Hunger

by Karen E. Taylor

  “What is that?” I pointed at the file. “Is that about me?”

  “Deirdre, calm down. All my files are kept in strictest confidence, no one but me has any access to them.”

  “Destroy it,” I hissed at him, going to the door. I turned the knob, opened the door, and saw the patient of the other night shuffling down the hall, past the nurses’ station and into the recreational area. “Jesus,” I swore to myself. “Oh, not now, not again.” Panicked, I slammed the door and leaned up against it, breathing hard.

  Sam was staring at me, his expression a mixture of fear and hurt. I sighed, regretting my brutal treatment of him. He had done nothing to deserve it, and I had gone there looking for help, not enemies. “I’m sorry, Sam,” I said with a trace of a smile, pushing back my hair from my face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Walk me out?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “if you have to go.”

  “I do.” I stood back while he opened the door and escorted me out. “But I can come back. Some other night perhaps.”

  “Tomorrow?” He sounded strangely eager for my return visit.

  I shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Well, I’ll have some time for a little research, then.” He laughed. “Though God knows where I’ll find anything remotely concerning all this. As I said the first time I met you, you’re a strange case, Deirdre. But I’ll do what I can.”

  We walked down the hall and stood for a moment in the waiting room inside the front doors. He extended his hand to me, and I took it carefully. “Good night,” I said softly. “And thank you.” An awkward silence ensued, broken finally by raucous laughter from the recreation room. Sam looked embarrassed but kept my hand in his.

  “Time for me to get to work, I suppose. Sometimes, I wonder how any of us manage to hold on to our sanity. It’s a crazy world.”

  I nodded in response to his statement and he gave me a searching look. “Are you feeling a little bit better, having talked this out with someone?”

  I thought for a moment. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Good, that’s what I’m here for.” He hesitated, still holding on to my hand, and cleared his throat. A smile crossed his face briefly. “Now,” Sam said, meeting my eyes, “you say you came here for my help. Will you accept it even if you don’t like what I say, even if my opinion doesn’t coincide with yours?”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, here goes nothing. I think that your basic problem is the fact that you spend too much time running from your problems, running from commitment. This feeling you have of being possessed may stem from your denial of life. You’re alone and you try to avoid loving people because you’re afraid you might harm them. Your relationship with Max was the closest you ever allowed yourself until you met Mitch. And when Max died, you left immediately so you wouldn’t hurt Mitch.”

  I pulled my hand from his. “I suppose from one point of view all that is true, Sam, but . . .”

  He gave me an exasperated glance. “Don’t interrupt the doctor, Deirdre. The human mind is capable of going to almost any length of self-deception.” He looked around us to see if anyone was near, then lowered his voice slightly. “A good part of you is still human despite your denial of that fact. And humans aren’t meant to be alone, so you’ve manufactured a companion, a conscience almost, to be with you. You need someone, so you take the safe way out and fall back on your unhealthy relationship with Max. The fact that he is dead and appears only periodically works out even better. But it’s all gotten out of hand. Your conscious mind is no longer in control of your fantasies.”

  “Then I am actually crazy?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. Surely you know by now that insanity is a relative term. You being what you are”—he looked away for a minute—“who’s to say what’s the normal psyche for a vampire? The bottom line is that you must begin to live the life you’ve been given. And Mitch has offered to share that life with you.”

  “But it’ll never work.” My voice trembled slightly. Sam’s common-sense approach and rational explanations upset me more than I wanted to admit, because I could see that he might be right.

  “You asked for my advice. That’s a dangerous thing if you don’t want to follow through with it.” Sam reached over and took both my hands into his. “Deirdre, work it out with Mitch no matter what. If any two people are good together, you two are. We can talk through more of this later, but don’t throw away what works.”

  I nodded and pulled my hands away, then delicately grabbed his shoulders, reaching up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

  He put his hand up and touched the place I had kissed with a shy, pleased expression on his face. “Good night, then, and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thank you.” I turned my back on him and hurried out into the night.

  “Well, where to, lady? The meter’s running.”

  I had flagged a cab and gotten in but did not give the driver any destination; instead, I sat silently in the backseat. His question finally pulled me out of my brooding. “You know,” I said, almost thinking out loud, “if I were smart, I would go straight to the airport.”

  “The airport? You sure?” The driver seemed confused by my ambivalence.

  I laughed softly to myself; why should he be any different from the rest of us? “No, I’m not sure. Just drive around for a while and let me think.”

  “It’s your call.” He shrugged and moved the cab from the curb into the street. “As for me, I don’t much care. I’m on all night and it’s your money.”

  Although I was watching out the window, I became aware that he was studying me covertly in the rearview mirror. When our eyes met, he showed no embarrassment, just curiosity. I gave him a small smile, the encouragement he was waiting for.

  “You visiting someone in that hospital?”

  “Well, you might say that. I know one of the doctors.”

  “Your boyfriend? You two have a fight?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. It’s more complicated than I could explain, even if we drove around all night.”

