The Beast

by Shantea Gauthier

  While we walked, I felt myself calming down. My muscles were grateful for the stretch and my skin reveled in the warmth of the sun enveloping my shoulders. The air filled me with strength and every next step was a purpose.

  I wanted to run.

  I needed to run.

  “No,” Sandra said to my suggestion of a jog. “Absolutely not. You’ll break your ribs again and who’s going to carry you?”

  Jack and Cole looked at her, insulted at the implication.

  “Sandra, I’ll stop if it hurts.”

  “How much warning did you have when you tried to get a glass of water? Were you sore first and chose to ignore it or was it completely out of nowhere?”

  “Point taken,” I mumbled.

  “Point, set, match,” Jack said. Cole made a tally mark on an invisible scoreboard.

  We walked in silence, and even though every muscle in my body cried out to run, we maintained a brisk walk. We walked for a long time and I felt like I had just been inducted into some secret of the universe. Sunshine good. Air good. Moving good.

  I’d gone on walks before, but none felt so right, so warm and perfect, as this one.

  It was almost dark by the time we got back and said our goodbyes. Jessica had to pick her dog up, Jack and Cole had business to attend to. Sandra and I both took showers and I started to rebuild her lasagna. I ate the entire thing while she was watching TV in her bedroom and scrambled to replace the replacement. Lucky for me, she kept a stockpile of ingredients on hand.

  “I thought you’d be done with that by now.” Sandra brushed past me to get a mug from the cupboard. She turned the burner under the tea kettle on and poured a packet of powdered cocoa into the mug.

  “Me too,” I said. “I guess I’m just really slow.”

  I slipped the lasagna into the hot oven just before the doorbell rang. Jessica was back, invited by Sandra to help monitor me. Sandra poured two extra mugs of cocoa and we sat around the table, waiting for the food to finish cooking.

  “You’ve been losing weight,” Jessica said to me bluntly. It was an accusation, not an observation. Like she weighed more than six pounds, soaking wet.

  “And you’ve been eating a lot more,” Sandra added. “Like a whole tray of lasagna less than an hour ago.”

  My face felt like it had just been lit on fire. “I was hungry.”

  “You should see a doctor,” Sandra said.

  “We’re worried about you,” Jessica agreed.

  “I’m fine,” I lied from behind a forced smile and sipped the gritty cocoa. I kept the fake smile even when I burned my tongue.

  They started to say more, but the doorbell rang and I launched myself out of my seat to answer it.

  Harold’s brother was on the other side of the door, accompanied by two large men I could only assume were also vampires.

  "Can I help you?" I asked.

  "We need to talk."

  I glared at him. I would have preferred Sandra and Jessica’s intervention to three vampires at my door. At least he was himself this time, dressed in a fitted navy suit with a blood red tie. His companions didn’t fit in with him. One wore black pants and a shirt that said “Team Edward” across the front, with a tall green mohawk. The other was completely bald, even across his big round face, wearing a shirt with the look of graffiti all around and the sleeves cut off.

  I watched a dark look cross Charles's face. "Jade, don't you remember me? How long has it been?"

  "A month," I said coldly.

  "It feels like it was just moments ago," he said languidly, eyeing me like he was undressing me in his mind. "At least that’s how it feels to me."

  I couldn’t bring myself to respond in front of my friends.

  "Can we talk in private?" he asked. He made a show of looking bored, giving a little sigh and running a hand through his black hair. Graffiti-Shirt and Mohawk were completely unmoving. They didn’t shift, didn’t breathe, they just stood like mannequin bouncers. It was unsettling.

  I tried to copy his cold confidence. The last thing I needed was Sandra or Jessica getting themselves killed over me.

  “Jade?” Sandra asked.

  “It’s fine,” I said calmly, letting a little of my irritation out in my voice. “Come on, Charles.”

