Waiting For Sunrise

The following days Irene just went through the motions. A haze descended upon her as she tried to reconcile the problems she had at home, trying to keep her father from discovering what Cyrus was, carrying the stress of making sure she was home before sunset, and pondering over what went wrong between her and Jordan. Since he didn't break up with her entirely, but rather delivered an ultimatum, it gave her some hope. He did want to stay by her side. He just wanted more. He wanted to move up or move on. Irene still didn't feel ready for either. She just hoped that when the time came to make good on her promise, she would be.

One day she stayed late after school. Joseph had approached her in a bit of a bind, saying he needed some help with a stagecraft project, and most of his group had to bail. Irene had no artistic talent, but she didn't mind sitting and compiling some papier mache ornaments that had already been roughly shaped by someone with greater vision. She didn't say much, but found listening to Joseph and his project partner talk and joke around was pleasant. It took her mind off of the things that had been plaguing her. However, it also took her mind off of the passage of time.

Just as Irene was washing her hands at a nearby basin in the art room, she glanced up. The blinds had been drawn, but there was no light coming in from the edges. This caused her to freeze. She looked at the clock on the wall in a panic. It was later than she'd thought. "Oh...! I need to get going!"

"Irene? You're going already?" Joseph asked. But seeing her distress, he didn't prod her further. "Thanks for the help! You've been marvelous!"

Footsteps echoed in the empty yet illuminated halls of the school as Irene paced. She needed to get home, but she was afraid to leave the light. Could she call for a ride? No. The courtesy phone at her school had been decommissioned. Again Irene cursed her resistance to having a cell phone. After calmly contemplating her options, she recollected that there was a payphone equidistant from the closest bus stop. After careful consideration, Irene finally decided to just head for the bus stop. She zipped up her warm jacket, pulled up her hood, and headed out into the night.

The bus ride home was nerve wracking. Irene ran nonstop from the bus stop, still constantly reminded of being abducted on her street. To her relief, she made it home in one piece, albeit soaking wet from a downpour that spitefully timed its arrival with her stepping off the bus. She eyed her father's car in the driveway and stomped up the old porch. She thought she saw something moving in the trees nearby, so she threw open the door, nearly tripping over herself to get inside and slam the door shut.

"Irene, is that you?" she heard her father's voice call.

"Yes, it's me! I'm home!" Irene called back. "Sorry I'm late..." she added as she began to fight to get her wet things off. She heard her male voices in the kitchen and she held her breath.

"...means a lot to me." was all she made out in her father's voice.

"Of course, Carl. I'll do my best," came Cyrus's voice. Only then did Irene notice his shoes were still by the front door. Usually Cyrus was out of the house by now. And since when was Cyrus on a first name basis with her father? Irene hurriedly hung up her wet things and walked in, pulling away strands of wet hair that clung to her cheeks. Cyrus and Carl Locklyn were sitting at one corner of their small kitchen table. Her father had a mug in his hand, and Cyrus had a hip flask in his.

"Come warm yourself, kiddo," Carl said, gesturing to her. "The kettle is still warm if you want to make yourself a mug." Her father lifted his mug to her. Irene just nodded. Hot cocoa DID sound nice. She eyed the two men warily, however, not liking the idea of them talking together. Irene puttered about, trying to get an idea what they may have been discussing.

"Well that's all the time I have. Thank you for this little chat. It's been... enlightening." Cyrus said as he brought the flask to his lips and eyed Irene. She frowned as she got the instant hot chocolate mix out of the pantry. Cyrus stood up, reaching across the table and put his hand out. Her father shook it, and Cyrus turned to leave.

Irene sat down beside her father, stirring her drink vigorously. "What were you two talking about?"

"First I'd like to know what kept you so late. Dinner's in the oven, but I was beginning to worry you'd miss it," her father responded before emptying the last contents of his mug down his throat.

"I was helping a friend with a project," Irene responded.

"Oh? Are you and Merle talking again? Glad to hear it," her father responded amiably as he stood up to rinse out his mug.

"No, not Merle," Irene clarified. Her stirring slowed, her spoon tinkling as it hit the edges of the ceramic mug.

"Oh? A new friend, then?" her father asked as he pulled open the oven door and peeked inside. A savoury smell wafted to Irene, reminding her just how cold and hungry she was.

"Well maybe friend isn't the right word. He helped me with a project, so I returned the favour. But he is nice. His name's Joseph," Irene responded.

