"Irene…? I was told you'd b-be down here…" It wasn't exactly the voice Irene expected to hear. When she heard the creaking of the stairs, she sat up and waited for Cyrus or Layla. Instead a giant walking overcoat entered.
"Amber? What are you doing here?"
Amber took off her large coat and slung it over her skinny forearm, which was covered in a tight but long-sleeve shirt. She looked pensive, but then did a rare thing. She smiled. It wasn't that nervous pulling at the corners of her lips she had seen before, but something warm and genuine. Irene patted a spot beside her on her bed, and Amber accepted the invitation.
"I wanted to see if you were okay," Amber responded obligingly, without stuttering. Instead of reassurance, this evoked concern and perplexity.
"Oh… I am fine. But why check on me?"
"You… we… well… I d-don't know… it's just that you got caught in the same mess I am in… and I sort of…" Amber looked around the basement, rubbing the back of her sleeve. "She said things are alright now, b-but I just felt a b-b-bit, well, I d-dunno." The petite teen looked up, a small echo of the previous smile on her lips. "Seeing you okay, though, well, it makes me feel b-better.".
"But I'm not okay!" Irene balled her hands into fists, shaking them before opening them back up. "Just look at me!" Her own words fell from her with such coldness that she shuddered.
Amber shook her head. "No… b-b-but you are alive! You seem as t-together as always."
Irene took in a large sigh, feeling another shudder. She reached out with her still good arm and grasped Amber's shoulder firmly, but did not look into her eyes. "Amber, I want to cry, but I can't. I just want to be a normal girl… god those words sound so trite," Irene slowly lifted her head and looked at Amber, whose smile had receded to a dainty frown.
"You were given a second chance at life. D-doesn't that mean anything to you? My father, he, well, he always t-told me t-t-to b-be grateful that I have a roof over my head… and I am! Really… I just wish it wasn't his roof," Amber shared, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I somet-t-times think I'd b-b-be lost or dead on the streets, Irene. B-b-but I learned what I had, though not that great, was b-b-b-better than my… uh… other, um, option. You don't WANT to b-b-be…" Amber's voice fell to a whisper, "..d-d-dead?"
Irene went silent and glanced down at her knees. Is that what I really want? To die? It's a bit over dramatic but... "I didn't see that way. I have a lot to think about. Alone."
Amber lingered a moment longer as if to say something, but then turned and quickly made her exit. Irene deflated with relief and fell sideways on to her pillow.
As time passed and Irene meditated upon her predicament, the pain of her injuries steadily streamed back into her. It felt like it had been hours, but she did not hear anyone around her. She curled up, trying to grit her teeth and bear the pain, but the feeling of being so alone made her feel uncommonly depressed and abandoned.
A new pang added to the torment. Hunger wreaked havoc inside of her, and her eyes grew hot and dry. She'd never wanted anyone so much as she wanted Layla or Cyrus at that moment. Even her own father would not bring the relief she so desperately needed. She wouldn't want to be anywhere near her father, as now she might be a threat to him.
Amidst her anguish, Irene did not hear anyone approach. She gasped and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. There, a vision of beauty and relief, was Layla. Irene's nostrils flared with the smell of warm, freshly drained blood, and her eyes settled upon a cup Layla held in her hand. Irene rabidly reached for it, seizing it and draining the content before she could even bring a coherent thought to her mind. Such thoughts came afterwards. What have I become? Drinking blood like a starved animal. Like some kind of junkie. She threw the cup across the room and screamed in pure abhorrence.
"Calm yourself, Irene." Layla's voice was firm.
Irene flashed the whites of her eyes in a glare directed at her sire. Nearly all of her essence was drawn to love this woman against her will. Her anger exploded with such force as to break through the enchantment; Irene flung an arm feebly at Layla.
With unnatural agility, Layla intercepted Irene's hand and then forced it down into Irene's lap. "Calm yourself."
"Calm myself!? You turned me into a monster! I HATE YOU!" Irene screamed, freeing her hand. She heaved in her rage, threads of feral drool lashed across her chin. Layla's unflappable demeanour stung. Irene swung at her again, fighting against the encroaching compulsion to worship this woman.
An unpleasant grinding sensation in her knuckles resulted in the impact against Layla's shoulder. But the elder vampire flinched. That was worth the pain. Irene's rage rose again and she pushed forward, swinging at Layla over and over. Deep down, she craved a reprisal. However, Layla did not indulge her, taking hit after hit.
