Irene lay on her couch, staring up at the ceiling, an open book placed across her chest. She had been limiting her contact even before Amber's warning. However, now she was not even daring to go for jogs or attend school. A loud sigh relieved itself from her tight chest. I wish whatever was going to happen would happen already. I can't keep my life on pause indefinitely.
"But just what is happening?" Irene asked herself out loud. Hearing a voice, even her own, kept her grounded in reality. Her arm hung over the edge of the couch, her knuckles brushing against the carpet lightly. "And why did Cyrus change his tune so suddenly? Because I tried to expose him? Why not just kill me? He didn't kill them either, like he threatened. Why?" She pressed her face into a pillow and let out a long, frustrated moan. Lifting her head she curled in her lips. "This is going nowhere!"
Feeling a need for some distraction, Irene got up and turned the radio on.
"-they found officers Collins and Kranvjak dead, with their throats torn out. Officer Tom Bateman, first on the scene, was cited as saying that the "scene of the crime looked like a slaughterhouse." The death of these two officers is a grave matter, and police are working around the clock to bring the perpetrators to justice. There were other remains at the scene, forensics are still determining if they are, in fact, human."
Irene gasped and turned the radio up. Has it begun?
"One other body besides the officers was found. Identity is currently being established. More updates will come at the six o'clock news. This is Jennifer Ha-"
CLICK.
Irene got up and began pacing. Officers are getting killed. Was this carelessness, or escalation? "Will I be next? Did I cause this?" Irene's guts wrenched and squirmed with the ominous feeling that came over her. Everything was building up to something bigger than her troubles. "How on Earth did I land myself in the middle of a vampire revolution?"
Knock, knock, knock.
Irene's hand leapt to her chest, her heart to her throat. She hesitated, but then finally made her way to the door. Trembling, she opened it a few inches to peer through the gap. Standing there was Amber. Irene opened the door the rest of the way.
Amber did not make a move to come in. "You need t-t-to leave. Gabriel has some human followers that will b-b-be coming for you soon."
"What? Where am I supposed to go?" Irene asked, cold chills running through her spine.
"I'd let you stay with me, b-but I don't think D-dad would b-b-be happy ab-b-bout that..." Amber muttered apologetically.
Irene crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at Amber, but her expression softened when she looked down and saw the younger girl pulling her sleeves down over a red blotch with a purple ulceration at the center. Is that... a cigarette burn? I remember when mother left one of those on Dad after a fight.
"What about your vampire ally? Did she have any suggestions?" Irene asked.
Amber lowered her head. "She… she didn't have t-t-time to t-t-tell me much," she glanced around nervously. "Sorry b-but I need t-to go. Good luck." The skittish teen quickly turned away, and shuffled along the driveway with a slight limp.
Irene sighed and shook her head. Amber clearly has her own problems, and I needn't add to them. But how will I know what places are safe?
Irene angrily grabbed her shoes and shoved her feet into them, tying the laces with unnecessary force. There wasn't much time to think of where to go. She made sure to grab the envelope of emergency cash, an overnight bag, and a few toiletries. Lastly, she took down the mistletoe from her bedroom door and placed it in a sachet which she tucked into one of the side compartments of her bag.
A short bus ride later, Irene walked the short distance to the Crowe residence. The rain had returned in full force, and she was drenched by the time she arrived. As she suspected, the driveway was empty. Nonetheless, she walked up to the porch and knocked. After waiting five minutes, she peered into the house. Everything was dark.
Irene peeked into the mailbox, which was full. Stomach lurching, Irene knelt down by an old pot filled with dirt, some decrepit remains of what once was a bushy plant spilling over one side. She dug around until her fingers clasped around a spare house key. She brushed it off, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and unlocked the front door. Hopefully they'll understand if I let myself in. Even with this thought, she didn't feel right about entering uninvited.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Silence.
Irene shut and locked the door, then took off her wet coat and shoes. She immediately went to their old wood stove, thankful that despite the landlords stating they needed to have it removed for insurance purposes, they hadn't got around to it. Once she had a cozy fire started, she took a moment to think about her next move.
How will I know when it's safe to go home? What do I tell Mrs. Crowe if she comes back? No doubt she took time off work and is in Surrey with Merle. Probably cheaper to stay there than to commute daily, the way gas prices have been. Irene peeled off her soggy socks and laid them atop the wood stove, sighing deeply. She kept expecting to hear the front door open and shut, and either a worn out and stressed Mrs. Crowe, or one of Gabriel's lackeys that somehow tracked her here. After all, somehow Cyrus had managed to find her here before. How did he know I was here anyway?