"Ah! Just a little longer," her father muttered as she shut the oven door again. He returned to the table, sitting down. "Ah, so just a classmate. It's not like you to use the word 'friend' so lightly."

"I'm tired, I guess it was just easier to say," Irene responded.

"Still, good to see you working with others on projects. I sometimes worry you've become a bit of a loner," her father reflected as he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands upon his stomach.

"So what were you and Cyrus talking about?" Irene asked again, trying to change the topic.

"Ah. That," her father said, sitting up straight again. His hands remained together, his thumbs twiddling. Irene looked down. She already had an idea what he was going to say. "Well, I've been rather suddenly called out on another trip. It's a last ditch attempt to pull our company out of the rut it's in. I'll need to travel across the border..."

She knew it. He was leaving again. After everything she was in the middle of, after his apologies for not being there, he was leaving again. Irene sighed, but nodded. "When do you go?"

"In three days," her father said. He then sprang to his feet just as Irene leaned forward at the table, placing her hands down.

"Three days?!"

"I think our dinner is ready!" her father quickly said, turning away from her and opening the oven door.

"Three days?" Irene repeated. "So soon?" Normally these trips were planned more than a week in advance. Irene was still frowning when her father returned with a hot chicken pot pie, fresh out of the oven.

"Well, I'd known for a while but... you seemed so distant I was just waiting for the right time to bring it up," Mr. Locklyn explained as he slipped off the floral oven gloves, using them to fan some of the steam rising off of the golden crusted pie. "Mmmm would you smell that! Not burnt this time!"

Irene eyed the pie. That was a large pie for just the two of them. "You invited Cyrus for dinner and he turned you down, didn't he?"

"Even the smell of a pie in the oven didn't entice him. But I at least managed to get him to sit and have a drink with me. Though he said he's avoiding caffeine when I offered him some coffee." Carl said with a shrug as he poked some holes into the pie, allowing more of the heat to escape.

"So... what were you discussing?" Irene dogged.

"Ah, that I'd be out of town and I'd appreciate it if he helped out a bit more while I was gone. And, well, I asked him to look out for you." Mr. Locklyn explained as he cut into the pie, carving out a generous portion for himself. "Anyway, more for us, right?"

"Right..." Irene took the offered knife and cut herself a modest piece, scooping what she could onto her plate as neatly as possible. Which wasn't very neat at all. A mess of crumbled pastry, gravy, vegetables and chicken chunks in a brownish gray mound was the result. But it all tasted the same. She was focusing hard on the food, trying to keep herself from showing how hurt and angry she felt with her father, leaving her alone with Cyrus.

"I shouldn't be gone for more than six days, and I already have my return ticket booked," her father further added. With the hard part over, Carl tucked into his meal. Irene just sat and poked at her food for a while in silence. She scooped some of it up onto her fork, but then set it on the side of her plate to cool. Should she tell him the truth about Cyrus? But she'd kept it to herself this long, he'd probably start shouting. And again she worried that he'd start a fight he could not win to defend his daughter.

"Have you ever thought of just... finding a new job? One that keeps you close by?" Irene finally asked after staring sullenly at the table. Her father stared at her, gravy dripping from his fork as it hesitated in front of his open mouth. He set it down, frowning deeply at her.

"I've been with that company for years! I know they're struggling now, but they'd go bottom up without me," Mr. Locklyn responded in a measured tone that did not fully conceal his vexation.

"If that were true, then shouldn't they pay you better?" Irene challenged.

"Hey, I want to go back to how we lived before, too. But you still got a roof over your head and plenty to eat! We're just renting this place until I can pay off my debts, you know that!" Carl said, grabbing a paper napkin to wipe some gravy from his chin.

"I know that. It's not about the money, it's about how well they treat you," Irene grumbled.

"Now, now, kiddo. They came through for me when Monica got sick, giving me the time I needed to take care of her. Most companies would have let me go. I was just so foolish to believe in a miracle cure and looking back I can't believe how I fell for that trial treatment scam..." her father sighed, placing his fork down.

"And what about me? What about giving you the time to take care of me?" Irene finally asked, tears welling up in her eyes despite her attempt to fight it. She gripped her hands, grabbing the roll of paper towels and ripping one off to wipe her eyes.

