Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  I jumped when the doorbell rang and without thinking went to answer it. Checking through the peephole, I saw Chris standing there and realized that I was naked.

  “Chris,” I called through the door, “I’m unlocking the door, but give me a minute before you come in.”

  “No problem.”

  I undid the latch and ran back to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. In the closet was Mitch’s green terry-cloth robe and I put it on, tightening the sash. As I heard the door open, I quickly ran a brush through my unruly hair, and pinched my cheeks to give them a little color.

  “Deirdre,” Chris called, “are you decent?”

  “No.” I came out of the bedroom and smiled at him. “But I am dressed.”

  “Very funny.” He acknowledged my attempt at humor with a weak smile, but I noticed he was furtively surveying the apartment.

  “Are you looking for something, Chris?”

  “No.” Then he met my eyes and blushed. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. Didn’t you have a guest here last night?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Is he still here?”

  “No, he is not. How did you know someone was here?”

  He blushed again. “I stopped by last night, you know, to celebrate with you about Dad’s recovery. But before I could ring the doorbell, I heard voices. I guess you decided to have your own private party.” His voice sounded harsh and strained, but any anger I felt at him dissolved when I saw his sad, disappointed face.

  “You should have come in, Chris. It was only Dr. Samuels, and what we talked about concerned you also. I assure you it was not what you call a private party.” I mimicked his tone, and to my surprise, he laughed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t really know what to think. You know, with you being what you are and all, well, I jumped to the most obvious conclusion.”

  His implied judgment of the way I lived was beginning to anger me. “Chris,” I said sternly, “first I am going to make us some coffee. Then it is time you and I sit down and have a little talk about what I am.”

  He gave me an evasive look. “Coffee’d be great, but Dad is waiting for us.”

  “This will not take long, and I promise you that Mitch will understand. There are things you should know, things he cannot or will not tell you.”

  He shrugged, but followed me to the kitchen, taking two mugs from inside a cabinet and leaning back against the counter. “I didn’t imagine that you’d drink coffee,” he said with a glance that betrayed a fearful curiosity.

  “Fine, we will start with that. I can drink almost any substance. I do not gain nourishment from it, but my system can accommodate it. Solid food is another matter, however. Rare meat is about the only food I can digest. Even that is not easy, but I can do it if I have to.”

  “Why would you have to? What possible difference could it make to you?” He sounded genuinely confused.

  “That brings us to the next of the unpleasant facts of my life, Chris. Every day, every night, I am forced to deceive the rest of the world, carefully disguising my instincts into a façade of human behavior. So if socially I am called upon to attend a dinner, I must eat. Not every time, true, but often enough so that I do not call attention to my differences.”

  “But what are you afraid of? What can hurt you?”

  I gave him a sharp glance, but his face was innocent and open, showing nothing more threatening than simple concern.

  “Not everything you read in the books is true, of course. A stake through the heart worked well for Max.” I shuddered as I made the statement, thinking that it really did not seem to work that well. He was still haunting me. “Prolonged exposure to sunlight would probably also do the trick. But I am not repelled by crosses or crucifixes.”

  “Garlic?”

  I laughed. “It is true that I have a great aversion to garlic, but it was something I felt when I was still human. So for me, yes, garlic is an effective deterrent. For others like me, I cannot say.”

  “Still human?” He gulped on the words. “Exactly how long ago was that?”

  “One hundred and twenty years ago, give or take a few. Apparently based on the information I gleaned from Max before he died, I am quite young for one of my kind.”

  He shivered and turned away from me.

  I went to the coffeemaker and filled the two mugs, pushing one into his hand. “Here. Now, shall we go sit down?”

