Bewilderment danced around Irene's head as she awoke in an unfamiliar place. Sitting up with a jerk, Irene cast an alarmed glance around the dark room. Easing her breath, she recollected the previous day. She tried to push the swell of anger and pain that resulted to the background and get her bearings. The room was dark, and no alarm clock waited to inform her of the time.
Irene flicked on the light and wandered back to the bed. She opened the drawer of a nightstand and peered inside. There were several torn envelopes and letters. She shuffled through them, uninterested in what was written on them. Finding nothing but paper, Irene closed the drawer and tried the next one. Inside were some knick-knacks and miscellaneous objects. It seemed like a promising place to find a timepiece.
Close to giving up the search, a chain snagged Irene's hand. As she tried to free her fingers, her attention was drawn to a small bronze key, tainted with patina. What is this key for? On the same chain was a gold-plated locket. Intrigued, she held it up to the light and opened it. Inside was a portrait of a woman. There was something austere about the woman's countenance that Irene found strangely fascinating. She flipped it; the other side of the locket had an ornate 'L' engraved into it. "This must be Layla."
Irene closed the drawer, still holding the locket delicately in her hand as she sat on the bed. She piled all of the pillows together and leaned against them, dangling the locket in front of her. "So you were the one brave enough to stand up against a brute like Gabriel. If this portrait is just like you, then I can see why," Irene said to the locket. "Why did you have to die? I would never have met Cyrus, if it weren't for you." She sighed, letting her arms rest. "Why am I talking to a piece of jewelry?"
"Because you're lonely."
Irene froze. She rigidly remained in perfect silence for a moment. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room but found no one. Every nook and cranny warranted investigation, and Irene was soon busy checking each and every one. She peered into the en suite, pulling back the shower curtain. Seeing no one there, she headed back to the bed, getting onto her hands and knees and peering underneath. All she saw were some boxes and miscellaneous clutter.
"I must be losing it…" Irene muttered.
"You are."
"Who is there!?" Irene jumped away from the bed and bumped into the closet bifold door. Silence greeted her. "This isn't funny… I know someone is there!" The familiarity of the voice was haunting.
"No one is there. You know that."
"Please, whoever you are, stop this." Irene waited for a moment. No response came. Shaking, she approached the bed where she had dropped the locket. She felt around the folds of the disturbed blankets until her hands closed around it. She inspected it closely, and then put it back in the drawer. Irene got back onto the bed, curling up tightly, but keeping an alert eye around the room.
"Too bad Cyrus isn't here. Then you'd have him to criticize, and could spare yourself."
"Stop it!" Irene cried, throwing her hands over her ears.
"I already told you that you were losing it," came the voice as clear as ever. Irene blinked a few times, her heart skipping a beat. She realised why the voice was so familiar. It sounded like her own.
"I'm not… talking to myself am I?"
"You are. You're the only one in this room. Who else is there to talk to but yourself?"
"No… this isn't right… why would I respond to myself? This is some sort of trick…" Irene rationalised.
"You've rationalized your way this far, but I'm afraid it isn't enough anymore. The very notion of being hunted down and fought over by vampires is ludicrous."
"But I'm not crazy. This can't be a hallucination," Irene continued to try and reason.
"What would you know? You hardly qualify as an expert on hallucinations."
"If you are me, then you wouldn't ask me what I know," Irene insisted desperately, a sickly feeling coming over her.
"I do it all the time."
"I've had enough of this! Whoever you are, this stops NOW!" Irene shrieked. All fell silent. Irene waited for another retort. Nothing. The minutes stretched into an hour. She remained in vigilant silence, daring the voice to try and convince her that she was crazy. It never returned.
The door swung open and Irene jumped, bringing the blankets up around herself. Cyrus poked his head in, a red smudge barely visible near his temple, his hair looking wet and matted.
"Oh good you're already awake."
Irene sighed in relief. Wait. No! Seeing Cyrus should not be a relief! Her tension returned as Cyrus closed the door behind him and strode across the room. "There are clean towels in the chest to the right of the wardrobe for when you decide to freshen up," he mentioned as he tugged a towel off of a hook by the bathroom door. "When you are ready, go down to the kitchen and ask for Rory. He'll arrange to have you taken to your house to pick up your things, feed your cat, whatever you need to do." Cyrus held the towel over his arm. "But first I am going to pop into the shower and clean off."
"Ask for Rory," Irene repeated. Cyrus nodded before heading into the ensuite, sliding the door closed behind him.
Irene rubbed her face, listening to the sound of running water. What happened? She held firm in her conviction that she was entirely sane. But something was going on. The questions of what, how, and why kept running through her mind, but there were too many variables for her to piece together any reasonable scenario.
Irene went and looked in the chest. As promised, appropriate towels of different sizes were laid out, smelling fresh and clean. The laundry must have been done recently as she could still smell the dryer sheets. She didn't question why, for just one suite, he had so many towels. She also saw in the same chest some spare bed sheets.