"Irene, honey. Things are different now. We're too small and specialised to thrive against book giants like Barnes & Noble or Amazon. If they could spare me this trip, they would. As it is... we're likely going to be bought out, and as much as I hate the idea of a US company bailing us, we're against a rock and a hard place." Carl stabbed a chunk of chicken very decisively as he spoke. He then looked up again at Irene who was sullenly taking a small mouthful of her meal, trying very hard not to continue showing any emotion. "Aw... I know... it's been hard."

"It is hard. I try not to need you or worry you, Dad, but..." Irene's shoulders raised then drooped with a large sigh. "I feel like everyone is abandoning me. And I know that isn't rational. But it's how I feel."

"Abandoning you? I do this for you! I feel so bad I spent your college fund trying to make Monica better... I'm trying to make up for it."

"I can get a scholarship." Irene retorted. She glared down at her plate. There was no sense in going round for round with her father as well. "You know what? Nevermind. I'm just tired, I'm not myself. It's only six days, then you'll be back," Irene said, withdrawing from a difficult conversation. Talking about her feelings, even with her father, especially with her father, was always too uncomfortable for Irene.

"I noticed you haven't quite been yourself, kiddo. Want to tell me what's up?" her father asked.

Irene shrugged. "Jordan and I had a fight. We nearly broke up," Irene said, not hiding the emotional exhaustion she was feeling.

"Aw, Irene. So that's what's been eating at you. It's not easy being in love, whether you're young or old," her father reflected out loud. He used the pretence of chewing another mouthful to give himself time to think. Irene deployed a similar tactic, and both ate in thoughtful silence.

"Thanks for supper Dad. I'm full," Irene said, pushing her messy plate away from herself.

"You're welcome," her father muttered. Irene stood up, cleared away her own dishes, and went to her room.

Irene tried not to let it distress her that her father was leaving again so soon. But it seemed as though the moment she had found a foothold in her trials, her support networks were once again giving out. Irene laid in bed, Silver loyally curled up on her chest, purring. At least she had her cat. Irene began wondering if she'd end up as one of those lonely old ladies with only their pets to keep them company. And then she got to wondering if that was really such a bad thing. Relationships with animals were far more straightforward. Irene gently lifted Silver so she could roll over onto her side, placing her ally on the pillow beside her. And from there she drifted to sleep, to the sound of purring and rain pounding.

Slumber, however, did not last long for Irene. In the middle of the night her restless dreams were disturbed by a shrill cacophony. She jolted awake, her heart racing and thoughts disorganised. It took a while for her to identify the horrific shrieking noise, and then for her eyes to go to the source. Silver was standing at the foot of her bed, back arched, fur standing on end. She let out another ferocious scream that ended in a growl. Irene looked to her bedroom door first, almost expecting Cyrus to have somehow got past her wards. Her door was ajar but Cyrus was nowhere to be found.

Irene looked at Silver, who was staring at the window intensely. She had gone from standing with her back arched to crouched low, ears still pinned back and tail swatting side to side as she let out a sound between a growl and a whimper. Irene looked at the window, but it offered no clues. The drawn curtains blocked her view. She considered getting up and opening them, but was afraid if there was someone or something there, that they'd see her. The distant sound of a car could be heard, its powerful high beams briefly illuminating the spot outside her window as it passed by. It was then she saw a vague silhouette outlined beyond the curtains, and just as the light faded, she saw it move away. Irene picked up her cat who growled again, but did not fight her. Instead Silver turned to her, shoving her head into Irene's armpit. Irene held her close and stroked and smoothed her ruffled pet.

"Good girl... good girl," Irene cooed soothingly. Irene strained to listen for sounds of a break in. She listened for the sounds of someone rapping at the windows. She waited for anything to happen. But all was still and silent. Even the rain had stopped. Irene remained in her room a while longer. Had another vampire found her? Was that one of Gabriel's goons? There'd be no reason for Cyrus to skulk around her window when he could pester her right outside her bedroom door. Silver only screamed like that at Cyrus, or at tom cats. And that was not a tom cat.

Bracing herself, and holding Silver tight, Irene stepped out of her room. Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked into the dark hallway. No one there. Two more steps and movement caught her eye and she let out a frightened yelp. This in turn caused an equally startled response. Irene turned and saw her father standing there, a hand to his chest.

"You startled me. What are you doing up?"

"What do you expect with your cat making that racket? She could wake the dead," her father grumbled. Irene just pet her cat defensively, bringing the dainty tabby's head close to her lips.

