Waiting For Sunrise

Ludicrous! Yet, here in front of her was the very image of what she imagined a vampire would look like, albeit, shorter.

Everything in Irene's body felt flipped around; weightlessness defied the opposing sensation of feet firmly planted on the ground. But how? And why? Feeling unstable, Irene reached out for something to steady herself, but even that small movement provoked a prickling sensation in her gut.

"Ah yes, child of darkness, creature of the night, and blood sucking fiend, at your service," Cyrus's voice pulled her back into the perturbing reality. The self-proclaimed vampire extended out his arms and bowed.

This sudden transformation from savage to feigned elegance thawed the panic-induced freeze, allowing Irene's anger to finally form words. Irene almost did not recognize her own voice as it rumbled out of her throat. "Go to hell."

Cyrus slithered up to her and slung his arm about Irene's shoulders. "But my vacation isn't over yet." Goosebumps puckered her skin as she recoiled from his touch.

"I don't care. Get away from me." Irene's voice was low and hardly audible over her thumping heart. She wanted to shriek to release the tension built up in her chest, but she felt almost as if a loud sound might set this chuckling hyena off.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you after all. I have bigger ambitions for you," Cyrus announced, tapping her nose lightly. Her face scrunched.

"I'm warning you…" Irene growled between clenched teeth.

"What are you going to do? Stab me with scissors again?" Cyrus guffawed. He smiled, his hands gripping her goosebump-riddled arms. "I am, indeed, a vampire. However, I'm not an ungracious monster… except when I'm hungry. Now then, let's review."

Irene had no choice but to listen; as long as he was talking, he wasn't hurting her. But what happens when he's done talking? What do I do then? Think.

"You saved my life, out of civic duty no doubt. Which means that out of civic duty you will not call the cops or tell anyone about what I am, because then they'd have to die. You wouldn't want that to happen, right?"

Irene dropped her gaze. "No."

"Good girl," Cyrus released her upper arms, then Irene immediately folded them over her chest protectively. "Now that you are calm I can explain a few things. Firstly, if you are religious, don't think a priest or shaman can save you. Pray, if you like, but it won't do you any good."

Prayer never did... Irene thought bitterly. An itching sensation surfaced, disrupting Irene's focus while Cyrus monologued. However, she maintained eye contact with him, trying not to get distracted.

"Second, take a good look, mortals can't hurt me." Cyrus gestured to the fresh laceration which was closing up before her eyes. The other wounds were healing as well. This confirmed that she was dealing with something more than a delusional madman.

The irritation on her cheek flared up again, and she couldn't stop herself from scratching. She dropped her gaze to inspect her nails; cinnabar flakes clumped at the tips. That was his blood beneath her fingernails, not hers. He was not impervious; she could hurt him. Irene clung on to this fact to keep herself from tumbling into another panic. Even with his ability to heal quickly, a critical wound ought to stop him. "And for that matter... Are you paying attention?" Irene looked up from her hands

Irene looked up from her hands. "Yes." She eyed the pink streak along Cyrus's collarbone. He wore what remained of the cut like a stray thread hanging off old knitwear. Her attention wandered to her own wound. There was no pain in her neck; there was barely any sensation at all.

"Well then! I'm claiming your basement as my new lair," Cyrus stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No! Get out!" Irene blurted in a panic. The idea of this monster staying in her basement escalated her heart to a new level of dread.

"I thought you said you were paying attention. Did I not make myself clear?"

He's dangerous, but he sounds more boastful than hostile. Maybe he can be reasoned with. Irene was willing to try anything, short of begging. Irene took several breaths to recollect her composure, trying to stop herself from more hazardous outbursts. "Yes, but let me be equally clear. I helped you. If you truly are grateful, you should leave."

"Oh ho ho! Quite the little diplomat. Too bad, we're already squared on that count. I mean, I DID spare your life despite you being a liability AND being really tasty." The sound of lips smacking repulsed Irene; her stomach clenched. "But you seem like a smart girl and I am confident that you won't do anything stupid." Cyrus thoroughly leered at her body. It clear to Irene she was being appraised like livestock. "Anyway, I strongly suggest you get out of those bloody clothes and go shower. That can't be hygienic."

Cyrus stepped away from her, no longer barring her retreat. Irene wanted to scramble out of there, but she could only manage a dejected, shaky stumble towards the stairs. Chuckles taunted her as she ascended the stairs, clinging to the bannister. His laughter only served to make her more furious at her current situation.

Cacophony. What was it? Images quickly fled, as sound became flashes of red light against delicate veins. Pain throbbed through Irene's addled head. A groan escaped, sheets whispered as she shifted. The sensation a tear-crusted pillow against her cheek did little to reassure Irene that she had been dreaming. Irene dug her face into the pillow. Why wouldn’t that ringing stop?

A period of silence lulled Irene back to sleep, only for the return of a ringtone to jar her awake. The shrillness of the sound provoked her headache further. Irritated, Irene thrust herself up from her bed. Who would be calling at this hour? She cleared her eyes, looked over at her alarm clock, and gasped. Wait! Is it five in the morning or evening? Bewildered, Irene looked towards the window and another pang shot through her skull. Through the trees the amber glow of sunset peeped at her. Irene shut her eyes and fumbled to close her curtains. Just as she quelled one attack on her raw senses, the phone launched a reprisal. Irene shambled towards the kitchen.

"Hello?"

“Irene! You finally picked up! I'm so glad to hear your voice!”

