Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Hunger (38 page)
I dropped my cloak and purse on the closest chair. “What the hell is her problem?” My voice was light, but inwardly I was still seething.
Sam shrugged. “Damned if I know. She's a stickler for the rules, but will usually bend a little every now and then. Unless she's jealous of you.”
“Why on earth would she be jealous? I've never met her before.” And never want to again, I added to myself.
“Well, Mitch has been here for a while, and she started working only about a week after he was admitted. So I guess she feels there's a sort of tie between them; in any event, she's always been immensely interested in his case. Or so she maintains. The gossip from the other nurses are that she has a case on him.”
“A case on Mitch?”
Dr. Samuels's eyes ran over my body in a quick complimentary glance. “Pretty ridiculous really. And it would have to be one-sided on her part. After having known you . . . well”âhe shrugged, a look of compassion on his faceâ“I guess it's not pleasant seeing your fantasies dissolve right in front of you.”
I looked away; his scrutiny of me was becoming uncomfortable. “May I see Mitch now?”
“Yes, of course.” He moved to the door. “You want to see him, and here I stand, holding you up. He's in number seventeen, about ten rooms down, on this floor. Would you like me to take you?”
I nodded. “Please, if you would. I don't mind admitting that I'm just a little apprehensive about this meeting.”
He began to walk briskly, and I followed at his side. “Everything will be fine, Deirdre. Mitch and I talked today, after he called you, and I know how much he's looking forward to seeing you. I'd be very much surprised if anything like last night occurs again.”
My stomach twisted as he knocked on the door numbered seventeen. And when it was flung open, I jumped back in alarm. Sam held my arm gently but firmly. Reluctantly I lifted my eyes to Mitch's face.
He was still thin and gaunt, aged beyond the two years we had spent apart. But his eyes had lost their haunted look; they were crystal-clear and intensely blue, even more than I had remembered.
“Mitch.” The name half choked me, and I was only vaguely aware that Dr. Samuels had dropped my arm and was awkwardly backing away.
Then Mitch smiled at me, and I forgot the rest of the world. There were no doctors, no nurses, no patients. There was only Mitch. His arms came around me and he held me to him tightly, possessively. I began to cry softly onto his chest; he rocked me back and forth, comforting me with the warmth of his hands, the sound of his voice. Our bodies felt as if they were fitted to each other. We had both been broken, shattered by events out of our control. And now we were one, united again, through the same chain of circumstances.
As he stroked my hair with his weakened fingers, once so strong and calloused, I knew that although I had tried to purge myself of him, tried to forget what we had shared, our bond was unbreakable; he would be forever in my blood, my soul. And as his mouth came down on mine, I realized, too, that I was lost, that I could never again leave him while he lived.
Chapter 9
“W
hat the hell are you doing back in town?”
hat the hell are you doing back in town?”
We were sitting side by side on Mitch's narrow patient's bed. Nothing had been said after he kissed me; he merely led me by the hand, sat us both down, cupped my face in his hands, and stared at me, searching, questioning me with his eyes. I wondered what he was looking forâdid he expect to see signs of love or age, joy or sorrow? When he finally did speak, I started guiltily, not needing any words, wanting nothing but his gaze on my face.
I reached a hand up and stroked his cheek. “What strange greetings, Mitchânot âhow have you been,' or âI missed you,' or even âlong time no see.' No, that would be too easy. Instead, I get hit and then I get profanity.” I smiled at the mischievous grin that my words caused. “Do you think that's fair?”
He grew serious. “Fair has nothing to do with it. You shouldn't be here.”
“And why not?”
He picked up my hand and put it to his mouth, glancing warily at the partially opened door. “For a lot of reasons, most of which we can't discuss here. It's too dangerous in this city, for you especially. Even so.” He put his arms around me, hugging me tightly to him, breathing the rest of his words into my ear. “I'm glad you came. God, I missed you so. You just can't imagine.”
“I think I can, Mitch.” I stretched up to kiss him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure in hospital whites standing hesitantly in the doorway. I tensed and pulled away as Jean entered the room. She held a plastic pitcher of ice water in one hand and a set of clean sheets were draped over her other arm. Bustling around the room efficiently and briskly, she placed the pitcher and one glass on the table next to the bed. The ice cubes clattered and the water slopped over the lip. Ignoring the spill, she stood, holding the bedclothes, staring down at us expectantly.
I remembered what Sam had said about her earlier, and I hid my half-smile on Mitch's shoulder. He kept his arm around me, not willing to move.