  He nodded and we went to the living room. I sat in the armchair and he chose the couch, studiously avoiding my eyes. “Chris.” I said his name to get his attention and he jumped slightly. “What I have to tell you now is the worst of it. I must ingest at least one pint of human blood each week to feed myself. This is not something I can do without. If I allow the hunger to build, the instincts will take complete control over me, forcing me to feed whether I want to or not. There is no substitute for human blood; its taking is a necessity, and cannot be overruled. This is the first and foremost commandment in my life, one you must never forget. Rest assured, however, that my feeding does no permanent harm to my victims.”

  He sat silent for a while, drinking his coffee, staring off into space. When he asked his next question his voice was weak, hesitant. “But doesn’t everyone you bite become a vampire when they die?”

  I looked at him in shock. “Good heavens, Chris, no. Where on earth did you get that idea?” My honest laughter calmed him, and his voice grew stronger.

  “You know, I read it in books.”

  “Can you imagine what would have happened by now if that fact were true? There would be no humans on the earth—everyone would be like me. The escalation on that would surely rival the current inflation rate.”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”

  The levity of our exchange was a welcome relief to the tension, but there was more I had to say even though I knew he would not like it.

  “Chris, you must listen to me, this is very important. I love your father as much as possible given the incredible circumstances surrounding us. I will try to do nothing to hurt him while I am here. but I must feed, I have no choice. I do promise you that I will not do it here in his apartment.” I looked up from my coffee cup and met his eyes, holding contact with him as firmly as possible. “You must not be jealous for him; you must not ask questions about how I take my sustenance and you must not tell anyone what I am.”

  “I promise.”

  “And you must not come back here until I have fed again.” I counted back to the last night I spent overseas. “It has been five nights now, and I want you to stay safe. Tonight will be fine, I will be in total control and we can go to the hospital together. But tomorrow I will go out and do what I need to do. It does not concern you, and”—my voice grew harsh—“it does not concern your father.”

  “But”—Chris sounded petulant—“he’s doing so well. What’ll I tell him?”

  “You need tell him nothing. He knows what I must do.”

  He nodded, drained his coffee, and looked over at me. “Thank you for talking to me. I can see how hard it is for you to talk about it, and I appreciate your honesty. Plus, I’d never have had the guts to ask you those questions if you hadn’t brought up the subject first.”

  “You must not be afraid of asking, Chris. I will answer if I can.” Setting my empty cup on the table, I stood up. “Now, give me a minute or two to get dressed, and we’ll go.”

  In the bedroom I checked the closet, found and put on a pair of black leggings and a red knit tunic that buttoned down the front, applied some makeup, and brushed my hair one more time. My standard high-heeled black pumps were in the living room by the door. I walked down the hall and stepped into them. Chris was still sitting where he had been when I had left, his legs stretched out and his head resting on the back of the couch.

  “Chris?” The tone of my voice was tentative, almost plaintive.

  “Yeah?” He picked his head up, rubbed his eyes, and glanced over at me.


  “Well, tonight, as I already explained, should be a safe night. I was hoping that perhaps, after visiting hours, we could go somewhere. I don’t sleep well these days and would enjoy the company.”

  “Sure, what would you like to do?”

  Eager to return to the previous relationship I had enjoyed with Mitch’s son, I said the first thing that came to mind. “I thought maybe we could play some pool.”

  His relaxed laugh was a relief to me. “Yeah, sure, we could do that. Just go easy on me, okay? I don’t like losing any more than Dad does.”

  Chapter 12

  Mitch was dressed and waiting in the lobby when we arrived. Chris had seen him first and had run ahead, taking the front steps two at a time. I stopped just outside the door and watched them through the glass, smiling sadly to myself at their hugging and back-pounding. Only when Mitch’s eyes sought mine over Chris’s shoulder did I enter. Even then I held back guiltily, embarrassed somehow at the truths the three of us now shared. If Mitch had not moved away from Chris, if he had not given me the slow, sensual smile that lit up his intense blue eyes, I might well have turned around and walked away. But he held out his arms to me and I went into them willingly.

  After our embrace, Mitch kept one arm around my shoulders and looked at Chris. “Well, did you bring it?”

