Shades of Red

by T L Christianson

  Finally, her eyes met mine. "I get that…Want to talk about it? Is it your mom again?"

  A lump formed in my throat. "Can you keep a secret?" A nod encouraged me to continue. "A few months ago, I took on a part-time job as a home care nurse with Haven. It's only once a week but this week I was scheduled here the night before and after—tonight. I'm drowning in medical debt from my mom."

  "We have good insurance. Doesn't it cover her?"

  I snorted, "Yeah, finally, but it doesn't cover all the bills that piled up when her insurance lapsed.”

  "Why are you paying her bills? That's dumb. Don't take on her debt. Let her go bankrupt. Maybe file for Medicare or disability or something."

  I looked at my hands, "I can't do that to her. She'd lose the house. Besides, it'll be okay. I'll get it figured out."

  She sucked in a breath and released it slowly. "Yeah, when you win the lottery. But you need to quit your day job. If the hospital finds out what you're doing, you'll get fired."

  My eyes stung with unshed tears, and I squeezed them shut. "I'll figure it out. I will." I whispered, trying to reign in my emotions.

  The beeping and whirring of machines filled the silence, and the smell of disinfectant filled my nose, in an oddly comforting way.

  "When did you last do your checks?" I asked, looking at my watch.

  "About twenty minutes ago."

  I stood, "Want some coffee?"

  "Sure, black with sugar." Susanne continued to type away on her keyboard.

  I loved being a nurse.

  Sure, people sometimes puked or threw things, but I always felt whole and needed.

  My mind went over all the bills I had stacking up at home, my mom, and this stupid situation I found myself in. Before her illness, it baffled me when people stole or murdered or broke the law, but now, finding myself in this desperate situation, I kind of understood.

  Pouring the thin coffee into insulated mugs, I added sugar to both and creamer to mine before replacing the lids. We all had a hospital mug with our name on it from last year’s Christmas party.

  Mrs. S's words followed me and hung in my sleep-deprived brain as I walked the stairs back to my ward. I knew there was no such thing as vampires…but I wish there were. If I were to encourage Mrs. S to share more of this fairytale so I could live vicariously through her fantasy, would that be good or bad?

  Back at the nurses' station, Susanne was gone. Three in the morning is always a strange time at night. When I worked the ER, the staff called it the witching hour. It's a quiet moment in the night after everyone's gone to sleep and no one has gotten out of bed.

  Something strange seems to happen to your brain during this time. I always feel foggy or dreamy. This time of night always seems to happen in a haze.

  Susanne’s brisk footsteps signaled her return. She took her seat, the wheels of her chair squeaking as she pushed her chair into position. When I glanced over at her, she was scrolling through her phone. I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.

  Mrs. S's pale, lined face was looming in front of me in my dream. Her deep-set, dark, beady eyes pinned me down. "They're all around, everywhere—they call themselves the moroi, but you and I know they're just vampires."

  Startled and blinking, I stood and checked the monitors. Sucking in a breath, I scanned the monitors to find the source of the beeping.

  Mrs. Thomas, room 518.

  Rushing to her room, I saw the older woman sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the wires to her EKG.

  I turned off the sound and addressed my patient, "It looks like you've just pulled out some of the leads. Do you need to get up or anything before I hook you back up to the matrix?"

  She laughed, catching my movie joke. "Yes, dear. I was trying to go to the bathroom."

  After helping the older woman back into bed, I sat at the nurses’ station, while my co-worker sipped coffee and entered data into her computer. I began busying myself with the minor amount of paperwork left. Shaking my head, I laughed aloud quietly.

  "What," Susanne asked, glancing up from her computer.

  "My home care patient…From day one, she just goes on and on about vampires. It's weird."

  "Huh… Well, I'd like vampire Bill. He can bite me any day." She flipped through a stack of papers. "Maybe I'd be faster at paperwork." She laughed, and her blond ponytail shifted over her shoulder.

  "I guess she just seemed so…I don't know…convincing." I pursed my lips and shrugged.

  "You haven't worked with a lot of elderly patients, have you?"

  "Well…here…" I motioned the cardiac unit.