Irene held the receiver away from her ear, wincing at Merle's shouting.

“What is it, Merle?” Irene asked, the croak of deep slumber lingering.

“Where have you been? You NEVER miss school without telling me!"

Irene pinched the bridge of her nose. “I… uh...” Instantly Irene’s hand flew to her neck. All her fingertips experienced was smooth, unmarred skin. There should be a bump, a scab, anything.

"You don't sound good. Are you sick? I'll ask if I can come stay with you. It sucks being sick and alone.” Merle peppered her with questions and solutions before Irene could formulate a coherent response.

“N-No Merle! I will be fine! I just need a bit more rest. You’ll see me at school tomorrow, I promise!”

There was silence, followed by a hesitant giggle.

“Tomorrow is Saturday. Really, Irene. For once I think you should take this more seriously.” Merle peeped incredulously.

Irene sighed, shook her head, then winced from the resulting nausea.

"I can take care of myself!" Irene snapped, then put her hand over her mouth, feeling a warning lurch in her stomach.

"Don't bite my head off, Irene!" Irene placed her hand on her stomach and tried to stay calm as Merle stormed at her. "I have been calling and calling and you weren't picking up and I was almost getting ready to hop a ride over there and check on you! I'm just really concerned and you snap at me!" Merle sputtered. Before Irene could protest, Merle's voice continued. "Sorry, sorry. I know you like to show off how tough you are. But call me if you do need me."

Click.

Irene sighed and hung up. She bit her lip and tried to overcome her nausea with sheer will. Irene slowly slid down to the ground. Should I have told Merle about Cyrus? No... that'd only get Merle into trouble. One worry opened the door, inviting its kin inside. What about when Dad returns? Will he be in danger? What would Cyrus do to him? Irene slowly lowered her eyes, a seething glare directed towards the stairs that led to the basement.

Irene rose to her feet. Trembling, she stared down at dark stairways. Perhaps while he was resting during the day, she could drive a wooden stake through his heart. A wooden stake is how they do it in the legends and stories, right? But I don't have a wooden stake. Maybe I can make one, or a cross instead. Irene closed her burning eyes and quietly walked away from the narrow stairs. But what if it doesn't work? I can't take that risk. Even with a weapon, she'd be no match for him while her stomach was on edge. She needed to settle her gut.

Irene paced as she waited for her toast to pop. Once she felt steady enough, she knew where she needed to go. Irene nibbled on the toast, and the food did her some good. With her stomach finally settled, Irene struggled her feet into her runners and tied up the laces. She stared at the front door and drew in a breath. Wiping her eyes one last time she opened the door, stepping out into the golden hue of sunset.

The cold light, subdued colours and smell of sterile equipment made the atmosphere depressingly hollow. Shivers ran down Irene's spine as she stared at all the tubes and equipment hooked up to a waning body. Irene sighed and walked over to the bed, covered in white sheets. Memory of a shroud filled Irene's heart with ice. No. Jordan will get better. She stroked the back of his hand, fingertips tracing his pronounced knuckles. Hazel eyes partially opened, appearing sickly green in the current setting.

“Hey there...” Irene said softly. A slight smile formed on his blanched face. Irene could barely see any of his golden hair beneath all the bandages.

“Hey… how are you?” Jordan asked in a quiet voice.

Irene shook her head and smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll be fine… how are you?” Irene responded, stroking his cheek gently, trying not to bump the air tubes leading from his nostrils.

“I don’t feel pain… I don’t really feel anything right now… but Merle was here. She was really concerned. What's going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…” Irene responded, looking down. Jordan’s eyes closed and he leaned into his pillow. He remained silent for a moment. Irene noticed his stockinged foot poking out from beneath the covers, and pulled it down so he didn't get cold.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jordan finally determined. Irene sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.

“I have an unexpected guest at my house. Do not say anything to Merle, please…” Irene pleaded softly. Jordan opened his eyes halfway, sliding them gently to look over at her. "I'll tell you more when I have more time."

“Okay... Just promise me you’ll visit me again soon… and tell me the rest…” Jordan requested. Jordan weakly tried to squeeze Irene’s hand. She smiled a little and stroked his arm, bruised from multiple needle pokes.

“I will, but for now, don’t worry. I’ll be fine – you know I will,” Irene said, glancing at the clock. Time was running out.

“I know. You've always been strong." Jordan whispered.

Irene shuddered. She didn't feel strong. Irene felt helpless, and she hated it.

"Do you think… that once we've graduated… that we could get married?” Jordan asked. Irene glanced down at him sadly. Jordan's prognosis was vague at best. Meningitis, as a complication of a craniotomy, left Jordan with a high likelihood of permanent damage. She hoped for the best, but had already prepared herself for the worst. Irene forced a smile. It reassured her that he was so hopeful.

“A lot could happen by then. But… I think it’s very likely; I can’t see myself with anyone else,” Irene admitted. The faint smile that materialized on his face made Irene shudder inside. It wasn’t a shudder of pain or sorrow, but a bittersweet resonance deep within. They stared at each other in silence. Neither of them had ever told the other in words how much they cared for each other; they always said it with actions or peaceful silence. It was the way Irene preferred it. The last person she said she loved was her sister, and she was gone.

The door to Jordan's private hospital room swung open and a nurse stepped in. She stared at Irene for a moment before announcing, “Time to go."

Irene nodded and gave Jordan’s hand one more affectionate squeeze before she left.