Live Girls (26 page)

Benedek reached the doorway in an instant.

“Davey, I want to help you."

“Then go, Walter. I don't want to hurt you.” Tears stung his eyes and disgust clogged in his throat, making it hard to speak. “But I will. I can't help it."

“Okay, Davey, listen. You have my number. When you're ... better, call me. I'll try to help you if I can."

“Thank you, Walter. Now
go."

Benedek's footsteps were silenced by the closing of the door in the living room.

Not trusting his legs, Davey crawled to the bed and lifted himself to his feet. The room tilted and he sat on the edge of the mattress for a moment, then carefully walked to the window. With a heave, Davey lifted the sash and let the cold night air wash over him.

The transfusion is complete,
Anya had said.

He'd become like her. He'd
allowed
her to change him, and now that it was done...

Davey couldn't think about it now. He imagined the entire city stretched before him, alive with millions of people, millions of hearts pumping warm blood through veins and arteries...

He knelt at the window and laid his head on his arms.

He knew he needed blood. Each second that passed without his hunger being satisfied seemed to drain his body of energy. The very thought, however, of drinking the life out of another human being was ... was...

He shuddered. Although he tried hard to imagine the act to be repulsive, he couldn't.

Lifting his head, he looked up at the murky night sky. His tongue felt like sandpaper and his dry eyes burned.

A life of endless potential and power
.

He imagined gliding over the city, swift and silent, his senses raw, acutely aware of everything around him, every sight and sound, even the faintest scents on the breeze.

Some things will come instinctively
.

With his eyes on the sky, the fantasy became so vivid that he was unaware of the changes taking place in his body, the shrinking of his bones, the shifting of his skin...

The window seemed to grow, become enormous, and the view beyond became wider and wider until there was no floor beneath him, no walls around him. The city was a passing blur below, its lights filtered through what seemed to be a mist in his eyes, and as if the plan had been tucked away in his mind all along, Davey knew upon whom he would feed.

Chad Wilkes watched the girl's back as she walked away from the barstool next to him and burrowed into the crowd on the dance floor. She was petite and blond and had a tiny mole just above her mouth. Oh well. She was probably a ball-buster anyway. She certainly didn't have a sense of humor.

Chad had used one of his favorite icebreakers on her, the one he used when he was in an up kind of mood, which he was that night because he'd canceled a dinner date with Stella Schuman (something he'd been trying to muster the guts to do for quite a while) but the girl had not been at all amused.

“So, what's your sign?” he'd said, and after her abrupt reply: “Oh, Aries? I'm a Sagittarius. I'm a little rusty on my astrology, but if I'm not mistaken, tonight's the night my Milky Way is supposed to slide into Uranus."

She'd tossed back the rest of her drink and walked away.

And she'd been his fourth try! It was just short of midnight and he was having no luck. Oh well, having nothing was better than having dinner with
her.
It hadn't been so bad at first because he'd known that it would get him somewhere. But now that he'd received his promotion, and especially now that talk of their relationship was spreading
—
Casey Thorne's little remark in the elevator had
really
pissed him off
—
he didn't know if he'd get near her again.

Leaning against the bar, Chad surveyed the crowd, his wine cooler in hand, waiting to find someone interesting
—
and interest
ed
.

He finished his drink and decided a good piss might make him feel better. He walked casually away from the bar, smiling and nodding at each woman with whom he happened to make eye contact.

The rest room was cramped and dirty and not very well lit, the smell of urine and feces thinly covered by the stinging odor of pine-scented cleaner. A small rectangular window was open in the back of the room, just above the last stall, but what little fresh air got in didn't get far.

There were two urinals: one was piled with wet toilet paper, the other had an OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it.

Clicking his tongue, Chad walked to the first stall and pushed the door open. It squeaked as it turned heavily on its hinges and something in the rest room fluttered.

Chad looked back over his shoulder at the rest room's entrance.

Nothing.

The stall door began to slowly swing shut again and he stopped it with his hand. It seemed pretty heavy for such a thin, rickety door. He stepped inside, shouldering around the door so it could swing closed.

Spreading his feet before the yellowed toilet. Chad opened his fly, but before he could relieve himself he heard the fluttering sound directly behind him, so close that it ruffled his hair. He spun around, zipper gaping, to look into two small red eyes and a snout lined with razorlike teeth hanging upside down from the hook on the door. Two wings mapped with thin delicate veins spread wide and then sprang on him and wrapped around his face, making him fall back on the toilet.

Pain shot down his legs as his hips landed hard on the dirty porcelain bowl. Chad screamed but the sound was muffled by the thing smothering his face. He raised his hands and tried to slap it away, but it held on tight and seemed to be ... it was getting
heavier
and holy Jesus it was getting
bigger
and
stronger
, spreading over his whole body until...

The thing pulled away and Chad scrambled to get to his feet but couldn't because a strong hand was holding him down. It was a
man
, a
naked
man
—
oh Jesus Christ a homo a fag sweet Jesus I'm gonna be raped!
—
not a
bat
, which was what it sure as hell
looked
like a few seconds ago, and Chad lifted his eyes to the man's face and sucked in his breath so hard that he nearly gagged.

