The Hunger (23 page)

The shadow disappeared.

Sarah began to want very badly to get out of here. But she couldn’t just leave the woman, not like this. “Call the police,” she said. Her speech was actually slurred. Despite the obvious danger she felt curiously calm.

“No!” Miriam grabbed her shoulders and shook them. It rattled her teeth in her head, it was like being gripped by a powerful machine.

Remember, she is not human.
Not human!
Whatever might be going on here, it could be very different from appearance. Sarah must not allow herself to forget that. And for the love of heaven she must not fall asleep. What was the matter with her?

“I — I’m sorry,” Miriam said. She found some Kleenex in a drawer and took a couple of sheets, blew her nose. “Let’s go to the front of the house. He won’t bother us there.”

Sarah was led into a library, somewhat darker than the other rooms. “History,” Miriam said, waving her arms at shelves and shelves of books, “do you believe in history?”

Sarah was beyond answering complex questions. With the clarity of exhaustion she heard a horn honk outside. The shadows were deeper here. There were ancient-looking volumes, and glass-fronted boxes containing stacks of scrolls. It was not a pleasant room. In a way, with its musty smell and black old books, it was quite horrible. Sarah wished Miriam would just get out of this place with her. “We would like you to return to the clinic.”

Miriam’s look was almost coy. “Why should I? So you can put me in a freak show?”

“So we can relieve your suffering.”

Miriam came over to her, took her hands. This close the woman seemed almost larger than she should be. Sarah wanted desperately to take a step back. But she couldn’t move, she was just too tired.

Miriam’s speech was measured, her eyes watching Sarah closely.

“Sarah, we have a great deal to learn from one another, but I’ve just sustained a shock and I need some time to pull myself together. Please forgive me if my behavior seems strange.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t call the police. They would give you some protection —”

“For a time. But what happens when they go away? And they will, sooner or later.”

“OK, it’s your decision. I’d do it, though. You’re being menaced. Whoever it is could get in here at any moment.”

Her words made Miriam flash a glance toward the hallway that led to the back of the house. “An alarm will go off if he comes in. I’ll have plenty of warning.”

“But what if he does something else — sets the place on fire while you’re asleep, you never know what such a person might do.”

“He won’t — surely!” She looked around as if in a cell. “No —” She seemed very much afraid.

Summoning up the last reserve of unclouded consciousness, Sarah tried to press the advantage. “I’m sorry to keep returning to the other subject, but I suspect it fits in.”

“I’m not going back to Riverside now, Sarah. You and I have a great deal to discuss and we can do it right here.”

“The equipment and the people are at Riverside, and at the moment it’s a little early for discussion. That’ll come later when your therapy gets under way.”

“And who will be my therapist? You?” Miriam took a step toward Sarah and this time the menace did not come from outside. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

“Please, Miriam.” Now
that
sounded downright pitiful. Pull it together, girl! She closed her eyes, opened them with surprise. For an instant she had been asleep on her feet.

Miriam snatched her wrist. “Surely you’re willing to give me some of your time.”

Sarah couldn’t stand it, all of her carefully contained emotions were exposed by the steely power of that grip. “You let me go,” she mumbled, twisting weakly, feeling sharp pain in her wrist.

Miriam laughed, a brittle twinkling. For an instant the truth flashed in her eyes. Sarah saw abject, heartrending terror there, the awesome fear of a cornered animal.

Miriam enfolded her in strong arms, pressed her against the pretty pink-and-white dress. Sarah’s sheer exhaustion overcame the panic that wanted her to kick and scream. She was vaguely aware that Miriam had lifted her off her feet.

Only the rocking, pleasant motion of it reached her consciousness as Miriam carried her out of the room and swiftly up the stairs.

THERE WAS SINGING somewhere far away. Its purity drew Sarah from the comfortable warm place where she had been hiding. She rose swiftly into red fog. Beyond the fog was the source of the song. Sarah almost wept, she had not seen her mother since she was fifteen.

— her mother, who sang as she braided Sarah’s hair.

— singing on the car trip to Yellowstone.

— the voices of the church choir, her mother’s rising clear.

— her mother dying, the memory of her voice fading.

“Open your eyes, Sarah.”

