The Need Page 5

  “It came and almost immediately afterward, I saw her begin to dim. First the light faded from her eyes, and what were once crystal looked more like gray-black coal. Her rosy lips paled into the lifeless hue of day-old dead worms and the crimson that had been in her cheeks and neck sunk into her now whitened flesh, dying out like an echo.

  “Her grip on my hips loosened until her hands fell off my body and her arms dropped beside her. Because her mouth was still opened, I heard the death rattle in her throat. Suddenly her body quivered and was still.

  “I dismounted, dressed, and left her lying there looking like a once beautiful lily pressed and dried between the pages of a book. My body was still electric, every part of me tingling, the taste of her still very strong on my lips, the scent of her still pungent in my nostrils. I knew I was carrying her off with me, that I had absorbed her like some sponge, and the process of digesting and assimilating her into me had just begun.”

  “Christ,” Detective Mayer said grimacing, “what a disgusting description. But I don’t understand, did he strangle her to death, suffocate her? What?”

  “You don’t understand,” I repeated. “I told you, we draw out the very essence of life, the energy, that which makes your heart beat. We do just what Richard is describing: absorb you.”

  He shook his head.

  “We need it. It’s what keeps us young and alive. That’s why I said we feed upon you.”

  Detective Mayer stared at me, still not fully understanding.

  “Listen,” I said and read on.

  “Never did the world look as bright, did colors seem as vivid, did the breeze feel as warm, did the sky look as blue as it did when I stepped out of her apartment house. I filled my lungs with the air and walked away feeling more powerful and alive than ever before.

  “Now I was eager to talk to one of my own, and for the first time, regretted that I couldn’t draw Clea out of me and keep myself intact at the same time. I wanted to confide in her, to be a brother to her and have her be a sister to me. But she was asleep, somewhere deep within my androgynous being, waiting for her time.

  “However, in that moment I understood something, something that was very exciting to me. There would be a moment when we would pass one another during the metamorphosis. She would be emerging and I would be submerging, but we would cross and in those seconds of transition, perhaps we would confront one another and look at one another and understand who we really were.

  “Shakespeare, one of the greatest inferior authors, wrote, ‘The eye sees not itself, but by reflection.’ But inferior that he was, how was he to know that our eyes can be turned inward and even if only for a split second, we would see who we truly are.”

  I sat back to catch my breath, for whenever I read those words, they flashed Richard’s face before me and made me relive the moment he was describing.

  “Are you all right?” Detective Mayer asked.

  “In a moment.”

  “Let me get you something else to drink … coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Just black.”

  I sat back and closed my eyes. The moment I did so, I heard Richard calling. I tried to ignore him, but his voice echoed through every organ and traveled through my blood until he reached the chambers of my heart.

  “You can’t do this. You need me. Call me, seek me, do it now,” he pleaded. But I drove him back and pressed my palms against my ears.

  “Hey, hey, are you all right?” Detective Mayer said, returning.

  I gasped and nodded. He handed me the coffee.

  “Take it easy, relax. We’ve got time.”

  “Not as much as you think,” I said between sips of coffee. “Richard will keep trying to return, to prevent me from confessing.”

  “Let him return. I’ll handle him,” the detective said with an inferior’s stupid arrogance. I shook my head. They will never be able to overcome us, I thought. Richard was right about that.

  “You want to go on, or…”

  “No, I’ll continue,” I said firmly. I was determined to crash through the wall of skepticism and stupidity. I drank some more coffee and then turned back to Richard’s diary. Detective Mayer sat down again, his pen poised above the yellow pad, his face masked with sympathy, but his eyes betraying his eagerness to achieve something concrete and make his precious arrest.

  “Janice had metamorphosed into Dimitri before I returned. Wisdom and experience told her I would need to share my experience with the male viewpoint, a father figure.”

  “Excuse me,” the detective said. “You’re saying his mother, your mother, turned into a man, just like you say you turn into Richard, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now clear something up for me here, if you please. Is this Dimitri your father? Richard’s father?”

  “My actual father was an Androgyne I had never met, nor ever would. For one thing, Janice was not positive as to who he was.”

  “How many guys did she sleep with the same week?” Mayer asked.

  “It’s not that,” I replied. “An androgynous female does not become pregnant in the same way an inferior female does. Because of our ability to metamorphose, the male sperm could remain dormant in the female Androgyne for some time and then suddenly fertilize an egg and start the development of a fetus. A female Androgyne could make love with a dozen different androgynous men in the interim.”

  “Sounds like roulette. Also sounds like you guys don’t care whether you know who the father of your child is or not. Am I right?” the detective asked.

  “Since we don’t live together as man and wife and since the male has no obligations, it doesn’t matter.

  “Of course, once an androgynous female becomes pregnant, she can no longer metamorphose until months after giving birth. The gestation period is the same and the birth is the same as it is for the inferior females. Any physician can deliver the child, and in no way will the androgynous infant appear androgynous to the nurses or doctors. Earlier in this century and before, it would prove to be difficult for an androgynous female to give birth as a single, unmarried woman; but with the radical changes in morality that have taken place in the inferior society, it no longer proves to be a problem. Before this, androgynous men, even perhaps the very one who impregnated the female, would pretend to be the husband and father.