  I went to my room and they followed as quietly as a trio of ghosts. Sandra shot me a questioning look but I gave her a "mind your own business" look in return. I hoped that it was playful enough to be convincing. Like I would want this skinny ringmaster and his two strong men alone with me in my bedroom.

  "I like your window," Charles said, crossing to the new sheet of glass and touching it with his fingertips.

  I closed the door, silently praying that he wasn’t about to break it. "What do you want?"

  He smiled, released the window, and sat on my bed. He patted the spot beside him to as an invitation for me to sit. I wanted to rush forward and push him off. I wanted a new chair so I could do to him what I’d done to his brother. Some small part of me wanted to go sit by him. I stayed near the door, flanked by the statue-still bodyguards. I'd seen Harold move. No amount of distance would make me safe and there was no Simon to protect me.

  "I'm here to make you an offer."

  "An offer I can't refuse?"

  "One you won't want to," Mohawk said in a gruff voice.

  "James, be calm," Charles said.

  Mohawk grunted.

  "So what's the offer?"

  "Same as before. Join us."

  "That's it? That's not very offer-like."

  "I'm offering you something. You should take it before it's too late."

  There was that threat again. Too late. How long would they wait to kill me?

  "What are you offering me exactly?"

  He smiled. His fangs were showing.

  He thinks he has me, I thought. I'm asking a question so he thinks he has me. All that vampiric power and he thinks he’s got me on the end of his used car salesman hook.

  "A long healthy life, for one thing. Beauty eternal. A life without fear. A home and friends who know and love you."

  A life without fear. “I don’t need eternal beauty. I have a home and friends who love me.”

  “But you can’t talk to them openly about things like me, can you? They don’t know who you are or what you know anymore.”

  I glared. That didn’t mean there wasn’t love. It just meant that I loved them enough not to ruin their lives, too. "Would I be able to turn into a raccoon? Is that something all vampires can do? I mean, I’ve heard of bats, but raccoons? Or is it just any sort of vermin?"

  "Oh I can become much more than that, but it is my favorite form. I think it's the mask. I find raccoons cute." He didn't bother with inflection so I couldn't tell if he meant it or if there was some private joke in it.

  "Would I be able to do it?"

  He looked at me, then at Mohawk, then at Graffiti-Shirt. "I don't know what you'll be able to do. It's like looking at a newborn and wondering whether they'll be tall. You can take a guess, but you never know for sure. You might be a shape shifter. You might not. You might be able to touch minds. You might not. You might be able to fly."

  "I might not." I supplied. "What about super human strength?"

  He stood, crossed the room to my dresser and when Graffiti-Shirt moved out of the way, he lifted it with one hand. He handed it to Graffiti-Shirt who handed it to Mohawk, who put it back in the corner like it was doll furniture. It took three of us the better part of an hour to get it in that spot when it was moved in. I stared at the indentation on the carpet from the perfect position it no longer occupied.

  "I can give you a taste of my blood and we might get a preview. Would you like that? What do you two think? Does she look like a shape shifter to you?"

  "Shape shifters don't have a look," said Mohawk.

  "I'd bet she can read minds or something. She looks like it. That or control them,” Graffiti-Shirt said. “Something you don’t see a lot.”

  Control mi
nds?

  "You do have to answer tonight." Charles lifted the dresser again, repositioning it into the spot where it belonged.

  "How does it- what happens?" It wouldn’t do me any good to ask what would happen if I refused. Best case scenario- I would be the only one they killed.

  I saw his fangs as he approached me and put a cool hand to my neck. My eyes closed as I inhaled the scent of him. He, like Harold, smelled seductively of lies and summer. I hated myself for giving in to it.

  "I would take you like this." He lifted me off my feet and carried me to the bed. He smoothed my hair out of the way of my throat and touched it lightly with a fingertip. "I would bite you, and it wouldn't hurt. You’d probably enjoy it quite a bit. Then I would drink your blood until you died."

  His hand slid across my stomach and I got hot. I tried to fight the feeling of attraction that was growing inside of me while he talked about killing me.

