Chapter 21
It took a long time to wake from the dream. I lay in bed, eyes wide open, studying the ceiling, drifting through the state that lay between sleep and waking. This dream had frightened me more than all the rest; it had been the first time that I had felt the glorious elation of draining a victim to death. The fact that it was not I, but Max, who had killed that woman made no difference. When I dreamed, I was Max; his emotions, his passions, were mine. I had never before realized what a precarious balance I maintained. That I could recognize myself in him, and that I could react so willingly, so naturally, to his murderous instincts, was terrifying.
I looked back on my life with disgust. I shared Max’s guilt, shared it completely. That woman was dead because of me. It made no difference that the event had happened before my transformation. The seeds of a killer had been sown within me, and even if they did not grow to their fruition, I knew that their roots were forever imbedded in my soul. There could be no final salvation for one such as I.
Eventually I shook off the effect of the dream and pulled myself up into a complete state of awareness of who and where I was, and discovered that the sun had already set and that I was alone. Getting out of bed, I saw that Ron had left the will and the papers for me to sign, along with his home and work phone numbers, and a note.
Deirdre, it read, I stayed all day as you asked, but had to leave around six. Tried to wake you, but you were completely out. Thanks for last night, let’s do it again sometime soon. Love, Ron. The word “soon” was underlined three times and I chuckled to myself, then sobered.
Poor Ron, I thought, he’s just one more example of how twisted my life has become. I used him terribly, first for his blood, then his legal expertise, and finally for his companionship, when what he wanted from me was completely different and something I could never give him. I shook my head, picked up the phone, and called room service for a pot of coffee.
When I was on my second cup, the phone rang. I let it ring for a while; the only person who knew where I was was Ron, and if we talked, I would eventually end up spending another night with him. How long could I continue to hide out, avoiding the other complications of my life, taking advantage of a man who deserved better of me? After ten rings I answered, determined to tell him that we should never see each other again. I did not have to, because it was not Ron on the phone, but Mitch.
I could not even say hello. “How did you find me?”
His voice was quiet and sad. “If I’d been thinking straight, I would have tried this place last night. Unfortunately, I drank for four solid hours after you left, and my mind was anything but clear.”
“Yes, me too. Did it work for you?”
“Other than making me feel as horrible physically as I did mentally, no. I’m sorry.”
I paused, not able to speak.
“Deirdre, did you hear me? I said I was sorry, and I am. I should never have said those things to you. I’d take them all back if I could.”
“And why should you be sorry for telling the truth? Everything you said was true, Mitch. What you and I have together is something that should never have happened. It can never work, and I’m glad that you’ve finally come to that realization. It makes my leaving much easier.”
“You’re leaving again?” I could hear the panic in his voice, felt my own panic rise. The thoughts of being separated from him forever tore me apart, but I knew that staying with him would be almost as bad.
“I—I—I don’t know what to do,” I said honestly, desperately. “I can’t think straight around you; I never could. I don’t know if I have the power of will to leave. But it would be much better for the both of us if I do.”
“Like hell it would.” He gave a tight little laugh, and I found myself smiling.
I sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Mitch?” My question was light and teasing.
“I can think of several things at the moment, and I’m sure more will occur to me when you get home.” He matched my bantering tone, then grew serious. “You will come back, won’t you? You can’t leave me, I won’t let you. If you want me to beg you, I will; I’ll get down on my knees and crawl to you. I love you, dammit, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
“I’ll come back. But we need to do some serious talking about my life and you need to do some serious thinking about how well it will fit you.”
“Anything you want, Deirdre. Just come home soon.”
“As soon as I can, my love. I’m glad that your mind finally cleared well enough for you to find me. I think that I must have come here so that you could.”
He laughed. “Actually, I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t think of it. Your attorney called and told me where you were.”
“Ron called you?” That surprised me. “Why on earth would Ron tell you where I was?”
“Why wouldn’t he? When he called last night, looking for you, I asked him to let me know if he located you. Or at least I think I did; everything is pretty fuzzy.”
“You did; he told me.”
“And he said that you were still hopelessly in love with me, that what you needed was a good kick to make you wake up and realize it.”
“Well, I’m glad that Ron thinks it’s all so simple.”
There was a long pause, and I thought for a moment that he had hung up. “In the end, Deirdre,” Mitch said finally, “I think he’s right.”
I gather up my borrowed coat and uniform. The gold locket that I had taken from Max’s room at the Ballroom fell out onto the floor, and I picked it up and tucked it into my jeans pocket. Then I went downstairs and left the hotel.
As I walked on the streets, I had the feeling that I was being followed, a curious feeling in the middle of my back that someone’s eyes were on me, watching my every move. I knew that it was not Max; there was none of his intimate touch in my mind. But it was familiar nevertheless, and I glanced over my shoulder for a glimpse of my stalker. There was a flurry of movement behind me, and I spun around, but he was gone. “Great,” I said out loud, “just what I need, another haunting. Maybe everyone I’ve ever known can show up all at the same time and we can have a party.” I laughed at my paranoid thought but quickened my steps.
