Crave by Karen E. Taylor Page A

me.”
    â€œWell,” Mitch gave him a grim look, “not per se.”
    Larry shrugged. “It hardly matters anyway. Now where was I?”
    â€œLeaving the morgue.”
    Larry gave Mitch one last glance, then concentrated his efforts on me once again. “When I got out onto the street, into the night, it was like something exploded in my head, turning me completely inside out. The way the air smelled, the way the people smelled of blood and flesh and perfume . . .” He put his head back for a minute, resting it on the couch and sighed deeply, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Oh, now that part’s probably worth everything else. You know, the way the city seems to touch your skin, the way the night seeps into you, filling you, completing you.”
    When Larry lifted his head, he looked first at me and then at Mitch; the air grew electric between the three of us. We were, for the first time since our lives intersected, in perfect concordance. “But I guess,” he said with a shaky, passionate laugh, “I don’t need to explain that to you, do I? You both know it as well as I do.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, the wineglass still carefully grasped between his palms. “I walked the streets that first night, not caring where or even what I was. Just enjoying the feeling of being alive again, you know, being aware. I was so wrapped up in my senses I forgot about sunrise; so involved with the strength and immortality of my new body I almost blew it.” His mouth twisted into a smile, mocking his newborn naiveté.
    â€œToo bad you didn’t.” Mitch’s harsh whisper carried clearly through the room.
    But Larry either didn’t hear Mitch’s statement or chose to ignore it. “Fortunately I was near a subway stop when the sun came up. I ran down the steps and hid out the day there, far enough into the tunnel so that I would be safe. I curled into a ball with my back to the entrance and slept. When I awoke at sunset, the whole process began again: the sensory barrage, the fascination with the strength of my body, the scent of the night, but this time there was something else, a closer, more intimate sensation. I realized suddenly that a pair of arms were wrapped around me, that a warm, human body was pressed into my back. I pried the arms from me and rolled over.
    â€œIt was an old woman, a street dweller by the looks of her. She was dirty, smelly, her clothes were ragged and filthy; by her head was a large bag, stuffed with more rags, odds and ends that she must have valued. As I looked closer I realized that she was not so much old as used up, her face was dirt-streaked, but unwrinkled and her hair had only a little bit of gray mixed into the greasy brown. Her mouth was hanging open, she was snoring softly, and her breath stunk of alcohol. I figured she must have stumbled into the tunnel some time during the day, seen me and passed out beside me, taking comfort from the only sort of human contact she could have. Or,” his eyes acquired a manic gleam, and he shrugged, grinning, “maybe she had the hots for my body. Who knows? Anyway, I reached over and shook her. She mumbled in her sleep, put an arm up around my neck and pulled my mouth down to hers.
    â€œAnd then,” Larry’s voice began to shake, and I shuddered, “then, the hunger struck me. At first I thought it was a sexual thing, you know, her mouth was working on me, kissing me and I got hard, real hard. I started to undress her, strip her down through the many layers of dirty rags. By the time she was completely naked, she was half-awake, her eyes were open and she gave me a sort of sleepy smile. Her skin was almost clean where it’d been covered, and most of the bad odors had been removed, tossed away with her clothes. And I wanted her, or something, so very bad I couldn’t control myself. Didn’t care about anything but fulfilling the desire