Waiting For Sunrise

“Move!” Suspicious that Cyrus had been boasting about his power, Irene shoved him as hard as she could. Even with whatever had been draining her strength earlier removed, he was still as solid and immovable as a brick wall. His only reaction was to crook an eyebrow at her. Irene backed up and tried a running charge, but with little effort he threw her back. She slid along the ground, the sting of friction burns traveling up her arm with which she broke her fall. Irene hissed and picked herself up, looking at the red and peeling skin on her forearm.

“Ooooh that looks like it smarts. I could kiss it better, if you'd like," Cyrus teased. Irene made some angry noise that didn't qualify as a word, as she was busy blowing on the abrasion to soothe it. "Come, come. I’m only looking out for your best interest!” Cyrus insisted in aspartame tones.

“My best interest? You're only looking out for yourself!” Irene wielded ferocity to mask her underlying anxiety.

Cyrus made a tutting sound and wagged his finger. “Alright, I won't argue that. But Gabriel and his lackeys will be peeping in windows looking for you or me. So tonight, for your safety, you should stay down here with me. Understand, peaches?”

“You’re just using them as an excuse." Irene curled and flexed her hand in exasperations. "Out of my way! I need something to clean this with.” Irene held up her arm, pointing to the raw skin.

“Psh. Barely a flesh wound." Cyrus waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, I can stand here all night if necessary, but that might make me a little bit cranky, and you don’t want to see a cranky vampire. Stay down here and get some shuteye. I'll keep watch.” Cyrus purred.

Chills writhed along Irene's spine as she looked around for another weapon, something stronger than scissors. The only usable wood was part of the structure or shelving, and she had neither tools nor strength to remove and sharpen any of it. Furthermore, fighting him head on would be a futile waste of energy. If he would just drop his guard, she might be able to get past him.

"You think I'd be able to sleep with you looming?"

"Hmmm... I could always bite you, that worked wonders last time." Cyrus licked his lips. Irene immediately put her hand to her neck and took a step back, shaking her head. Cyrus shrugged. "That'd be a no, then."

"At least let me get some medicine," Irene insisted.

"Eh... I'm sure it stings but it's not an immediate danger. You can deal with it once the sun rises." Cyrus leaned against the basement door and stared at her neck. "You've survived worse."

Irene aspirated sharply. Her breathing was growing rapid, but she was trying to keep it shallow so it would not be noticeable. Irene paced for a while, then looked at the bed. There's no way I'm sleeping in a bed he's been in. She could see brown spots on the sheets left from when she first brought him in. She never had a chance to clean them. Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep, Irene stripped the bed and threw the sheets in for a cold wash.

Irene wished Monica had taught her how to remove blood from sheets. With no mother around, they had to learn through trial and error what to do about their laundry; their father was no help. Irene stared at the stains, old anger and resentment bubbling to the surface. Monica didn't have to die. Her father insisted Monica's lung cancer wasn't their mother's fault, but all Irene could remember about the woman was the smell of nicotine, and calloused fingers with pokey acrylic nails pressing too hard when trying to tickle her. They were better off without her; her mother sucked the life out of everyone.

Irene sighed and poured in an unmeasured amount of bleach; she didn't know the ratios. All she could do was guess and hope for the best. She'd occasionally glance over to see if Cyrus still guarded the door. Other than changing from standing to sitting, he hadn't moved.

Without adequate air flow, Irene knew the sheets would not be dry in time, and the spare sheets were upstairs with the towels. She could not spend the whole night pacing either. Resigned, she rolled up an old packing cover to use as a pillow and grabbed the quilt she'd saved from Cyrus' bleeding wounds. With these meagre comforts, Irene laid down on the rug.

"Ah. Seeing reason at last. Sweet dreams, Irene." Cyrus turned out the light.

“You still do that school thing, don’t you?”

The words jarred Irene from sleep. Her view was dominated by Cyrus' grinning visage. She yelped and thrashed, only to recoil from stiff limbs and an aching back. She looked up at Cyrus who was perched on the edge of the bare mattress, impish merriment in his eyes. “Forgot where you were, did you?”