"Something outside must have scared her," Irene responded.

"Well hopefully it's gone and her highness will let us all get back to sleep. If you'll excuse me," her father said tiredly, gesturing to the bathroom door which was just past Irene. She stepped to the side of the hallway and let her father pass. Silver grew impatient and began struggling, so Irene let her go, and the cat sauntered off towards the kitchen.

Irene got herself a drink of water. Her heart had mostly calmed down, but she was still feeling some lingering anxiety about what she saw. She began wondering if she'd just imagined the silhouette. However, whatever set off Silver wasn't her imagination. Irene remained in the kitchen, listening for the sound of her father's bedroom door. Once he was back in his room, Irene checked the front door and all the windows to make sure they were closed and locked. Once she was satisfied that nothing was amiss, she finally went back to her room and tried to get back to sleep.

Sleep, however, continued to be elusive and intermittent. Irene was often waking up, looking at the clock, listening for a moment, then rolling over and trying again to get some sleep. When she was awoken by the sound of the front door, she quickly got out of bed and tiptoed to her bedroom door, listening. There were footsteps and the jingle of keys. That must be Cyrus returning. It irritated her that her father gave him his own set of keys, but as a boarder it was necessary. It was much better than leaving the door unlocked, which she used to do, even before Cyrus showed up. She was a light sleeper, and it wasn't a very dangerous neighbourhood. But now, she locked up every night.

Irene shuffled out, intent on catching Cyrus before he went down to the basement.

"You're up early, even for you," Cyrus remarked before she said anything. It was dark, and she could barely make out his face and hands.

"Cyrus. I think another vampire has been by the house," Irene whispered, not wanting to wake her father again. She could not see his expression in the darkness, but the silence that followed was telling.

"What makes you think that?" He asked quietly after a pause.

"Silver woke me up growling and yowling, and I saw a silhouette briefly outside my bedroom window." Irene reported.

"A vampire? Oh my! Well, I guess I'd better go take a look-see," Cyrus responded, sounding like a parent humouring their child upon insisting there's a monster in the closet. Irene frowned and crossed her arms, finding her way to a kitchen chair. Cyrus left, and Irene waited.

"Well, I did see some footprints in the mud out there," Cyrus said when he returned. "Could have been a vampire. Or a peeping tom. Silver hates toms, right?"

"Wrong kind of tom," Irene responded, irritated. Cyrus snickered quietly. "This is serious!"

"Oh, yes, this is serious. But as you know, I never am," Cyrus responded coolly as he walked over and sat down at the kitchen table across from her. "I'll stick close the next few nights. And you'd better come straight home after school."

Irene snorted. It was her plan to come straight home, but being told by Cyrus irritated her. She kept her irritation to herself. Refusal out of sheer contrariness was foolhardy and unsafe. "I will."

"Good. I've kept you alive this long, I'd hate to lose my investment now." There was a creaking noise as Cyrus stood up again. "Get some rest, peaches."

Irene muttered some sort of sound of acknowledgement, but she wasn't quite sure it counted as a word in any known language. Cyrus went to the basement, and she went to her sanctuary and attempted to salvage what little sleep she could.

The coming weekend came and went in a blur. The hours of daylight were getting shorter, and Irene had to make the most of them as she prepared for her father leaving again. Cyrus wasn't heading out as early either, and in the few days leading up to her father's departure she noticed them talking a fair amount. While Cyrus maintained his playful air, he modified his humour to suit her father's more. It irritated her seeing them get along. It vexed her more that her father seemed to forget that he'd ever mistrusted Cyrus.

Her father left on a Monday. He kissed her goodbye before she left for school. She knew he'd be gone by the time she returned. She tried to visit Jordan again to talk to him about her father's departure, but he was asleep and not easily roused. Merle continued to avoid her. It seemed the only person she talked to was Joseph, but that was usually restricted to small talk and passing pleasantries. Irene had been alone a lot throughout her life, but this was the first time she was unsettled by it.

Nights were the worst. To be safe she began lighting candles and trying to focus on feeling safe, as if she were afraid her wards would fail. She even began to doubt they ever worked in the first place. Perhaps Cyrus was simply choosing not to enter to ease her into a false sense of security. At least Silver usually warned her with a growl and a hiss when Cyrus came near. But she usually ran off shortly after. Irene didn't blame her.