The booming resolved into a headache, the red fog dissipated. Sarah was in a high old bed with satin sheets. A canopy of blue lace hung between her and the ceiling.

There came the hiss of a faucet. Then Miriam was handing her a glass of water. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Sarah took it. The liquid would certainly be welcome. When the coolness touched her lips she was brushed by a small memory. “I ought to go,” she said.

“Yes. It’s nearly noon.”

Sarah looked at her watch, hesitating an instant because of a dull pain in her right arm. “Why am I in bed?” she asked.

Miriam threw back her head and laughed. It was reassuring, so open and innocent that it made Sarah want to laugh too. Miriam slid close to her and put her arms around her shoulders, looking into her face with a chummy smile. “You fell asleep, Doctor. You’re not good at staying up all night.”

Sarah couldn’t find a thing in her memory to contradict this. “Fell asleep?”

“You wanted to try the bed. What can I say? You’ve been there an hour and a half.”

A breeze billowed the curtains, bringing with it the scent of the garden. “It’s so hot,” Sarah said. Her skin was warm and dry.

“Take a shower before you go.”

As she stated to dismiss the idea, Sarah thought of the long day ahead at Riverside, the turmoil of work awaiting in her lab, all the other tensions and problems. She probably wouldn’t get another chance until midnight. Miriam went toward the bathroom.

“I’ll turn it on. You can leave your clothes in there.”

Sarah got up, grabbed the bedstead as mild vertigo passed through her system, then unhitched her skirt and tossed it on the bed. In a few moments she was naked, walking toward the roaring of the shower. Miriam looked pleased. Her sleeves were rolled up, an old-fashioned bath brush dangling from her hand. The room was filling with a marvelous rough-sweet scent. Sarah hesitated, suddenly aware of what she was doing, astonished at her own nakedness. But the scent was so appealing, it seemed to draw her on. “Is that your soap? I love it.”

“Brehmer and Cross make it up for me. I send them my own flowers to mix the perfume.”

Sarah stepped into the tub, moving the showerhead so that her hair wouldn’t get wet.

“Is the temperature right?”

“Maybe a touch warm.”

Miriam turned back the hot water handle.

“Perfect.”

“Open the window, you can look out on the garden while I do your back.” While Sarah hesitated Miriam laughed. “It’s OK, it’s perfectly private.” Sarah raised the sash. The breeze was delicious coming into the shower, and the only way she could be seen would be with a telescope from a boat on the East River. She leaned against the sill and looked down into the flowers as Miriam first massaged her neck and shoulders and then washed her back and buttocks with mountains of heady lather. The delicately bristled brush tickled delightfully. It was most relaxing. She didn’t stir as Miriam did her thighs and calves, then sluiced her with water. There came a gentle tug at her shoulder and Sarah turned around. She let Miriam bathe her, feeling a little embarrassed and more than a little touched. It was very, very pleasant to feel the brush on her abdomen, then sweeping down her legs amid all that wonderful yellow-green soap. “Close your eyes.” Miriam did her face with a lighter brush and with brief flutters of a cloth, her breasts. Sarah did not move until she heard Miriam’s voice and realized that the shower was over, it was time to dry off.

Miriam rubbed her down with a coarse towel, then followed it with a very soft one, moving it smoothly against her skin. “You can use some of my powder if you like.”

“I already smell like your flowers.”

“So does my powder.”

“I’m going to have to go to Brehmer and Cross. Where is it?”

“They don’t have a retail store, unfortunately. But if you’d like to order something I’ll give you their address.”

“It’s probably horribly expensive.” Sarah had fluffed some of the powder on and was redoing her mascara and lipstick.

“You use makeup? I don’t think you need it.”

Sarah smiled. “It’s just a habit. I don’t use a lot.”

“People used to paint their faces with lead pigment. The women looked like Chinese porcelain. Can you imagine?”

“That must have been before my time. Lead is poisonous.”

Miriam smiled. “How Tom must love you.” She said it with such feeling that Sarah turned in surprise. The kiss that came was small, little more than a peck, but it was on the lips. Sarah chose to take it as a gesture of friendship and smiled into it. “You’re just trying to smear my lipstick.”

