Hunger, Part 4

Amber sat silently and searched her mind for some reaction. After the unease and discomfort (mixed with the persistent, unwilling fascination) that her seat companion had evoked, this latest revelation settled around her like a fog. She wanted to feel disbelief or — failing that — fear, but it was too late, and too much had happened to her. Her mind seemed to stumble over the consequences of this knowledge, going instead to worry over the inane and practical questions: “How does this work?” “What are the limitations?” “Do you have to sleep all day?” “How strong are you?”

She began to ask them hesitantly and he answered, more or less directly, but using the plural first person perspective, rather than the singular.

“Are there more of you?”  She asked, suddenly wondering who had received this offer before her.

He almost laughed at that. “A few; but don’t worry, my catling. The pride is not that big. It is hard for too many of us to share territory. And rest assured: you will shine among them.”

Her next question should have been, “What is your prey? Who is it?” but when she tried to hazard that thought her internal void began to churn again, so she asked instead, “How old are you?”

His smile flashed toothily again. “Old enough to have seen and traveled; to have remade myself in my own image; to have vanquished my enemies. Old enough to have learned languages, made fortunes, cultivated the rich and powerful, known my desires fulfilled…” He paused and his eyes shifted towards the window again, where the lights of San Francisco had appeared on either side of the highway, piling up on the horizon where the arching filaments of the Bay Bridge stretched like tendrils.

When he spoke again, it was as if he was talking to himself. “I remember when I first saw this city. It was nothing like it is now; the buildings that stood then, young as they were, would turn to rubble in a few years, and children’s grandchildren have grown old with offspring of their own since then. They pass away as quickly and meaninglessly as the leaves that barely turn color here. It is always a fresh memory for me, though…

Amber let his stories wash over her, taking in their promises of luxury, beauty, and power, with the sense that she was forcing her mental gaze away from their source, from the wellspring of his power.

There was always a price — but ignoring the price exacted from living flesh was one of the disciplines that the ballet world imparted to its students. One path to damnation seemed much like another.

When the bus finally pulled into the San Francisco terminal, she got up and, with a clear-eyed glance at the man beside her, left her duffle bag on her seat. Leaving the bus, she heard no sound of movement behind her, but as she stepped down to the curb she felt a hand on her shoulder and tried not to flinch. The man guided her with a light but possessive touch through the drab cavern of the terminal and out into the misty dark of the very early morning. The space in front of the terminal was almost deserted; the few other travelers dispersing quickly into the fog. Within moments a low, black car of a visibly expensive make had pulled up at the man’s booted toe.

He leaned forward and opened the backseat door, gesturing for her to get in. “Evening, Adele. I brought a new friend with me, just met on the ride up from the city of angels.”  He slid in after her. Amber blinked in the dimness, trying to make out the form of the driver, who was looking back from the front seat.

The man’s voice next to her sounded as if he was amused by some private joke. “Adele, this is Amber, a young woman whose,” he hesitated as if he was savoring the word, “hunger has distinguished her in my view.”  Amber felt a chill go through her when he mentioned the name she hadn’t told him, but it hardly felt like surprise. “Amber, this is Adele Trillot, my associate.”

“Did you have a busy time in LA, then — sir?” The woman’s voice was as low as his, smooth and husky, but there was a hint of bitterness in her tone, and the passive aggressive pause before the last, abrupt honorific suggested disgruntlement to Amber’s ear.

“Now, now, Adele;” the man sounded as if he was almost laughing again, “Did you get up on the wrong side of bed this evening?  I didn’t meet this young woman in the other city. As it turns out, we were seat partners on the ride up the coast. She…suggested herself to me, and I told her a little bit about the possibilities I saw in her.”  In the darkness, his hand brushed the back of Amber’s in another possessive little motion.

The girl gave a short laugh herself, but with very little amusement in it. She continued to look back over her shoulder at Amber. “Oh, he told you his stories, did he?  Did you ‘see his visage in his mind’?”

“Enough.”  The man’s voice was suddenly steely. “You’re not here to speak out of turn, Adele. When I want your input, then you will be allowed to give it. Now, please, drive us home.”

Adele’s didn’t reply, but her silhouette swiveled around with a toss of the shoulders expressive of distain. The car growled and surged away from the curb.

            They were quickly rocketing down streets Amber was grateful were near-empty. Adele drove recklessly, and Amber hoped that they would not cross paths with any cop trolling for late-night traffic violations. It was all she could do not to cringe as the vehicle lurched painfully around corners at unsettling speeds or ran stop signs without slowing. Beside her, though, her acquaintance sat imperturbably. Of course. He would probably walk away from a car crash — unless the car caught fire. She snuck a glance in his direction, trying, with her new knowledge, to perceive any differences in him.

            After cresting the last of the series of hills that defined downtown San Francisco (and nearly leaving Amber’s stomach behind in the process), Adele directed the car toward the northern part of the city, bringing them within a few minutes to wide, tree-lined streets. The car slowed suddenly and swerved towards the curb before jerking to a halt.