Irene stared at the basement ceiling in bewilderment. Audible cracks popped as she struggled to sit up. She was shivering; the rug did not insulate her against the cold cement floor. Gradually, the previous night came back to her, as did the stinging on her arm. She marveled that she was able to fall asleep at all. With a hand on her muddled head, she yawned. Then her mind latched onto the concept of morning.

“What time is it?” Irene sputtered as she scrambled stiffly to her feet. Remembering her watch, she peered at it. 6:03 am. Plenty of time to shower and stretch out the tension before catching the bus.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, a plaintive mew drew Irene's attention to the empty food and water dish. Irene picked up Silver and hugged her, pressing her face into the soft fur. Silver was given to Monica to cheer her up when she first got her diagnosis. Feeling the vibrations of her sister's cat purring gave her a boost. It was like Monica giving her the push she needed. Irene fed Silver and continued about her early morning routine.

As Irene tied her shoes, she glanced up at a pair of black pants. She brumbled as Cyrus once again loomed in her personal space. Glaring had proven ineffectual in the past, but Irene did it anyway. “Don't you ever pull something like that again."

Cyrus clicked his tongue and then yet again that grin of his spread onto his face. “You make it sound as if something happened, which nothing did, as disappointing as that is.”

Irene stood up onto her tippy toes so as to loom over him for a change, her lips still pursed fiercely. Could he be any more of a creep?

“That something will never happen. Remember that, Cyrus,” Irene hissed. With that warning delivered she pivoted on her heel and went out the front door, slamming it behind her.

It was unnervingly easy for Irene to get through school without rousing the suspicion of her teachers. Her concentration was shot, and some of her absences went unexplained. But truancy was rampant enough among her generation that most of her teachers barely batted an eye. Her biology teacher was the only one to ask her if everything was alright, to which Irene explained that she was recovering from a nasty bug. She simply failed to mention the bug had a name: Cyrus.

Irene stayed behind to finish up her missed assignments. When Irene finally left the school it was unsurprisingly overcast. Zipping up her jacket, Irene hurried to reach the next bus. Everyone she passed on the street made her nervous. Anyone who caught her eye caused her heart to leap until they smiled and passed by. Although she did not prefer the evenings, she'd never feared them before. Upon reaching home, Irene sighed. How much longer was this going to go on for?

Several days, as it turned out. Despite her mistrust of Cyrus, he made compelling arguments for her to continue to sleep in the basement. To Irene's relief, Cyrus was out patrolling all night and she was usually up before he returned. She saw as little of him as possible which permitted her to reach some sort of equilibrium.

Every day she reconsidered calling the police. Her father was also frequently on her mind. He'd be home soon, wouldn't he? Surely he could find a way to fix this. He usually knew what to do... when he was actually around.

Irene spent her lunch breaks working on homework and her daylight hours in the library due to inclement weather. As such, chores went unfinished.

Irene knew she could no longer neglect the necessities, such as laundry, cleaning, and shopping. Thus she left school at the regular time one afternoon. When Irene ambled out of the school doors, her path was blocked by Merle, who wore a discontent countenance. Irene released a sigh as her shoulders sagged.

“Where are you headed?” Merle asked, stepping into Irene's space as if there had not been a rift between them. Irene continued to stare at her incredulously.

“I have a lot to catch up on… why do you ask?” Irene asked, trying to push awkwardness out of her voice.

“Really? Mind if I walk with you, then?” Merle's body language evoked nonchalance, but her voice was drenched in suspicion.

Irene sighed and slowly nodded her head. “Sure. But I can't dawdle; I have errands and homework."

Merle looked irritated but nodded. “Need any help?”

Irene shook her head. “No thanks."

Merle shrugged. “Alright. Let’s go then."

It was an awkward stroll with a few mangled attempts at small talk. Upon reaching the bus stop, the girls turned to face each other.

“Look, Irene, I'm sorry for the way I acted. But you haven't been yourself. Will you just talk to me, like you used to? I promise not to get mad this time… I was a bit harsh, but things just looked so… well, you know."

