Hunger Read Free Page B

had too much to drink, found this room and passed out.” He nodded vacantly and I knew the suggestion would work. “You will sleep for a while, then be awake and alert when you hear a knock at the door.” His eyes slowly closed and he began to snore.
    I went to the door and opened it. The noise from the bar was subdued and checking my watch I discovered that it was past closing hour. I could hear the faint clash of glasses and knew that the staff was hurriedly clearing tables so they could get home early. Bill should make his exit soon, I decided and knocked upon the door.
    â€œMr. Andrews?” I queried.
    â€œYes, that’s me.” He sat up and looked around. Seeing me, he smiled weakly and with no recognition in his eyes. “Sorry, I must have passed out here,” he said sheepishly.
    â€œNo problem,” I countered. “Max asked me to find you—we’re closing now. There will be cabs waiting outside if you want one.”
    â€œThank you, I will.” He collected his tie and jacket, checked for his wallet and with a final vague smile, walked slowly down the hallway to the exit. I heard Larry say goodnight to him then waited until I heard the cab drive away. I collected my coat and left through a side door.
    I did not need to take a cab. The cold was exhilarating and I was so full of stolen life that I wanted to walk and run and dance in the darkened streets. The night was my element. I, of all people in the city, could walk in its beauty without fear.
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    The next afternoon I ventured into the streets again, this time with more risk. The exposure of my flesh for just a few seconds to the sun would result in a severe burn and extreme sickness. It had happened a few times and was not an experience I cared to repeat. Still, the day was overcast and I had been rejuvenated through the feeding of last evening, and so, armed with sunglasses, gloves and a large hat to shield my face, I was relatively safe. Perversely, I enjoyed taking the risk, merely for the human feel of walking in the daylight.
    As I walked I noticed that the store windows had been decorated for Christmas and I felt a wave of sadness at the season’s too sudden approach. The trappings of today seemed so garish compared to those of my youth: the softly glowing candles, the handmade decorations and the warm red fire, all against a backdrop of pure white snow. There was always snow, and ebony night skies, so beautiful and icy that they could make you laugh for joy. Now all was neon and glittering, even nativity scenes seemed gaudy, embellished with flashing lights. Christmas was, for me, a dismal time made bitter by memories, parents long dead, friends aged or aging, and others, more dear, irretrievably lost. A tear slowly snaked its way down my cheek and I brushed it away impatiently; it would be blood-tinged, I knew, and would stand out angrily on my face. With the practice of all too many years, I pushed my emotions aside, replaced them with considerations of here and now.
    The walk to the office was short, only five city blocks. I entered the building, showed my I.D. and signed in. Once on the elevator, I removed my gloves, hat and sunglasses; any light that would reach me now would be artificial, and my lenses were more than adequate protection. The elevator jolted to a stop on the 29th floor and opened to the glass doors of our reception area. Griffin Designs had exclusive use of the top two floors.
    Gwen was talking to the receptionist as I walked in. She smiled a warm welcome, but the other woman jumped guiltily, murmured a good afternoon and immersed herself in some work behind her massive marble desk. This desk was my favorite piece of furniture, supported as it was with two large onyx statues of griffins, but it was really too decorative for my personal use, so it stood here, to impress our customers. I laughed inwardly at myself; I was no different from the doormen of the world, I just made more