  "No. It's different. I mean elderly patients, not just older. Even the sane ones come up with these crazy fears and superstitions." She touched my arm. "It's okay. She probably read a book or watched a movie. They get reality mixed up. How old is your patient?"

  "Ninety-eight," I said.

  "Yeah. Ninety-eight is pretty old." Susanne hesitated, "You don't, like, believe in vampires, do you?"

  It was my turn to laugh, and I widened my eyes. "God no….no, no, no, no. That's insane."

  "Right. I was just checking to be sure this old woman wasn't driving you crazy."

  Chapter 3

  A week later, I was due to revisit Mrs. Shaposhnikov. After my night shift at the hospital, I'd checked on mom, drank a protein drink, and slept a couple hours.

  I pulled onto the street where my patient lived. It was an older neighborhood with homes from the '60s and '70s. Several cars lined the street.

  "What's going on here?" I said aloud to my empty car.

  After maneuvering into a tight parallel parking spot, I pulled my nurse’s pack from the passenger's seat. At 9:08, I was a little late, but figured it was fine.

  Shielding my eyes from the sun, I examined the house. I could hear voices coming from inside. Damnit, did she die? I actually enjoyed my time with the old bitty. Behind her drooping and lined exterior lay an intelligent and shrewd woman.

  My eyes prickled at the thought that she could be gone. I'd lost patients before, but Mrs. S wasn't like my other patients; she was like family.

  Sighing, I approached the door. The screen door was closed, but the main entrance was open, and I peered into the living room.

  Knocking on the glass, I called out a bit panicked, "Mrs. S?"

  She'd promised to teach me to knit today. My lip trembled as I knocked again.

  A young, artificially blond, woman came to the door; I’d seen pictures of her before. This was Kira, Mrs. S's daughter. Or was it? Wait? Was this woman her daughter? She looked young, too young. With a high forehead and large blue eyes, I pegged her definitely under thirty.

  Opening the door, a broad smile curved her lips. "Hi, you must be Sofia, I'm Kira. We've spoken on the phone before."

  I held out my hand for her to shake, but she awkwardly refused until I'd walked through the doorway.

  "Hi," I finally said, eyeing the empty living room. "Is everything okay? What's up with all the cars?"

  Kira widened her eyes, and she smiled broadly, "Oh yes…yes. Everything's fine. I'm glad you're here. Mumiya's made us wait for you."

  "Oh? Alexei's email said you all weren't visiting for another couple of weeks." I set my bag down. The scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke drifted into the room from the back of the house. Following the smell and the sound of cheerful, loud Russian voices, I made my way through the kitchen to the large, windowed sunroom where the dining table sat.

  The atmosphere held anticipation that I didn't understand, and as I looked around, I realized that no one seemed to be over thirty.

  Mrs. S sat in deep conversation with a silver-eyed man. Sitting on a sturdy wooden chair, her arthritic hand clutched a teacup. An indulgent smile played at her lips as she spoke to him in Russian. The man chatted back, gesturing as he talked and biting a black lip ring when he listened to the older woman. Occasionally, he'd run his fingers through his hair to smooth it behind his ears.

  When his gaze fell o
n me, the laughter died. The crowd seemed to realize that there was a stranger in their midst. All eyes were on me.

  I felt like a drowned sewer rat, having just worked the night shift. My dark hair was tied up into a quick messy bun, and I wore no make-up. The pink scrubs were some of my oldest and frayed at the hem.

  Forcing a smile that I definitely did not feel, I held up my lanyard from Haven. It had my name, picture, and credentials as an R.N.

  I didn't dare try to say her last name, Shaposhnikov, in front of native speakers.

  "Hi, I'm Sofia Cruz, the nurse…" My voice trailed off as a roar of laughter rang out.

  Amidst the Russian banter, I recognized my name and pressed my lips together in annoyance.

  The silver-eyed man flashed a chagrined look before taking a step toward me. "Forget them, they're all idiots. You're a lot younger than I expected… I'm Alexei Vasiliev."

  He clasped my hand between his own, and a shiver went through me. This was Alexei?

