by Kelley York
"You're turning into a vampire, Briar."
Oh, okay.
What?
"First come the fever and the nausea. You won't be able to keep anything down until it passes, and all you're going to want to do is sleep." Oliver folds his arms, reciting this like he's memorized it from a text book. "The worst of it will hit in a day or two. It could last an hour or a week, but it will pass...and when it does, you will be a vampire."
He may as well have a baby alien bursting out of his chest for all the sense he's making. Me. A vampire.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Pause. "Don't answer that."
I push myself to my feet, shrugging off Cole's offer to help me up. With the room spinning, I stagger out of the bathroom and to the living room so I can fall onto the couch. The boys trail after me.
"I'm not lying." Oliver looks insulted at the thought. "You're becoming one of us."
Oh. Oh, my day gets better and better. I rub at my eyes and groan. "One of you? So...let me get this straight. Sherry and I were attacked by vampires. They infected me. And you two—also vampires—just so happened to find and rescue me?"
They blink slowly. Cole rubs the back of his neck. "Well... Yes."
The room is silent. Heavy. I know I'm not the brightest skittle in the rainbow, but seriously?
"Get out."
"Ms. Greyson—"
"No, really. Get out. Now." I get back up, giving Oliver a shove. Might as well be pushing a brick wall for how much he moves. He glares. But when Cole goes willingly, he follows.
"I suggest getting rest today. Sleep as much as you can. Try not to eat; you'll only make it worse." Cole twists around, expression somber. "And it would be wisest if you didn't contact the police just yet."
I manage to push both of them out the front door. "Thank you for everything, and goodbye." I don't wait for an answer before shutting the door in their faces.
Maybe it makes me ungrateful. Maybe it makes me a flat-out bitch for turning them away after they helped me. But I didn't survive being murdered to listen to these two psychos going on about vampires. Not after what happened. Not after watching Sherry die and doing nothing to help her.
Back in the bathroom, I stare intently at my reflection. Even without all the cuts and bruises I should logically have, I look like hell. Dark circles under my eyes, wavy hair matted and dirty. I run my fingers over my throat. There's a raised, ugly scar where the guy tore into me. It doesn't hurt, but the flesh there is hot to the touch.
Watching at my tired face, I realize how exhausted I am. How heavy my entire body feels. Like dealing with Oliver and Cole has completely stripped me of any energy I had. Despite that, I’m positive I won’t be able to sleep. Not with images of Sherry so fresh in my mind, the sting of teeth tearing into my throat.
But my body doesn't give me a choice; the moment I hit the bed, I'm out.
03. Friday – 6:59pm
I don't know how long I sleep, but it was dark when I kicked the guys out and it's dark when I wake up again. I reach for my phone out of instinct, but it isn't on the floor near my bed where I usually keep it. Thinking about it, I probably lost it to the river. Great.
The apartment is smothering in its emptiness. Opening the bedroom window helps, only because I'm still burning up with fever. 105.5? Thermometer has to be broken. That kind of temp would render me comatose. I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours by now, but I’m ravenous. Feels more like weeks. How can I possibly eat after everything that’s happened?
My body moves on autopilot, completely dazed. Filling the cat bowl, although I'm too out of it to wonder why our cat, Chuck, doesn't come running at the sound. Taking out leftover chicken alfredo Sherry made a few nights ago, popping it in the microwave. Trying desperately not to let her occupy my thoughts. Cole and Oliver said not to call the police. I don't understand why. I should've called the second I woke up. But what do I say?
I can tell them Sherry and I split up on the walk home. When she didn't show up at home, I decided to report her missing. That could work. Except they would find my blood on the riverbank along with hers. Would that look any weirder than me saying I was there, escaped, passed out for a day and my injuries magically healed? I don't know. But I'm not thinking clearly and it's not like I have a phone to call with, so I try not to think about it.
She's dead. I'm suffocating under the weight of the fact nothing I can do will change that.
