I opened his door, with a small shiver of anticipation, remembering the dream of that afternoon. The bed was empty, of course, but all else was as it had been when he was alive. The books on the shelves were dusty, but on the top shelf I found the one I sought. Opening the book, I began to read.
“CHAPTER 1—How graves give up their dead, And how the night air hideous grows with shrieks!” . . .
I completed it that night, huddled in a corner. When I was finished, I sighed and hugged my knees to my chest. If the whole idea wasn’t quite so ludicrous, I thought, it would make sense. So many things were explained: the odd hunger for blood, the sharpened teeth, the aversion to food and sunlight. I stood up and began to pace the room.
It’s ridiculous, I thought again. How could such a thing happen? There had been no demon materializing; no beastlike creature perched on my window sill. I could remember nothing that could explain this situation. But with a sudden shock, I recalled the dream, the hungry mouth fastening on my neck with a terrible desire, the mocking laughter, the man-sized black evilness that claimed my body and soul in a star-lit field.
“It was only a dream,” I whispered, shaking with fear. “Nothing more than a dream.”
I went to the window and pulled aside the heavy drapes. The sun was just beginning to rise and I looked at the lightening sky with hope and relief. “So,” I said aloud, “it can’t be true.” But even as I said it, I felt the rays of the sun burn into my exposed skin, reddening and blistering it as I watched. I had not the courage to endure the pain; I drew the drapes shut again and collapsed, crying on the floor.
It took many months for the horrible realization of what I had become to sink into my consciousness. I defied the conventions that had been established for one of my kind. The walls of the house abounded with mirrors and crucifixes; the first infallibly reflecting my image and the latter evoking, not the loathing and fear that would be expected, but rather compassion and a yearning toward the redemption they represented. Standing at the window, I would greet the dawn until the pain of my burning flesh could not be tolerated. Upon waking the next evening, I would discover that the burns had healed, leaving no trace of their ravaging of my skin.
Some compulsions I could not deny: the sleep of the day and the call of the night, together with the taking of blood. With each dose of blood, my powers of night vision, hearing and the heightened awareness of the world surrounding me increased along with the intolerance of light, especially sunlight.
The dog continued to make his visits to my back porch once or twice a week and we fed each other, until one night he failed to come. I wondered about his absence; we had become companions of a sort and the relationship was satisfying for both of us. But my worries over the dog were soon replaced by others more pressing. The first was how to keep my bizarre transformation from Mrs. Blake; the second more profound and unsettling. I was beginning to suspect that the blood of animals could not completely fulfill my hunger; eventually I knew I would have to turn to humans for my sustenance.
Mrs. Blake died of pneumonia that winter; her death solved both of my problems. Though it was not of my doing, I deeply regretted both her death and my feeling of relief when it occurred. She had been good to me and had helped me through those bad months; yet her visits had become troublesome. Her presence in a room would make me frantic with rage and lust. I could smell the blood within her veins and it would take every shred of control I had to keep her at a distance. She was confused at my seeming coldness toward her, which I could not explain. And when I received word of her death, it was too late for explanations. I could not attend her funeral, for the day was sunny though cold and I could not risk prolonged exposure. Instead, I visited the graveyard that evening, bearing with me roses cut from my now overgrown garden.
The night was frosty, and the grass in the cemetery crunched beneath my feet as I wandered, looking for her grave. When I found it, I tenderly lay the roses on the fresh–turned earth. “Mrs. Blake,” I said softly, then “Anna” for there was no need for formality now. “Anna, rest well here with the others I loved.” I sat for a long time there, leaning against the adjacent headstone and content to have the cold air dry my tears. I heard footsteps behind me and stood up quickly. A man stood there, gaping in astonishment at my apparent rising from the grave.
He shook off his apprehension with the help of a flask he held clutched in his hands. “Li’l late ta come callin’, ain’ it, girlie?” He slurred the words and I could tell from his appearance and the smell on his breath that he was quite drunk. He gave me a crooked, leering smile. “ ’m closin’ the gates now.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “I missed the funeral and just wanted to say goodbye.”
I suddenly remembered Mrs. Blake once mentioning the unsuitableness of the new caretaker. “Oh my dear,” she had said. “Why old Mr. Jones picked such a man, I’ll never know . . .” Now I understood her distress; he stood in front of me, swaying slightly in the wind. I walked past him and he lurched toward me.
“No need ta rush off,” he said, grasping my arms. “I still got a li’l lef’ in my bottle, we can say g’bye together.” He gave a little drunken laugh, his breath hot and foul in my face. “Mebbe, we can say h’lo, too.”
“No, thank you. Please let me go.” I struggled with him until he began to nuzzle my ear and my hair. My mouth fell against his neck and time seemed suspended. I could feel the rapid beat of his pulse against my tongue. There was no thought, no effort that went into the bite. Suddenly, the taste of his blood was in my mouth, tinged with alcohol, but tangy and bitter and wonderful. I could feel the liquid flowing into my body even as I felt his pulse falter. Feeling satiated and drugged, I pulled away from him.
