Blood Red Dawn (11 page)

T
o my great surprise, Max was smart enough to leave me alone for the rest of the night. There were no knocks on the door, no attempts to enter my room and offer comfort, or, what would have been worse, to gloat over his seeming triumph. Had he entered, had he even spoken one word through the keyhole, I would have killed him. And I knew with certainty it wouldn't be the first time. Although the man I saw was not the Mitchell Greer of my memories, just his presence in Max's office, his face, even his voice triggered a flood of memories. I
had
killed Max, there was no doubt in my mind about that. I'd staked him through the heart and left him hanging on his office door like a scarecrow. For all the good it had done me. Eduard DeRouchard had made it possible for him to live again.

I deliberately turned my mind away from Mitch. It was unthinkable that he may never have existed the way I remembered him. Unthinkable that Max could be right all along. How could this have happened? How could I have been so wrong?

And yet, my heart ached with the loss. So much of my life had been tied up in his, along with my hopes for the future and my desperateness for release from this impossible impasse with Max. With the destruction of those hopes, I plunged as deep into despair as I believed I'd ever been. Rock bottom. The worst part of it was that the pain wedged itself tightly into every inch of my body and there was no release. The pain would never leave, I knew. And for the first time in my life, I could not cry.

Instead I sat on the edge of the bed for what must have been hours, arms wrapped tightly around myself, rocking slightly, hearing no sound but that of my ragged breathing. As that began to steady, as my pulse began to calm, my mind began to formulate a plan.

Although it was true that I remembered very little of my life before Mitch had walked into it, I knew somehow that I'd done fine on my own. Independent and alone, I'd lived for decades. And I would again. Even if it appeared Max had been telling me the truth all along, I did not have to accept the life he offered. And if Mitch had been nothing but a fevered dream, a delusion, then so be it. It was time, way past time, to wake up and take control.

First order of business was to get the hell out of the Ballroom of Romance and away from Max. I glanced at the clock and did some calculations. The sun would rise in about four hours; plenty of time for me to get away and find shelter. Max may have thought I was too fastidious to spend a night in the subway, but he severely miscalculated my desire to escape. Besides, I realized as I looked around the room deciding what I should bring with me, I did know someone in this city. Or at least someone knew me. From underneath my mattress, I pulled the slip of paper with the phone number Terri Hamilton had given me along with the cassette tape I'd found in my jeans pocket and slid them into the large tote bag. Those, plus a change of underwear, a comb, and my makeup were all that I cared to take. I didn't want to be hindered by luggage. This was an escape, not a vacation. The clothes Max had bought me could remain; I didn't want to wear them anyway.

The only other thing I needed to consider was the issue of getting past Max. It wasn't that I couldn't fight my way out of here. I may have been sick, but I suspected I was still more than a match for him. He was, after all, a human now. One with an indefinitely prolonged life, but he'd not yet demonstrated any of the powers that Eduard DeRouchard had. Like vampiric powers, Others' powers must have had to be acquired over time.

What I wanted was to be able to leave without Max even knowing I was gone. And what I needed was a disguise, a way to walk through the crowded club without being recognized by Derek or any of the other watchdogs I felt sure Max had in place.

Since I woke up in this place, I had been watching the vampire videos stored in my little room, hoping for a scene or a bit of dialogue that might trigger a memory. The vampires in these films had powers of many sorts, some of which rang true to me. True, I had memories of transforming into a wildcat, yet that vision had been part of my memories of Mitch and couldn't be true. Could it? In any event, transformation into an animal form would do nothing but call attention to me. But what if I could just manage to alter my features a bit? I could become someone else for a short period of time, that would serve my purpose, as long as Max wasn't in his office when I emerged.

“It can't hurt to try,” I said to my reflection when I opened the armoire doors. “It has to be easier than turning into a wolf or a cat. So who shall we try to be?”
No one in particular,
I thought,
so as to be anonymous.
“Let's start with the hair. I hate what it looks like anyway.” Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my hair, envisioning it as a mousy brown, about chin length. Feeling a tingling in my scalp, I began to resculpt my face, shortening my nose, thinning my lips, imagining wider set brown eyes and lower cheek bones. When the picture was complete in my mind, I opened my eyes and a stranger dressed in my clothes stared back at me.

The clothes, I decided, would have to go, too. I wanted nothing to clue Max into who this person really was. I opted for changing into the jeans and flannel shirt I'd found and when I was done changing, I appraised the results. I untucked the shirt and concentrated on bulking up the flesh around my waist. The jeans grew tighter and I looked slightly pudgy.

I had done it. No one, anywhere, would recognize this person as Deirdre Greer. The whole process, though, was more difficult than I'd expected. My face and scalp ached with the transformation. And my new features would blur if my concentration wavered. I held the vision of my new self and walked slowly over to the door to Max's office, pressing my ear up against the wood and listening for sounds of movement.

From without, there came the faint sound of shuffling papers and the outer door opening.

“Max,” Derek said, “there's someone at the front door asking for you.”

“Handle it for me,” Max growled. “I don't want to leave this room.”

“I can't.” Derek's voice sounded apologetic and frightened. “You really need to talk to this person.”

“Goddamn it, Derek. What do I pay you for anyway?” I heard the creaking of Max's desk chair as he rose. “Fine, I'll deal with this. You stay here and watch.”

“Watch for what?”

“Her. I don't want her leaving this place.”

Derek gave a nasty laugh that made the hair on my neck stand on end. “I don't know, Max. I'd think that after the performance she got from Mitchell Greer, she'll be holed up in there crying her eyes out.”

“Is that what you think?” Max's scornful tone came through loud and clear. “Quite the cocky bastard, aren't you? But I'm afraid you don't know her very well. I'd wager a bet that she's planning something right now. So regardless of what you think, you will still stay here and keep watch. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

The door opened again and closed with a slam. I heard Derek walking restlessly through the room, muttering to himself, then heard his footsteps move toward the bar.