When I arrived at Mitch’s apartment, I was surprised to find the door unlocked. “Mitch,” I called, hanging up my coat in the closet, “where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
His voice was calm and peaceful, as if no separation had taken place.
He was sitting at the table with his back to the door and I walked over, put my arms around his neck, and gave him a kiss. Resting my head on his shoulder, I watched as he finished cleaning his gun. “The door was unlocked.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you took your keys with you.” He turned around on the chair and put his arms around my waist. “Welcome home.” He rested his head against my left breast, then pulled away abruptly. “Your heart is racing, Deirdre, is everything okay?”
“No, Mitch,” I said with a sigh. “Not really.”
“You weren’t mugged again, were you?”
“No, nothing like that. But you must know that my coming back to you solves only one problem.” I reached over and stroked his hair. “The problem of how I could ever live without you.” I kissed him on the forehead and pulled away. “Everything else in my life is completely out of control. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to tell you about it all.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve a solution to one of your problems anyway.” He put his gun into my hand. “This will stop you from getting victimized again.”
I stared down at the revolver in my grasp, then placed it back on the table with a small laugh. “That, my love, is the very least of my problems. And I wouldn’t know how to shoot it even if I had to.”
“I’d teach you; we’ll go down to the shooting range. I’d worry a lot less about you wandering around the city at night by yourself if I knew you had some protection.”
“Mitch, I don’t need a gun for protection.”
“I know.” He shrugged and his eyes lit with amusement. “But at the very least, you don’t need to explain this kind of protection to anyone. It’s a lot cleaner and simpler.”
“But not as much fun,” I muttered guiltily, turning away from him to look out the window, ashamed of the delight I had experienced dealing with the mugger.
“What?”
“Never mind, Mitch. It doesn’t matter. If it makes you feel better, I’ll carry the gun.”
“Thank you.” He walked behind me and put his arm around my neck, pulling my head back to nuzzle my hair.
“Mitch,” I said quietly, “we need to talk.”
“I know,” he said, a tinge of sadness creeping into his voice. “What really bothers me about all this is that for some reason you’re afraid to tell me about it.” He spun me around, gripping my shoulders and shaking me lightly. “Regardless of what I said last night, I do love you, and I want you to know that there’s nothing about you I can’t learn to accept as long as you stay.”
I met his eyes directly and coolly. “Tell me that later, after you know everything, and I will believe you.”
My stare must have unnerved him; he dropped his hands and stepped back from me. I went to the refrigerator and removed the last half-bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and handed him one. “We’ll be more comfortable in the other room. This may take a while.”
I let him sit down first; he chose the couch, and I sat in the chair opposite him. He gave me a questioning look, took a sip of his wine, and waited.
My voice was soft when I began, tense and choked. “The first thing you must realize, before I tell you anything, is that after receiving your letter, I never expected to see you again, never expected to have to justify my life to you.”
“That damned letter,” Mitch interrupted. “I’ve been angry about it ever since you told me.”
“The letter doesn’t matter, Mitch. I know now that you didn’t write it, and that’s the important fact. Although, I wonder who . . .”
“Chris.”
“Excuse me?”
“Chris wrote the goddamned thing. He said he was trying to protect me from your influence. I nearly killed him when he told me about it that last night in the hospital. He’d no right to interfere like that.”
I laughed in relief, not realizing until that moment how worried I had been about who the originator of that letter might be. “Don’t be too hard on him, my love. It can’t be an easy thing to discover that your father’s lover is someone like me. And although he has had a few problems, Chris has actually been surprisingly civilized about our relationship.”
“So you’re not mad about it?”
I shrugged. “Not really. And even if I were, he’s your son and not mine. He did come for me when he thought I could help you, and he was right. I think that more than balances out those two years.”
“And if you hadn’t received the letter? Wouldn’t things have been different for you?”
Mitch’s question took me by surprise. With the letter I had completely accepted the fact that he did not want me anymore and my actions had been dictated by that assumption. And yet, had I not received it, I would have assumed his answer to be the same. “No, Mitch,” I said sadly, “no letter would have been just as bad as the one I received. Perhaps even worse, because I would have felt that you did not even care enough to tell me your decision.” I looked into his eyes and gave him a half-smile. “Now, can we forget about the letter and who wrote it? The only important thing to remember is that I accepted it as a fact.”
“And that’s another thing, Deirdre, how can you believe I would do that to you?” He brushed his fingers through his hair and his eyes glinted angrily. “Goddammit, I love you. Even now I don’t understand why you thought you had to leave. And I’m still pretty mad about the whole thing. I was ready to share your life completely, and you ran out on me. I’m ready to share it now, Deirdre. All you have to do is say yes.”
