Chapter 3
It rained in the night, a cold November rain pounding insistently on the roof. The sound filtered into my consciousness and began to shape the dream again. I tried to fight it, to force some other into its place, but even as I fought, I knew this dream would win.
I am wearing a cotton print dress, too thin for the weather, but it accommodates my expanded waistline; I am seven months pregnant. I struggle with the voluminous skirt, now soaked at the hem and pull my shawl closer about my shoulders. It had gotten cold and begun to rain while we were inside; he drapes his coat around me while the coachman gets our carriage. After I am settled into my seat and warmly wrapped in a wool blanket, he gives the reins a shake and we begin the long ride home. The horses are skittish, dancing sideways for a few steps before they are calmed by his steady control. He looks at me and smiles.
“We could have stayed the night. Loretta readied the spare room for us.”
I snuggle against his shoulder. “I know, but I long for my own bed. And you would have been up all night talking incessantly about the possibilities of war. It is better this way.”
“I suppose so,” he admits, “just so you feel fit enough for the trip.”
“I am fine.” A rumble of thunder interrupts the steady rhythm of the rain, the horses start and whinny, then go on. The baby kicks hard against my ribs and I make a little grunting noise. He reaches over and with a mischievous grin, pats my stomach, proud of our unborn child. Our marriage, unlike many others of the time, is a match of love, but it had been a long ten years before the baby was conceived. At twenty-eight, many of the women think I am too old to carry a first baby full term. But we will prove them wrong, I think, my husband and I.
Our eyes meet for a second, and I read his love for me in them. I feel warm, despite the chill in the carriage, and realize that I have never felt so happy. Wanting this moment to last forever, wanting time to stop, I smile, stretch up to kiss his cheek, and recoil from the blinding glare of a flash of lightning.
There is a deafening crash, much louder than the previous thunder and a tree plummets onto the back of the carriage. With a sickening lurch, we topple over and crash to the ground. The horses rear and scream with fright, then drag us further down the road. Eventually they slow and stop, still restive but standing now. The only sound is the stamping of their hooves, their labored breathing and the relentless downpour of rain. I try to push up on the carriage door, but the once-warming blanket is now soaked and clings tightly to my arms and legs. It is hard to distinguish my tears from the rain, but soon all sensation drains away and I faint.
On awakening, I feel a small trickle of blood flow down my face. More disturbing is the gush of warmth between my legs; my water has broken and labor has started. And he is gone. He must be here. But where? I wonder, seeing nothing but the rain, hearing nothing but the restless shuffle of the horses. I call his name and begin to cry, in pain and fright.
The carriage door opens and two strong arms reach in to ease me out. He is back, I think and sigh in relief. His embrace is comforting and I relax into it. I try to speak but he quiets me, whispering words of reassurance and love. He is kissing me, caressing me and it feels so strange, so wrong. I push away from him and peer through the rain and darkness into eyes—not his. These eyes are deep with hunger and desire, not love, and yet they seem to draw my soul from my body. His mouth finds my neck and I shudder. The tension builds in my body as he drinks; I grapple with him, pulling at his shirt and ripping it in my panic. When my teeth graze his shoulder, I bite down hard, in fear or passion or possibly both. He is startled at first, then laughs, low and cynically, as his blood washes down my throat. I am being carried away by the rapid currents of this stream; I am drowning.
I am alone, shaking and cold, lying by the side of the road. Yards behind me lies the crumpled body that had been crushed beneath the carriage. I do not recognize it, cannot seem to acknowledge the grief I should feel. My mind is filled only with the other man. As I drift into blackness, his last words, tender yet somehow bitter, echo in my mind. “If you survive, my little one, we will meet again.”
The hospital walls are white and chilling. The nurses and doctors speak in rustling whispers and shake their heads in frustrated reaction to my case. With time, I come to understand that my husband is dead, the child was stillborn and there is no hope of others to follow. My own health they describe as precarious; they don’t understand how I survived the ordeal. I wish I hadn’t, I keep thinking before sleep comes and the walls wash into darkness once more.