Irene reeled back for a more powerful straight when her arm was grabbed and wrenched behind. She yelped at the shock of pain that radiated from her shoulder. Despite the attack from behind, she could not take her eyes off of the blood draining out of Layla's full lips, and that small deposit of blood beneath one of her nostrils. A few measly drops of blood on an unfazed face was the culmination of her exertions.
Irene was spun around by and shaken by Cyrus. "Enough! You're hurting yourself!" Cyrus grabbed her wrist and held it up, showing her bruised and bleeding knuckles. His voice dropped a few decibels and he added, "and you're hurting Layla." Her eyes dropped, prompting Cyrus to shake her again until she looked at him "Layla hunted for you, and this is how you repay her?"
"Cyrus… you can't blame the child," Layla interrupted.
"Oh yes I can! Princess High-and-Mighty knows better!" Cyrus retorted hastily.
"Precisely. You know she's better than that. Which means you overestimated a struggling soul. She needed to vent, and I am unharmed." Layla placed her hands primly in her lap.
Surrealism took hold of Irene as she replayed the bouts of rage she had just experienced. She let her head droop and closed her eyes tight. Irene wanted to just turn into water and trickle out of Cyrus' grasp. She felt as lowly as a puddle.
"I hate to point out the obvious, but you're bleeding," Cyrus mentioned dryly.
"You have laughed off worse," Layla countered calmly.
What am I doing? What are all these feelings? I need to get this under control. Layla... she did this, but she's not the one who shot me or left me there. Irene went limp, feeling as though her chest might explode if she didn't say something. "I'm sorry!"
Cyrus glanced down at her again, his grip softening but still holding her up. He guided her back onto her bed. "Irene, just what was all that about?"
Irene wanted to revive that anger, but the constant extremes of pain and numbness in addition to emotional turbulence exhausted her.
"I wish you would have let me die." Irene struggled to say the words; they came out hollow and understated as if read from a script. "I'm useless like this."
"Well... yes... but you won't stay that way. We'll find a new purpose for you, just you wait." Cyrus placed a hand on Irene's shoulder. She turned away. "Alright. You've earned the right to brood. But while you stew in your misery, just keep in mind that your sire, or dam, is your lifeline. Attacking yours is a no-no." Cyrus showed a full set of teeth in a large laughing grin as he waggled his index finger.
"Whatever. My blood has no value to you anymore. And I wasn't any help in the fight against Gabriel."
"Oh, come, don't be hard on yourself. You did better than Corey. You actually made it out alive." Cyrus twirled his hand in the air. "Or was it Cody?"
"Cody. You could at least get his name right; he fought on your side," Irene grumbled.
"Eh." Cyrus shrugged. "He, like you, had lost everything and needed protection. He wasn't loyal, he was afraid."
"I'm not loyal either. And I was afraid. I am afraid." Irene looked down at her battered hands.
"Fear not, Irene, I will take care of you," Layla spoke up. She had wiped away the blood from her face, and held a damp cloth to Irene's hands.
"I don't want you to take care of me! The whole point of fighting Gabriel was to free myself from vampires!" Irene snatched the cloth. She vigorously scrubbed the blood off her hands, hissing from the pain. But she was too agitated to be gentle with herself.
"Once you've recovered and adapted, you may go your own way." Layla put her hands over Irene's, halting her vehement scrubbing. Irene looked into Layla's deep, dark eyes. Will they really let me leave? Irene then looked at Cyrus and quirked an eyebrow.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow back, then winced. He put a hand to one of his not-quite healed head wounds. "Ugh. But, yes, if you never want to see either of us again, I'd understand. I won't like it, but I'll understand. In fact I'll feel quite injured and betrayed, but no pressure."
Irene sighed as Layla took over cleaning her knuckles. Her dam had a delicate yet confident touch. She imagined she had tended a lot of Cyrus's wounds in the past. With a personality like his, he was probably constantly coming back injured. Irene sighed and did not pull away or fight with Layla any further. It felt nice to be touched with tenderness and nurturing intent. But is it really? Or is this the trick of being her creation? Of having drank her blood? I want to stay mad with her, but I just can't.
"Where... are we anyway?" Irene coughed out. Flashes of hot and cold throttled her body amidst the pain, and she felt herself withering. Her head pounded, alternating her from feeling light and faint to heavy and unbalanced. "Are we... safe?"
"From other vampires? Maybe. From eviction? Not at all," Cyrus thrust his hands into his pockets. "We're squatting. Not all vampires are Counts who can buy luxurious estates with all our particular needs."