His eyes fluttered open and looked on me with confusion. “Wha’ happened?” he said. “Who’re you?”
“Nobody you know,” I insisted. “You are drunk, go back and sleep it off. I will close the gates.”
To my surprise, he moved away from me like a sleepwalker, shaking his head and muttering to himself. I watched him make his way back to the small brick building that was the cemetery office. He did not look back, he seemed to have completely forgotten me.
Quietly, I slipped out through the front gates closing them behind me. A euphoria engulfed me as I walked home; the night seemed alive to me, I felt welcomed to its darkness.
Shortly after that night, I had packed what little belongings I cared to take. Clothing, books, letters and papers, it had made a small bundle in the hallway of that empty house. I had made arrangements with the family lawyer to sell the house and the furnishings; he would forward those proceeds to me along with the profits from my father’s business, a trading post and general store which I had inherited after his death. I was going to make a new start, I had told him, and would let him know where to send the money when I was settled. I was excited at the prospect of a new life somewhere away from my memories, not knowing at the time that it was just the first of many trips down that corridor of rooms, filled with death and loneliness.
Chapter 7
I had spent most of the day in memory, sitting quietly, motionlessly, considering my past. As I rose from my apartment couch, I noticed that the sun had already set. With scarcely a thought for what I was doing, I went upstairs and began to dress. I decided to abandon my normal black for this evening. Instead I pulled from the back of the wardrobe a dress I had made last year and never worn. It was a winter white velvet, with a scoop neck and a wide, full skirt. To liven it up I added a wide, red belt and a pair of red high heels. Surveying the results in the mirror, I was pleased with my appearance. The white seemed to brighten my hair and compliment my pale skin.
I left my apartment, locked the door and entered the office. The overpowering odor of roses filled the room and I smiled when I thought about Max. It was inevitable, I supposed, that I would have to see him again. Although he had never before attended one of my shows, he had sent the card back this time with a response of yes. If he
did put in an appearance, it would be better to work out our problems before that night. After all, he had really done me no harm, and was responsible for my meeting Mitch. At the thought of his name, I gave a small sigh; how ironic it was that Max should be the one to introduce me, albeit indirectly, to someone who moved me as he had over twenty years ago. This time, however, I had no delusions about the outcome of any relationship with a human, and I had no intentions of changing Mitch, or anyone else, into a creature like me. The bitterness and hatred I felt for my unknown sire were still fresh and strong, even after all these years. I had no desire to foster the same emotions in someone I loved.
I called for a cab from the office phone and headed for the elevator. As I was closing the front door, the phone began to ring. I went back in to answer it.
“Deirdre, you’re still there.” At the sound of Mitch’s voice my heart gave a curious little jump.
“Hello, Mitch. I was just leaving.”
“Well, I can’t talk long anyway. I wanted to see you tonight, but Chris came into town today. How about dinner tomorrow night?” He sounded enthusiastic, boyish.
“I don’t know . . .” I began evasively.
“You have other plans?” he interrupted sharply.
“No, no I don’t.” God, I thought, how I hate to do this. Not only did I genuinely care about Mitch and want to see him again, he also provided me a chance to find the other vampire in the city. But he was dangerous, curious and quick–witted, and it would be too easy to fall in love with him. I could make my own investigations into the other of my kind easier than I could afford to begin a relationship with Mitch.
“It won’t work out between us, Mitch.” I tried to convince him as I tried to convince myself. “There is no way that it can.” I was sure that he could hear my voice wavering. “I am sorry.”
“Damn it all, Deirdre, you’re wrong and you know it. What we felt last night was real.” He paused for a long time, then continued, softly. “Give me a chance, please. Just one more night, and then if you still feel the same, I won’t bother you again. Scout’s honor.”
I could hear the teasing in his voice, thought of our conversations last night, how I had enjoyed his company. How in his arms I found a release from my existence, how he made me forget for a while my struggle with the lust for blood. How for a few seconds, in the pre-dawn streets of the city, I had been human again.
“Oh, what the hell. Pick me up at the hotel at eight.” Even as I said it, I knew instinctively that I had made the right decision. “But promise me, no more all-nighters. I have a busy weekend ahead of me.”
“I’ll be there. Oh, and Deirdre?” His voice acquired serious overtones.
“Yes?”
“You said you were on your way out. You aren’t going to see Max, are you?”
I lied. “No, I am not going to see Max. Why do you ask?”
“Well, the flowers and all that. He always seems to be lurking around in the background.” His voice took on a defensive note. “I can’t believe he’s not in the running, that’s all.”
“The running for what, Detective? I am not a trophy.”
“Sorry, Deirdre. I guess I’m a little insecure.”
“Only a little?” I snapped at him sarcastically. I could imagine the cold glint in his eyes and instantly regretted my harsh tone. “Mitch, you have no need to be,” I said gently. “I . . . I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
I stood for a while after he hung up, the phone cradled against my chest. Then I hung it up quietly and went to the lobby to catch my taxi.
