Forever 51

by Pamela Skjolsvik

  They shuffled towards the taxi stand.

  “You’re not going to kill me and dump me in the bay, are you?” Jenny’s brows arched.

  “What would give you that impression?”

  Jenny pulled the letter from her pack. “This.”

  10

  The faint aroma of vomit and stale cigarettes lingered in the vinyl-covered back seat, despite the lilac-scented air freshener that overwhelmed the tiny space. Veronica rolled down the window and leaned her head out to escape the olfactory assault, daring the sun to obliterate her. Jenny didn’t seem to notice the smell. She was more concerned with the curious letter in her sweaty hands.

  “So. Would you care to illuminate me on your deathbed scribbling? Or are you just going to plead the fifth?” Jenny unfolded the crumpled paper and read it aloud in a monotone voice. “‘More than anything, I’m sorry for subjecting you to my strange ways, and yes, that includes all the people I’ve killed. I tried to be as ethical as possible in my pursuit of blood, but sometimes, as you know, it was beyond my control. If anything, I am so grateful that I never changed you. Unlike the life I’ve lived, yours will be so much happier in that one day it will end.’”

  The driver slammed on the brakes. Jenny flew forward, crashing against the plastic window that divided the cab. “Idiot,” the driver shouted at the dented white Prius in front of them.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” Veronica demanded above the wailing of the cab’s horn.

  “Mother fucker!” Jenny punched the window and flipped off the driver. Grabbing the greasy belt, she strapped it across her thin waist. “There. Are you satisfied?”

  “Yes. The last thing we need is for you to die on your way to rehab,” Veronica said and leaned back against the seat.

  “I’m not going to rehab.” Jenny folded the letter into a tiny square and stuffed it in her backpack. “So, um, are you like a serial killer or something? Or are you just mentally ill?”

  Veronica rubbed her temples, contemplating her response. “Yes, something along those lines.”

  “Well, which one? An inquiring mind wants to know if she should walk down a dark alley with your ass.”

  “I’m a vampire. And yes, you are going to rehab.” Veronica chuckled in a deep low voice at those strange words.

  “No, I’m not. And if you really are a vampire, shouldn’t you be sexier or something?” Jenny placed her boot-clad feet on the cab’s plastic divider. The driver scowled at her in the rearview mirror.

  “I just admitted to you that I’m a vampire and your main concern is what I look like? Who’s the mentally ill one here?” Veronica swatted at Jenny’s leg. “And get your feet off that. Were you raised in a barn?”

  Jenny let her feet drop with a thud. “Okay, Dracula. If you really are a vampire, why did you fly on an airplane? Why didn’t you just turn yourself into a bat and fly your shit for free to California?”

  “Why? I’ll tell you why. I never figured out shape shifting or whatever it’s called. And the way things have been playing out lately, I’m going to assume that shape shifting is a myth. Kind of like that myth about the sun, which absolutely kills me, just not literally! Do you know how long I’ve been hiding in closets and basements and the trunks of cars?”

  Jenny’s eyes widened at the rising tide of anger in Veronica’s voice.

  “I’ll tell you. A long fucking time. I’ve been hiding in dark places since the eighteen fucking hundreds! And now! Now! When I finally discover that it’s a big, fat lie, I’m in a city that’s covered by an enormous fog bank. Where is the fucking sunshine? Where?”

  “That would be the Eastbay or Marin,” the driver shouted over the radio.

  “I think you’re freaking him out, so you may want to keep your voice down and that vampire shit to yourself.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “What about you? You’re not freaked out?”

  “My sister is scarier than you. She’s twelve.” Jenny stared at her phone expectantly.

  The driver pulled up to the curb, clicked off the meter and turned towards the back seat. “Forty-six.”

  At the entrance to the blood bank, Veronica brushed a few cat hairs from Jenny’s hoody. “Whatever you do, don’t talk too much. And try not to swear. You may think it’s the groovy, cool, bitchin’, or whatever thing to do, but let me tell you, it’s really not becoming for a girl your age.”