  Damn. A silver cross peeked through the top of his t-shirt along with a cord style necklace. Beads with symbols lay on the cord in the junction of his collarbone.

  "It's nice to meet you. I hadn't expected you to be so…young as well," I finished clumsily.

  Kira stood there like a barbie doll, her eyes flicking between the two of us. She'd presented herself as Mrs. S's daughter, but clearly looked younger than Alexei. While her face was smooth like a baby, Alexei's eyes had those tiny lines to indicate mid-thirties. My mind buzzed with questions, but I decided they would be impolite and unprofessional.

  Mrs. S. called out to the bunch and pointed to the chair next to her. "Don't mind them, Solnyshko. Come sit down and do your checks."

  Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and I coughed as I slipped into the recently vacated spot. Glancing around at the youthful faces, an uneasiness swept through me. Maybe it was because they were foreign. Maybe it was because they'd been through hard times. But all the eyes that I met seemed…timeworn, like those of much older people.

  Pushing the ashtray away, I went into nurse mode and addressed the room. "Can someone open a window? You all shouldn't smoke around Mrs. S."

  They chuckled indulgently, the way a parent does with a toddler.

  I ground my teeth and tried to ignore them as one of the women opened a window.

  Thankfully, the family began pouring out onto the back covered patio, taking their cancer sticks with them.

  Mrs. S's warm hand covered my own. "Ignore them—they mean well, but…"

  I pursed my lips at her words, "It's okay, I've dealt with worse," I told her, thinking of Mr. Warring and the ice water. Picking up the ashtray, I set it on the counter in the kitchen. "Would you like some more tea or breakfast?"

  "I've already eaten, but more tea would be nice…and make a cup for yourself, you know I don't like to drink alone." She winked at me.

  "You never told me how you learned English? Did you learn it in school?" I filled the kettle and placed it on its base, pressing the on button.

  "No… I lived here back in the sixties." Her eyes seemed to look off into the past as she spoke, her accent so thick I barely understood. "Kira was born here in New Mexico, she's technically an American. Her father, Evgeni, died when she was in high-school and we moved back to Russia."

  "Wow, that's right during the cold war. That must've been really difficult," I said, leaning against the counter.

  "Well, Evgeni was a scientist, and the Americans offered him a better life here, more resources." She nodded and pointed to the tea she wanted.

  I handed her the hot teacup in its saucer. "Why didn't you stay?"

  Her lined old eyes finally met mine. "I was lonely, I missed my family. When Evgeni was alive, we were treated with mistrust, but he was revered and respected. With him gone, we were treated with only suspicion, people whispered about us and would cross the street to pass. There was nothing left here for us."

  I pulled out a paper package of thin yellow cookies and set them onto a plate in the center of the table.

  "That's terrible. It's ignorance. People are afraid of anything different."

  We sipped our tea for a moment, listening to the voices float into the house through the closed window.

  I hesitated before motioning toward the back door, "What did they say about me when I came in?"

  She raised one white eyebrow and sighed, "They said you look like the girl from the vampire movie."

  I groaned, "Not vampires again."

  She cracked a sly smile and hid it behind her teacup. "Alexei was looking very hard at you."

  I sat down and watched her raise the cup to her lips, not knowing what to say.

  "So, your daughter lives here or in Russia?" I asked, changing the subject.

  Snorting an indelicate laugh, Mrs. S set her cup down. "No, she lives in St. Petersburg. Her husband is banned from America. She had to bring me here because the Global Council gives clan leaders permission to turn people by population and her clan didn't have any more permits."

  "Ummm… what do you mean by clan?" I asked warily.

  "Moroi—vampire clan. Only so many new moroi can be made, and because this is where she grew up, she thought I would be comfortable here." The expression on my patient's face said otherwise.

  Leaning forward, I held her hand in mine. "Mrs. Shaposhnikov, do you honestly, truly, really believe that your daughter is a vampire? She's not. I promise. Vampires don't exist."

  Pulling her bony fingers from mine, her skin paper-thin, she frowned. "Child, I may be an old woman, but I'm not crazy."

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, "I don't think you're crazy. I think you're confused."

  The old woman let out a string of Russian and shook her head.