Irene glanced at the bed she had slept on. If she wasn't so tired last night she would have changed them before going to sleep. She was determined, this evening, to do so. Thoughts on how to make the next few days as comfortable as possible kept her from pondering too much on the danger she found herself plunged into.
Once Cyrus was out, he hung up his towel, hair still messy from a rushed fluffing. "I've got some paperwork to do, then it'll be lights out for me. If you need anything, I'll be in my office. And don't worry about the other vampires. I've briefed them." Irene found herself nodding as he spoke, but only paying partial attention. She held the towels she'd selected tightly to her chest, eyes wandering to the blacked out window. "No one will bite you. I can't promise they will be civil, though."
"Hmm..." Irene responded indifferently as she shrugged her shoulders. Cyrus watched her for a moment until she looked over at him. "Well? Go on, I'm fine here."
"Right-o!" Cyrus flourished a salute before turning and heading out, running fingers through his damp hair. Once Cyrus was gone, Irene locked the door.
Irene's shower was very brief. She was not comfortable in the small stall, which felt even smaller due to the dark brown backsplash and navy curtain. Her scrutinizing eyes caught dark stains in the tile grout, which she assumed to be dried blood. She searched all over for a fresh bar of soap, as she was not going to rub anything on her body that had touched Cyrus. She eyed a generic pump bottle with the word 'shampoo' hand written in permanent marker and gave it a sniff. It smelled more like dish soap than shampoo. There was no conditioner and no moisturiser. Irene made do with what was available. Although came out feeling exceptionally clean, upon toweling off her skin and hair felt dry and brittle.
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Irene tiptoed downstairs. She could hear the clatter of employees of the coffee shop. She shielded her eyes as she left the dim upper apartment and came into the brightly lit staff-only corridor. Following the sound of dishes clinking and the smell of brewing coffee, she found her way to the kitchen. At first, no one seemed to notice her. She felt uneasy at interrupting people at work, but she finally spoke up. "Hello? I am looking for someone named Rory?"
CRASH.
Irene cringed at the sound of a plate hitting the ground, smashing into three large pieces. The person who dropped it swore and knelt down, quickly picking up the shards. Another employee, hair up in a net, peered at Irene with nervous curiosity before getting back to work.
Finally a girthy man with a receding hairline and close-cropped beard caught Irene's eye. "That'd be me. I'm Rory. You Irene?"
"Yes." Irene stayed in the doorway, not wanting to be underfoot.
Rory turned and shimmied past another employee at a bottleneck and walked over to Irene, gesturing back out into the hallway. She nodded and stepped back, Rory following close behind.
"No one told me I'd be babysitting." Rory rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing somewhat.
"Babysitting?" Irene wondered if rudeness was a requirement in this building. "All I need is a lift, then I'll be out of your hair."
"What's left of it." Rory gave in with a mighty sigh. "Alright. Might as well get this over with. You ready to go now?"
"Yes." Irene affirmed as she tucked some of her hair behind her ears. Rory's eyes widened and he stared at her hand, then looked away. She stared at where her finger used to be, and then quickly shoved her hand in her pocket. "Let's go."
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Neither Rory nor Irene were talkative on the drive. Remarks were kept strictly to directions. As they pulled up to her driveway, she looked around for any familiar vehicles, but saw none. Unfortunately, she did see crime tape cordoning off her property.
"...This is where you live?"
Irene held in her breath as she tried to think what to do next. "Ah.. right. There was a break-in..." I did call the police. Why am I even surprised? She didn't see a cop car nor any constables posted to watch the scene. "Just park on the street and keep a lookout. I'll try to be quick."
"I really don't want to get in any trouble with the cops," Rory warned.
"I understand." Not giving any further explanation, Irene slammed the passenger door shut and briskly crossed the street.
She was quick to get inside and gather essentials, in addition to a few books and a deck of cards. Then she refilled Silver's food and water. Concerned, she put down another bowl of food, trusting her cat to eat responsibly.
Lastly, Irene grabbed some paper to write a note for her father. Many times she cursed as the pen slipped out of her grip, and it was painful to see how messy her writing had become. She read it and re-read a few times, trying to see it objectively.
Honk.
The sound of a car horn signalled she needed to get out quickly. Irene sighed. Hopefully her father would obey the note to not search for her. She could only imagine the pain he would experience reading this, but it was all she could do.
When Irene got back into the car, her hand slipped off the door handle as she tried to pull it shut. She pressed her lips together, holding in a vent of frustration and tried again, this time slower and more careful. Rory looked over at her, a thick eyebrow raised.
"I take it that's not an old, uh, injury," Rory commented. Irene looked straight ahead.
"No."
"Ah." Rory pulled out, and a tense silence remained between them.
Irene placed her hands primly on her lap. Rory eyed her a few times when the road wasn't demanding his full attention, but he never inquired further.