Irene let out a beleaguered sigh. Maybe Merle should learn the truth. It was dubious that Merle would understand or believe her. Even Jordan didn't take her seriously.

“Merle… I told you I can’t begin to explain…” Irene reiterated. Merle’s cheeks turned pink, but she bit her tongue, and continued to stare hard at Irene, urging her. Irene sighed and cast a glance downward, before staring Merle straight in the eyes again. “Merle, if I told you vampires were real, how would you react?”

Merle laughed, but Irene wasn't smiling. It took Merle a moment to catch up, and her merriment quickly turned to perplexity, then morphed to indignation. "What, you really expect me to believe that?"

Irene frowned, resignation weighing her head. "No."

"It's not like you to joke like that, Irene." Merle put her hands on her hips. "But if you don't want to tell me the truth, fine, whatever." Merle crossed her arms and shrugged, a sour expression pinching her face.

"Trust me, Merle, you are better off not knowing," Irene assured with her own shrug in response.

"Yeah, yeah, Irene, so serious and grown up, knows her little friend is too childish to understand anything," Merle spat. "Look, I apologised. I tried to be a good friend. But I guess you're not ready. Talk to me when you are," Merle said, throwing her arms into the air and storming off. Irene sighed and watched her childhood friend go. Normally Irene didn't mind being the calm anchor to Merle's extreme and rote interactions, but at the moment it was just draining.

Irene had planned on doing some shopping, but she lacked the time and energy after dealing with Merle. Maybe groceries would be best left for a Saturday morning. Instead she set to house chores.

The dishes helped keep Irene's hands busy, but she continued to ruminate on her predicament. Is Gabriel really as bad as Cyrus says? Or is he just trying to scare me? How can I find out without putting myself in danger? As she finished drying some dishes, a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. She swiveled around to face Cyrus. His face was molded into that crooked grin of his. Irene’s eyes instantly darted to the oven clock, staring in surprise at how much time had passed.

“You’ve let time slip away from you; isn’t it about time that you ate?” Cyrus tilted his head, squinting.

Irene shook her head, but in defiance, her stomach gurgled. “I guess I should eat…” she said as she began to scour through the cupboards and fridge. After several glances through the pantry she turned and sighed. “There isn’t much here…”

“You could always order pizza. That way both of us will get a meal,” Cyrus suggested casually.

Irene nodded and reached for the phone book, and then stopped. She pivoted on her heel and fixed Cyrus with a mighty glower.

“That wasn’t funny!”

Cyrus let out a chuckle, obviously believing that it was. “I was actually being serious. I’d rather not hunt tonight, but I am getting a little peckish. Come come, I’ll pay,” Cyrus offered.

“I am not going to sentence some poor delivery boy to his death just for free pizza!”

“Oh, but you’d let me starve?”

“Will it kill you to skip a meal?” Irene asked coldly.

Cyrus sighed and feigned another one of his horrific pouts. “Maybe not me, but it might kill you. If I get too hungry, I become a real beast. That is a side of me I hope for you to never see,” Cyrus illustrated his remarks by making a claw with his hand. Irene rolled her eyes and disengaged, going straight to her room.

Irene was putting clean laundry away in her dresser when she heard the doorbell ring. When she opened the door she was presented with a small pizza from an extremely skinny delivery woman, whose head looked too large for her small frame. Irene was both confused and annoyed. In response, irritation flooded the delivery woman's face as she chewed some potent mint gum.

“Did ya order a pizza or no?” she asked, her narrow eyes glaring at Irene. Before Irene could say no and apologize for the inconvenience, Cyrus intervened.

“I ordered a pizza." The pizza woman looked Cyrus up and down, and her taught lips turned up in a smile. She held out the pizza box, which released tender streams of steam out the crevices. Cyrus handed her a green bill, and she seized it, shoving it into a blazing red fanny-pack. The lollipop-headed woman whisked some golden hair out of her face, light reflecting off of her bright pink acrylic nails. Irene bet they hid nicotine stains. The pizza lady dug around in the pack for the correct change, and with a wider, painted smile, she dropped it into Cyrus’s open hand.