  We sat in uneasy silence for several moments until she spoke, her voice tight. "I know this sounds crazy. I know it's hard to believe, but it's all true. I wanted you to be here today—to help, to make sure they don't hurt me. I agreed to be changed. That's why everyone is here and so happy."

  Gazing down, I bit my lip in regret. Maybe I should refer her to a psychologist. I shook my head, not knowing what else to say, but not wanting to encourage her. "I'm sorry, Mrs. S, I don't understand."

  She frowned.

  How should I deal with this? I wracked my brain.

  Finally, I picked up her empty cup and saucer and placed them in the dishwasher. "Let's check your vitals now. Is that okay?"

  She gave me an irritated expression, "Kira wants us in the bedroom. She's going to begin when we're ready."

  "Okay," I whispered, unable to suggest an alternative. I helped her stand with the aid of her walker. She shuffled at a snail's pace toward her room with me hovering, like a bee.

  When she sat on the edge of the bed, I had her lie down. I rubbed the head of my stethoscope on my thigh before listening to her belly, "How's your stomach?"

  She frowned, "It's fine."

  "Your feet look very swollen," I adjusted the pillows behind her. "Do they hurt?"

  "Aren't you going to check my heart and lungs?" She questioned me.

  "Yep, I was just about to do that. I'm more concerned with your feet right now."

  She frowned. "They're fine."

  I slid off her shoes, frowning at the marks they left on her tender skin under her nylons. Peeling the stockings off, I gently lifted her legs and placed pillows beneath her knees and feet.

  "I'm going to lotion and wrap your legs—if that's alright with you—to help the swelling. Where's the lotion the aide usually uses?"

  She looked behind me to the dresser. A finely crocheted runner hung over the top, and her hairbrush, lotion, and other items lay neatly on the delicate lace.

  Rolling her pant leg back, I picked up the lotion and began gently applying the cream and wrapping her calf.

  Mrs. S closed her eyes, and sadness breezed through me as I touched her delicate, wrinkled skin. Maybe making up vampires made her feel better. Perhaps
she was afraid of dying. There were so many reasons her mind might want to fight what was happening to her. I didn't want to grow old, either.

  I wished so many things could be different, like my mother. I wished that she wasn't sick, but denying the truth wouldn't help anyone.

  Would denying the truth help Mrs. S? I searched my own conscience. Was it so bad for her to make up a reality where she wouldn't have to be fragile and weak? Where she could become young again? Where she wouldn't die? That she could be a vampire?

  Maybe, or maybe it was harmful. Mrs. S deserved to get her affairs in order and say her goodbyes. A delusion like this kept her from making her peace with death and coming to terms with her situation.

  No good could come out of this vampire fantasy and if I could put a stop to it, I would.

  ***

  Alexei knocked and stood there, filling the door frame.

  "Babushka," he addressed Mrs. S, reverently speaking to the old woman in Russian.

  "Alexei!" She admonished him, "No need to be rude! Please…speak English in front of our guest."

  His gaze swung toward me in apology. "Sorry about that. I forget myself."

  "It's alright," I told him. After a pause, I spoke, trying to get a feel for his and Kira's relationship, "It must be tough being older than your stepmom."

  He laughed and rested his hands above him on the frame, highlighting the tattooed muscles of his arms. Silver glinted in his eyes, and he cringed a bit. "She's not my stepmom."

  "I.." I stammered.

  "It's okay…I see how it must look," he offered.

  "I didn't mean to assume. She just…" How was I going to finish that? She looks so young? She looks like she's in high school?

  "It's fine." He told me, before sauntering toward us like a large jungle cat.

  Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, he leaned near my patient. Taking her hand in his, he kissed the delicate skin. With wide child-like eyes, he said, "Babushka, are you okay? Do you feel alright? Are you sure you want Sofia here? She's chelovek."

  "I know she's human, but I want her here…even if she doesn't understand yet. And I'm fine, Alexei. Your mother worries so much. But she doesn't have to worry any longer, I've told her that I'm going to get turned—today," She crooned to him, placing her frail, slightly gnarled hand on the scruff of his cheek.