She sat watching as Sarah dressed. To be admired so openly was pleasing to Sarah and she found herself adding a touch of grace to every movement. Miriam made her feel beautiful, and as she regarded herself in the dim mirror that hung above the vanity, a little proud. Her mother kept coming to mind. She had not felt this sense of intimate female friendship since she was a child.

Miriam walked her down the stairs. “When you get back to Riverside, they’re going to want to know what you accomplished. Tell them I’m still trying to make up my mind.”

“You?” For a moment Sarah was utterly confused, then she remembered the purpose of her visit. “Oh! Yes. I’ll tell them that.”

Miriam took both of Sarah’s hands in hers. “I called a cab. It’ll be here any minute.”

How considerate, Sarah thought.

Miriam leaned toward her, smiling. “You smell like a —”

“A rose?” Sarah offered.

A dark look crossed Miriam’s face. “I never use them in fragrances.” Her voice was harsher, almost strident. Then it all evaporated into another of those wonderful, warm smiles.

On the way to Riverside as Sarah lay back in the cab, she thought of how long it had been since she had enjoyed the special friendship of another woman, how very long.

Tom looked up as Sarah came slowly into his office. He had been developing a table of organization for the Blaylock project — if only he could find a way to split it off from Hutch’s control. He had been about to greet Sarah, but her condition silenced him. Her clothes weren’t on straight, her hair was tangled, and she smelled like a cathouse. When she saw his expression she returned a guilty look.

“I took a bath,” she said. He heard a lot of strain in that voice.

“You sick?”

She shook her head, then dropped to the couch. “I feel hot. Is it hot in here?”

Maybe it was, a little. He pushed the window open the inch it would go. “Did you see Mrs. Blaylock at all, or just go home?”

He was stunned to hear her laugh, bitter and raucous. “I took the shower at her house.”

He was at a loss for words. Her house? “You mean — Miriam Blaylock’s house.”

Sarah smiled mirthlessly. Her face dissolved by anguished degrees. He knew how she hated to cry. To see her try not to was more painful than if she had done it. Tom went to her, sat down beside her. The smell was quite sickening this close. It was one of those foul covering perfumes that must have been popular in the days before people bathed.

“I’m sorry. Very unprofessional of me.” Now she broke down, grabbed his shoulders, and buried her face in his chest. Twisting as far as he could, he managed to kick the door closed. He wasn’t entirely sure why she was so agitated, but he didn’t try to find out more details. That would come later. Right now she needed reassurance and a little tender care. He held her, stroking her hair. He would have kissed her but for the repellent odor. Despite himself he just could not get that close to it.

The funny thing was, he had smelled it before. Somewhere, in the mists of the past. Perhaps it was the perfume one of Granny Haver’s friends had favored.

Despite the smell it still felt good to have Sarah in his arms. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said softly. She only clutched him tighter. The bitterness of her tears made him wish that he had not made her go to Miriam Blaylock. Obviously, she was way out of her range of skills. But who wouldn’t be, given the circumstances. “Will you take a Valium?”

“I don’t want a Valium.”

“Sarah, this is clearly a stress syndrome.” He held her by the shoulders. Her face was red and swept with tears. She refused to be held away from him and took him around the neck, hugging him so tight that it hurt. “I love you,” he said.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so glad.”

He squeezed back, wishing that she had repeated his words, wondering why she hadn’t. “I’m going to go get that Valium. You put your feet up here, darling.” He had no trouble getting her to lie back on the couch, then hurried down the hall to the dispensary to sign out the pill. Never, ever should he have sent her on such a dangerous mission. He could be so damn ruthless when he felt threatened, and Hutch had really been putting him on the spot. Now Sarah was hurt, hurt bad. He had a mental image of Miriam Blaylock, strange, sexless creature, beautiful without being the least bit attractive.

Did Sarah feel the same way? Hadn’t Tom seen a curious moment of intimacy between them on the sleep cubicle monitor? Certainly, it wasn’t sexual, not in the usual sense of the word. But there must be something between them, some attraction. Tom shuddered, thinking of being touched by that . . . thing.

Sarah’s clothes, though — had she only taken a shower? What if Miriam had come to her, run those beautiful hands down her thighs, touched Sarah where she so enjoyed being touched. Yes, what if she had done that?