“Here ya go,” she said, batting her fake lashes. The spectacle made Irene sick, but not as sick as the thought of Cyrus sinking his foul teeth into her pencil neck. Cyrus shoved the pizza into Irene’s arms without looking at her, keeping strong eye contact with the delivery-twig. Irene glared at him, holding the pizza grudgingly, ready to throw it down, grab him by the ear, and drag him back inside. However, before she could take action, he slipped outside, closing the door behind him.

Irene felt heat well up inside of her. He had the gall to order the pizza anyway? Irene calmed herself and carried the pizza into the kitchen, setting it on the table. But she was tired of standing back and looking the other way. Irene marched to the front door and swung it wide open. However, to her surprise, no one was there.

Cautiously, Irene walked over to the car, a little afraid of what she may find inside. As she neared the slightly misty windows, she paused. Perhaps she should just go back into the house. Irene shook her head and rubbed her hand along the windows, peering in. Anticipation prickled along her skin as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Nothing.

The car was empty. Irene swiveled around and put her back to the automobile. Her eyes scanned the eerie dark for a sign of the woman or Cyrus. Did he cover her mouth and drag her into the bushes? Is he killing her now? Irene thought of her own terror when she was bitten, and sympathy melted her unjustified ire towards the woman. Why doesn't she scream for help?

Irene tip-toed back to her front porch, her eyes darting around nervously. Someone was possibly being murdered on her property. Irene rubbed her temples with the palms of her hands, trying to calm herself. Normally, if someone were in danger, she would call the police. Maybe they would be able to subdue or at least chase Cyrus away. Irene started to think about all the possible victims that he had since he had invaded her basement. Irene wrung her hands anxiously as she stood on the porch.

Enough is enough! Irene went inside, shut the door, and locked it. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think a locked door would keep Cyrus out, but it would delay him.

Irene went back to the kitchen, no appetite for the ill-gotten pizza despite its enticing aroma. She picked up the phone, listening to the dial tone as her hands hovered over the '9' key. Irene hesitated. What should I say? A man attacked a pizza girl? But I didn't actually see an attack. Someone was peeping in my windows? Is that actually an emergency call or just a complaint? Will I get in trouble if it's not what they consider an emergency?

Irene hung up and sighed. She grabbed the phone book to look up the RCMP to file a complaint. Against who? Cyrus may not have been lying about lacking papers. Biting constituted assault; she could report that. The problem was, there was no evidence she had been bitten. In her personal experience, police didn't take teenagers seriously, and liked to shuffle everything off to other agencies. Irene huffed angrily and sat down at the table.

Seeking distraction, Irene started working on her homework, determined to ignore any banging at the door. She was resolute, and would not be shaken. Irene slogged through some wordy math problems. But slowly, the math problems began to revolve around Cyrus. It started with an innocuous question about pizzas at a party. The smell of the pizza beckoned her. But then she remembered her anger at Cyrus. Soon she began wondering what the formula was for determining how fast a rate a human body could be exsanguinated. Stop it! Irene tried to focus.

Why hasn't he come back?

The battle was lost. She stared at the unopened box of pizza. It mocked her. She salivated as her stomach churned. There was no pride in wasting food. She reached over to lift the lid.

SLAM!

Irene gasped at the sound of a car door shutting. She got up and rushed to the window, peering out at the driveway. Headlights beamed through her window as the sound of tires on gravel clawed at her ears. Did he steal the woman's car? Is he leaving? She couldn't make out who was driving. Irene sat there, long after the car had disappeared, waiting.

Nothing.

Is he... gone? Was it as simple as that? Surely not!

Once again her stomach complained. Irene sat down and ate the pizza, but barely noticed the taste or textures. He'd ordered ham and pineapple, and Irene did not like pineapple on her pizza. But her mind was too full to care. Is it over? Irene wanted to celebrate, but she felt it was too soon.