  “Well, neither is your hair, but you don’t see me pointing out that shit to you.” Jenny smiled. She kicked at the brick building. “I get the feeling that you really don’t want to go in there, do you?”

  “It would be like you walking into a meth lab with free samples. Plus…” Veronica’s voice trailed off as she popped her neck from side to side.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t seen my daughter in a really long time.” Veronica turned towards the front window of the blood bank and fluffed her hair. “I must look like hell.”

  Jenny looked towards their reflection, but the space beside her was empty. She spun around to face Veronica. “I can’t see you in the window.” Jenny’s mouth gaped open as she turned back towards her reflection. “I can’t believe it. Either I’m still totally high or…”

  “Let’s get this over with before I burst into flames.” Veronica smiled and put her arm around her, pushing her towards the entrance.

  “Oh my god. Wait till I tell my little sister.” Jenny pulled away. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  Only if I’m desperate. Veronica yanked open the glass door and stepped inside the fluorescent-lit building. Every bed was full. Pints of blood dangled below eye level so as not to disturb anyone’s aesthetic sensibilities. The scent was an intoxicating mix of hope and ruin. “No, but I do want some of the blood you’re donating,” she whispered near Jenny’s ear.

  At the back of the room, Ingrid dropped her clipboard and ran towards Veronica with the unbridled enthusiasm of a child. “Mama!”

  Veronica tensed like a body builder about to lift an enormous weight as Ingrid embraced her. The young woman buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck. Veronica patted her stiffly on the back as all eyes in the room focused on the awkward exchange.

  Jenny took a step back from the pair. “You could hug her back, you know,” she said and fiddled with her phone.

  Ingrid looked at Jenny with a questioning look. “Is she with you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Jenny.” Veronica cleared her throat and wiped at her damp forehead. Anger and resentment rose like bile, elevating the temperature of her body and pummeling her brain with images of the night Ingrid deserted her with Desmond. “The two of us bonded on the plane and she has a few hours to kill until her next flight. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not. Nice to meet you, Jenny.” Ingrid extended her pale, slender arm.

  Jenny wiped her hands nervously on her jeans before limply shaking Ingrid’s hand. “You too.”

  “As you can see by her coloring, this poor dear has hereditary hemochromatosis. Would it be possible while we’re here for you to drain her of a pint?” Veronica smiled with a flash of her milk white-fangs and placed her arm protectively around Jenny.

  “Um, I guess so. Why don’t we go back to the special donations room, if that’s okay?”

  Ingrid quickly shuffled them back to a small room and opened the door.

  “Have a seat.” Ingrid grabbed a pair of purple surgical gloves. The door closed with a click.

  “Does this door lock?” asked Veronica.

  “Okay, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I’m seriously getting freaked out.” Jenny jutted her arms out, making the sign of the cross with her fingers. With her eyes fixated on Veronica, she slowly backed herself into a corner. “Is your daughter a blood sucker, too?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, she is. Aren’t you, dear?” Veronica sat in one of the plastic chairs lining the wall. A smug grin revealed that her teeth hadn’t retracted.

  “J
esus, Mom. You’re scaring her. Jenny, first of all, you can put your fingers down. Doesn’t work.” Ingrid walked slowly towards her with her arms up as if she were surrendering. “Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you.” Ingrid gestured to the gurney. “Do you prefer your left or right arm?”

  “She’d never hurt you, Jenny.” Veronica crossed her arms firmly. “Well, at least not intentionally.”

  Jenny let her arms flop to her side and shuffled to the gurney. “Okay. Whatever. You two need to hug it out like for reals this time, because this room is tense.” She hopped up on the gurney and eased her body back onto the crinkly paper. “Okay, Doogie. They usually have better luck with the left. And whatever you do, don’t mention my veins or tell me they’re wiggly. That shit makes me pass out. Speaking of which, do you have anything to drink?”

  “Sure, I’ll get you some juice. Mom?”

  “Oh, gee, why don’t you bring me a nice warm O positive with an AB negative chaser.” Sarcasm didn’t literally tear flesh, but it was her favorite defense.