Irene laid on her side and panted, trying to breathe out the pain. She just wanted some place secure to recover. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh..."
"Oh hey... looks like you need another dose." Cyrus thrust his thumb towards Irene and tilted his head, whistling sharply. The jerk of his head caused him to tense, an open grimace on his face. "Ow."
Layla leaned close to Irene. "I'll let you drink again to help you sleep… but I can't give you my wrist too often if you ever wish to be independent from me," Layla whispered. Irene's eyes widened.
"Oh yeah... Cyrus said vampire blood... is addicting?" Irene croaked.
Layla's face offered a slight smile. "Three times too many, and one can not live without a vampire's promise of blood. You'll thirst only for my blood and will sacrifice that which makes you whole to suckle from me," Layla explained in such a hushed tone Irene was amazed she understood it all through the throbbing of her pain.
Irene's eyes grew wide. She craved relief from this pain, but the cost would be long term and detrimental to what she wanted: freedom. She closed her eyes tight considering this. The loudness of the pain overrode her latent desires.
"It's frowned on to drink any vampire's blood, but there are exceptions between a progenitor and spawn," Cyrus piped in. "So, no judgment here. Better than opium."
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"No… I don't want to..." Irene choked. Layla nodded and remained at her side. Irene felt a gentle hand rub along her upper arm and then rested on her shoulder. She tried to fight the agony her body and soul were wracked with. Layla's hand was cool, but still somewhat warming. Then it was gone and she heard just a creak as Layla moved from her bedside.
Hours later, Irene drifted in and out of sleep. Cyrus and Layla's voices allowed her to take hold of consciousness.
"She getting any rest?"
"I think she has been in and out of slumber," responded Layla. Irene kept her eyes closed and tried to appear asleep.
"Mmmm… hey… Breaches, you awake?"
Irene did not respond. Cyrus waited a little and then she heard a crinkling from somewhere in the room then a shuffling noise. Soon she felt a presence hovering above her, and it took a lot of willpower to not turn her head and look. She could almost feel his shadow laying across her. "Irene?"
"Let her rest Cyrus," Layla reproached. There was another shuffling and then silence. Irene waited, her one ear pinched against the pillows, raising the volume of her own heart beat.
"I am making sure she is doing just that," Cyrus's voice traveled over to where Layla's came from.
"I'm not sure this girl will make the transition," Layla responded in her cool, collected tones.
"Naw, she may be having a hard time now, but she's deceptively sturdy. Her friend, um, Merle I think was her name, completely cracked. There will be no easy way of getting her friend out of the psyche ward, and the longer that she's there, she's vampire chow."
Irene bit her lip and tried very hard not to call out and demand to know more.
"Her fate is not necessarily death," Layla countered.
Irene peeked one eye open only to shut it again. She didn't have time to really see either vampire's expression and hoped no one noticed.
"Well, yes, I suppose. I guess Irene will just have to face that her friend isn't locked up because she claims vampires did it, but because she's really broken. That's the problem… this age of science has bred generations upon generations of weak-minded mortals." Cyrus sighed.
"Has it? Would modern technology brought to the past have a similar impact?" came Layla's voice. There was a pause and then a moist sound of a tongue pulling away from the roof of one's mouth. "I digress, the world of technology still intrigues but eludes me. They call us monsters, Cyrus… the ones who know or pretend to know. Yet, they have created larger, more devastating monsters of steel and sky fire. If they discovered us… we would likely be doomed."
"Psh! We can bend their steel! We can spit out their bullets. Their technology isn't anything we can't handle!" Cyrus retorted in a poor attempt of reassurance.
"Do not forget that bloody war in Germany… our numbers were crippled."
There was a loud groan from Cyrus. "I always hated those Germans! The Dutch, too!" And now Irene could add bigotry to one of Cyrus's many endearing qualities. "They were a pest in my mortal life and never stopped. That's almost three centuries of pest status! And people call me vermin. I suppose if my caravan weren't fleeing from those horrible gypsy hunts, I'd never have met Lysandra…. and I wouldn't even be ancient history because no one talks about it. The Jews, the African Americans, and the First Nations all get..."
"Cyrus..." Layla cut in, "...that was the distant past. I'm more concerned about the more recent events. We are not so invincible. If anything, they have a superiority of mind once they overcome the fear, and will study better ways in which to eliminate us." She brought the conversation back full circle with a stern conclusion.
"Fine, whatever. You certainly have a lot more to say since you've been burned. Don't tell me your near death experience has changed you. I cannot abide change! Adaptation is fine, but change is unforgivable!" Cyrus griped.