I was extremely disoriented upon awakening, a combination of the dream and the dawn. I could sense the rise of the sun, although I would never again see or feel its warmth. Since the accident, my instincts had become sharpened, finely honed to those of a predator. My senses of smell, hearing and touch had intensified, and although my daytime vision was impaired, my night vision was excellent. I required little light to see. I felt deep within me the change of the seasons, the phases of the moon; my body was attuned to the earth in a way I would never have imagined.
It was this adjustment that caused me distress now; my physical being screamed danger from the dawn and even though my mind knew I was safe here, my body fought its awakening. I tossed restlessly, trying to resolve the dilemma until my body accepted the wisdom of the mind and I arose.
I took my typical shower, scalding water in utter darkness, and felt considerably restored. I dressed in clothes I found in the closet; faded jeans and a soft, comfortable oversized sweater. I towel dried my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. It would be out of the way and I could style it later before my night at the Ballroom. I appraised my image in the mirror and thought that I looked even younger than usual. After my change, I had not aged, my body had been permanently frozen at twenty-eight. Many years ago I quit looking for gray hairs and crow’s feet. “Every woman’s dream come true,” I scoffed at myself as I walked away.
I padded downstairs in stocking feet, found a pair of boots in the coat closet and left my sanctuary for the office.
It was still early and there was no sign of Gwen. I was pleased because I had something special that I had designed for her in conjunction with the summer line. It was a wedding dress, patterned after a ball gown from the late 1860s. I hoped it would please her, it was unconventional enough for her taste, yet elegant and romantic. I envisioned it in ivory moire satin, with pearl and lace trim, but had included several fabric choices in the initial planning so that she could pick what she liked best. Gwen had asked me to help her shop for a gown some time ago; I knew she was hoping I could do more than that, but hadn’t wanted to presume upon our friendship. I never even hinted that I would provide the dress; she would be surprised.
As I put the last touches on my final sketch, I heard someone unlock the front door. After a few seconds, I recognized the footsteps; it was Gwen, switching on the lights as she came down the hall. I had been working with only the small lamp on my desk not wanting to put in my lenses until absolutely necessary. Now I realized that in my haste, I had left them in my small apartment. I couldn’t function without them in full artificial light, so I would have to return. Quietly, hurriedly I slipped into the entrance, retrieved the contacts and paused, listening. There was no sound from without; I pushed the door open, and came through, gently closing it behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that I had not been discovered. I could hear Gwen at the coffee machine; she always made that her first chore of the morning. I quickly inserted my contacts and went into the hall.
“Good morning.” At the sound of my voice, she jumped, whirled around and dropped yesterday’s coffee grounds on the floor.
“Deirdre, I didn’t know you were here. Why can’t you turn on the lights when you get here? How can you stand to be in this place in total darkness? It gives me the creeps to think of it. This city is full of weirdos and worse, just waiting to . . .”
“I know, Gwen. I’m sorry I startled you,” I interrupted, all the while inwardly pleased that my secret was still safe. My current lifestyle was making me too complacent and trusting. It was not good. “The security here is very thorough. I don’t think those weirdos you keep lecturing me about could get past the front guard. Anyway, I’ve not been afraid of the dark for years.” I helped her clean up the mess I had caused and while the coffee was dripping I invited her into my office. “I have something to show you, that I hope you’ll like.”
“Oh, Deirdre,” she gushed after seeing the sketches, “it’s beautiful. But . . .” she hesitated.
“But what? Don’t you like it?”
“I love it, but I thought you always said you wouldn’t get into a wedding line.”
“I’m not, dummy, you are. Did you think I would let you walk down the aisle wearing anyone else’s dress? Just think of the scandal it would cause if you were reported wearing anything but a Griffin gown. It would be very bad for business.” I was touched by her reaction, but did not want to let it show.
“Thank you so much.” She practically flung herself over the desk to give me a small hug. “The gown is wonderful.” Suddenly, I felt her stiffen. “Deirdre, there’s someone here, behind the curtain.” I could hear the tension in her whispered voice.