  “But to answer your question more fully, let me say every androgynous male is a father and every androgynous female is a mother, so I had no difficulty considering Dimitri as my father, nor did Richard.”

  The detective nodded, his eyes glistening. He was confused, but intrigued. I knew that he was still humoring me, but his skepticism was beginning to melt. Until it did, his doubt like a block of ice imprisoned his realization of how significant this all was.

  “Richard continues,” I said and read. “Dimitri smiled knowingly when I entered the house. He was in the living room reading the evening paper and waiting for me.

  “‘There is no need for you to tell me,’ he began. ‘It went well. I can see it in your eyes.’

  “‘Yes, it went very well,’ I said, unable to contain my excitement any longer. He laughed as I rushed into the room. I didn’t sit down. I paced back and forth, describing how I had heard her laugh, envisioned her body, and pursued. He sat back, listening attentively, experiencing it all vicariously, reliving his own first hunt through mine. ‘There was never any hesitation on my part,’ I said. ‘I knew just what to do, what to say. I felt … felt as if I had rehearsed the part, the dialogue and action for hundreds of years, even thousands…’

  “‘You have,’ he said, growing serious. ‘Through your ancestors, and as I can see, you have proven to be a descendant in whom they could be proud.’

  “I nodded, happy for the compliment, but he sensed something in my face.

  “‘Yet something troubles you about it?’

  “There was that moment of remorse. I described my feeling when I looked back at her, a corpse, her bed already serving her as a coffin, the bed s
heet her shroud. She looked as if she would decay right before my eyes. Perhaps that was why I rushed away.

  “‘Their deterioration is very rapid after our feeding,’ Dimitri explained. ‘In time you will be able to tolerate it. Some of us even enjoy seeing it,’ he added and I sensed that he had become one who did.

  “‘Enjoy?’

  “‘There is an added sense of power when one realizes that he has done this … he has caused this whole process to begin. But for now, you are like a young boy who has shot his first deer … thrilled with the kill, but still trembling from the realization that it was you, and solely you, who has made the kill. It will pass quickly,’ he assured me. ‘And now,’ he said, standing, ‘I know you are very hungry, right?’

  “‘Starving.’

  “He laughed.

  “‘Janice has prepared something for us. We’ll have dinner and you’ll describe the rest of it to me … how you felt making love, how she was … all of it, every vivid detail.’

  “‘Yes, I want to do that,’ I said. ‘I have this need to talk and talk about it.’

  “‘I understand.’ He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. After Janice had metamorphosed into Dimitri, he had showered and put on the new Giorgio cologne he purchased on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills the day before yesterday. I rather liked the scent and thought I would use it myself whenever Clea became Richard. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said, almost in a whisper. ‘It will be a wonderful life. You will see.’ His eyes watered with happiness.

  “‘There is so much I feel I have yet to learn, so much I have to know,’ I told him.

  “‘Yes, yes. And you will, and quickly too. Unlike the inferiors, you do not have to duplicate a foolish experience in order to appreciate why it is foolish. You do not have to learn it all for yourself; you benefit from your ancestors and that is a large part of what makes you so superior to the inferiors.’

  “‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s something I already understand.’

  “‘Good. Come, let’s eat.’

  “‘But tell me, Dimitri,’ I said, ‘will all that I know become something Clea will know too?’

  “‘Some of it, yes,’ he said. ‘But I can’t tell you to what extent. It differs for each Androgyne.’ His eyes became small, his gaze penetrating. He searched my face as if he were examining it for any visible signs of Clea’s soon to come emergence. Satisfied that she was still submerged beneath my identity, he smiled. ‘But don’t let any of that worry you. I assure you, Clea is as capable as you are and she will be someone in whom we will all be as proud.’

  “I nodded and followed him into the kitchen, but something told me it wouldn’t be exactly as he predicted. Perhaps it was Clea, deep inside me, already challenging some of my feelings and thoughts, for we were different; perhaps more different than the counterparts of any Androgyne. I couldn’t help being afraid for her.

  “And, when I say I was afraid for her, you must understand … of course … I was afraid for myself.”

  I looked up from the diary, the tears burning my eyes. For a long moment, the detective stared. Then he sat back.

  “This parent, mother, father, whatever, encouraged Richard to kill, congratulated him on it?”

  “Of course. From Janice’s point of view, it meant she had a normal child.”

  I looked away.

  “But you didn’t like it,” the detective said, seizing upon my hesitation, “did you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, wouldn’t your people consider you a freak, a failure then?” he asked with that impish grin, a grin I was beginning to despise.

  “Yes. Once my weakness became clear, they tried to help me. We care for each other a great deal.”

  “Did they help you?”

  “Yes and no. You will understand when I tell you the rest of my story,” I said.

  He stared at me a moment.

  “Would you agree to my having the police psychiatrist sit in?” he finally asked.

