Chapter 15
When I woke it was almost an hour to sunset. I dressed, went to the bar and opened a bottle of wine. Then I sat down and began to read Larry’s scrap book.
The hardest page to get past was the first; that civil war photograph that I can remember being taken as vividly as if it were yesterday. Here I walked in my real life, my own time. And although I was a vampire, I did not yet think of myself as an ageless freak, a walking anachronism. It took the erosion of my soul by many years to do that, the frantic passage of time and man’s progress. In this time, there was no progress, or if there was it was a slow and gentle evolution, unnoticed as days rolled one into the other. It was my era and I still ached for it.
But not for the war; although Max often laughed saying that such a time must be a paradise for vampires. I grew to know death, to live with it during this time, but I never gained acceptance of it. Each lost life was deeply mourned by me, who could never die.
They were young, younger than me; they were my lovers, my brothers. They would come to me for advice, to read me that long–awaited letter from a wife or mother. They would come to me in fear and dread, facing impending battles and skirmishes, and I would offer comfort where I could, with my body mostly, giving some of them the only chance they would have for a woman’s love. Looking back, I am amazed that I had no qualms about this, being a woman of that time, marrying as a virgin and expecting no other man in my life than my husband. But he was gone and I was damned. And their need of me was great, so great that it often engulfed my own. The grasping hands, the suckling mouth, the young, strong bodies desperate for the touch of life on a field of death.
I gave what I could, and when they returned wounded, bloodied and dying I nursed them with a gentle patience. The field doctors knew that they could rely on me no matter what the situation, I had no delicacy that could be offended and strength enough for the necessary tasks.
After the first two battles, we had tents devoted to the dying and wounded. Here at night I walked, carrying a softly glowing lantern, the quiet swishing of skirts announcing my presence. For the recovering soldiers I had a smile or a soft greeting. The feverish I soothed with my cool hands and voice, sometimes reading until they fell asleep. For the dying, and it became painfully easy to recognize those who would not survive the night, I offered a release from pain and a slow draining into a quiet death. Angel they called me then, even those who in passion had called me devil and witch, with their hands entangled in my hair and their bodies joined to mine.
Out of the group photographed, only one was still alive when I left. As I traveled from camp to camp, and battle to battle, I often thought of him, wondering who would comfort him, who would ease him into death. Soon each soldiers’ face became blurred for me: there were so many, so many.
Damn Larry, I thought, brushing aside the tears that were flowing. I was violated, raped by his capture of my essence on these pages. His matter-of-fact captions, the cold stating of facts, names and occupations, reduced my life to nothing but blood and death. And it had been more than that, I knew. There had been friends and laughter, good times intermingled with the bad. I turned the pages and lingered over some: a newspaper photograph of night-shift steel workers during World War II, including one Doreen Gallagher; the employment records of Deborah Garrison who worked in an all-night diner as had Diane Gleason; the police log on Dorothy Grey who made her reappearance as a prostitute in the sleepy, southern town from which Max had finally rescued her for reincarnation as Deirdre Griffin.
I had to admire Larry for his dedication to this task, even while hating him and questioning his motives. It cannot have been an easy job, tracing and tracking me through the decades. The gaps, bitterly notated by him as turning up nothing, gave me a grim laugh. Most of these were times when I went into hiding, living in some cases as an animal, dirty and homeless, occupying caves or abandoned shacks, running from my previous lives. Running, not in fear, but in regret and sadness for times and people that grew old and died. I hoped these gaps had worried him, tortured him, and stolen from him some of the satisfaction he must have felt for pinning me down so accurately.
The last page I ignored; his plans and aspirations I had already read the previous evening. I needed no reminder of the twisted mind that was trying to force me into doing something I had never done, something that I now had no wish to ever do. He would not become a vampire at my hands; I would kill or be killed before I allowed someone else to share in what he called the gift of life. For me it was nothing but a curse, an unnaturalness, a perversion of the beauty of humanity.
I closed the book, put it into my suitcase and locked it. By now the sun had set and I was free to go. Opening the door, I walked down the hall toward Max’s office when suddenly I ducked into the adjoining room. From here the angry voices were audible and easy to identify. “Okay, Hunter, I’ll ask it again. Where is she?”
“And I will tell you again, Detective. If she had wanted you to know, don’t you think she would have told you?”