  "And then," he said. "I would give your blood back and bring you back."

  His hand slid down my stomach to my thigh and then started back up.

  I caught his wrist and climbed off of his lap. Not because I didn't want it, but I couldn't let myself enjoy it with the other two there, even if I could get over the impassive look he would have on his face the whole time.

  I shook my head, realizing that I’d just been thinking about having sex with a dead guy.

  "Would it hurt?" I asked.

  A glimmer of triumph showed in his face. "It is quickly forgotten."

  "And if I say no?"

  Graffiti-Shirt stepped forward and turned to face me. "We’ll kill you."

  So there was my best case scenario. "No," I said.

  "No, what?" Charles asked.

  "I'm refusing your very generous offer. You'll have to kill me."

  Charles made a show of sighing. "We will have to kill you to keep you from turning."

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "It means," said Mohawk, "that you have been infected. You have to be dealt with before you turn."

  "Are you going to kill me here and now, then?"

  In a blur of movement Charles was at my throat. Something was holding him back, keeping him just far enough that I was safe.

  The necklace, I thought. The coffin nails.

  Charles hissed. "This isn't the only way to kill you."

  Mohawk reached for me and grabbed my ankle in one hand and a wrist in the other, pulling me upside down, trying to shake the necklace off but it was too small. It held onto my chin.

  "Tear her apart," said Charles.

  Mohawk started to spread his hands but they stopped just before it got too uncomfortable.

  He can't do it. The necklace is protecting me.

  "Very well," Charles said in his cold impassive voice. "Hugh."

  Graffiti-Shirt pulled out a gun.

  My blood went cold. I could scream and get the whole house killed. I could change my mind and let them suck me dry. I could not hope that the pendant would stop a bullet.

  Or could I? I had very few options left that kept Sandra and Jessica alive.

  "Fine!" I said, spreading my hands. "You can have me!"

  "Take the necklace off," Charles commanded.

  I reached up for the clasp and winced in pain. "Ow, ow, ow, it's got my finger!"

  I spun around and crashed into Graffiti-Shirt. He backed away.

  "Help me!" I demanded. "This hurts!"

  Mohawk was looking at Charles with uncertainty written clearly on his face. Charles gave a brief shake of his head.

  I got lucky.

  Mohawk misinterpreted the head shake and charged me at full vampire speed. He stopped like there was a force field around me. He bounced back and crashed into Graffiti-Shirt who fumbled the gun which tumbled in the air and somehow landed in my arms. I threw myself at it, hugged it and curled up in a ball around the gun on the floor.

  And then I stayed there.

  They waited. I realized that it wasn't a very good plan. After all, I didn’t know if they would ever have to take a bathroom break. I’d only ever seen them at night, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t wait for days. I didn’t want to die so I stayed there, unmoving, until someone knocked on the door.

  "Jade," Sandra called. "You left your phone on the table. Simon is on his way! Just thought you should know!"

  "Okay!" I called back from my little ball, trying to sound as natural as possible. "Thank you!"

  "That's the wolf, isn’t it?" Mohawk asked. "We could go intercept him."

  "Perhaps we should," Charles said. I saw the brief look of disgust before he stepped over me and they left the room. Frozen with fear, I did not move. “We’ll deal with this pup later.”

  After they left the house, I was still curled in a ball around the gun by the time Sandra and Jessica stepped into the room.

  "Jade, are you okay?"

  They both rushed forward to help me up. I slowly unfolded, muscles creaking with the effort. When they saw the gun they gasped.

  "Who were those men?" Sandra asked.

  "Were they drug dealers? Were they trying to hurt you?" Jessica asked. She sounded too concerned, not her usual peppy self. “Who are they?”

  "No," I said. "I just told them something they didn't want to hear. I have to warn Simon."

  I started out of the room for my phone. Maybe if I called him he could change his destination. Maybe I could help him save himself.

