Waiting For Sunrise

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, Irene recollected the previous day. She was once again in Cyrus's clutches. Anger swelled in Irene's bosom as she remembered the nasty trick Cyrus had played on her mind and heart, all for his own gratification.

Irene tried to push the thoughts to the background and get her bearings. She wondered how long she had been asleep. The room was dark, and no illuminated alarm clock waited to inform her of the time.

Irene shuffled around in her bare feet, groping along the wall for a switch. Finally her hands discovered it, and she closed her eyes tight before flicking on the light. The surge of pain didn't shoot into her brain as she had expected. She peeked her eyes open at the dimly lit room. Irene wandered back to the bed, and walked around to the other side, where a small nightstand was. She opened the drawer and peered inside. There were several torn envelopes and letters. Irene 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. Curiously she held it up to the light and opened it. Inside was a small portrait of a woman. There was something austere about the woman's countenance that Irene found strangely fascinating. Irene turned it; the other side of the locket had an ornate 'L' engraved into it. Irene had no trouble guessing what the 'L' stood for. "This must be Layla…"

Irene closed the drawer, still holding the locket delicately in her hand as she got back onto 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. You look very strong…" Irene said to the locket. "Why did you have to die? I would never have met Cyrus, if it weren't for you. Or did you somehow fake your death to get away from all of them? I wouldn't blame you." Irene sighed, letting her arms rest. "Why am I talking to a piece of jewelry?"

"Because you're lonely."

Irene froze. She remained rigid 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. Rising to her feet again, Irene mentally shook herself.

"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, Irene 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 your harsh judgment."

"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 realized 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 rationalized.

"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.

"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. Irene continued to wait, and the minutes stretched into an hour. She remained in vigilant silence, waiting for the voice to dare 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, then questioned that very 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," Cyrus 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? Irene 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. She 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," Cyrus explained. 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 to look for a fresh bar of soap, as she was not going to rub anything on her body that had touched Cyrus, finally finding one in a pack under the sink. 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 moisturizer, and while she came out feeling exceptionally clean, upon toweling off, she felt dry and brittle.

As ready as Irene could get, 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, Irene 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 pieces. Another employee, hair up in a net, peered at Irene with nervous curiousity 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. Irene nodded and stepped back, Rory following close behind, shutting the door. "No one told me I'd be babysitting." Rory rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing somewhat. Irene stared at Rory for a moment or two.

"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 out of her eyes. Rory's eyes widened and he stared at her hand, then looked away in embarrassment. Irene stared at where her finger used to be, and then quickly shoved her hand in her pocket. "Let's go."

Neither Rory nor Irene were talkative on the drive. Irene kept her remarks strictly to directions. Irene was quick to get inside and gather essentials, in addition to a few books and a deck of cards. She had a feeling she'd be alone and confined a lot in the near future. She refilled Silver's food and water. Concerned, she put down another bowl of food, trusting Silver to eat responsibly. Lastly she 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. Was it clear? Was it legible? It would have to do. She heard the horn go off as Rory was clearly getting impatient. Irene sighed. Hopefully her father would obey the note to not contact the police, and to not search for her. Irene 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. Her hands were placed primly on her lap, and she'd notice him eye her hands a few times when the road wasn't demanding his full attention. But he never asked further. And when they returned to the coffee shop, Irene was relieved.

"Have you had anything to eat?" Rory asked as they stepped 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 her and Rory walked in through the back door.

"I know only what keeps me in business," Rory responded. 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."