“Can I help you, Jean?” His voice was courteous and warm. Of course, I realized, he would have no idea of what she felt about him, or me, and I assumed that she could be a dedicated caregiver if properly motivated.
“Clean sheets, Mr. Greer.” She held them forward and I could smell their fresh, starchy odor.
“But they were changed only this morning. Besides, I have a visitor.”
“So I see.”
He seemed not to have caught the suppressed anger I heard in her voice and he continued. “This is Deirdre Griffin, my, ah, fiancée.” I glanced at him sharply for the unexpected escalation of our relationship. His only reaction was to tighten his grasp on my shoulder. “And Deirdre, this is Jean, one of the best nurses this dump has.”
“We've already met.”
She ignored my comment but beamed at his praise. “I do the best I can.” Flushed and smiling, Jean seemed almost pleasant. Then her expression dropped and she gestured at us. “But visitors should be seen only in the lounge, and I have work to do.”
Mitch's voice contained a gently teasing. “Dr. Samuels said we could meet in here. And you can change the sheets after visiting hours just this once, can't you?”
“I guess so.” She hesitated a moment, then placed the sheets on the pillow, lightly brushing against Mitch's arm as if by accident. But I knew better, I saw the glint in her eye as she walked away. “Visiting hours are over at nine sharp,” she said, giving the door an angry push. It banged noisily against the wall. “And all doors are to remain open.”
Mitch shrugged apologetically. “I think she's having a bad day. Now, where were we?”
He kissed me again, a long and hungry kiss, and I responded in kind. When it was finished, he glared at me. “Now, why the hell are you here? And how did you know where I was?”
“Chris came for me. He said you needed me.”
Mitch grimaced. “Why, that littleâI expressly asked him not to contact you. When I was still coherent, I told him that you were not to get involved.” He ran his hand through his hair, a puzzled expression on his face. “At least I'm pretty sure I told him. I seem to have lost track of a lot of things, including time.”
“What is the last thing you remember, Mitch?”
He looked at me, and I could see the pain enter his eyes. “About three months after you left, they started coming to me. At first I thought I was dreaming because they came only at night, while I was in bed. Then suddenly they were there, everywhere, after dark, watching me, laughing at me, their teeth pointed, dripping blood.” He shivered and stopped talking abruptly, staring at the bare white wall.
“Mitch?” Alarmed, I grabbed his arm and shook it. “Mitch?”
He jumped and turned to me again. “Sorry, did I drift off?”
I nodded. “Like you were in another world.”
“It is another world, Deirdre. Why didn't you ever tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“How terrible they are. How inhuman.”
“Mitch,” I said as softly as I could, attempting not to betray the rush of panic I felt at his words, “I don't know who they are. The only other like me that I knew was Max, and he's dead.”
“Is he?” His eyes showed doubt and uncertainty.
“Yes, he is dead, Mitch. He can't threaten you anymore. You must believe that.”
If he took any reassurance from my words, he didn't show it. “You see, that's just it. I didn't know what to believe anymore. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I had just flipped out, gone completely crazy. There was no evidence of what I knew, of what I saw, and yet they were there with me, inside my head, mocking and torturing. I eventually got to the point”âand he lowered his head, not looking at me “that I wasn't sure that you existed either. My memories of you were vivid, but so were the others, the ones that plagued me, the ones that no one else saw, that no one else believed in.”
“But Chris knew me.”
“I wouldn't listen to him; I shut him out, because if you were real, then so was all the rest of it. I think I really wanted to believe that I was crazy. It was safer that way.”
“And you wrote me the letter.”
“Letter? I didn't write to you. I wanted to at first, but you said six months and I waited. I guess I just couldn't hold out against them that long.”
“But I received a letter from you.”
Mitch shook his head. “I wish you had, but it wasn't from me. I didn't write; I know that for sure. What did it say?”
I got up from the bed and walked over to the window. “It said that you couldn't accept my life, that you could never see me again.”
“Oh, God. Deirdre, I'm so sorry, I didn't have any idea.”
I turned and gave him a bitter smile. “How could you have known, Mitch? You didn't send it.”
“Even so, you should've known that I wouldn't have said that.”
“And why not? You said so yourself, we're terrible, we're inhuman. Why would anyone in their right mind want to take that on themselves? I had no choice, but to walk into it willingly.” I shook my head. “No, Mitch, it made perfect sense then, and it makes sense now.”
Mitch sighed wearily and lay back on the bed. “Let's not fight about it now.” He rolled over on his side and bent his knees, patting the open space on the bed. “Come here.”