Once adequately dry and warm, Irene walked into Merle's room. She'd spent many nights there. She fell onto Merle's unmade bed with a loud sigh and stared at the ceiling. "Merle, I hope Gloria and Marci are able to uphold their part. I hope you'll be home soon. There's so much I can tell you now."
Irene rolled onto her side, laying her head on the pillow. It smelled like it hadn't been washed in some time. She sat up. "Well might as well make myself useful."
Having something else to focus on was a relief. Irene began to strip down Merle's bedding. While doing so, a photograph fell out from under the pillow. Irene flipped it over, taken aback to see Jordan's face staring back at her. "Oh... Merle."
The signs were all there. I chose to ignore them. Merle has a crush on Jordan after all. Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose, her chest feeling tight. How hard it must have been to keep cheerful whenever she saw us together. I really didn't give her enough credit - she must have been trying so hard to be a good friend.
Irene held the photo to her heart as it throbbed harder. "Jordan... I hope you're okay, wherever you are. I'm sorry I held us back for so long." She held out the picture again staring at his smirking face. It was a cute, charming, smirk, always on the side with the nicer dimple. Not like the smug and sleazy smirks Cyrus gave. "I'm not ready to lose you. But I'm not ready... for anything else, either. And I'm tired of the world trying to tell me how to love."
Are you so different from the world? You keep telling Cyrus how he loves is wrong.
Irene furrowed her eyebrows together as the disquieting thought popped into her mind. "But he doesn't love anyone but himself!"
Then why am I still alive?
With a frustrated huff, Irene slammed the photograph down on Merle's nightstand and then resumed stripping her bedding with agitated vigor. I'll drive myself mad if I keep thinking about these things. With everything in need of washing bundled up in her arms, she stormed out of Merle's bedroom.
Sore but fulfilled, and more importantly, mind empty, Irene sat down on the old green couch in the Crowe's living room. She had only intended to wash Merle's bedding, but then the mold-crusted dishes in the sink got on her nerves. One thing led to another. While it was far from pristine, she had never seen their kitchen look so tidy.
Irene flicked on the television. Just as she was settling down, the doorbell rang. Needles of anxiety pounced on her, but quickly subsided when her brain caught up with the situation. She had ordered a pizza.
Irene was taken aback when she opened the door. The fake tan, the curly yellow hair, the banal expression. This was the same pizza delivery girl she'd assumed Cyrus killed. But there she stood, in fine health.
Irene tried on a half smile and dug the twenty dollar bill out of her pocket. "Keep the change." She didn't really feel like waiting for the correct amount to be fished out of her belly pouch.
"Thanks," came a rather insincere response. Since the pizza cost nearly $20, the change wasn't much of a tip. But Irene didn't really care at the moment. She took the pizza and shut the door.
Just how many victims has Cyrus let live? Irene set the pizza down on the table and plopped down. She stared blankly at the colourful cardboard box, then rested her head in her hands. Is it all some sort of game? Sparing women, and making them feel they are somehow special?
The sound of a car moving away brought Irene out of her thoughts. She stared out the window as the sound quickly vanished into the distance. "Whatever his game is, Gabriel isn't playing. But what do I do about that?" She sighed and lifted the lid of the pizza, trying to rediscover the appetite she worked up after an evening of chores. The colourful display of vegetables loaded on a layer of salami, combined with the cheesy aroma did the trick.
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This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
After gobbling down cold pizza as a late lunch, Irene got herself ready and packed. With time to think about it, she didn't feel right staying at Merle's house much longer. It was her fault Merle got involved in this ordeal. She also wanted to go back and check on Silver. She left in such a rush, she didn't even fill the poor animal's bowl.
"Dear girl is going to develop abandonment issues at this rate..."
Adhering to her circumspect nature, Irene took a longer and more unusual route home. She came up to the rear of her property. Her house never had a fence around the backyard, often just defined by a row of trees. It was from one such tree that she peered at her house for signs of activity. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she rushed to the back of the house, and peered in through the windows. Her vision was blotted by blinds, but the warp of them allowed her to see enough.
The living room didn't seem to be in any particular disarray. She snuck to the kitchen window. There was an overturned chair, and the walk-in pantry door was left open. She knew she always kept it closed, and did not recall knocking over any chairs in her haste. Someone had been in her house. From the kitchen window she could see straight through to the front door, which was ajar. That confirmed it.