The streets were crowded and the traffic heavy, so I stared out the window as we slowly made our way to the Ballroom. The idea that there may have been others of my kind prowling the streets was intriguing, and I studied all the people we passed in the hopes that I would find a sign of their presence. Not that I would recognize another from their appearance; the only way I could be sure would be to see them feeding. And surely, they would guard their secret as well as I did mine, by hunting cautiously and covering all evidence of their existence. But they had not done that. With the two corpses left behind, they had left a calling card for any with the wisdom to identify the facts. I wondered at those deaths; even at my most voracious, I had never killed. I must find the other, I thought. I could learn from him; perhaps I could find in him someone that could share my life.
The answers to my questions were not found in the streets. Everyone looked. normal, human and busily involved in themselves. When we stopped at a light, however, I noticed a familiar figure crossing in front of us. I hurriedly paid the driver and got out of the cab. My heels made a clacking sound on the sidewalk as I tried to reach him. Catching up with him, I gently touched his arm. He spun around and the snarl on his face changed into a smile of recognition. It seemed a genuine smile, not his customary sneer, and I knew that he had forgiven the harsh words and hasty action of our last meeting.
“Hello, Max. How have you been?” I gave him a small hug and was surprised to have it returned with fervor.
“Deirdre, I’m glad to see you.” He held me out at arms’ length and smiled at me again. “You look wonderful. Were you coming to see me? Or just prowling around?”
I looked up into his eyes; they were dark, fathomless. “Max, I never gave you a chance to explain about the police. I’m sorry about that. Now that I have had time to think, I realize it wasn’t your fault. At the time, I felt trapped; I thought you had turned me in to protect yourself and the club.”
“That would be a logical assumption on your part, my dear. After all, I suppose I could be considered an accessory to at least one of the murders, if you did them. Did you?” He had an odd expression on his face, a mixture of curiousity and indulgence, as if I were a young relative discovered in some small indiscretion.
“No, of course I didn’t. And even if I did, Max, I would hardly stand here on the street discussing it.” I looked up at his face, the lights of the street highlighting its sculptured lines and felt a surge of anger at his complacency, his distance. “Now you can answer a question for me. Why did you feel it was necessary to mention my name to the police in connection with Bill Andrews?”
“Deirdre, calm down. I could hardly deny it, when so many other people at the club saw the two of you together. And,” he added, justifying himself, “I did ask you to stay away for a while.”
“But you begged to me come that night, knowing that the police would be there.”
“I didn’t know they’d be there that night; they don’t really make appointments in advance, you know. And I thought that they had finished their questioning the previous night.” He reached over and touched my cheek. “Besides,” he added with a twisted smile, “can I help it if I just can’t do without your presence? I missed you.”
“Damn it, Max. It was only one night. You can quit your little game, now.” I had never been able to ascertain why Max did the things he did, now was not the time to start. And since the policeman in question was Mitch, he had really done me a favor of sorts. The anger drained away and I smiled up at him. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter at this point. Shall we go?” I clasped his arm and we continued the walk to the club.
Larry stood guard at the front door and moved the crowd away so that we could enter. Max gave him a slight nod of greeting and I noticed how Larry’s bright smile darkened and his fists clenched. I had not given much thought to Larry since his visit to my hotel. Now all of the anger and confusion he had expressed that night came back to me; I regretted that he had gotten involved, even remotely, in the sordid events of my life.
“Damn,” I swore under my breath as Max propelled me down the hall toward his office. He lifted an eyebrow ever so slightly as he opened the door. I removed my coat and flung it over his couch while he opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
He handed one to me. “You look radiant, Deirdre. Maybe it’s the dress or the color? So virginal, so innocent; it should go over well with the police.” He dra
ined his glass abruptly and poured another. His face reflected his normal cynicism with a small trace of excitement.
“I thought it was time for a change, Max. No one can stay the same forever.” I settled on the couch, demurely smoothing the velvet skirt.
“Not even you, my little vampire?” He came across the room to sit beside me and draped his arm carelessly on the edge of the couch, his fingers lightly grazing my shoulders. “No,” he said shaking his head. “You have changed. You seem more confident, more at ease. As if something has finally touched you, made you aware of yourself.”
A smile crossed my face and I thought of Mitch. I knew at that moment that I loved him. God help us both, I did love him and although it would go no further, I could still hold one warm time to my heart as I faced the loneliness and coldness of my unending life.
The change in my expression had not escaped Max’s attention. “Ah,” he said, leaning back, “it has happened then. I envy you this moment of revelation, my dear. Enjoy the exhilaration, it can make a life such as yours worthwhile indeed.” He clinked my glass in a silent toast and we sat companionably for a few minutes. Then he rose, setting his glass down, and stared down at me. “Just promise me two things, Deirdre.” He continued without waiting for my response. “Stay away from Larry. He asks more questions about you than he should. You do know that he is obsessed with you, don’t you?”
“I surmised that at our last meeting.”
“Only at your last meeting? I have known it for years; I’m surprised you’ve never noticed.” Max crooked an eyebrow and gave me a slight smile. “He’s been working here four years now and in all that time he’s never so much looked at another woman. To be truthful, I don’t think he’s ever had a woman.”
Hunger Page 9