“Mitch,” I interrupted him gently but firmly, “that is not what we need to talk about. We have time for all that later, but you must hear me out first. What I have to say might change your mind.”
He said nothing, but I recognized his stubborn expression from the time he insisted that no such creatures as myself existed. Mitch needed hard proof to believe what he did not want to believe. I sighed and took a sip of my wine.
“Shortly after I arrived in England”—my voice trembled slightly—“I began to hear Max’s voice, quiet yet insistent, from the back of my mind. Oh, it was only an annoyance at first, like the buzzing of a fly or static on the radio. But it seemed to grow stronger with each feeding, urging me to go further than I ever had before, to take more blood, more often. Almost as if he were living inside me, feeding off my body, and imposing his hungers and desires on me. As if I were possessed by Max’s spirit.”
Mitch gave a small grunt but still said nothing.
“I know. I don’t really believe that theory either. But that is exactly how I feel. And no matter what the true circumstances are, I haven’t been able to rid myself of his presence.”
Mitch didn’t smile, but cautiously glanced around his apartment. “Is he here now?”
“No,” I admitted, “but he has been. And I’m sure he’ll return. Strong emotions seem to bring him out; when I feed, when we make love . . .” I blushed and let my words trail off.
“I haven’t seen him.” I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was taking what I said seriously.
“He wasn’t one of the creatures who tormented you?”
“No, I could’ve understood that. The vampires I saw were strangers, although some seemed familiar after a while. Maybe it was because they were making return visits.” Mitch shuddered, then looked over at me with a half-smile. “I would’ve almost welcomed Max; at least I knew him, and had some experience dealing with him. Don’t you have any idea about what’s happening? I mean, you’re one of them. There should be some sort of common bond or knowledge that would help you out of this.”
I shook my head slowly. “No, and if what you saw was real, you’ve met more of them than I ever have.”
“Can you ask around, find out who Max’s friends were? Maybe they’ll have answers.”
I thought back about my discussion with Victor and gave a rueful smile. “Actually, I’ve already antagonized one of his closest friends. Do you remember Victor Lange?”
“Should I?” Mitch’s face grew puzzled as he struggled with the name. “No,” he concluded slowly, “I’ve never heard of him.”
“You met him, Mitch. He owns The Imperial. We had dinner there one night.”
“Really?” He sat for a while, his face expressionless.
“Mitch?” I reached over and touched him on the arm. He jumped and laughed nervously.
“Sorry, Deirdre, I was thinking. I have no remembrance of the man at all. He was a close friend of Max’s? And you ticked him off? What happened?”
“I told him exactly who it was who killed Max.”
“Jesus, Deirdre, why on earth would you do that? It could cause a lot of problems for us both; after all, I’ve gone on record saying that I killed him in the line of duty. Self-defense, remember?”
“And for that statement you spent two years institutionalized. I wanted to set the record straight with Victor for a lot of reasons. I don’t believe he’ll make trouble for me, and if he does, I can handle him. That really isn’t the issue here.”
“And what is the issue? You don’t want to marry me because you see Max on occasion? You’ve been living with that for two years; I’m sure I could get used to it. It’ll go away after a while.” His voice was so determined, I almost believed him.
“There’s more, Mitch. Unfortunately, Max was, or is, a creature of great appetites. As a result”—I stood up with my fists clenched and walked around behind the chair, trying to avoid Mitch’s eyes—“I’ve been involved in a sexual relationship with almost every one of my victims since I left this city.”
“Jesus,” he swore in a whisper. “Deirdre.”
I looked away, waiting for accusations and recriminations. When he said nothing more, I glanced back at him, curious as to why his usually rampant jealousy was not aroused. There was no anger, no revulsion in his expression, only sadness. My heart twisted and I wanted to go to him, to hold him, to tell him that none of this ever happened. But I could not.
“Mitch, I cannot justify my actions. It would be easy to say that all of this is Max’s fault, but we both know that Max Hunter is dead and buried. I suppose that Sam would say that his appearance in my life is due to my guilt over his murder, and that the sexual episodes are revenge against you for turning me away.”
I shrugged and put my hand into my pocket, coming across the locket I had put in there earlier. I pulled it out and held it in my hand, curling the heavy gold chain around my fingers. “And he would probably be right. But now I not only hear Max’s voice, but I see him, plain as day and as real as you. And I dream of him, vivid dreams of his past life, a life that I experience as if I really were him.” My voice sounded choked, panicked. “It scares me, Mitch, so much so that when I wake I’m not even sure who I am. I barely recognize my own reflection at times.
“So you see, we have two choices—that I’m completely crazy or that I’m possessed by Max. Either way, my life is not one you would want to share.”