  “You haven’t believed anything I’ve told you, have you?”

  “I believe your brother is a psychotic killer, yes. And maybe the realization has affected you too.”

  I sat back. I could hear Richard’s arrogant, “I told you so.” Perhaps the only way I could get this man to believe me was to metamorphose, but once I did that, Richard would be in control and he would never permit me to return.

  I closed the diary and put it back into my pocketbook. Then I stood up.

  “What are you doing?” the detective asked.

  “I don’t want to waste any more of my time,” I said.

  “Now wait a minute,” he called. I didn’t pause. I opened the door and left him and walked quickly out of the police station, fleeing from Richard’s confident laughter, which trailed behind me like cans tied to a terrified dog’s tail.

  I knew it was just a matter of time before he would encroach upon my thoughts and creep into my consciousness until I was thinking more and more as he.

  Then, instead of my burying him inside me forever, he would bury me inside him.

  THREE

  I DROVE HOME, speeding up the Pacific Coast Highway as if I were being pursued. I even gazed into my rearview mirror from time to time as if I expected to see Richard driving our Mercedes sedan, his front bumper practically touching the rear bumper of my 580 SL convertible. I had the top down and the wind had its way with my hair.

  The beaches were crowded and the ocean was calm, the white caps foamy and inviting. When I stopped at a traffic light, I could hear the happy peal of children’s laughter until it was devoured by the heavy beat of rap music preceding the line of oncoming traffic. A van with two Mexican teenagers rolled by, both of them struggling to get a clearer view of me.

  The light changed and I continued toward Malibu. Heavier traffic slowed me down. The frustration continued to build, closing up like a fist just under my breasts, tightening harder and harder until I could feel the tension travel down through my stomach and into my legs. Richard was in a rage. He was like a man thrown into solitary confinement, pounding on the dark, heavy walls of his cell, screaming threats.

  “Be still, my love,” I whispered. “I’m putting you to rest. It won’t be much longer.”

  I turned off the highway and climbed the mountain road that twisted like a corkscrew up the mountains to my house that overlooked the coast. My property had a gate and was walled in with hedges ten feet high. I pressed a button on my dash and the gate swung open slowly, gracefully, or as Richard had written, “like the Pearly Gates.”

  Of course, the sedan was where I had left it in the morning in our three-car garage, right beside the white ’58 Thunderbird, Richard’s toy. I got out quickly and headed into the house. It was Sylvia’s day off so there would be no one to interrupt or disturb me.

  I had a plan.

  I must remove everything that belonged to Richard, cut him out of my life as skillfully as a surgeon cuts away a cancer. If I had nothing that reminded me of him staring me in the face, perhaps I could succeed in keeping him buried.

  I went directly to his room and pulled out the suitcases from the closet. Then, without folding them neatly or taking any great care, I began to yank Richard’s clothing off the racks in his walk-in closet and stuff them into suitcases. When there were no more suitcases, I ran out to the kitchen storage room and located some garbage bags. I returned with them and continued to stuff his shirts, pants and jackets into bags. I filled one with all his shoes and then I attacked his dresser, pulling out the drawers and emptying their contents on the floor. When I had it all dumped, I got on my knees and began stuffing the garments into bags.

  A small packet of letters I had never seen had fallen out of one of the drawers. It had been buried under his socks. A lightning chill shot up my spine when I picked them up because I recognized the handwriting.

  “Can’t be,” I muttered. “Can’t be.”

  An echo of laughter reverberated through the chambers of my heart
.

  “No!” I threw the packet back to the floor and stood up. I didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to read any of it. I would ignore it, I told myself. The laughter sounded again, more ridiculing, more challenging than before. I shook my head and backed away.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Richard whispered in the back of my mind. “You have to know. Pick up the packet and read. Do it.”

  I had to show him I could resist him any time I wanted. I took a deep breath and plucked the packet off the floor as quickly and as sharply as a bat snatching an insect out of the darkness. Then, without letting my eyes fall on it, I dropped it into a garbage bag, holding it out as if it were something that could contaminate me.

  That done, I went around the room gathering up Richard’s artifacts, tearing pictures off the walls, even valuable art he had bought in Laguna Beach. I gathered up his collection of pewter and crystal figures, all replicas of mythical creatures and wizards. There was a pewter castle with windows made of crystal, the centerpiece of a collection he had begun during his trip to Carmel five years ago. The collection itself took up nearly an entire garbage bag.

  After that I went into his bathroom and collected all his soaps and colognes, his after-shave lotions, his razor and hair brushes. I threw in his monogrammed towels and washcloths. I left nothing in the cabinets, not even the top to a tube of toothpaste because it had been his toothpaste.

  Finally, I stood back and perused his room. He had a room as large as mine with windows that looked out over the ocean. Unlike me, he had never brought a lover here. He was very particular about his things, especially his personal things. He would never let anyone use his hair brush or even wipe his hands with one of his towels. He couldn’t tolerate anyone so much as stepping into his room, much less crawling into his bed or using his bathroom, and he forbade Sylvia to come in to clean it. That was something he did himself.