I settled in next to him. “You look tired, Mitch. You should try to get some sleep. I'll come back tomorrow night and we can talk some more then.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, stifling a yawn. “It's been a pretty busy two days.”
Tenderly, I reached over and stroked his hair. The texture of it on my fingers was soothing, and the gesture seemed to calm him. He closed his eyes and gave an appreciative moan, then opened them again, sat up, and kissed me on the jaw.
“What's that for?”
“To make up for last night?”
“Oh, last night, forget it. It didn't hurt for long. But maybe you could tell me why you did it.”
He smiled ruefully. “It was the only way I could be sure you were real.” His expression grew thoughtful. “That, plus the fact that you're so bloody contrary, showing up when I least expected you. And when I saw your face, I felt such a strong rush of anger, not so much at you, Deirdre, as at the circumstances, at the sheer impossibility of what you are. Well, I just lashed out without thinking. Do you forgive me?”
“Mitch, my love”âI gently pushed him back on the bed and kissed himâ“if you get better, I will forgive you anything. Sleep well.”
I stood over him for a moment until his breathing deepened and he began to snore softly. Then I wiped my tears away and walked out of the room, turning out the light as I left.
Â
The door to Dr. Samuels's office was partially closed, and I hesitated briefly, then knocked. “Come in,” he called. His voice sounded weary, but his smile was broad when he saw me and he gestured to a chair.
The ashtray, cigarettes, and lighter were on top of his desk; one lone, unlit cigarette was tucked alongside the blotter.
“I'm sorry, did I disturb your evening ritual again?”
“What? Oh, you mean smoking. Actually, I usually do one only before I'm ready to leave. But this”âhe picked up a cigarette and rolled it over in his fingers, “this one is my third. I'm afraid that you've provided all of us with an interesting dilemma.”
“How so?”
He slid a packet of papers over to me. “This represents testing done on Mitch just six weeks ago.”
I looked at the tests, page after page of neat circles. “But every answer is exactly the sameâhe took only the first choice.”
“Exactly. Did you know that some days we couldn't even get him to hold a pencil?” He didn't wait for my answer but pulled more papers from the top of the stack. “And these are the series I gave him today.”
I could not read them, but saw that each question was answered with a different filled-in circle. “And the results?”
“Perfectly normal. Absolutely within the range of accepted psychological adjustment. Oh, Mitch has his fears and insecurities like all of us, but even they are normal. In many cases, fear is a healthy reaction; I like to say it keeps us from getting too cocky about our position in this world.”
“And what does Mitch fear?”
Sam gave me a strange look, almost crafty. “What do you fear, Deirdre?”
His direct question threw me off guard, so much that I almost told him the truth. I fear the sunlight, I fear discovery; there are days when I am more afraid of life than death. And mostly I fear dead vampires who will not stay dead but live on in your mind and soul.
“Strangers, lack of privacy, and doctors who ask questions that they should not.”
“Fair enough,” he said, acknowledging my caustic tone. “I guess it's not really relevant anyway. But you must admit the fact that before you gave your very glib answer, there were darker fears that surfaced. You know it and so do I; I saw it in your eyes.”
“And Mitch? After all, he's the patient, not I.”
He picked up his cigarette and lit it, offering the pack to me. I shook my head and he went on. “Mitch is afraid of what he should be, especially when you consider his line of work. Senseless violence, blood, and death figure quite high in his current profile. But”âhe went through his papers again, choosing one particular sheetâ“when he first came here, when he was still reasonably coherent, he was very vocal about his problem.” Sam took a drag on his cigarette and slowly exhaled. “Vampires. Or, as he put it âthose goddammed bloodsucking creatures in the night.' They had invaded his mind, he said, they were torturing him, punishing him for some crime.”
I reached a trembling hand across the desk for the cigarette pack. “I think I will have one after all.”
Sam nodded. “I thought you might. It's all pretty weird, don't you think. Why would a grown man be so afraid of mythical creatures? But you should know that through it all, while he was raving about âthem,' he was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” My voice cracked a bit, and I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?”
“He didn't want them to find you. He said they would kill you if they knew where you were; we tried to find you, thought you might be able to help, but no one seemed to know where you had gone. Oh, Mitch knew all right, but he wasn't telling.”
“Excuse me, Sam, this is all very interesting, but I'm afraid I don't quite get the point.” My voice was even, but I lowered my eyes so he couldn't see the anger and sorrow I knew they must have held. “Mitch is getting better; you should be happy that he is recovering, not constantly worrying over what caused his problem.”
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