“I know she must be here, I can feel it. I must see her, you must tell me where she is. Her life is in danger . . .”
Max laughed, long and loud. “Deirdre is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, I assure you. If you only knew how ridiculously unnecessary your protection is, you would laugh too.”
“And was it ridiculous for Gwen?”
“Gwen?” Max’s questioning tone was sincere; I had not had the time to tell him about Gwen.
“Deirdre’s secretary. Your psycho employee drove a stake through her heart.”
“A singularly horrible way to die. But what has that got to do with Deirdre?”
Mitch’s voice acquired a deadly patience as if he were speaking to a child. “Don’t you understand? He means to do the same to her. He’s left messages for her, taunting her, threatening her. And if he finds her she’ll die, can’t you see that?”
“Of course she would die, anyone would.” Max was hedging now; playing this scene coolly, uncertain of what I had revealed to Mitch. “But he has to find her first, doesn’t he? She is not easy to be found, if she chooses not to be.”
“You don’t care, do you? Deirdre tells me that you are her oldest and dearest friend, yet you would just stand by and let her be killed. How could you not care, not love her?”
“Love?” Max was angry now, his voice cold and frightening. “I knew it would come down to that, when you came here. You and all the others, mooning and slobbering over her, begging for an introduction, singing her praises, her beauty, her charm. She is beyond you, Greer, beyond all of you. And you could never keep her, never hold her to you for any more time than she wants to be held.” His voice quieted and sounded now more sad than angry. “Don’t you think I know that? I have lived with that fact since the day we met.”
There was a long pause; then I could hear the clink of ice cubes in a glass and the pouring of a liquid. What the hell were they doing, toasting my death? Silently commemorating a woman they both loved and lost?
Mitch was the next to speak; his manner seemed different, as if over their drinks he and Max had reached some agreement. “Sorry, Hunter, I just wasn’t thinking. What do you think I should do? How can I protect her if I can’t find her?”
“Wait,” Max advised. “Just wait. She’ll return, perhaps here, perhaps at her hotel. I assure you, she won’t be hurt. Larry doesn’t want her dead.”
“I wish I were as sure as you. If you hear from her, please let me know.” Another brief pause and he continued. “Here are my numbers, at the station and at home. Call anytime.”
I heard the door open and listened to Mitch’s footsteps heading down the hall and out into the bar. I waited for a minute, but when they did not return I knew he was gone. I left the room and went next door to Max’s office.
He was sitting at his desk and did not look up when I entered and locked the door behind me. “I trust you slept well, my dear. Your friend Mitchell Greer was looking for you.”
“So I gathered,” I said dryly. “He was quite vocal about it.”
“Ah, you heard. Then I need not relate the event in all its pathos for you, do I?”
“You did quite well, Max. Never saying too much, not letting on that you knew anything about me or my whereabouts. I found your last statements quite touching.”
“They were not meant for your ears, Deirdre.” The usual scorn was back in his voice, and his face, when he lifted it to me, held his normal smile. “But they were at least effective in removing him from my office. I assume he’s still lurking around, however, so if you don’t want to meet him, be careful.”
“I will.”
“Does it give you pleasure, Deirdre?” He asked it with an agreeable smile, as if asking about the weather.
“What?”
“How you manage to enslave every man you meet, with a kiss or a look or a promise. Larry is now wanted for murder—a murder that your presence caused him to commit. And as for Greer, well, you’ve known him for less than two weeks now, already he would kill for you or die for you. I know his type, incorruptible and clean, he cannot be bribed or coerced and would never allow his personal feelings to interfere with his job. And yet you have managed to tear him down, rip through the veneer and reduce him to an almost savage state. And you pride yourself on your morals, your conscience, on how you have never taken a life. But he will love you until the day he dies and never realize that to you it was just a pleasant way to pass the time.”
I stared at him in shock for a moment. “But, Max, I thought you knew.” I hesitated. “I was sure you could tell.”
“Tell what?”
“That I love him.”
“Love, again? First Greer and now you. And where can you hope it will lead?”
“It will lead nowhere, but I can’t help the way I feel. This is real, this is now. Tomorrow can take care of itself.”
“Spare me the saccharin. I don’t know what your plans are, but you may stay here as long as you wish. As one of your oldest and dearest friends, I could never deny you. Make yourself at home; I’ve got to get to work now.”