  “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Dad. I meant to stop, honest, but I forgot.”

  “That’s okay, Chris. I just figured that was why you were late.” Mitch stopped a minute, dropping his arm from me and giving Chris a stern glance. “If you didn’t get it, then why are you so late?”

  Chris gave me an uncomfortable look. “Well, you see, Deirdre and I, we were talking, you know, and I—”

  “I was explaining to Chris the facts of life, Mitch. Whatever it was he forgot, I take complete blame.”

  “The facts of life?” Mitch laughed. “He could probably tell us a few things about that subject, I bet.”

  Chris blushed bright red, and I felt sorry for him. “No, Mitch, the facts of my life.”

  “Oh.” Mitch stopped laughing and nodded. “That’s different. No problem, Chris. I was only joking with you anyway.”

  “What was he supposed to get that was so important?”

  Mitch gave me a sheepish look. “My dinner—the food here is the worst. But it’s really not as important as it seemed earlier, when I talked to you, Chris.” He stopped for a minute, holding back the good news as long as he could. “They’re letting me out tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Chris and I both said it at the same time.

  “That’s wonderful, Mitch. I’m so glad.”

  “But it’s awful soon, isn’t it, Dad? I mean, aren’t they afraid you might have a relapse? Not that it’s not good news or anything, but how could they have made that decision so quickly?”

  “Chris, if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were trying to keep me here. But those were my questions too. Dr. Samuels maintains that I am better. Hell, anyone can see that I’m better. And apparently he had a talk with Deirdre and she helped to ease his mind on a lot of things. I’ll still have to check in on a regular basis.” Mitch paused and gave a small grimace. “It’s a lot like parole, as it turns out. But as long as I stay the same or continue to improve, he says that I’ll be fine.” He reached over and patted Chris on the shoulder. “So you see, everything’s going to be okay. Now, maybe you could run out and grab me something to eat anyway. I’d like to have some time alone with Deirdre.”

  “Mitch, is that fair? We’ll have plenty of time alone when you’re released.” I shot Chris a quick glance to see if Mitch’s order upset him. Oddly enough, he had a huge grin on his face.

  “All right, Dad! Now I know you’re back to normal.” Chris walked to the door, turned, and waved. “Be back in about an hour. See you then.”

  Mitch took my arm and steered me down the hallway. I tensed as we passed the nurses’ station, but Jean was nowhere in sight. When we got to his room he closed the door, a slow smile spreading across his face. “For obvious reasons, it doesn’t have a lock. We’ll just have to take our chances.”

  “Chances on what, Mitch?” Trying to maintain a teasing quality to my voice was difficult, for the boldness of his words, his glance, almost took my breath away. I felt a rush of excitement, along with the heat of an embarrassed blush, flowing through my body. In lieu of an answer, he moved one of the visitors’ chairs in front of the door to prevent its opening, then reached over and turned out the light.

  Surprised at his daring and fearful of discovery, yet strangely elated, I stood quietly, half afraid to move or speak. Then suddenly I did not care where we were, or who was likely to walk in on us. Mitch was back and we were together in spite of all the obstacles that fate had heaped before us, and that was all that mattered.

  His first touch was a tentative, delicate stroking of my cheek with the back of his hand. I drew in my breath, silent and shivering, as his fingers traced their way along the base of my neck. He pulled me to him and kissed me, and the delicacy of his touch was soon abandoned. His hands grew rough and demanding, exploring my body, his kisses covering my face and neck. Finally he broke away and looked down on me with a shaky smile.

  “Deirdre?” The whispering of my name gave me chills, and I could not speak. But I could give him the answer we both wanted. With trembling fingers I reached up and began to unbutton my tunic. Only when I unfastened the bottom button did I look up.