“Don’t be silly, Gwen.” I turned around and saw what had scared her. The door that I had tried to close so quietly had not latched properly, but swung open behind the drapes. It did look a bit like a person standing there, if you didn’t know what it was. Now I would have to reveal one of my best kept secrets. Gwen was someone I trusted, yet I still felt like a fool and cursed myself for my carelessness. “Welcome to my other life.” I tried to smile as I pulled back the curtain, exposing the entrance. “You didn’t really believe that I slept on the office couch all those nights, did you?” I pitched my voice to sound its most reassuring and reasonable.
“No, I guess not, now that you mention it. But why the secrecy? Lots of people who work in a position like yours have this sort of arrangement.” She had recovered from her fright and seemed to be enjoying my embarrassment.
“I like my privacy. Let’s keep it between us two, please, I don’t want the models thinking they can use it for their own personal dressing room.” There was almost enough anger in my voice to stop any further discussion.
“Since it’s important to you, Deirdre, my lips are sealed. But I want a guided tour some day, okay?” She was smiling, thinking, I supposed, about the midnight trysts she imagined between Max and me happening right here through the walls of our office. She wouldn’t mention it to anyone, I felt sure. And it did not seem out of the ordinary to her; it probably only added to my image in her eyes.
We kept quite busy that day, working through to the late afternoon. Gwen went out to pick up some lunch at one point and, as usual, I declined. I could eat solid food on occasion, but I generally took in only liquids. It was all a poor substitute for my mainstay. Now and then, I did enjoy a rare steak; as a rule I stayed away from most other foods, especially the type Gwen would bring back for lunch. It was assumed that l followed a stringent regimen of diet and exercise and had often been asked to share my secrets with readers of the women’s magazines for whom I had granted an occasional interview. I always demurred on the question, laughing to myself at the havoc that would be created by my truthful answer. And, horribly enough, there would be people sick or obsessed enough to try to emulate my lifestyle.
The sun was setting as Gwen and I prepared to leave. We had made enough progress on the line and show to both earn a day off tomorrow. Beginning Monday, the next two weeks would probably be non-stop work and worry, so it was best to start in well-rested, and, I thought to myself, well-fed. I let her go ahead of me, so that I could straighten up a few things in my office and apartment. I looked at the clock and decided that I should call Max. I wanted to let him know I’d be at the club tonight; I also wanted to discuss Bill Andrews’ death with him. Thoughts of the intimacies shared that night, the feel of his warm body pressed against me, juxtaposed against my vision of him now, lying cold and lifeless on a table in the morgue, had plagued me during the day. I still believed, I needed to believe, that I had nothing to do with his murder, but I wanted Max’s confirmation and reassurance.
I dialed the phone and lit a cigarette while I waited for an answer. It was not long in coming.
“Good evening, and thank you for calling the Ballroom of Romance. How may I help you?”
It was Larry. I was a bit surprised because I had dialed Max’s private number. “Larry, this is Deirdre Griffin. Is he in yet?”
“Hello, Miss Griffin. How are you tonight?”
“Fine, thank you. May I speak to Max?”
“Well, he’s not here right at this moment. But he sort of expected you to call and asked me to give you a message.” He hesitated, but I didn’t feel much like being put off tonight and my irritation showed.
“Go ahead, Larry, I’m listening,” I said sharply.
“I don’t understand him, you know. I guess I don’t understand much of what’s going on.” I could tell he was stalling, holding something back he didn’t want to tell me.
“Larry, please, just give me his message. He can talk about whatever it is tonight, when I get there.”
“But that’s just it. He asked me to tell you not to come here again. He said he was very upset about what happened last night. I didn’t know that anything happened last night.”
I suddenly felt that he was fishing for information, that his confusion was not entirely real. “I didn’t think so either.” I hoped to sound cool and unconcerned, but I began to shake inwardly. What was wrong?
“Miss Griffin,” he began tentatively, “I’m sorry I was the one to tell you. But you know how insistent Max can be. He’s had me sit in his office since I got here, just on the chance that you might call. I don’t know what else to say, except that if he doesn’t make it up with you, he’s a damn fool. You’re a remarkable lady, and even if he doesn’t know it there are plenty of other men around who would be thrilled to be with you. You know, I always thought that you and I could—damn, Max is coming. I’ve got to go now. I want to see you again . . .”