“Well, damn,” I said as he walked out. Nothing was turning out as I had expected.
I wanted to scream or throw something, in an effort to release the pain that Max’s words had caused me. Instead I walked over and sat at his desk, glancing at the few papers on its surface, idly flipping the directory that held names and numbers of employees, suppliers and important customers. All the time my mind was racing, considering the truth of his words.
What he failed to realize, I finally decided, was that the situation was as painful for me as for anyone else. I loved and the loss of that love would hurt me deeply, perhaps even more than it would Mitch. For he could return to his life, and as he aged, the pain would lessen, eventually ceasing with his death. I, on the other hand, carried with me every loss, every love, magnified and multiplied like the links in Marley’s chain.
“Damn,” I said again and jumped when the phone beside me rang.
“Ballroom of Romance,” I answered, my voice surprisingly pleasant and calm.
There was a pause at the end of the line. “Hello,” I said. “May I help you?”
“You know you can.” My pulse jumped at his voice—here was one at least that gave me reason to continue for a while in this life. Or gave me hope of release.
“Larry.”
“Did you get my message?”
“Yes. Did you get mine?”
“Loud and clear, Dorothy. I want to see you. I want . . .”
“I know what you want, Larry. You won’t get it.”
“But you will meet with me?”
“Yes.”
His breathing quickened and I could feel his impatience over the line. “Tonight, midnight, in the cellar of the Ballroom.”
“How charmingly melodramatic, Larry. You can expect me.”
I hung up the phone. Here was the final test, I thought. Could I kill him, to protect myself and avenge a friend? Or would I allow him to take the life, that, despite my disgust and despair, I had tenaciously clung to for so many years? I checked the clock—there were four hours to wait.
Max had left the office door open, I could hear the band begin to play, the voices of the people gathered. I walked through the kitchen, pushed open service doors and stood at the end of the bar. Mitch was still there, standing by the main entrance, his eyes scanning the dancers. I felt that the next four hours could very easily be spent watching this man who had so unexpectedly come into my life, giving me one more chance to feel my humanity.
“Wine, Miss Griffin?”
I nodded absently to the bartender, never taking my eyes from Mitch’s shadowy form. The band had finished playing one of my favorite songs, and I wondered how long it would take him to find me among the crowd. The bartender brought my drink; perhaps it was the movement that called his attention to me, perhaps he could sense me the way I could him. It didn’t seem to matter; he had found me, and after my flight of last night, I wanted to be found. Before the night was over, I would be a murderer in fact, or dead; these last few hours were best spent with him.
Ignoring the drink before me, I crossed over to the band and whispered my request. The leader nodded and began the song again as I reached Mitch’s side. I put my finger to my lips and led him to the dance floor.
“Where have you been?”
“Quiet, Mitch. I’m here now.” Nestling my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes and began to hum softly. His body relaxed and responded to mine, and we danced.
When the song was over, he held me for a time and looked down into my face and smiled. I could still see anger in his eyes, anger at my desertion of him last night, but the relief at finding me alive finally won out. He kissed me and we danced one more number before we returned to the dark corner of the bar.
“Your regular table is ready if you’d like, Miss Griffin.” The bartender nodded his head toward Max who was standing at the other end of the bar, watching us with an amused expression on his face. “We weren’t expecting you tonight, but now that you’re here, Max says everything’s on the house.” He picked up my wine and a bottle of beer for Mitch and showed us to the table.
“What does he mean, not expecting you?” Mitch asked after we were seated.
“I usually call ahead to let them know I’m coming. It’s always so crowded . . .”
“No, Hunter knew you were here all along. I could swear he did.”
“Contrary to what you believe, Mitch, I do not report to Max or anyone. I come and go as I please. And if this is another excuse to start your usual tirade about Max, I do not want to hear it, not tonight.”
“Actually, Max and I have come to an understanding.”
“Oh?” I smiled wryly. “That must have been quite a task.”
He looked at me and shook his head. “What I should have said is that I have come to understand Max. He loves you, you know.”
I laughed. “Max loves me? Are we talking about the same person?”
“I’m serious, Deirdre. I still don’t like the guy, he still makes my skin crawl, but I have no doubt of how he feels about you. And I feel sorry for him. Almost as sorry as I feel for myself.”
“Why should you feel sorry for yourself?”
