God forbid I should make you stretch the rules.” Mitch stood up and walked around the chair to me, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “Deirdre, I’ve got to get out of here. Your attorney says so.” His voice sounded calm and reasonable; only the glitter of his eyes and the set of his shoulders betrayed his anger. “And I could use a little night air to clear away the stench of The Cadre. I’ll be down at the pool hall. Join me when you’re done with Mr. Wilkes.”