The chicken tastes weird but I eat it all anyway. Not ten minutes later, it comes right back up. Stubborn, I try something lighter. Saltine crackers like Mom always made my sister Ruby and me eat when we were ill. Ten minutes, like clockwork, up they come. No matter how starving I am, no matter how little I eat, nothing stays down.
The third time Noah came into town, I was sick and went home halfway through my shift. When he stopped by the bar to see me, Sherry gave him our address. He showed up at my doorstep with a can of soup, cold medicine and flowers. Lavender and roses. The lavender because he said it smelled like me ("You mean my shampoo," I laughed at him) and the roses because he thought they were sort of standard and required to give to a girl.
Sherry came home early to join us. We spent that night on the couch, watching scary movies while I tried to keep down soup. But for as sick as I was, having them there felt comfortable. Noah on one side, arm around me, toying with my hair. Sherry on the other side of me, head on my shoulder.
What I wouldn't give for them to be here now. They would find the idea of me being a vampire hilarious.
Then again, if Noah had been here, Sherry and I wouldn't have waited around at work later than usual. We would have gotten a ride home with him. Maybe none of this would have happened.
04. Saturday – 6:31pm
For the next twenty-four hours, I rest. Get up. Try to eat. Stumble around in a fever-induced haze. Back to bed. Cole must have come by at some point, because the curtains have all been drawn and a note on the coffee table has a hotel address along with a number. In case you need us, it says. My cell phone sits next to it. But when I pick it up, the screen has a spider-webbed crack. Guess it's a good thing we still have a land-line.
I have to get out of the house and do something before I drive myself insane replaying the other night in my head, even if it's only to crawl to the nearest store and buy myself a soda. First things first, though, I grab the cordless phone from the kitchen and dial the police station to make a report, Cole’s instructions be damned. I can't stomach the thought of Sherry's body stuck there until someone happens to spot her from the bridge. Her brother, Paul, drives over that bridge every day to and from work. What if he were to find her?
The automated system brings me to a voicemail box. Leaving a message about this feels impersonal. Insulting, almost. But it's better than nothing.
"My name is Briar Greyson." Pause. "My roommate, Sherry Evans, and I were jumped on our way home from work, on the bridge a block from the Natoma light rail station." I stop again to steady my voice, gather my thoughts.
"I was knocked out. When I woke up, I couldn't find Sherry. She's still missing. Can someone call me back..." I leave the number and address and hang up. Sit. Stare at the phone for awhile. Waiting for it to ring. It never does.
A shower makes me feel more human again. The scrubbing is especially nice, surrounding myself in lavender-scented soap and shampoo to wash away the dirt and blood. I can't decide whether hot or cold water feels better, too caught between sweating and shivering. My fever still hasn't fallen below 105. Which means the thermometer's still busted, right? Couldn't possibly be that high. Admitting that it is would be too close to admitting Oliver might've been telling the truth.
Vampire. Yeah, right.
It isn't until I make it to the corner store and pay for my soda that I remember I have to work tomorrow night. So does Sherry. I'll have to walk over that bridge.
Alone.
Whatever—whoever—attacked us might be waiting. If not for me, then for another pair of helpless p
asserby stupid enough to wander by after dark. Just like me and Sherry. Not looking forward to it.
Back home, the front door is unlocked and Oliver is waiting in the living room. The look he gives me is nothing shy of unimpressed.
"You're supposed to be resting."
"Dude. Seriously? Out of my house." I hold open the door. He leans over me, presses a hand flat against the wood and shoves it closed effortlessly. His stare is intense enough I want to shrivel into a little ball and cry. Jerk.
"Maybe you don't believe us yet, but you will. And when you do, you're not going to want to go through it alone." He studies my face. "There's no one better to help you through this than Cole."
I try feigning boredom. "Is that right. Why?"