  Ingrid smiled nervously. “Sorry. I’ve been working among the living for so long, I sometimes forget.” She tucked a red lock of hair behind her ear and bit her lip. “I can’t wait to eat a bacon cheeseburger. Do you remember food, Mom?”

  “What do you mean by that? We can’t eat bacon and you can forget about cheeseburgers. Believe me, I’ve tried. Nonstop vomit for hours.” Veronica stood with a jolt. Her purse fell to the floor with a loud thump. “Oh, god, no. Please don’t tell me it’s a myth. I will seriously go postal on every person in this place if it’s a fucking myth.”

  “Calm down. Geez. What’s wrong with you?” Ingrid rushed towards Veronica and placed her hand on her shoulder. “Sit. And keep your voice down.”

  Veronica plopped back down and wearily reached for the spilled contents of her purse.

  “It’s not a myth, Mama, but as God is my witness, after tonight, I’m never drinking blood again. Ever.”

  “And how’s that going to work, Scarlett? You’ll die.”

  Jenny swung her legs to the side of the gurney and sat up. “Technically, aren’t both of you already dead? I mean, I don’t know much about vampires, other than that they sparkle in the sun and they like baseball, but, wait a second.” Jenny pointed at Veronica as if clarity had suddenly struck her drug-addled brain. “Never mind. That was just a movie my sister watched like five times a day and that’s fiction. Right?”

  “Who the hell knows what’s real and what isn’t? I certainly don’t.” Veronica leaned forward and placed her hand under her chin like a schoolgirl. “So, tell me, Ingrid, how are you going to eat bacon? And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me how you managed to take a picture of yourself.”

  “Let me draw her blood before her organs fail. And then I’ll tell you. Promise.”

  11

  Like watching her favorite meal lovingly prepared, Veronica stared at the slowly filling bag of blood and licked her lips. “I want that when you’re done, Ingrid.”

  “It’s all yours, mom. They won’t let us donate it, which is ridiculous. It’s like super blood.” Ingrid patted Jenny on the arm. “You’re almost done, sweetheart. Keep squeezing the ball.”

  Veronica tapped her foot on the green linoleum. Ingrid’s sugary sweet behavior towards Jenny was stirring the murky waters of jealousy. “So, let’s talk about bacon, shall we?”

  Ingrid motioned to Jenny with her head. “I would prefer to keep this between us,” she whispered.

  “I love bacon. I used to be a vegetarian, but I couldn’t give up the bacon. It’s like the gateway meat to a carnivorous lifestyle,” Jenny mused louder than was necessary in the tiny room. “Hey, was bacon invented in the 1800s?”

  “Yes, of course it was. Are you okay? You sound weird. I mean, weirder than usual.”

  “I haven’t eaten in like three days. A BLT sounds really fucking good.” Jenny’s voice trailed off as her eyes closed.

  “And she’s out. Great. Mom, I need to go grab some cookies and some more juice from the front.” Ingrid placed a pillow under Jenny’s feet. “Make sure her legs stay elevated.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I am a nurse, you know.” Veronica watched as her impossibly youthful daughter darted out the door, then turned to Jenny, who had seen better days. She looked like a typical meth addict—a meth addict on her way to a rehab facility—which made her the perfect victim. No one would bat an eye if she didn’t make it to check-in. And even if she did make it through the thirty-day course of treatment, she was statistically doomed to relapse.

  Prior to hospice work and the ethically convenient hastening of death in the terminally ill, Veronica picked her victims based on their untimely demise trajectory. Bars, particularly those opened before noon, were the perfect culling ground. Every town, no matter how small, had one, and by sundown, they were ripe with asthmatic smokers, urine-soaked alcoholics, delirious drug addicts and those chronically unhealthy folks who subsisted on bar food and microwave dinners. If she bought any one of them a drink, they’d follow her to the basement, to the next bar or to the bathroom without question. Most of them were lonely, off the radar and physically incapable of running fast enough to avert her homicidal advances. But instead of wanting to sink her razor-sharp incisors into Jenny’s scrawny, strangely hued neck, Veronica felt the overwhelming desire to wash the girl’s greasy black hair and brush the goo off her teeth. Making do with what was available to her, she wet a brown paper towel, doused it in antibacterial soap and wiped Jenny’s face.