"If it pleases you, Master Cyrus, I shall not tell you any such thing."
There was a long pause and Irene almost felt herself falling back to sleep. However, a voice drew her back to consciousness.
"I never understood this side of the bond until now. I must admit, however, that I did not consider the responsibility I was taking on when I revived her."
Irene's fingers dug into her pillow, and she fought to look relaxed in spite of how tense she was becoming.
"You didn't think about her future at all?"
Irene felt heat fill her ears and was sure her face must have been turning red. If they looked at her, they'd know she was listening.
"No, only yours."
Irene fought to not gasp. She made me a monster... for him. It's just so meaningless. I don't want this gift.
"I know it was careless to create life with such abandon. I tried to save her, but I was too late," Layla admitted, her tone dropping a few decibels. There was another awkward pause. "I believe she is awake."
"Oh, yes, you're right. Aw, bless her rapid little heart."
The jig was up. Irene peeked one eye open, seeing both of them staring at her from across the room. Then both eyes opened and she sighed, rubbing her ears. The two vampires were seated on the other bed. Cyrus was reclined against the ratty looking pillows, his bare feet upon Layla's lap.
"So... I was a mistake, then."
Layla looked over at Cyrus. He shrugged and leaned back into his pillows. "Eh, lots of people in the world are mistakes. And yet many of them find purpose and love."
Irene's throat tightened. While his first statement was typical, she was unsure how to feel about the latter. He makes the word love dirty... but there's something in what he said. Monica was an accident, and the reason our parents got married. Yet she was loved.
"This is the start of a new life. It is up to you to give it meaning." Layla looked down at Cyrus's feet, taking hold of one of them and rubbing her thumbs along his sole. "But first you must survive the transition. Not all do."
"Hey, don't go scaring her. I think - oh right there, that's the spot - ahem, I think she's had enough fright and anxiety to last a lifetime." Cyrus arched his back and shifted his position on the bed before relaxing again.
"And if I don't make it? Will it even make a difference to either of you?"
"I do not know," Layla responded as she pressed harder into Cyrus's foot, rubbing her thumbs in tight circles. He tapped the bed with his palm like a wrestler submitting. Layla looked up from her task, holding the spot firmly. "I've never created another vampire before, thus, never lost one."
"Who will I have to debate morality with? Layla isn't much for banter." Cyrus playfully nudged her arm with the foot she was not working on. She didn't react and just continued her massage. "The woman is unflappable and that isn't any fun." Waving a hand in the air, he added, "Anyway you needn't worry. We'll make sure you get through the hard part. Then as Layla said, you're free to forge your own path. Unless you want to stick around old fuddy-duddies like us."
"You said the transition could take up to a year?" Irene sat up. She needed to know more before she could come to a decision.
"On average. I've heard tales of some taking longer. Although women have the most obvious signs of completion." Cyrus glanced at Layla. "And the most insatiable appetites." He wiggled his toes.
"I hate to ask, but why is that?" Irene looked at her senior. "If you could answer, not him, I would appreciate it."
"Hey!"
Layla looked up again and tilted her head to one side. "When I became a vampire, I still bled monthly for the following year. I needed more blood to compensate. The loss of the womb was one of the last changes. It was not unlike..." Layla squinted her eyes, darting them side to side, "...the second spring."
"Second Spring?"
"Flowery way of saying menopause," Cyrus helpfully filled in.
"Oh that's just great," Irene grumbled.
"There are a lot more men than women in the vampire world, just because the females have lower survival rates." There was an audible crack as Layla gently bent her sire's toes back. He winced, but then relaxed again. "Kind of a bummer, really. But the women also tend to be tough as nails. Which is why I'm confident you will do just fine."
"Yeah... just fine..." the nascent vampire muttered. I will have a greater thirst. But that blood will have to come from someone. I don't want to get used to hunting other people. Irene glared at Cyrus as he switched which foot was on Layla's lap, silently commanding her to rub the other one. Her blood boiled at the sight. And a year of this? To see her serving him. And see him putting his grubby hands on her. She balled her fists and laid back down, opting to stare at the unfamiliar ceiling as she took in a deep breath. He ruined my life. He should pay, not get his happy ending. But I lack the power to bring him to justice. All the women he hurt... Nose burning, eyes watering, nose running, she rolled onto her side, facing away from the two vampires so they could not see her. Everything he did to me.
Irene ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth. Monsters should be slain. There is only one thing left to do.
