Hunger (24 page)
Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Chapter 19
F
or the rest of the night I sat in the darkness, shivering in my wet robe. When I felt the rising of the sun, I threw off the garment and stood naked by the window, my hand on the curtains. How I longed at that moment to open them, to see for the first time in over a hundred years the colors of dawn. I remembered the other times I had been caught by the sun's rays, the agony of burned flesh, the weeks of painful recovery. This time there would be no recovery, if I exposed myself I would not retreat, but allow the sun to burn away all traces of my life.
or the rest of the night I sat in the darkness, shivering in my wet robe. When I felt the rising of the sun, I threw off the garment and stood naked by the window, my hand on the curtains. How I longed at that moment to open them, to see for the first time in over a hundred years the colors of dawn. I remembered the other times I had been caught by the sun's rays, the agony of burned flesh, the weeks of painful recovery. This time there would be no recovery, if I exposed myself I would not retreat, but allow the sun to burn away all traces of my life.
My hands trembled as they reached for the cords, then jerked away. They moved forward again. “Coward,” I whispered. For I was afraid; not of my contemplated death, nor even the pain. That was the easy way out; that was the cowardice. No, I was frightened of where my life would lead.
With a conscious effort I turned away from the window. I would see this through, I decided, and even though I could very well be dead at the end of this day, it would not be by my own hand. Mitch would return, I was certain, for answers or justice. Or both. And I knew that if his justice meant that I must die, I would let him kill me.
Oddly enough, my mind was eased by this decision. I went to the bedroom and dressed in jeans and a shirt, nothing fancy or sexy to distract him from his purpose. I cleaned the blood from the bathroom floor; combed my hair and brushed my teeth, but applied no makeup. No need anymore to pretend to be human; no need to disguise myself. He would see me as I really was.
Halfheartedly, I began to straighten up the room. I started to make the bed, and when I picked up the pillow on which he had slept, I held it to my face. The case smelled of him and I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered the love we had shared. Then I set the pillow back down and covered it up.
When the phone rang, I was removing the liquor from the refrigerator. The sound shocked me and one of the bottles slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. As I went to the phone, there was a pounding on the door. “So soon, Mitch?” I said softly, then picked up the phone.
“Hold on a minute, please,” I said before the caller had a chance to say anything, walked across the room and unlocked the door. He was there, as I knew he would be, and I motioned him in.
“Hello, Mitch, I was expecting you.”
“I'll bet you were.”
“Look, I've got a phone call, I'll be with you in a minute. Sit down.” From the tone of my voice, he could tell nothing of my excitement or my fear. It was as if he was paying a social call and my attitude caught him off guard. He went to the couch and sat down while I returned to the phone.
“Yes?”
“Miss Griffin?” It was the daytime doorman. “There's someone on his way up to see you. I know you don't usually have visitors, but Frank said that lately you've been seeing this guy and, well, I hope it's okay.”
“It's fine,” I said calmly and I could hear his relieved sigh. “I was expecting him. Oh, and could you please send up some coffee and danish?”
“Right away.”
I hung up the phone and turned to Mitch. “I've ordered us some breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.” He gave me a strange look. “Have you?”
I shook my head. “Just coffee for me, of course. The danish is for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I have a mess behind the bar to clean up. Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead. We can talk when the coffee gets here. I didn't sleep real well last night and I could use the caffeine.” He ran his fingers through his hair in the gesture I had learned he used when tired or confused. I smiled at him for a moment then ducked behind the bar.
“I hope you won't want a drink anytime, Mitch. It was the scotch that fell.” I sopped up the liquor with a few paper towels and pushed the broken glass aside. When I stood up again, he was staring in my direction.
“So, how did you sleep?”
I laughed. “I don't sleep much at night, Mitch. I thought you had figured that out by now.” There was a discreet knock at the door. “Coffee's here,” I said and went to collect it. Setting the tray on the bar, I looked over at him. “Cream and sugar, right?” At his nod, I prepared a cup for him, poured one for me and settled down in a chair facing him. He took a sip of his coffee, and I jumped up. “Did you want a roll?” I asked and moved toward the bar to get him one.
“Damn it, Deirdre, this is not a social call and you know it. Quit playing the hostess and sit down. We need to talk.”
“Sorry.” I sat back down, cross-legged, and took a drink of my coffee. “Now I guess you can read me my rights and get on with it.”
“What? Why would I do that?”
“For the first three murders, I would guess. Even though I had nothing to do with them, I must be a prime suspect now that you know.”
“I know nothing, except that you need help.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Help? Why would I need help? Any help I received now would only be about a hundred years too late.”
“Deirdre,” his voice was soft, reasonable, “I know that you think you're a vampire. But there are doctors who specialize in this sort of sickness. You could take treatment and be cured of this obsession after a while.”
“Obsession? Sickness?” I laughed. Even to me it sounded hollow and hysterical. “You know that I only
think
myself a vampire? Oh, Mitch, that's priceless! After last night, after everything you've discovered about me, you still won't believe.”
think
myself a vampire? Oh, Mitch, that's priceless! After last night, after everything you've discovered about me, you still won't believe.”
“How could I believe it? I've spent time with you, made love to you. Damn it, even after last night, I'm still in love with you. But you're human, you're real; I can touch you, see your reflection in a mirror. Just because you're disturbed, and believe in legends and folklore, doesn't mean that I have to.”
Suddenly I was angry at his lack of belief. “Ever the skeptic, aren't you, Detective? What if I could offer you proof?”
“And what sort of proof would that be? Can you change into a bat or a wolf? Dissolve into a mist? Crawl down a wall?”