I needed to make my move now. I stood a better chance of getting past Derek. Max knew me too well, knew me better, it turned out, than I did. Hearing the sound of clinking glasses, I slowly cracked the door open and watched Derek pour himself a glass of wine. Then he settled in on the black leather couch which fortunately faced away from the door. I slid out and closed it softly behind me. He seemed tired as he sat there, sipping his wine, with his breathing accelerated, as if he had just run a marathon. While I watched he gave a huge yawn and tilted his head onto the back of the sofa. His breath came slower now, steadier, and his eyes closed.

It's now or never,
I thought, knowing that Max would not stay away for long. Moving softly, I crossed the room and opened the outer door wide, turning back to face him. “Oh,” I said, forcing a slight nasal twang into my voice, “I'm sorry; I'm looking for the little girl's room.”

Derek turned and looked at me without giving me a second glance. “Three doors down on the left,” he said and moved back around in his seat.

“Sorry,” I mumbled again and went out into the hall. Max, I knew, was at the front door talking with his visitor. But I also knew that there was a side exit to the club, one that had not been connected to an alarm, at least not during my time spent here. I had to take the chance, and quickly, before Max returned and saw me here. Somehow I felt that my disguise would not fool him one bit.

I moved down the dark hallway, clutching my tote bag, opened the first exit door I found, and ended up on the side street outside.

Free! I relaxed slightly, feeling the tension ease out of my shoulders and back. I started walking, slowly so as to hold my new features, and when I arrived at the corner, I turned left. Behind me I could hear the murmur of the crowd waiting for entrance to the Ballroom. Not daring to look back, I kept walking and didn't stop until I'd put four blocks between me and Max. Maintaining the transformation sapped my strength and I felt myself begin to sweat in the frigid night air.

My original plan had been to ransack Max's desk for available cash. I needed money, if only for the phone call from Terri Hamilton. After that, I wasn't quite sure what would happen. Terri would either take me in and use me to further her plot for revenge against Max, or I'd find a convenient subway tunnel in which to spend the day. Both of these options were preferable to staying one extra minute in Max's presence.

I checked my reflection in the window in front of me, I'd managed to hold most of my features, except for the eyes that appeared too old for the face I'd concocted. Widening them a bit helped give me a more youthful appearance which might serve me better in begging some of the passersby for money. No sense in showing my true self while trying to get away without a trace. Even now I thought I could sense Max's pursuit.

The first couple I approached turned me down without even giving me a glance as did the second. But luck was with me on the third person to pass, a lone woman, middle aged and plump, but with a pleasant expression on her face. “Excuse me, ma'am,” I said, keeping a faint twang to my voice. “I wonder if I could bother you for a little change to make a phone call.”

She stopped and smiled at me, looking me up and down. “You certainly can. And”—she rummaged in her oversized purse, pulling out her wallet—“I'll give you a little more than that.” She handed me a twenty dollar bill, a handful of change, and a small white card giving the address and phone number of the Angel of Mercy Mission. “This'll get you a phone call and a good hot meal, child. If you don't mind my saying so, you look cold and hungry.”

The truth of the matter is that I was ravenous. But not for anything money would buy. My proximity to this woman brought out a hunger for her blood.

I shook my head. “No, ma'am,” I said, my voice muffled slightly due to the growth of my fangs. “I'm fine.” I pushed the bill and the change into my pocket. “Thank you very much.”

“Not a problem. And if you need a place to stay, for the night or even for several nights, come to the address on the card and if I'm not there, mention that I referred you. I'm Marie, by the way.” She held out her hand to shake mine.

I took it and she held it between her two hands. “You're chilled and shaking, dear. Are you sure you wouldn't want to come along with me now and I'll get you a place to sleep?”

“No thanks, ma'am. I'm fine and I have a place to stay, I just need to call a friend.”

“What's your name?”

I felt so relaxed with her that I almost gave her my real name. “Dei—er, Dee. Short for,” I paused, what would Dee be short for? “Dorothy.”

She smiled. “And do you have a last name, Dee?”

Between the terrible hunger that threatened to overwhelm me, my need to get some shelter before dawn, the strain of holding my transformation, and the terrible feeling that Max would find me soon, I couldn't think. “Um,” I said, “er, Smith?”

Her eyes raked over me. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“It's okay, honey.” She reached out and took my arm. “It's not a good thing for a young girl like you to be out on the streets by herself this late. Come with me.”

“No,” I pulled away from her. “I do not wish to be rude, Marie, but I am fine. Thank you.”

I turned and began to walk swiftly away from her, realizing that my voice had reverted back to its normal pitch. And from the tingling in my face and scalp, I felt sure that my disguise was failing. Even exhausted as I was, I began to run, and didn't stop for four or five blocks until I came to a pay phone. My hands were still shaking as I dialed the number.

On the sixth ring she answered, sleepy and indignant. “Yeah? Do you have any idea what time it is? This had better be an emergency.”

“Is this Terri?” I asked, “Terri Hamilton?”

“Yeah, that's me. Who is this and what the hell do you want from me? Don't you people ever sleep?”

“What?”

“It's a little late for a telemarketing call, isn't it?”

“But this isn't a telemarketing call, Terri. This is Deirdre Greer.” There was a silence on the other end of the line. “Please,” I said, not realizing at the time the great irony of my next statement, “I need your help.”

“Oh.” She paused again, then said, “Yes, of course you do. Where are you?”

I looked up at the signs and gave her the intersection. “Not too far away from me then,” she said, and proceeded to give me directions to her place. “Think you can find me?”

“Yes. I'll be there soon.”