“Hello, Chadwick,” Davey Owen said through a grin, letting the name dribble from his mouth like spittle.

“Davey, what the hell're you
doing
here? You're naked, Davey, Jesus, what's..."

“I came to find you, Chad."

“Did you have to scare the
bejeezus
outta me like that?"

“Sorry,” Davey said, smiling.

Adrenaline was still racing through Chad's body but his fear had passed now that he knew it was only Davey Owen. Probably Davey was pissed off about the promotion and about losing his job, none of which, of course, was
Chad's
fault. He angrily tried to knock Davey's hand away from his shoulder. It wouldn't budge.

“Okay,” Chad barked, “so you've found me, now what the
hell
do you
want?"

“Just a little blood, Mr. Wilkes,” Davey whispered.

“Huh,
what?
Davey, will you..."

Chad felt himself being lifted and slammed against the wall. His head banged the Sani-Sheet dispenser above the toilet. His eyes widened. Maybe Davey was on drugs, PCP, that made people really strong, didn't it? It
had
to be that because Davey Owen simply was
not
that strong.

“Look, Davey, I know you're upset about..."

Davey opened his mouth and the fangs sparkling with saliva made Chad want to scream.

“This won't hurt a
bit,
Mr. Wilkes,” Davey said softly as he leaned forward.

Wednesday

W
HEN
S
TELLA
S
CHUMAN OPENED HER OFFICE DOOR AT
twelve minutes past eight in the morning, she was met by a gust of chilled air. Two sheets of paper blew from her desk and fluttered to the floor.

Behind her desk, there was a jagged hole in the window from which several delicate cracks spread like webbing across the rest of the pane.

“Jasmine,” she said stiffly.

Her secretary came to her side. “Yes?"

“Do you know anything about this?"

Jasmine Barny lightly touched her fingertips to her lips when she saw the hole.

“No!” she said breathily.

“Damn,” Miss Schuman barked as she went into the office and put her briefcase on the desk. “Get maintenance up here right away and tell them to handle this, will you please?"

Jasmine was gone before her boss was finished speaking.

With a hearty exhalation, Miss Schuman lowered herself onto one round knee and retrieved the papers, then replaced them on their stack, using her cigarette box as a paperweight.

Below the window, a large water spot from the rain of the night before had spread over the carpet.

They were endless, these little annoyances,
endless
. Last night, her television had started acting up and made Pat Sajak look like a deformed Asian throughout
Wheel of Fortune
. Then Chad had canceled their evening together with an abrupt phone call.

“Don't have time to explain,” he'd said, “but something's come up. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

Fine. You help someone climb the ladder and they start getting too big for the rungs. If she found out he'd gone to that repulsive meat-market bar he frequented, well, she'd give him a good scare. Maybe tell him they were going to be forced to lay off a few assistant editors because of a drop in circulation. Let the little bugger shake in his boots for a week or so.

The corners of the weighted-down papers snickered in the wind.

What could have done it? A bird? Certainly not vandals; the window was eighteen floors up.

“Damn,” she said again, taking her briefcase from the desk and leaving her office. “I can't work in here.” She stepped through the doorway and started to tell Jasmine she was going to the lounge but stopped when she saw a bald man leaning over Jasmine's desk.

“May I help you?” Miss Schuman asked.

The man looked up and smiled briefly. “Stella Schuman?"

“Yes."

“Detective Kenneth Riley, New York Police.” He showed her his badge and ID, then slipped them into his coat pocket. “Do you have a few minutes?"

“What can I do for you?"

“I need to ask you a ... could we go somewhere?"

“I'm on my way to the lounge right now.” To Jasmine: “Tell Chad I want to see him."

“He hasn't come in yet."

“Well, when he does."

When they started down the corridor, the detective asked, “Was that Chad Wilkes you were asking for?"

“Yes. Why?"

“He's the reason I need to talk with you."

“Good God,” she snapped, “what's he done?” Paper cup in hand, she approached the coffeepot.

“He's been murdered."

She turned to him with a start. “Are you sure?"

“Quite sure, Miss Schuman."

“In his apartment? On the street? Where?"

“In the rest room of a club called the Trench."

“Oh, Christ.” She filled her cup, suddenly angry. Chad had been unaware that she knew he was going to the Trench, but she'd been planning to strongly suggest he avoid the place. She'd often worried about what he might pick up from the little tarts he met there.

“When was the last time you talked to him?"

“Last night. In the early evening, really. We were supposed to get together and he called to back out."

“Get together?"

She eyed the detective as she sipped her coffee. “For dinner. We were going to discuss the possibility of introducing a new magazine. Does that matter?"

“No. Did he say why he was changing his plans?"

“No.” She sat at one of the tables.

“Miss Schuman, do you have any idea if Mr. Wilkes had any enemies that disliked him enough to kill him?"