When Irene was sure Cyrus was asleep she quietly rose to her feet. She glanced behind her at the scene of the hated vampire with an arm slung about Layla, who was turned toward him. She could not tell if her dam was asleep, but both of them were still. Holding her breath, she tiptoed towards the door. Each stair seemed to creak as though an elephant were scaling them. Once Irene was at the top of the stairs she glanced behind her again. No one was following.
Irene wished she had a jacket when she opened the door, a rush of chilly air greeting her. This was the first time she had stepped outside of the run down house they were recuperating in. To her relief, once she got to the cross-road, she realised that she was not far from her house. It wouldn't be more than a ten minute walk.
Shrouded in darkness, with the old fir tree peeking shyly from behind, was Irene's house. She tried the door; it was unlocked. She went into every room and sighed, remembering her life as it was. Hardships bombarded her, but she'd always persevered before. She had felt a deep sense of pride in her ability to stabilise after every blow dealt her. Life wasn't easy, but it was hers, and it worked for her. Her current state of existence, however, was meaningless.
"Jordan… Merle… Father…" Irene muttered. She glanced at the front door. The sun would rise soon enough. She scowled at the basement steps, which led to eternal darkness. She was paralyzed in the middle of her decision.
Irene closed her eyes, imagining that she was outside. She conjured up an image of herself doing her routine jog before school. Is it even a school morning? She glanced at the calendar in agitation. She didn’t know the date or time. It doesn't matter.
Once again she shut her eyes and imagined. Outside she would soon meet up with Merle and head for tennis practice. Then she'd have another distracting and busy day of school, followed by a visit to Jordan. His hazel eyes would adore her with stalwart brightness, rather than crave her with vacuous darkness.
Irene stepped into the living room, looking at her father's empty armchair. She took in a deep breath, unsure if it was just fancy or if she actually could smell his aftershave. She imagined him coming home from the airport, tired but not too exhausted to give her a smile and a hug. Together they would watch sports and eat Chinese food.
Then it'd be time to go to bed. Irene paused outside her bedroom, looking at the scattered remains of dead plants. The lights would go out. However, darkness never scared her, because she always knew it was temporary. It was a peaceful thing allowing her to rest and ready herself for a new day. Never again would darkness just be a passageway to a brand new day. Tears misted her eyes. Instead night had become a labyrinth.
Her decision was made.
----------------------------------------
The morning air greeted Irene with a freshness she had nearly forgotten. The pleasant sting and tickle embraced her body as she closed the door behind her. She walked down the few porch steps before her, clutching an old journal of hers. She continued down to the end of the driveway and sat down on the frosted grass. She knew it must be very early, for there was a hint of winter in this estuary of languid seasons.
Irene sat down cross-legged and opened the journal. She flipped through the pages until she found her last entry, which was nearly half a year ago. Never was she able to remain faithful to this small quiet friend, but it would be the only one she would say goodbye to.
"Goodbye, dear Journal. Perhaps I'm being selfish. But lives are meant to be lived once, and I lived mine to the fullest that I knew how. It may have been short, and it may have been hard, but I did my best. It was life that mattered to me, and I will not hide from the light. As far as I'm concerned, Irene Locklyn died by gunshot in the Cozee Coffee Shop. It was a tragedy. The fight for survival had been intense up to that moment."
Irene glanced up, seeing just the slightest hint of light on the horizon. There was a queer prickling feeling all over her, as if her body had gone to sleep. Yet sleep was the last thing on the agenda. Her legs grew restless and her heart pounded. Her mind kept pulsing the feeling of danger through her body. And yet, she forced herself to continue writing.
"…I will do what I have always done. I will buoy myself for another day in these last moments of dawn. My life has always been about preparing myself for another hard yet rewarding day, not scattering or hiding in fear. I see the light coming, and though this body wishes to run, I will not. Farewell."
Irene closed the book and set it aside as far as her arm's length. She then firmly put her hands in her lap and stared at the horizon. The first flash of heat came over her. Her body screamed to find shelter, but she was determined to stay vigilant in doing what she'd been doing since she met Cyrus; waiting for sunrise.
The End
...
Nonsense. This isn't the end. Am I just being a coward?
No. I made up my mind. It burns! But I can endure. I won't shy from the pain. It can't be worse than the pain of living as a monster.
What am I doing? There's no honour in this. This is all just spite. I can't win. If I die, it's because of him. If I live, it's because of him.
I'm better than this. I can forge my own destiny. I just need to get through one more year.
The burning... I can't... I can barely move. I just need to reach the door.
Who's there?