I sat back down in the chair, still idly toying with Max’s locket. It fell open, and when I peered at the miniature within, I gasped in recognition and dropped it on the floor. “No, it can’t be true.”
“Deirdre?” Mitch’s voice was surprisingly clear and decisive. “What is it?” He got up from the couch and picked up the locket. “Where did you get this? It’s very old.”
“It was with Max’s things. And, yes, it is old, dating back to the late 1500s. The woman in the picture, I know her. I have never met her, but I know her. I know the sound of her voice; I remember the way she looked when she was young, how my hand fit so perfectly in hers.”
He looked at the picture intensely. “But who is she?”
I ignored his question, and in panic bolted toward the door. “Oh, my God, it can’t be true.”
Mitch moved faster than I did, and blocked my retreat. “Who is she, Deirdre? And what possible difference can it make?” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him.
Pushing away from him, I stared up into his face. “It’s all true, Mitch, it has to be. But what can I do about it? I’ll never be free of him.”
“Deirdre.” His voice was shaking, and his fingers dug deeply into my flesh. “What’s this all about?”
“The woman in the locket; she’s Max’s mother. I dreamed of her. I know her. And if that is true, then I’m not crazy.” I began to laugh, deeply pitched laughter that echoed off the walls and sounded so much like Max that I wanted to tear myself apart. Instead, I flung myself against Mitch and clung to him like a small, frightened child. “Somehow, some way, Max lives within me. We may have killed him, Mitch, but he didn’t die. And he won’t die until I do.”
Mitch calmed me then, his hands stroking my hair, his lips brushing delicately against my ears and neck. The pounding of my heart changed from panic into passion as he cupped my breast in one hand and placed the other on the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his in a hard, demanding kiss.
The desperate quality of his embrace startled me, but my body responded in kind, the heat of his lips thawing any resistance I might have offered. The taste of him and the feel of his body on mine broke down the last of my inhibitions. When the kiss was over, we stood for a moment, staring at each other, both out of breath and frightened by the sudden strength of our desires.
“I don’t care,” he whispered vehemently. “I don’t care whom you’ve been with or what you’ve done.” He spun me around and roughly pressed me up to the door, holding my wrists against the woodwork. His eyes glowed with the intensity of his emotions. “I’ve lost you twice and I won’t let it happen again. You won’t run from me this time, Deirdre. We’ll face this together. But you must promise you won’t leave me. Ever. I don’t give a damn about your excuses, your bloody morals about not wanting to share your tainted life. Just promise you won’t ever leave.”
I felt a smile begin to shape my lips even as the tears stung in my eyes. I nodded, not trusting the strength of my voice, and he dropped my hands, wrapped his arm tightly around my shoulders, and led me back to his bedroom.
It was like no other time with Mitch. His usual gentle manner was gone, his hands rough as they tore the clothes from my body. But his urgency was contagious; his passion caught me up and I surrendered completely, abandoning all thoughts of what I was, what he was, what lay between us. There existed only our two bodies, our mouths and our hands, our teeth and our nails.
“Don’t hold back,” Mitch hoarsely urged as he pulled me on top of him. When I felt him pulsing inside me, hard and insistent, I threw my head back and cried out, snarling, howling. His labored moans echoed my lust; his hands grasped my waist and my breasts until they worked their way to my neck and forced me down. Our lips met, his tongue pushed its way past my sharpened teeth, and the brief taste of his blood drove me wild.
“Deirdre, Deirdre,” Mitch repeated over and over again. My own blood pounded in my ears, in perfect rhythm with his frantic thrusts. My body undulated on top of his, writhing in that exquisite torment. And when his teeth grazed my shoulder, I began to laugh, manic laughter that both frightened and excited me. I was too far gone to recognize its source, too enslaved by this rapture to care. The rush of Mitch’s blood into my mouth, his small gasp of pain, made me realize that my teeth were buried as deeply into his neck as he was in me.
I could not stop, did not want to stop, did not have the power of will to fight the demon. I rode on the tides of his blood, and the bittersweet taste of him rushed through my system, its intoxicating heat causing me to break into a feverish sweat. I wanted to devour Mitch, drain him completely, carry him inside me forever. As if from a distance, I felt his climax and my own shuddering orgasm. I gripped him tightly within me, and it was only my mad gasp for air that enabled me to release his neck from my bite.
Rolling from him, I felt the trickle of his blood on my chin and wiped it away in revulsion. Mitch sighed and moved toward me, nestling against me, his hand resting lightly on my hips, his mouth breathing into my ear. “That was incredible,” he whispered weakly. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Jesus,” I swore at him, hiding my tears. “Incredibly dangerous is more like it. I could have killed you, Mitch. That can’t happen again.”
But he didn’t hear me. His shallow, labored breathing had already relaxed into a more normal pattern. He was asleep, beyond any comprehension of my panic, leaving me alone and sated with sex, blood, and guilt.