One particular night Irene was struggling to sleep. While she was sure she had drifted off, it was another rainy night, and a particularly loud moan of wind through the trees disrupted her. She crept to the window, peeking through the curtains. Nothing to see out there. This had become something of a routine for her. She thought she heard water rushing, but it may have been her imagination. She then stepped out of her room, heading towards the bathroom.

She noticed light outlining the bathroom door. Oh, had she left the light on by accident? As she was about to open it, it swung open of its own accord, causing Irene to jump back from a fright. Standing in the doorway, with wet hair, was Cyrus. He raised his eyebrows, his hands finding the edges of the doorframe. To Irene's horror, he didn't even have so much as a towel.

Irene immediately looked away, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes.

"Rude!" cried Cyrus in a facetiously scandalised tone. "You're going to give me body image issues."

"I'm rude!? What do you think you are doing? You can't just walk around my house naked!" Irene hissed. With a hand to carefully block anything she didn't want to see, she peered back at him to scowl.

"I forgot a towel!" Cyrus said innocently. "Be a doll and grab me one?"

Irene was going to tell him to get one himself, but she decided to just go fetch one from the linen closet down the hall. Irene returned, tossing the towel at him, and he caught it, laughing. In just a few seconds her eyes had wandered where she didn't want them to. Then something suddenly occurred to her, and she was shocked that it hadn't occurred to her before. In spite of herself, she found herself staring, no blush or discomfort, just clinical detachment and the nagging of something not adding up.

"Huh..."

"Yes?" Cyrus used the towel to fluff his hair instead of wrapping it about his waist.

"...If vampires don't have a pulse, then how-"

"Am I so magnificently tumescent?" Cyrus asked playfully as he finally girded himself in a towel.

"Ugh..." Irene had no idea what that meant, but had a strong conviction it was something inappropriate. She turned to leave, but stalled when she heard Cyrus speak.

"We're not dead. We have hearts, you know." Irene looked over her shoulder. "That's just another thing the media got wrong." Cyrus flicked his wrist in the air. "I have a pulse. But when I'm dormant it slows down and almost stops." One hand on his towel, Cyrus walked over to her. Irene half turned to him, but didn't fully face him, ready to leave if he made any wrong moves. Cyrus held out his free hand, wrist up. "Go on, feel for yourself."

Irene was about to turn away and leave, but she paused. It was best not to take Cyrus's word for everything and investigate for herself. Irene cautiously placed two fingers on the veins along the underside of his wrist. Thump. Through her thin skin she could feel the expanding and contracting of blood pumping through his vessels, like any living being. Her hand quickly pulled away and she stepped back, to give herself space. Of course, before she knew he wasn't human, she had felt his pulse when she was checking him for injuries. How could she have forgotten?

In the light cast into the hallway from the bathroom, Irene could see an odd expression on Cyrus. Not the usual smug grin or skin-crawling leer. But almost as if there was some sort of new theory or epiphany he'd stumbled across. "Irene... if I were mortal, would you still find me repulsive?"

"Yes. It's who you are, not what you are that I despise," Irene responded firmly.

"Hmmm..." Cyrus ran his fingers through his hair, shaking off excess droplets of water. "No, I think there's something more going on here. I've been hated before, and what can I say? People love to hate me, hate to love me, and everything in between. But this is different."

"Well I'm glad you're so self aware." Irene responded sarcastically. "I don't understand why you don't just go away. Get far away from Gabriel. Start over somewhere new..." Irene swung out her arm, gesturing to her home. "Why stay here?"

"It's not that simple." Cyrus stepped closer, locking eyes with her. Irene took another step away. She broke the gaze immediately, remembering the power he had during eye contact. Irene turned to calculate how quickly she could get to the safety of her room. His gaze followed hers and he nodded. "Go on, you're much safer there."

Irene didn't hesitate. She quickly fled to her room, slamming the door on the towel-clad vampire. Irene put her hand to her heart as it began to race, thinking in the aftermath how she narrowly escaped an unpleasant situation. But what was more disturbing to Irene is that she realised she was slowly becoming desensitised to his antics. It was also distressing to think of him as alive. Her hand went from her chest to her mouth. All the times she had thought about killing him. She'd never seriously entertained killing anyone before. The only thing that had stopped her was fear of failure, and what he'd do to her. But now, thinking of him as alive, not some undead creature, made the thought, despite the threat he posed, sickening. Once again, Cyrus had shaken her sense of self.