  “How’s she doing?” Ingrid dropped two packages of Nutter Butters on the gurney and punctured the juice box with a straw.

  “She’s still out. Look at her. She looks like she got a bad spray tan. It’s mostly her condition, though.” Veronica wiped behind Jenny’s ear.

  Ingrid paced the small room, then faced her mother with grim determination. “I need to tell you something, like right now.”

  “I’m all ears.” Veronica wiped behind the other heavily pierced lobe, currently missing all its ornamentation. “Damn, she smells. Uck.”

  “Look at me. Please,” Ingrid pleaded.

  Veronica stopped the methodical wiping and looked directly into her daughter’s eyes. “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  Veronica raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

  “I’m sorry that I turned you into a vampire.” Ingrid’s pale blue eyes welled up with tears. She averted her gaze to the floor before facing her mother’s knitted brow. “I was so scared of losing you, but in the process, I robbed you of a normal life and ended up losing you anyway.”

  “It’s okay,” Jenny murmured and flailed her free arm in the air. “I pass out all the time. Why are you licking me?”

  “Ingrid, you were fifteen. You didn’t know any better. It’s okay. I forgive you.”

  Ingrid handed Jenny the juice box. “Drink this,” she said and braced herself against the gurney with both hands. “You better sit down, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re going to feel strange.”

  As soon as those words left Ingrid’s lips, Veronica felt a whoosh of energy hit her in the gut like a B-12 shot. She grabbed her fleshy mid-section and sank into the plastic chair.

  “What in the hell was that?”

  Ingrid ripped open the package of Nutter Butters and shoved one in her mouth. “Oh my god. I knew these would be good.” She leaned back against the counter and wiped the crumbs from her face. “That? That was your soul, Mom,” she said with her eyes fixed on the other package of cookies. “Are you going to eat those?”

  12

  Veronica swallowed down an impossible rush of energy. “My what?”

  “Your soul. Come here.” Ingrid waved her mother over to the sink and pointed at the metal paper towel dispenser. “Look. There’s your lovely face. Now you can take pictures of yourself and post them on Facebook.” She wrapped her arm around her mother�
��s waist and squeezed up next to her.

  “Whatever you do, don’t do that. Fucking old people ruined Facebook.” Irritated, Jenny looked down at the full bag. “I think I’m done. Are you going to remove this needle, or should I?”

  While Ingrid attended to Jenny, Veronica stared at her gauzy reflection with wonder. She touched her face gingerly, marveling in disbelief.

  Then she leaned in closer and inspected her pores. “Have I always looked this bad?”

  “What are you talking about? You look great. You’re like a hundred and…”

  “Shut it! I’m fifty-one.”

  “But how long have you been fifty-one?” Jenny held a cotton ball against the puncture wound and raised her arm.

  “None of your business.” Veronica snatched the bag of blood and brought it closer to her nose. Her grey eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Can I get a straw?”

  “No. That’s not a good idea.” Ingrid opened one of the grey cabinets above the sink and retrieved a kitschy Western Blood Center travel mug. “Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  Veronica held the warm, sloshing bag towards her daughter. “Here. We can share it.”

  Ingrid flashed her an “as if” look and placed a French manicured hand on her hip. “I want real food.” She removed the bag from her mother’s clenched fingers and carefully poured its contents into the mug. “Do you have any idea what just happened to us?”

  “Actually, I don’t. All I know is that now I can see myself and that you can ingest Nutter Butters without barfing. Why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

  “Well, let’s start with the most important news. I am now mortal. Which means that all the souls I’ve taken over the years, including yours, are back to their original owners.” Ingrid twirled and handed the mug to Veronica. “It’s like the ultimate cleanse.”