“No, but I can give you proof even you cannot doubt.” I got up from my seat and knelt in front of him. Taking his face in my hands, I looked into his eyes and kissed him slowly and passionately.
He did not pull away from me, instead he held me for a moment. “What was that for?” he asked, almost smiling.
“Because you won't want anything to do with me in a few minutes. And because I love you.” I gave his cheek a final caress and stood up. “Now stay there and pay attention.”
He folded his arms with a smug expression and watched me. I looked around the room and saw the broken glass by the bar. I picked a piece of it up; it was long and jagged and glinted in the light. He looked alarmed and reached for his gun.
“Don't move,” I commanded and he dropped his hand. “Proof number one,” I said harshly. “Regenerative powers.” I quickly slit both of my wrists with the glass.
“Deirdre, no!” Mitch gasped as he saw the bright blood flowing down my hands.
“No doubt, you have seen more than a few suicide cases.” He was still riveted to the couch by my command but he nodded and I held my arms out to him. “These would be fatal wounds, wouldn't they, if I didn't get prompt attention?”
He looked away from me. “Let me call an ambulance, please. You didn't have to do this. Let me help you.”
“Look at me,” I ordered and he did. “I do not need help with this.” I rubbed my wrists on the side of my jeans and held them out for his inspection again. The blood had congealed and the cuts, although obviously recent, were already healing. “Touch them,” I said gently and moved toward him. He ran a trembling finger over the wounds. “By tomorrow,” I said matter-of-factly, “there will only be small scars. Within a few days, there will be no sign that this ever happened.” I turned my back on him and went to the window. “You see,” I said bitterly, “I have tried this little trick before.”
When I looked at him again, his face was ashen, the expression in his eyes, bleak. “Deirdre, I'm so sorry, I had no idea . . .”
I smiled reassuringly. “It's okay, Mitch, it really is. Now, if you'll let me continue.”
“No more, please,” he interrupted. “I believe you.”
“No, Mitch, I don't want you to have any doubts at all. We'll do this my way.” I stood back and opened the heavy draperies about an inch. “Test number two,” I said, taking a deep breath, “sunlight.” I thrust my hand into the ray streaming into the room. It began to smoke immediately, but before the smell of burning flesh became overwhelming, I withdrew my arm and shut the drapes again. “Damn,” I said, walking to him. “That really hurts.”
He reached up to me and gently took my hand. “Will this heal, too?” he asked in awe as he surveyed the damage. The skin was blackened and withered in the small area that had been exposed.
“Yes, in a day or two.” I pulled away from him and sat back in my chair. “Now just let me rest up a bit and we'll go for number three.”
“Is that really necessary?” His voice now reflected fear and although I could not determine if he was afraid of me or for me, I could see the belief in his eyes.
I responded with a weak smile. “I had hoped it would not be. The next one is the worst of all.”
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Mitch spoke again. “Deirdre, I hate to ask, but I have to know. What's test number three?”
“Oh, that,” I said disparagingly. “It's the test of immortality.”
“How can you prove that?”
“Quite simply, I take your revolver and shoot myself through the heart.” I shuddered slightly and went on. “It hurts like hell, but only for a little. As long as the bullet goes clear through there are no serious complications.”
He stared at me in horror, then dropped his face into his hands. The minutes ticked by, seeming like hours. I made an attempt to clear our cups, but found that my hands were shaking, so I sat back down again and studied his body for some sign of what would happen next. Eventually, he raised his head. “Oh, God,” he said quietly, then wiped his eyes and looked into my face. His expression was strangely composed, his voice calm and confident, as if knowing the worst about me had strengthened him in some way. “Thank you. This explains so many things for me. And it must've been hard for you to tell me all this.”
I nodded. “At least now you don't think I'm crazy. Of course, I am crazy,” I gave him a little smile, “for telling you this. I could have let you believe what you wanted to believe. But I thought that you would try to drag me off to see a doctor this morning and that would not only have killed me, it would have been a shock to your comfortable theory. So now instead of killing me accidentally, you can be fully aware of your actions.”
“Kill you? Why would I want to do that?”
I laughed again. “I can think of several reasons, offhand. I am an inhuman monster who should be exterminated. I am a damned soul who should be released. I am a drainer of blood, a leech on mankind. And then you have your three murders.”
“No,” he said with a sidelong glance at me. “I have four murders.”
“Four? But surely Gwen doesn't count in that number? Larry should account for her death.”
“No, I wasn't counting her.” He gave me a curious look, partly surprise, partly relief. “You really don't know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Last night there was another murder. Like the first three. And the time of death has been pinpointed during the time that you and I were, ah, otherwise engaged. So, even if I suspected you, which I did not, you would be free on this.”
“Why don't you suspect me? I could have left quietly and come back, you never would have known.”
“No.” He looked at me sharply. “I would have known. Besides, you may be a, well, what you are, but you are not a killer. You have lied to me about many things, and now I know why you did. You are secretive and crafty, but I know you, maybe better than you think. You could not kill anyone, not like this. Oh, you might be capable of murder, in passion or anger, most people are, but not in cold blood and not repeatedly.”
“Thank you. What will you do now?”
“Damned if I know. This is all a little hard to take. And to believe. Oh, I do believe you,” he said quickly. “You don't have to give me any more proof. But all along, I've been believing that the person we wanted was deranged. Now I've learned that he may be a true vampire,” he winced as he said the word, “how on earth am I going to catch him or make anyone else believe what we are looking for?” He glanced at me in an appeal for help.
“I do not know, Mitch. If the question had arisen one month ago, I would have denied the existence of others of my kind. In all my years, I have only had proof of one other, the one who made me what I am. However, I'll be more than happy to help you any way I can.”
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