I could hear Max’s voice faintly in the background; then the phone was slammed down.
I hung up on my end. What had happened? I had no reason to doubt that Larry was telling the truth and yet, I also had no reason to think that Max would cut me cold. Unless, of course, he believed that I had killed Bill. That must be it, I thought, but he should know me better than that; he should know that even if I had, it was inadvertent. I felt betrayed. I loved Max, as much as I could feel free to love any human, and somehow had thought it was returned.
I glanced down at my hand and noticed that my cigarette had burned down to the filter. I angrily crushed it out in the ashtray. Smoking was indicative of my constant attempts to be human; it was a habit I had acquired many years ago to appear more normal, to try to fit in with the crowd. Apparently, like my relationships, it was an empty gesture. Maddened, I shredded what remained of the pack, put on my coat and left the office.
“Never again,” I thought out loud on the way down in the empty elevator. “I will not rely on another. I will stay true to my nature, a hunter, a lone predator. I don’t need anyone; I don’t want anyone.” I felt a new strength, a resolve in my very being, that was never there before. For so many years, I had been frightened, guilty, and apologetic; that would end now.
As I walked out of the building and slowly made my way to the hotel, I began to make my plans. I would still feed this evening; I needed the strength, physically and psychologically. I could see now that I had lived like a pampered pet for years, Max’s pet, to be thrown a morsel now and then, to be caressed and played with. Now I would reawaken my feral instincts, stalk my own prey and take what I wanted. There were many places in the city where people walked alone, where my food could be easily obtained. I was never afraid to prowl the parts of the city where the undesirable and unwanted lived. There were homeless people on park benches, people who had nothing to lose, no reason to guard against thieves, no value to anyone but me. And I would steal less from them than others had, only a little blood, something that they would gladly give for just a few dollars. Before I met Max this was how I lived, and I could do it again.
I spun through the entrance to the hotel, deep in my plans for the night, and nearly ran into someone waiting by the door. With surprise, I noticed it was Larry. Despite my resolve, I felt my spirits rise. Max had sent him to apologize, Larry had misunderstood his message and he wanted to set it straight. I smiled encouragingly at him, but he kept his head lowered. His expression was rueful.
“Miss Griffin?” I turned around and saw that Frank was on duty again. He looked at Larry and continued. “He said he had to speak with you, that it was important. I was just about to ask him to leave when you came in. Do you know him?” Frank always took his responsibilities as doorman and guard seriously. I had never had anyone call for me, and I imagine he found it rather unusual.
“Thank you, Frank. I do know him, it’s fine.” Turning to Larry, I said quietly, “Do you have time to come upstairs? I’d like to talk about this in private.”
He smiled at me, too brightly, I thought. “Yes, I’d like that.” We boarded the elevator and rode silently, both staring at the lighted numbers above the door. The elevator stopped at my floor, and as we walked down the hall, I found his closeness exhilirating. Surely he was not off limits now. I imagined I could hear his heart beating, circulating the precious blood through his veins. By the time we arrived at my room, I was trembling with anticipation and nearly dropped my keys. He took them from me, and without a word, opened the door and escorted me in.
I took off my coat, walked to the bar and poured myself a drink, to steady my nerves. When I turned around, Larry was staring at me, with a look of surprise on his face. “You look so different, Miss Griffin,” he said, sitting down on the couch. “Younger or something.”
“Not quite the elegant lady of the night you’re used to, am I?” I indicated my clothes with a gesture and made a slight curtsy. “Let’s just drop the Miss Griffin, shall we? Please call me Deirdre. Can I fix you a drink?”
“I’d better not, I’ve got to be back to work in a bit. If Max knew I came here he’d fire me.” His mouth set into a frown incongruous for his years. “And unfortunately, I need the job.”