Irene took several slow breaths until she could maintain very shallow, silent respiration. Carefully, she walked around to the side of her house, peering around the corner to see if anyone was still lingering. There was a car parked across the street. Is someone in there, watching to see if I return? No matter how much she squinted and focused, she could not tell if someone was in the car.
Rustle.
Irene froze.
"Mew."
Rumbling of a loud purr could be heard, and Irene let her breath out slowly. Silver wove between her legs. "Not now!" she whispered as she moved away from the corner, fearful that she would be spotted if she lingered.
Trying not to trip over her affectionate ally, Irene tip-toed to the back of the house, hiding among the branches of the old fir tree that grew closest to the house. Once she felt adequately sheltered, she knelt down and gave Silver the demanded pets and chin scratches.
"Merrow."
"I wish you could tell me about the people who came here, and if they are still around," Irene whispered. Silver cooed like a pigeon in response.
Relieved that Silver was alright, Irene walked around to the other side of the house. There she discovered her father's bedroom window was broken, and likely the point of entry. They must have broken in here, then unlocked the door from the inside.
Irene approached the window and peered in. No one was there. But there was mud tracked on the floor. If I can just get inside and call the police, that will hopefully scare them off. She hoisted herself up, intent on crawling through the window. A sharp sting bit into her stomach; she didn't notice a small shard of glass still poking up from the window track. Biting her lip so as not to scream, she tumbled into her fathers room. She lifted up her shirt, seeing a streak of blood. Just great. I'll deal with that in a moment.
Shuffling quietly and stepping over the creakiest portions of the floor, Irene arrived at the kitchen. She crouched low to avoid being seen through the windows until she reached the phone. Hurriedly, she dialed the police. Crouched on the floor she waited for the dispatcher to answer.
"9-1-1. What's your emergency and location?"
Irene whispered her address, shuffling under the table as far as the cord would reach. "There's been a break in. I think someone is still out there, watching my house. Please send help."
Whatever the operator said next, Irene did not catch. She heard footsteps on the porch and froze. "Hurry!" she said frantically into the receiver then hung it up. She crawled into the pantry, holding her knees close to her chest. Sure enough, she heard the creak of the door and footsteps in the narrow foyer.
"I'm sure I saw movement in here... you go round back, I'll check."
Irene did not recognise the woman's voice. Why did I have to come back? Silver would have been fine for a few days...
I need a weapon. All the obvious choices such as knives, rolling pins, and pans were out in the kitchen. Instead Irene was faced with an old sack of flour that hadn't been touched in ages, boxes of dried pasta, jars of sauce, and canned goods. She grabbed a can of refried beans. Holding her breath, the sound of footsteps constantly teased her, starting and stopping, moving away and moving closer.
All became silent. Were they gone? But the footsteps sounded too close. Irene swallowed hard, gripping the can tighter with her left hand. Open swung the bifold door and Irene looked up at the silhouette of a solid-person. Immediately, she slammed the can into the trespasser's knee. Profanities were howled as a woman fell forward. In a panic, Irene scrambled, half crawling half running, past the woman. She didn't need to look back to see the woman hot on her trail - the sound of a chair crashing behind her was evidence enough.
"She's here! She's getting away!" a scratchy yet female voice screamed.
Irene burst out through her front door, leaping down the porch steps, and hitting the ground running. From her peripheral vision she could see someone in a gray hoodie come around the side of her house. She veered away from that direction. If I can get to the neighbour's house...
"Help someone help!" Irene screamed as she turned up the next driveway. No lights. No car. If no one was home, it was too risky to bang on that door. Her pursuers would surely catch up The next house then. Why did we have to live on the edge of rural lands, where the houses are so spread out?
Tires squealing and engines roaring, she whipped her head around to see the same car that had been parked outside coming towards her. The streets were not safe. Irene ran in the weedy buffer between two properties, heading for the woods.
She could hear shouts and twigs snapping behind her. One of them was still pursuing her on foot. Confident in her familiarity with the terrain, Irene adopted a serpentine root through the trees, jumping over logs and large roots with relative ease. But her side was stinging. She didn't have time to bandage herself up, and despite the adrenaline, her body was reminding her of her most recent laceration. One hand pressed down on the wound, the other worked hard, pumping with each frantic step.
When Irene burst through the woods onto a back road she slowed her pace, but did not stop. She needed to catch her breath. It had been a while since she heard sounds indicating she was still being pursued, but she was not yet safe. She hazarded a glance behind her as she crossed the lonely road. No one.