"Because he's old." Oliver straightens and meanders across the living room. It's easier to deal with him when he isn't in my face. His presence is heavy. Something physical assaulting all my senses. I'll blame it on the sickness. "He's been through a lot, seen a lot. And because when I turned, he took care of me."
I glance at him sideways. He's really thought this whole vampire thing out, hasn't he? "If he's so great, then why are you here instead of him?"
Oliver rolls his broad shoulders into a shrug. "He's working."
"What kind of work do vampires secure these days? Blood banks? Are the benefits any good? No eating on the job, I guess."
He glares. "Don't patronize me."
I rub my eyes. My head is killing me. "Yeah, look, I'm really tired. You're freaking me out, and I'm waiting for a phone call. I'd like it if you left and didn't come back."
"You didn't call the cops, did you?"
"So what if I did?"
"Because they won't find any traces of the murderers. And because you'll claim you were attacked," he looks me up and down, "and there's not a mark on you."
Of course I've thought about that, but... "What choice do I have, huh? Not report it? That looks even worse on me. I have to tell someone. Sherry’s family needs to know what happened!"
"You'll have to leave town eventually, and then it won't matter."
"Excuse me? I do not."
"Do too."
"Why the hell would I leave my home?"
"You can't stay here," he snaps. "People will notice you're different. It's one thing to start a new life somewhere else, but those who know best you will be the first to sense something is off. They will be wary of you, they will fear you. Accompanied with what happened to your friend, your life is never going to be the same. Believe me when I say that."
"Believe you?" My mouth twitches into a wry smile. "Believe I'm turning into a vampire? There's no such thing."
Oliver seems to realize he's fighting a losing battle. He breathes in, exhales through his mouth, spends some time glaring at me before his shoulders slump. "You're obnoxiously stubborn."
"You're stupid." It's the best insult I can come up with. For shame, self.
He opens his mouth to argue, but stops to look at the door. He knows someone is there before they knock. What creeps me out is that, somehow, I know it too. It's the sort of feeling you get when someone is watching you. Except this is more than a creepy, paranoid prickle in the bad of your mind, but a very definite and tangible sensation.
I almost ask what I should do, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I'm a big girl. Like a big girl, I can answer my own damn door whenever I please.
Except Oliver grabs my arm, draws me aside and tucks me behind the door, out of view of whoever is on the other side. He opens it, effectively squishing me against the wall. I'm fairly sure he's doing it on purpose. When I squeak a protest, he opens the door wider. If I really were turning into a vampire, my first order of business would be to bite him.
"Hello, officer," Oliver says.
The police! Did they get my message already? It was only a few hours ago. Or did they find Sherry? My stomach is instantly in knots.
A female voice says, "I'm looking for Briar Greyson or Sherry Evans. Are they home?"
Oliver surprises me by sounding genuinely worried. "No, they aren't here. I'm looking for them, actually."
A pause. She's sizing Oliver up, I think, trying to determine what she can and should tell him. "Sherry's brother reported her missing. We found evidence they may have been attacked down by the river."
The way she says it sends a shiver down my spine. Evidence. What about Sherry's body? That's a little more than evidence. Then again, maybe they don't want anyone finding out they have a body yet.
Oliver sounds upset. "The two of them always walk home from work together. Do you think Briar—"
"We don't know. What did you say your name was...?"
"Richard Strauss. I'm Briar's boyfriend."
Oh, ew.
"Richard." She must be writing this down. "And the last time you saw her was...?"
"It's been a few weeks. I go to school out of state. Michigan. I just flew in this morning."
Wow, he's good at sounding sincere. He's playing the perfect boyfriend who dropped everything to check in on his missing girlfriend.
"I spoke to her Tuesday afternoon, though, right before her shift." Oliver steps back from the door. "If you have more questions, would you like to come in?"
What the hell is he doing?! I press myself flat back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut. She's going to come inside. He's going to shut the door and my cover will be blown.
"Uh... No, that's all right."
Wait, what?