“Because, oh, hell, let’s just forget it, okay?”
I took a drink of my wine and dropped my eyes. “Max doesn’t love me. He may have wanted you to believe he did, for whatever devious purpose he had in mind. He’s like that, a manipulator, not happy unless he’s pulling someone’s strings. But he knows me too well to love me.”
Mitch reached over and took my hand. “I love you. What on earth could make you think that if someone knows you, they couldn’t love you?”
“How well do you know me, Mitch? Do you know where I was born, what my parents’ names were, what I wanted to be when I grew up?”
“You know damn well you’re too bloody secretive for me to know anything about you. But if you’d like to play twenty questions, I’ll start. Where were you born?”
“Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.”
“Your parents’ names?”
“Robert and Eleanor Grey.”
“Grey? Then Griffin was your husband’s name?”
“No, I changed it for professional reasons.”
“Well then, Deirdre Grey, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“A nurse. And the name is Dorothy.”
“Dorothy? Okay, I can live with that.”
I smiled over at him. “I really do prefer Deirdre after all this time.”
“Fine with me; you don’t seem much like a Dorothy, anyway. Now, I know all that and I still love you. What can be so awful about you that I wouldn’t love you?”
“Look, I’m sorry I even brought this up. It doesn’t matter.”
Suddenly his eyes clouded over with anger. “It does matter, and I’ve decided that I like this game. Let’s continue, shall we? Why did you leave me last night when you knew it was important for you to stay? You did promise to stay. Where did you go and what did you do?”
“I felt trapped. I needed to walk. I told you, I’m not used to reporting in to anyone. And although I hate to say it, that includes you also.”
“But your life was in jeopardy, didn’t you realize that?”
“My life is only in jeopardy in your mind, Mitch.” I gave a small derisive laugh. “Larry won’t hurt me. I’m perfectly capable of handling him.”
“Why is everyone trying to convince me that you’re Wonder Woman or something? Max said pretty much the same thing, earlier. And I will tell you what I told him. Don’t you think Gwen thought the same thing? You see where it got her.”
Poor Gwen, I thought sadly, in over her head and she never knew it. “Gwen was different. She was sweet, innocent and trusting. I am none of those. When I next meet Larry, I will be fully prepared to do what needs to be done.”
“When you next meet Larry I will be with you. And hopefully he will be behind bars at the time.”
“Then there’s no need to discuss it, is there?”
He shrugged. “Let’s get out of here, anyway. I don’t like the thoughts of your being so visible and accessible.”
I laughed. “Calm down, he’s hardly likely to jump up from between the dancers and drive a stake through my heart right here, Mitch. This seems to be as safe to me as anywhere. But if you have to go, don’t let me stop you.”
“I don’t have to go, I’m not on duty now. Just on alert. And if they need me, they know where I am.”
I finished my wine and, as if on cue, a waiter brought me another glass and Mitch another beer. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “Is service always so good?”
“For me it is. Let’s dance.”
Later in the evening, Max came over and sat with us for a while. It seemed odd to have Mitch relaxed around him, he even excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving us alone. I checked the clock, there was an hour to go.
Max saw my glance. “Going somewhere, my dear?”
Hurriedly I spoke, while studying the door for Mitch’s return. “Actually, I have another appointment at twelve. It shouldn’t take long, but I would prefer him not to know about it.”
“And you’d like me to cover for you? Draw him away from you so that you can leave and come back, with him none the wiser?”
I nodded. “Can you?”
“Hasn’t he informed you that he and I are comrades-in-arms now? It is so rarely that I get to make a friend, this duplicity could spoil our relationship.” He smiled at me, enjoying my discomfort.
“Jesus, Max. You know as well as I that that’s all just something you dreamed up. You and Mitch, friends?”
“Yes, well, then I will do as you ask. Will 11:45 give you enough time to get where you are going?”
“No problem.”
“And where are you going? With whom are you meeting?”
“It’s all very mysterious, Max,” I said with an impudent grin. “Our very dear friend called for an assignation in the cellar at midnight.”
“Happy hunting, Deirdre, and be careful.” He rose as soon as Mitch returned and lightly kissed me on the cheek.
“What are you hunting, Deirdre?” His forehead had a little crease of worry that I hadn’t noticed before.
I reached over the table, took his hand and pressed it to my face. “Why, you, of course.”