It was overcast, and getting dark. The sun would no doubt set soon. But where do I go now? Too many ideas jumped into her mind at once, leaving her in a state of indecision. Nonetheless, she kept walking down the old country road. In the distance she saw a pair of headlights in the gloom as a car turned the corner. She stood on the side of the road, eager to try and flag down the driver for help. Surely seeing an injured teen would encourage someone to stop.
As the car came closer, her heart sank. That was their car. They must have guessed where she was headed. Irene's feet took off. She jumped a fence into a field which had lain fallow the last few years, weeds up to her knees slowing her progress. The car slowed down and one of them jumped out to pursue her on foot. The car then sped off, likely to try and catch her on the other side of the field.
Breathing was harder and harder. Her chest burned, her legs ached. Still Irene jumped the fence once she got to the other side of the field. She landed with a stumble, a sharp pain shooting up her ankle. She didn't have time to stop and assess if she'd twisted it. She kept on moving.
Darkness descended rapidly like her ragged breaths. She ran towards the closest main road; a public space was her greatest chance at reaching safety. She turned down a narrow alley between tall wooden fences that separated two properties. She came out into another back alley, used primarily for garbage and compost collection. She was wearing down and slowed her pace.
Irene wound around residential back streets and confusing suburbs. Several times she considered approaching a door, begging to use the phone. But some of the houses looked run down and abandoned. One had a foreclosed sign on it. Others lacked a vehicle and dark windows. Another had a suspicious smell coming from it; they were likely cooking something illegal there. This was one of the pockets of the impoverished. These people had their own troubles. She just needed to make it a little further; she was certain she had lost her pursuers. But they would try to find her again, no doubt.
Irene finally came to a stop once she reached a busier street. She leaned against the side of a small yarn shop. It was closed, unfortunately. Across the street was a corner store, with a bright sign displaying known brands. Catch my breath, cross the street, ask for help. Simple as that.
Relieved at seeing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, Irene stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Motion. It started with the feeling of narrow points of impact on her shoulders, digging into the flesh above her clavicle. Following this sensation she was jerked off of her feet and brought back between two inactive buildings. Irene let out a sharp gasp as an arm barred her throat from behind. A hand covered her mouth as soon as she sucked in air to scream.
"Don't you know that sharks can smell blood?" a low masculine voice whispered in her ear. Irene twisted and moved her head, trying to get away from the voice. She struggled, but the hold was firm. Inhuman.
Pain. Fingers probed the cut on her torso.
Irene let out a muffled gasp, then reached up and grabbed the wrist of her assailant, tugging at it, and turning her head sharply to get her mouth free "If by sharks you mean vampires… isn't it a little early in the evening for hunting?"
"What?" She felt the hold on her momentarily slacken. The menace drained out of the man's voice, replaced with perplexity and abashment. "I mean... yes but... well... yes. Guess I'll just get down to it." The hand that had been poking her wound lifted, and she heard the soft, moist sound of the man licking his fingers. "Oh...."
"Let me go," Irene pleaded. The vampire did not respond. She just felt his chin, or perhaps his cheek, brush against her neck, causing her to shrink.
"What's this?" came the vampire's voice, and she felt his grip momentarily loosen, and then tense up again. Hope and confusion combatted for supremacy in her mind. Her shoulders shrugged involuntarily as a prickling sensation rode up the back of her neck. "Well isn't this… but maybe… no, I'd better not risk it…" the vampire mumbled to himself.
"What? What is it?"
The vampire let Irene go, taking a step away from her. She spun around, but could not see the man very well.
"You're branded."
Branded?
The vampire's hands thrust into his pockets. He glanced down and half turned, eyebrows furrowed. He then checked his back pockets and he straightened up, producing a laminated business card with a crease in it. Irene squinted at it, stepping closer to a source of light to see better. It showed a stenciled picture of a sun and some sort of creature, perhaps a Griffin, wearing a crown. Irene looked back up at the nondescript vampire imploringly.
"What is this?"
"You have the same picture on your neck. I think you should come with me - ah sorry about the shark thing - I..." he floundered quietly. Irene stared at him, and then down at the card. It made her feel uncomfortable, and a little angry, that she was marked like property. However she wasn't going to shoot the messenger. The more confusing matter was she would have noticed a tattoo on her neck, but never saw anything of the sort. But why would a random vampire make such a strange lie? Although he ceased his hostility, she doubted she had a choice not to follow. She was exhausted.
"Alright," Irene relented. The vampire extended a hand, and she took it. She'd either be led to answers or a trap. Either way, the wait was over. Things were unfurling. She walked quietly with the hunter, letting him guide her to the other piece of the puzzle.