  Sandra grabbed my arm. "He's not on the way," she said. "I just said that so it wouldn’t sound like it was just us. I don’t know why I picked him and not, like, the cops.”

  “Who are they?” Jessica asked again. “Where are they from? What do you know about them?”

  “Is this something that I need to worry about? Should we go to the police?" Sandra looked at my face and arms, scanning for signs of external damage.

  Infected. Impossible. Simon said that you can’t be infected. Maybe they were talking about something else. Some other infection.

  “Jade? I’m going to call the cops.”

  "No," I said, tucking the gun under my mattress. "They won't be back. They realized that they have the wrong person."

  Infected.

  Sandra folded her arms across her chest. "So what exactly is going on here?"

  chapter 13

  Apparently I missed the “Dress Like A Jackass Day” memo, also known as “Hawaiian Shirt Day”. Bob greeted me happily wearing a teal blue shirt generously splattered with palm trees and fish. A necklace of big dark kukui nuts and a ukulele battled for supremacy around his neck. Men and women were walking around in grass skirts and colorful shirts. Even Shannon was in bright Hawaiian colors with a little flower clipped to her ear buds so that it looked almost like she had a flower behind her ear. It was almost unsettling to see her in a shirt that fit properly.

  “Kona coffee?” Bob offered. “Chocolate covered macadamia nuts?”

  “No thanks,” I said. I just wanted to get through the day. I could feel the fever dulling my senses and shortening my fuse. I missed my cubicle. Shannon never bothered me. She was weird but she was quiet.

  I thought I was going to at least make it through the work day without incident until Shaun called me into his office. I sat in front of the open box of stale donuts and politely shook my head when he offered me one. For a moment, I dared to hope that he would be apologizing for the oversight in skipping me for a raise.

  “Jade,” he sighed.

  So it wouldn’t be a raise. I tried to push the venom back out of my gaze and remained silent.

  He was waiting for me to acknowledge my name, and would not continue until I did. I kept waiting, determined that I would not lose.

  “Jade,” he repeated. I looked back at him expectantly. He sighed, staring back at me.

  I hated to lose, but I hated the game more than that. "Yes?"

  He sighed again, continuing on with his internal script as if I hadn't messed with it at all. “You’ve been with us for s
ome time now, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” So maybe it would be a raise.

  “I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to be really on board with all of the things we do that make this a fun place to work. We realize that data entry isn’t the most glamorous job, but we do try to make it fun. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  No. “Yes.” With enough time he would explain, and probably somehow explain how it traces back to the cave man days and eventually end in “and that’s why we use toilet paper.”

  “You don’t seem to be in the spirit of things and it’s affecting morale.”

  I didn’t move. I didn’t trust what I might do if I did. I’m sorry if constantly being attacked by vampires is affecting the morale of people who don’t even know me. So sorry if the news that might be infected and might sprout fur and start eating people has affected my mood.

  “I’m sorry,” I lied. “It must be from my injury. It’s still not healed and it kind of bothers me.”

  The doctor's note said it could take twelve weeks; he didn’t need to know that I was better already.

  “It makes you stand out in a bad way when this kind of thing happens. We’ve been reviewing your progress and it seems like you’re falling behind. I’d like to be able to recommend you for the next round of raises, but it looks like I’m going to be pulling you out of the fire instead.”

  My head got hot and I could feel my ears turning red. I wanted to light him on fire. He continued.

  “You’ve also had an unusually high number of sick days and it doesn’t seem like you’re taking this seriously.”

  He sat back and looked expectantly at me for my line, my chance to try to save myself.

  “I’m not,” I said flatly.

  I surprised myself, but there was no going back. The dumb look on his face made me bolder. All of my pain and anger needed to so somewhere, and those two words would be a better way to express that than taking his name plate and telling him where to shove it. Or putting it there myself. I was sick of playing by his script.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not,” I repeated, with a shrug and a shake of my head. I remained seated, stock still in the chair. I imagined myself as Graffiti-Shirt- imposing, statue-still, and scary as hell.