  Mitch made no move, he only smiled as I began to work on his shirt. My hand brushed against the heated flesh of his chest, and he flinched slightly and sighed. When I tugged his shirt out of his pants and undid the last button, he pulled the tunic down over my arms and unfastened my bra.

  His mouth nuzzled at my shoulder and I gasped. He moaned quietly as he worked his way down my breasts and stomach, and knelt to ease my leggings and panties down my hips and legs. He supported me with one arm, and obediently I followed his silent urging to lift first one leg and then the other. When I was completely naked, his mouth and hands fastened on me with hunger and passion.

  Oblivious of our surroundings, I called his name again and again, flinging myself against him when he stood up. His eyes, reflecting the moonlight streaming in the windows, met mine, and he scooped me up and carried me to the bed. Hurriedly he removed his own pants and we lay naked, side by side, our mouths and bodies rediscovering each other.

  After what seemed an eternity, or a second, he entered me and his breath on my neck was labored and hot.

  “Deirdre, oh, God, Deirdre,” he said. “I’ve waited so long.”

  I said nothing, but clasped him to me, careless of his crushing weight, careless of my sharp nails and teeth. Abandoning all thought, I felt my body pulled into the vortex of passion, swirling ever upward into him, into the union of our bodies and souls. I loosened my grasp. “Mitch,” I whispered hoarsely, “look at me.”

  He supported himself on his arms above me and opened his eyes. The merging of our glances was electrifying, a more intimate moment than any we had ever experienced. The strength of that look alone brought our building orgasms to their peaks. I shuddered and cried, feeling myself dissolve in his arms. He collapsed against me, sobbing and spent, his fingers tangled in my hair.

  When our breathing returned to normal, he rolled from me and started to dress. I threw back the sheets and picked up my clothing to do the same. As I buttoned my tunic, I began to laugh, and his questioning look only intensified my amusement.

  “Something funny?” Mitch sounded mildly indignant. “It’s sort of an inappropriate time to get the giggles, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, no, Mitch, it’s not that.” I went over to him and put my arms around him. “That was wonderful beyond words. It’s just that”—and I started to laugh again—“I was wondering if Jean would be the one to change the sheets tomorrow.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, really. But she doesn’t like me very much and I’m sure
that this episode would only reinforce her bad opinion of me.” I shrugged and slipped my shoes back on. “It makes no difference to me; the thought simply struck me as funny. Now, you should probably unblock the door and put the light back on.”

  Mitch smiled and nodded. “I love you,” he said almost as an afterthought, walking over to move the chair and turn on the lights. He had not yet put his shirt on, and when I saw him in full light, I wanted to cry at the way his body had been wasted; those years apart had been harder on him than on me. He carried the reminders of our separation like battle scars, his hair gray, his normally tight muscles, slack, and the flesh of his chest and back scarcely concealing the bones underneath. And when I saw the few reddened scratches on his back, I tensed and swore.

  “Damn.” I said it quietly, but he heard and turned to me.

  “You’ve got it wrong, Deirdre. The correct response is ‘I love you too, Mitch.’ Try it out, will you?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. Your back is all scratched. I’m so sorry.”

  He craned his neck to look over his shoulder. “Am I bleeding?”

  “God”—I took a short breath—“I hope not. Come here.”

  I ran my fingers gently over him. “Does this hurt?”

  “No, it feels good,” he said, then winced when I came into contact with one particularly nasty-looking scratch. “Well, maybe not good, but it feels right. Sort of like getting your first hickey; you’re trying to hide it when all the while you want to shout out ‘Look what I got.’ ”

  Worriedly, I checked his neck, then breathed my relief. “You’re lucky in that respect, Mitch. No marks for Sam to wonder about during your release examination.”

  “And your examination results? Will I live?”

  I put my arms around his waist and laid my cheek against his protruding shoulder blades. “Without a doubt, my love. Now, get your shirt on. Chris should be here soon.”

  “I like that, the way you’ve started calling me ‘my love.’ But you still haven’t said it.”