  “Suits me. You’re better looking than most of my fares. Probably safer too. This city is getting crazier every day.”

  I said nothing, but he continued. “You meet all types in this job. You probably wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen from up here. But I can tell you’re sad about something. And it seems a shame that a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be happy. Why, you should be living in a nice house in the suburbs, with three or four little ones running around, happily married, not cruising this city with an old, worn-out cab driver.”

  I looked at his license. “Are you married, Bill?”

  “Was. Almost fifty years, but she died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He stretched his neck up so that I could see his smile in the mirror. “Probably a lot sorrier than you. When she died I was devastated. Didn’t hardly know what to do with myself. It’s been three years now, and I still miss her like it was yesterday.”

  He fell silent and I went back to the window. He stopped at a traffic light and turned around. “You decide where you want to go yet?”

  “No, just keep driving. But do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, goes with the territory, you know?”

  I nodded and leaned forward in my seat. “When you were married, did you and your wife ever have differences of opinion, things that you couldn’t reconcile between the two of you?”

  He snorted a bit. “Hell, yeah. Women and men couldn’t be more different if they were two different breeds. So things that seemed real important to her didn’t matter to me. And vice versa.”

  “But you still stayed together.”

  “Yep. It’s a nasty world out there if you don’t have someone to love.”

  “Then here’s another question for you. If you had known, when you first met your wife fifty years ago, that she would die before you, would you still have set yourself up for it?”
>
  “The loss, you mean?”

  “Yes, would you have married her regardless?”

  His reply was so quick, I knew that he had put no thought into what I had asked. “Of course,” he said in an injured tone, “I loved her. And how could you ever know for sure?”

  “But let’s say, as a hypothetical situation, you had known for a certainty that you would have only, oh, fifteen years with her and not fifty. And that when she went, you would have nothing. That you knew you would never find another like her no matter how long you lived.”

  “Hypothetically?”

  “Of course.”

  He thought about it this time; I could see his eyes narrow in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, it would’ve been hard to deal with that certainty, but I would’ve married her even if I knew we had only one year.” He paused for a minute. “Your boyfriend sick or something?”

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I know for a fact that I’ll outlive him by quite a few years. But that doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  “And it bothers you?”

  “Yes, it does. I’ve already lost one husband; I have no desire to lose another.”

  He gave a low whistle and a chuckle. “At the risk of sounding sarcastic, lady, I gotta tell you it’s a tough life. You got to take chances or you’re nowhere. Marry him. You might be surprised how it’ll turn out.”

  I sighed and settled back into the seat again, smiling to myself, watching the passing pedestrians, studying the buildings, the shops, the bars. It was the same city as ever, but suddenly, as if my eyes had been cleared, as if the city and I had been washed clean, everything changed. I realized with a deep conviction that I had a home, not just a room, but a place where I belonged, where I was wanted, loved. Like all revelations, it seemed so simple, so true, that I wanted to laugh with joy. Instead, I tapped Bill gently on the shoulder. “I know where I want to go now. Thank you.” I gave him Mitch’s address. “And hurry, please. I’d like to get there before dawn.”

  Chapter 23

  The following evening Mitch and I were married. I still had my doubts as to whether it was the right thing to do. But the revelation I had been given the night before was still clear in my mind. Sam was right, the cab driver was right; I was tired of running from commitment, sick of living from day to day in loneliness and fear. And the look of complete happiness that crossed Mitch’s face when I finally agreed was more than worth any problems that might arise later. I hadn’t seen that look on a man for over a century, and it felt good.

  “Are you sure?” He had gripped my face in his hands and searched my eyes.

  “Yes, Mitch,” I said, growing more confident in my decision. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my long life.”

  “Good. We’ll do it soon, okay?”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  He laughed and leaned over to kiss me. “I’m afraid you’ll change your mind.”

  “But don’t these things take time?”

  “Yeah, but you forget I’m a cop. And although I’ve been out of action for a while, I still know a few people who owe me big favors; they can hurry it along. And we can get our blood tests tomorrow.”

  “But I can’t take a blood test, Mitch. Have you forgotten?”

  “Oh.” He had looked disappointed, then shrugged it off. “We’ll figure out a way. I assume your passport is up-to-date.”

  I nodded and he smiled. “Well, then you get some sleep and I’ll start making calls right away.”

  True to his word, by the time I awoke all the arrangements had been made. Sam had been enlisted to produce a valid blood test for me; his only stipulation was that he be invited to the ceremony. Mitch had even managed to produce a wedding gown of sorts, apparently with the collusion of Betsy McCain, another self-invited guest. Before I hardly knew what had happened, I was standing nervously in an anteroom at the courthouse, waiting for the arrival of the judge, wondering, as the small bridal party assembled, why the hell I had ever agreed to this situation.

  Mitch reached over, took my hand, and smiled. “You know, when Betsy brought that dress this afternoon, I had my doubts. But it looks great on you.”