I was disappointed that he was apparently not here to apologize for Max, and yet, just the closeness of this man, this human with his aroma of blood and sweat, was enough for me to forget my hurt and concentrate on my hunger. I would have to act fast on this and satisfy my need before he had to return to the Ballroom. I knew he wanted me, I could read it on his face. It would be easy enough to seduce him, to feed on him, and then to implant the suggestion that he had spent a rather disappointing time in my bed, that his visit here was not something he’d like to repeat. I felt a rush of power, and said a thankful prayer that my first independent victim in years was so neatly delivered to my doorstep.
I moved slowly toward him. “Well, what did you want to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He stood up for a minute as if to come closer to me. I leaned forward, but he moved back, suddenly seeming uncomfortable and uneasy. Then I smiled and he relaxed, sitting down again and casually laying his arm over the back of the couch. I admired his handsome form clad in the Ballroom’s uniform tuxedo. On Max the suit seemed like a second skin, on Larry, it was a cocoon from which his lean, youthful body struggled to emerge. I longed to unbutton his shirt, undress him completely and enjoy his blood. Take it slow, I advised myself. Don’t scare him away.
“Are you sure you won’t have a drink, Larry?”
He checked his watch, “Well, yeah, I guess a small one wouldn’t hurt.”
As I filled a glass for him, I was aware of his gaze following my every movement. Slowly I walked across the room and handed him his drink.
“Thanks.” He gave me a nod and took a sip. I sat down next to him and waited.
“I thought maybe you could help me out.”
“And how could I do that?”
“Well, you could answer a few questions for me. I’ve been trying to understand what goes on with you at the Ballroom. Max has always maintained that you belonged to him; that no one at the club was to touch you. But then, he’s always setting you up with other men, total strangers, some of them real sleazeballs, and you always go along with it.” He looked at me, with a odd, almost pleading look, wanting answers I could never give him.
“Larry, it really is not what you think.”
He gave me a sharp look. “How can you guess what I think it is? Just answer my question, what happens between you and the men he brings in? Once a week, almost like clockwork you’re there, not good enough for the staff but just fine for anyone else he can drag in. And what about this Andrews guy? He’s dead, did you know?” At my nod, he continued. “I thought you might. The cops were there too, talking to everyone, looking for you.”
“But I didn’t have anything to do with . . .”
He didn’t let me finish. “That doesn’t matter,” he said with a shrug. “What bothers me most is Max’s reaction. When he heard, he was furious, ranting and breaking things. He doesn’t even want to hear your name, and asked me to keep you away. He should know you by now! How can he turn on you like that? You, of all people, you’re so beautiful and, well, he should want to protect you, worship you . . . like I do.” This last was said quietly so I could not hear, but I did and looked at him intently; he stared at the floor, his cheeks flushed.
“How old are you, Larry?”
“I’ll be twenty-five in January.” He seemed defensive, avoiding my stare. “Not that much younger than you.”
“Looks can be deceiving. I’ll be thirty-six on my next birthday,” I lied. I reached over to him and taking his hands in mine, made eye contact. “Take my advice, please. Don’t try to get involved in any of this, not with Max or me. You’ll just wind up getting hurt.” I dropped my eyes but remained holding his hands. “Whatever goes on at the club,” I smiled my most convincing smile, “and even my relationship with Max, well, that is all over now. So let’s not discuss it, okay?”
“But what goes on, Deirdre? What happens that’s so awful you can’t talk about it?”
I realized that I had perhaps underestimated him. He was young, true, but not stupid and certainly not unobservant. And unfortunately for me, not a good choice for feeding. Taking his blood now would only raise more questions in his mind, cause me more problems than it would solve. “It doesn’t matter, Larry,” I said with certainty, meeting his eyes with as much determination as I could muster. “All that is over. Just forget about it. Forget about it.”
He stood up and shook his head briefly, confused by the forcefulness of my command. “Well, I guess I’d better get back. Thanks for the drink.”
“I am glad you stopped by, Larry.” I took his arm and walked him to the door. “It was so very nice of you to be concerned for me. But if you have to go, you had better go now. I would feel just terrible if I got you fired. We can get together some other time, dinner on your day off, maybe?” I didn’t want to alienate him, but if I spent much more time in his presence I could lose my control. Fortunately, he seemed not to take my comments as a brush off.
“I’d like that, Deirdre. May I call you?”