They made it back to the Cozee Coffee shop without incident. "Have you had anything to eat?" Rory asked as they both got out of his car. Irene shook her head. "Well, we've got some day-old danishes sitting in the kitchen that are up for grabs. If anyone gives you trouble just tell them you're from upstairs."
"Do you know what is going on up there?" Irene asked hesitantly, speaking almost in a whisper as they walked in through the back door.
"I know only what keeps me in business," he replied tersely. Stroking his well-groomed whiskers, he gave Irene an evaluating look, before shaking his head. "Don't know what your role in all that is, don't want to. But take care."
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The cards buzzed as Irene shuffled them, feeling each piece of cardboard slip past her fingers. Just as last time, her grip on them wavered and they began to shoot off in different directions. Frustrated, she gathered all of the cards up, picking up the ones which had tumbled to the floor. She counted up her deck and used the flat surface of the table to shape them into a neat stack, slipping the cards back into their box. Irene picked up the paper napkin and to-go coffee cup and walked over to the waste basket, dumping them in.
Irene had free rein of the apartment above the coffee shop, but it wasn't overly large. It consisted of a living area with a kitchenette, bathroom, and three bedrooms. However, one of the bedrooms had been converted into an office and the other into a meeting room. The master bedroom was currently occupied by Cyrus, and for that reason, she was avoiding it. All windows were either boarded up, or had blackout curtains. To her disappointment, she could not find a laundry room. It as probably that all laundry was done via laundromat, or the laundry was downstairs somewhere.
The confinement was draining on Irene. She wanted to be outside and see the sun. She wanted to feel the chill in the air, breathe it in and feel it cool her throat and lungs, warm up, and then be expelled. To run and feel the heat of her heart pumping. But here she was, afraid because neither day nor night was safe. She was frustrated to be stuck on the bench while others worked to end Gabriel's regime. She didn't care about what the vampires were doing to each other. She just cared that Gabriel would no longer be targeting her.
Even if she could not go outside, Irene needed to be active. She began moving some of the furniture against the wall to give herself some space. It was clear no one had done a proper cleaning for some time, as a colony of dust bunnies had adopted the room as their home. Instead of the workout she had originally planned, she set out to find a broom and began sweeping the hardwood floor.
Irene wasn't sure when it started. She wasn't even aware that she was thinking, much less feeling. But one tear fell, and then another, landing upon her hand as she continued to compile an impressive dust pile. She tenderly swept it onto the tray and brought it to the bin, and hesitated before dumping it in.
After all of this, Irene doubted her father would let her go away to college. And Jordan, if he even survived, would not want to marry her if he knew the truth. If her father's company failed and he lost the job, she'd likely have to get a low paying job to help pay the bills. Irene looked at her missing finger. And there was that. People learned to live with entire limbs removed, but it took time. She wondered how long it would be before it stopped hurting.
Irene wiped away her tears and continued cleaning. The only way to move was forward. Resentment continued to fester in her breast at feeling like she was stuck on a rollercoaster, rather than moving at her own pace.
"Quite the domestic little miss," came that ever familiar voice.
Irene gripped the broom handle hard. No. Don't engage. She continued to work, only looking up briefly to see Cyrus walk over to the mini fridge. She had pointedly not looked inside when she was exploring earlier. Now she saw Cyrus pull out a plastic pouch filled with red liquid. He took a straw out of a drawer and stabbed it into the bag, sucking the contents out. Irene tried not to let the slurping irritated her when he got down to the end.
"I see you've already grabbed some of your things." Cyrus tilted his head towards a corner where she'd stashed her bags. "You could have brought them into the bedroom. I'm a heavy sleeper."
"Then why are you up? It's only noon," Irene pulled excess hairs off of the broom bristles, dumping them into the garbage.
"Don't you ever get up for a midnight snack?"
"No, not really."
"Well, no, I guess you wouldn't. You look like the sort of body type that has to work really hard not to become rolly-polly." Cyrus walked over and tossed the empty bag in the trash. "Explains why you're always running around."
Irene wrinkled her nose, ignoring the body shaming and focusing instead on the biohazard. "You're just going to toss that in the garbage? Without rinsing it first?"
"Whaaaaaat? Women toss their-"
"Nevermind!" Irene slammed the garbage lid shut. Hopefully whatever Cyrus's plans were, they'd move along swiftly and she would not have to stay here much longer.
"Well I'm going to go back to bed." Cyrus informed her. "I need to be good and rested for tonight." Irene cocked her head to the side, a small ripple of relief passing through her at that news. She nodded to him and went to put the broom away.
As Irene was walking she heard Cyrus voice chasing her. "If you ever need a break, feel free to come to bed." Even after last night, he's still at it. Once she heard the bedroom door shut, Irene smiled a rueful smile. As disgusted as she was with his behaviour, it was oddly reassuring. And that was as disturbing as it was comical.