"But you'll be here if we have further questions?"
From this angle I can see Oliver forcing a smile. "Yes, ma'am. I'm staying until she's found."
He offers his number—a fake one, I'm sure—and she leaves. That was way too easy. When he shuts the door, his smile fades into its usual broody counterpart. I don't bite him, but I do sock him in the arm. It hurts me more than it seems to hurt him.
"Why did you do that?!"
He frowns. "What would you have told her?"
I open my mouth, close it again. "I can't just avoid them."
"You can, and you should until you leave here. I told you, people will be wary. That woman wouldn't have believed a word you said."
"Then why did she believe you?"
"She didn't." He smiles, but there's no warmth to it. "She was afraid of me. Why do you think she didn't come in?"
Oh. No response for that. He's right. She was in a hurry to get out of here. The idea that anyone would ever be afraid of me is so ridiculous, though; I can't wrap my head around it. "This is so stupid."
"I agree."
"People are afraid of you because you have a stupid face."
"People are afraid of me—and you, and Cole—because of what we are. You are a predator now." His eyebrows lift. "Don't suppose you have seen your cat lately?"
I haven't. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just curious."
This guy? Really getting on my nerves. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you." He scowls. "Rogue vampires are what attacked you. We are here to hunt them, not to babysit a new vampire."
All this getting worked up is making me feel sick again. My head is throbbing. My eyes burn like I haven't slept in weeks. "Then why are you bothering with me?"
Oliver shrugs. "Because Cole has a soft-spot for strays."
"Like you?"
"Like me," he admits. "Look, just stay home, rest, like Cole said." He reaches for the door. "Keep a low profile. When you're ready to believe me, you know where to find us."
Oliver leaves. The apartment is silent again with the click of the door. This time, I lock and chain it shut. Creep.
‘Seen your cat lately?'
Sherry and I originally became roommates out of necessity. I needed a place to stay as soon as I could get out of my parents' house. She needed someone to pay half the rent. We knew each other from high school and she was nice, so I thought Why not?
Getting a cat was our first bonding exp
erience. We went to the local animal shelter and, after looking at six litters of kittens, spotted a nine-month-old tabby kept separate from the rest. "He doesn't play well with the others," one of the employees said. He was older than we had planned, but he was perfect. It took us three days to name him. After a night spent hyped up on energy drinks and leftover Halloween candy, we settled on Chuck Norris.
Chuck was the ice-breaker between us.
As soon as Oliver leaves, I wander the apartment, shaking Chuck's food bowl. Until now, the sound of kibble hitting the porcelain has never failed to lure him out.
I find him in my and Sherry's shared closet, a furry black and white lump in the back corner behind shoes and empty boxes. He growls at me, low and feral. He's never done that before.
"You're hurting my feelings, Chuck." I crouch, reaching for him. The growl turns into a furious howl and he swats at my hand, claws grazing my knuckles and making me jerk back in surprise.
‘They will fear you.'
I don't like having a little Oliver in my head lecturing me.
Since Chuck obviously doesn't feel like playing, I place his food just inside the closet door and leave him alone, trying to bite back the tears burning my eyes, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my brain. The tiny part I want to snuff out. The part whispering that Oliver and Cole might have been right, because something is obviously wrong with me.
05. Sunday – 7:00pm
Fever-induced nightmares drag me in and out of sleep, never fully relinquishing their hold even when I wake. Every time I get out of bed, I feel displaced. Watching everything through the end of a long tunnel. By the time the next evening rolls around, I don't feel anymore lucid. But somehow I'm up, I'm dressed.
I leave early and take the long way to work. It's a stupid idea. I feel like shit. Don't look so hot, either. The cops could come looking for me at Howell's; that thought hadn’t occurred to me. But I want to get out of the apartment. Want to see Sherry's brother, Paul, and tell him what happened. Want to see familiar faces. Want to grab hold of some sense of normalcy.