  I looked down at what little there was of my bridal gown. It was white satin sheath covered entirely in white lace. True, it did have long sleeves, but it was an off the shoulder line, and I was afraid to move too quickly for fear of losing it entirely. Laughing, I gave a tug on the too-short hemline. “Well, if you ask me, Betsy tries too hard to save money on material. There’s practically nothing here.”

  Mitch’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Yeah,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “but what’s there is wonderful.”

  “If you had only given me some time, I would have gotten something a little more appropriate.”

  “Liar.” Mitch’s smile never left his face.

  “That is not a lie.”

  “Yes, it is, and you know it. If I had given you more time, you’d just have found excuses to put this off. I’m not getting any younger. I’ve had visions of you pushing me down the aisle in a wheelchair. Or”—he pulled me to him, serious once again—“visions of you disappearing again, this time for good.”

  “Mitch,” I whispered, “I promise you I will never leave you.”

  “Okay, you two, break it up.” Betsy McCain bustled into the room balancing several florist boxes. “You’re not married yet, and you can’t get married anyway without the maid of honor. And”—she flourished the boxes and set them on one of the chairs—“certainly not without flowers. Although on such short notice I had to make do with what they had.”

  “Whatever they are, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” I told her. “It was a very nice gesture.” I gave her a smile as she took off her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. She looked different to me, and it took a while to recognize why. She had abandoned her normal tailored suit, donning instead a dress cut very similar to my own but with less lace and completely in black. “And you look great.”

  “Thanks.” She shrugged off the compliment and opened the flowers. “Here.” She handed me the bouquet of white roses, then removed one in black for herself. Then she stood looking at me. “On second thought, and if you don’t mind breaking from tradition . . .” She handed me hers, took mine from me, and stood back, squinting critically. “I like that better—there’s more contrast.”

  I looked doubtfully at the black roses, then began to laugh until tears formed in my eyes. “Oh, Betsy”—I choked out the words—“you could never know how much more appropriate these are.”

  Mitch frowned, then lightened as Betsy went to him and pinned on his boutonniere.

  “Now,” she said, armed with one more flower and a deadly-looking pin, “where’s the best man?”

  “He should be here soon.” Mitch looked at the clock on the wall. “He’d better be, he’s got all our paperwork.”

  “Chris has our paperwork?” I questioned in surprise.

  “Chris,” Mitch said, his mouth tightening slightly, “won’t be coming tonight. Dr. Samuels has volunteered to stand up for us.”

  I felt a flush of sudden anger. “Chris was too busy for his father’s wedding?”

  “No, Chris was not too busy, he just won’t be here.”

  “But Mitch—”

  “Deirdre”—he interrupted me with finality—“let it go. I don’t want it to ruin our evening. He’ll come around eventually.”

  “Stepkids,” Betsy said with disgust. “There’s nothing worse than sulky little brats who don’t want their parents to be happy.”

  Mitch shrugged, but I instantly rose to Chris’s defense. “He is not sulky and he is not a brat. There are issues involved that you don’t understand, Betsy. And”—I softened my voice—“Mitch is right. We shouldn’t let it ruin our evening.”

  “Okay, okay. And speaking of the evening, did Mitch tell you where we’re eating after the ceremony?”

  “No. Actually this entire event is pretty much of a surprise.”


  “Well, then,” Betsy said with an obvious wink at Mitch, “I can keep a secret too.”

  “Secrets?” Sam came through the door, a white envelope in his hand, “who’s keeping secrets?”

  “Everyone,” I said with a warning glance softened by a small smile and hug. “Thanks for coming, Sam.”

  “Not to worry. I had tonight off. And I wouldn’t miss this occasion for all the world.”

  Betsy sidled up to Sam and extended her hand. “Betsy McCain, Griffin Designs. And you must be the best man.”

  “John Samuels.” He shook her hand and accepted his boutonniere, then turned to Mitch and clapped him on the shoulder. “In this case, though, I suspect the best man is really this lucky dog. Mitch, I can’t tell you how overjoyed I am about all this. You must tell me how you managed to get her to agree.”

  “I will when I figure it out myself,” Mitch started to say, and all three began to laugh.

  I stood for a while, watching their mirthful exchange, feeling a total stranger in their midst. What did I have in common with these humans other than the calling of their blood to my hunger?

  “It is what you chose, little one.”

  I snapped my head up and saw Max, shadowed in the doorway, beckoning to me. Aware but uncaring of the others’ astonished faces, I pushed through them to where he waited in the hallway.

  I heard Sam’s startled voice call my name, Betsy’s “what the hell,” and with relief I heard Mitch say calmly, “Let her go, she’ll be back,” but none of that seemed important.

  Max was leaning against the wall, just out of view of the door. “I might have known you would be here,” I said bitterly. “Have you come to talk me out of it?”

  “Not at all, my dear. I’ve come to a grudging respect for Greer over the years, and since he has accepted my presence in your life, I can do no less.”

  “Accepted your presence? How on earth could he do that? He’s never seen you.”