Many Bloody Returns Part 43

"You'll look like yourself, only more beautiful. Any wrinkles will vanish. Any physical flaws will disappear. You'll quickly attain your ideal weight. Our people are never fat."

Vampirism-the ultimate low-fat diet. I wanted to smile. But suddenly, I couldn't joke. The changes were profound, and

frightening. "I'll never be able to eat food again." I felt a sudden desperate pain at what I would have to give up.

"Do you eat now?" Michael said.

The question seemed ridiculous. "Of course," I said.

"But do you like what you eat? Do you actually hunger for carrot sticks? Do you long for steamed broccoli and romaine with diet

dressing?" He put his warm lips next to my ear and whispered, "When was the last time you had food you really wanted?"

I thought of the meals of my youth, when I could eat anything: fried chicken and cheeseburgers, crispy French fries lightly sprinkled with salt, hot fudge sundaes with warm whipped cream, crusty bread and b.u.t.ter.

"You haven't had any of those in years, have you?" Michael said.

He could read my mind. I knew that now.

"You'll never experience the pain of dieting again," he said. "You will have no need for ordinary food. You will drink the food of

the G.o.ds. Blood is offered to them as a sacrifice. You will take it for your own pleasure. It is a thrill you cannot imagine. You will

still hunger, but now you will be satisfied. You are hungry, aren't you? Even now, after your supper of skinless chicken."

"Yes." The pale, pathetic hunk of bird nearly turned my stomach. "I can do good, too," I said. "I can feed on those who deserve to die."

His eyes were suddenly darker, and I realized he was angry. "No! You must embrace the dark side like a lover. Any good you do will be accidental."

"But Jack-" I began.

"When Rosette killed that bloodsucking lawyer, she made a lot of scorned wives happy. But Jack will be mourned by his daughter. Randall killed the IRS agent because she'd been auditing his books. She nearly drove him crazy, and he was innocent.

But she was the sole support of her elderly mother. And, irritating though she was, the agent was an honest woman.

"You cannot fool yourself into believing that you will only feed on serial killers or child molesters. That is romantic nonsense.

"You are evil and you must choose it. Your killing will not make the world a better place. We kill for revenge, for sport, for reasons that are impossibly petty. Marissa once killed a dress shop clerk on Las Olas because she wouldn't wait on her."

"So you've killed more people in Fort Lauderdale than Jack and the IRS agent?" I said.

"Many more," Michael said. "The details about the other bodies being exsanguinated did not make the papers. The police try to

hide that information. When it becomes public, then it's time for us to leave. That's why we're going tomorrow night."

"What happened to the other bodies?"

Michael said nothing. He didn't have to. I realized we were looking at the wide black ocean.

"Where will you go when you leave?" I said.

"The south of France," he said. "I have a cottage by the sea. The air smells of lavender and the sound of the waves is wonderfully

soothing."

A small sigh escaped me. He was offering me such a beautiful life.

"Why me?" I asked. "There are millions of women like me, a little past our prime, abandoned by our husbands."

"Do you define yourself only by your husband?" he asked. "I don't think so. Americans have such boring ideas about age. Older

cultures celebrate all aspects of a woman's life. Americans only want youth, which can be the dullest time. I prefer a woman who

has lived.

"And you are not like the others. You are strong. You have resisted the lemminglike urge for plastic surgery. It's became a

national obsession, but you fought it, even though it cost you your marriage and your comfortable life. You knew it wasn't the right choice for you. That takes courage. You know who you are. Do you know what you are?"

For the first time, I knew I was someone special.

He took my hand. "I'd like you to join us," he said. "I want you. Now that you know, you have only two choices: join us or die."

"May I have twenty-four hours? I have some loose ends to tie up."

"Yes. But, remember, no one will believe you if you go to the police. And we will be gone before they can get a search warrant."

"I would never betray you," I said. "You've already helped me. Did you encourage Rosette to kill Jack? For my sake?"

"I wish I could take credit," Michael said. "But Jack was her idea. Still, I'm glad it helped you."

Then he kissed my hand. "You have much to think about," he said. "I hope you make the right decision."

I left him feeling oddly lighthearted for a woman whose only choice was death: my real death, the living death of middle age, or the

death-in-life of a vampire.

I slept well that night, or what was left of it. Then, at five-thirty, I was awakened by Eric slamming doors and opening drawers. He

had four white shirts in plastic bags. I'd picked up those shirts for him from the best laundry in Lauderdale, prepared precisely the way he liked: hangers, no starch.

I sat up groggily in bed. "From now on," I said, "have your s.l.u.t pick up your laundry. That's the last errand I'm running for you."

"Don't you dare call Dawn that," Eric said.

"Dawn! What kind of name is that? Has it dawned on you how trite you are?" My bitterness burst like a lanced boil, and I was

screaming like a fishwife. My husband yelled right back.

Our argument was interrupted by a pounding on our front door. Marvin, our condo security guard, was standing on the doorstep.

He looked embarra.s.sed. "I'm sorry," he said. "But there have been complaints about the noise."

We both apologized to the guard. Now my humiliation was complete. Eric walked out a few minutes later, clutching his fresh shirts

by the hangers. "You'll hear from my lawyer," he said.

That was it. That was how he ended our quarter-century marriage, the day before my birthday.

He'd forgotten that, of course. He couldn't even say, "I'm sorry, I've found someone else." Eric wasn't sorry, was he? But he

would be.

I watched the sun rise on the last morning of my life. The new morning turned the air a pearlescent pink, and a shimmering fog drifted across the water. White birds skimmed along the Intracoastal. I will never see this beauty again, I thought. But I didn't have time to wallow in regret. I had things to do. I stopped at a diner for a last, lavish breakfast. The young, busty waitress was too busy flirting with a table full of businessmen to pay any attention to me. I could hear the cook ringing the bell in the kitchen. When the waitress finally brought my breakfast, the eggs had congealed to rubber and the home fries were coated with grease.

"This food is cold," I said to the waitress.

"Huh?" she said, as if she'd just noticed me for the first time. Once again, I was the incredible, invisible middle-aged woman.

"I'll get the cook to warm it up," she said.

"Never mind," I said. "I'm not hungry after all."

I threw some money on the table and left. I'd lost my taste for food.

At ten o'clock, I was weeping in my lawyer's office. The tears came easily, and they weren't entirely false. Only the accusations

were made up.

"Please help me," I sobbed. "My husband is divorcing me. He has a new girlfriend and he hates me. They're fighting about how soon they can get married. I'm in the way. I'm afraid Eric will harm me."

"Harm you how?" the lawyer said.

She would look perfect on the witness stand during Eric's murder trial, I thought. She was serious enough for the women to

believe her, but s.e.xy enough to get the men's attention. There was something about her tailored black suit, tightly pulled-back hair, and horn-rimmed gla.s.ses that made men wonder what she'd look like without them.

"K-kill me," I said. "Eric doesn't let anyone stand in his way."

"Have there been any threats?" the lawyer said.

"Nothing in front of witnesses," I said. "But we had a terrible fight this morning, and he said he'd kill me if I didn't give him a divorce and...I'm so embarra.s.sed. Condo security had to knock on our door."

"That's good," the lawyer said. "I mean, it's not good, but it will help."