I smiled my warmest smile. “Anytime, Larry. I would be happy to talk with you again.” On impulse I stretched up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head to meet that kiss, and folded me in his strong, muscular arms. His tongue probed my mouth, tentatively at first and then with more purpose, his warm hands molding the flesh of my lower back. He was so ardent that I almost relented and, regardless of the danger involved, almost sunk my sharpening teeth into his neck. As I was about to make my move, he pulled away, abruptly. Surprisingly, he was blushing.
“I’m sorry, Deirdre, I didn’t want to, I mean, I’m not ready to . . . See you later.” He ran from the room and down the hall as if I had bit him and was pursuing him for more. The elevator door closed and I closed my own.
I was shaking still from my unsatisfied need, when suddenly I began to laugh, sounding slightly hysterical. “It seems the great huntress may have found herself a virgin,” I said to myself. “The best blood of all, so the books say, and she let him get away.” I poured myself another glass of wine and as I drank it, I calmed down. In another few minutes I would leave and find myself a more appropriate victim.
Frank gave me a curious look as I left the hotel, but I ignored the questions in his eyes, and walked out into the night.
It was early evening, and there were many clusters of people, pursuing their own interests, shows or dinners or drinks with friends. These could be no help to me, but not too far away were dark streets avoided by most of the city’s dwellers. Gwen’s weirdos walked these streets, or at least I hoped so; my conscience seldom rebuked me for feeding on these. I sniffed the air and enjoyed the stabbing sensation of cold entering my lungs. It would snow tonight, a thin white covering that would too soon be grey or black with the morning’s traffic. I turned off onto a less traveled street, and began to grow uneasy; was I being followed? I looked behind me, but there was no sign of movement. I thought I could hear faint footfalls echoing my own, but when I stopped the sounds ceased, even as my own did. I brushed off the feeling; I was letting the events of the last few days influence me. There was no one there, and even if there were, I knew I could handle them. After all, I was hunting for just such a person.
Then, in the darkness ahead, I perceived a shadow against a wall. Had my night vision been less than perfect, I would have walked right by without noticing him. I heard him breathe a small sigh, his patience and silence had paid off, or so he thought.
Whether he desired my purse, my body or my life, I never had the opportunity to find out.
I walked past him, as if I did not know he was there. He came up close behind me and grabbing my arm, whirled me around. “Hey, baby,” he said, and then spoke no more. I flung myself at him and fastened upon his neck. He struggled, but I drew his blood quickly and violently, quenching my dark thirst. As he grew quiescent in my arms, I fed slower, savoring each drop. It was ecstasy; it was hell, it was life. I pulled myself from him, shuddering when the withdrawal was complete. He was unconscious, but his pulse was strong, much stronger than Bill’s had been last night. Ordinarily, I would have taken more, but I felt safer only taking exactly what I needed.
I left him lying where I had found him. When he came to in a few minutes, I would be gone. Chances are, he wouldn’t remember the incident, and due to the darkness of the alley he would probably not even recall my face. And I doubted that he would report the attack to anyone; after all, who would believe him?
As I turned away and began to walk back down the alley, I heard a stifled gasp coming from where he lay. There, I thought with satisfaction, he was even stronger than I thought and was already reviving. I hurried back to the more populated streets, and passing a store, peered in the window at my reflection. Other than my shining eyes, there was no telltale trace of my activity. I removed a tissue from my pocket and wiped my mouth anyway. I fluffed my hair around my face and headed back to the hotel. I was glutted with blood and would want to sleep soon. It had been a successful hunt, I thought, and moved languidly through the streets. Snow had begun to fall; I raised my face to the night sky and felt the brush of flakes on my cheeks, like the tentative touch of a baby’s hand: so beautiful, so pure, and so soon gone.
“Did you have a nice walk, Miss Griffin?” Frank asked as he greeted me at the door.
“Yes, it’s a lovely evening. Good night.” When I got to my room, I completed my evening rituals; the locking of the door, the pulling of the drapes. After tonight’s feeding, I should sleep well and wake tomorrow, refreshed and renewed. I turned off my restless and questioning mind, fell upon the bed and slept.