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CONTENTS
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Help Her
By: Hailey Briggs
All rights reserved
Copyright © June 2008, Hailey Briggs
Cover Art copyright © June 2008, Dawné Dominique
Mystic Moon Press, LLC
Santa Fe, NM 87507
www.mysticmoonpress.com
No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Mystic Moon Press, LLC
Brakes screeched as my foot slammed down. My fingers clenched the steering wheel, and I somehow managed to keep the car on the road. A burning fear overwhelmed me. What have I done? I opened the door and climbed out. My mind cleared of panic with each burst of air to hit my face. I listened for any screams. The smell of burnt rubber made me sick, and I cursed the thick, early morning fog that blinded me to anything past my hand. Walking back to the side, I wondered what had just happened, and that's when he appeared amidst the vapor.
"I didn't even see you! Are you okay, son?"
A hazy outline of the man became clear a few inches from my hood. He stood still as stone, and I wondered if he meant to mess with an unsuspecting guy's heart. I waited for him to proceed the best way possible, but he didn't move.
"Can I help you?"
A long moment of silence endured.
"What were you doing in the center of the street on a day like this?” I yelled, losing my cool. My white T-shirt clung to my skin, the humidity and recent panic overload making me sweat.
When he turned to me, I froze. His piercing stare about knocked me off my feet. The blue depths of his eyes sucked me in, and threatened to strangle me where I stood. A gray sky presented a background to make him look as pale as a cloud. Wind whipped his dark hair against his face, yet he didn't move. I wondered if he knew how to blink.
"Will you help me? Will you save her for me?"
I stammered some words and averted my eyes, shocked that this young man could speak at all and that he thought he had any need of me. Staring at the concrete, I cursed the lack of traffic on this road. He's probably a psych patient from the institution on the other end of town.
My eyes rose, and I stumbled back. Where'd he go?
I circled around and traced the area in front of my car. The fog began to thin, but there was still no sign of him. No one could have scattered that quickly, could they? The only sounds I heard were the constant purring of my car and the crackling of the fast approaching storm.
My heart pounded in my chest as I walked back to the driver's side.
"Don't give up on her!” His voice screeched at me from out of nowhere.
I jumped in my car and locked the doors. If he was dangerous, I wanted him to find a new target. Against their will, my fingers shook as I gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. This time I drove slower than the posted speed limit. I didn't want to take any chances, and my frazzled mind required a slower pace.
* * * *
Throughout the rest of the day, I tried to force the eerie event to the back of my mind. I succeeded for the most part, and my face lit with a dumb grin when I went to my final stop for the day, thankful all my errands were complete. The blossoming sunset melted away the last of my worries.
"What are you so happy about?” Gloria asked when I stepped into the laundromat.
I scratched my head and chuckled. “Just a weird day, I guess."
I pulled out my wallet and paid her, thankful for clean clothes to wear and for the cheerful, plump woman who did all the dirty work for me at a mere price of five bucks a pound. If the cost seemed outrageous, who was I to argue? I barely liked to touch my own clothes when I wore them for the second or third time. I asked this chipper laundress to wash and fold those items every couple weeks. She was the one being taken, not me.
I reached for the door handle after some small talk with her.
"Oh, Cameron, I nearly forget. Did that young man find you?"
My hand froze in midair, and I spun around to her. I walked back to her side and leaned my weight against the counter. “Who are you talking about?” You know who, and he's going to sue you for all you're worth after nearly killing him this morning.
She shrugged while she folded another client's clothes. “He came by this morning, asking about you.” She dropped the bright shirt in her hands and clutched onto my arm. “Don't worry, I only told him good things about you."
"What did he look like?” I remembered that dark and hollow stare from earlier, and I shivered.
"Tall, maybe a little shorter than you, dark and handsome.” She slapped the counter as if she had made the most hilarious joke in the world, and a few dusty blonde hairs escaped her bun. “If I weren't twenty years his senior, I'd have asked him out.” She blushed. “That and the fact that I'm married."
"Did you get a name?” I asked, nervousness plaguing my voice.
"No, now that I think of it, he never offered one. Very mysterious, that boy."
I stared at the tile floor, wondering what kind of mess I was in.
"You didn't tell him where I live, did you?"
"If I didn't know any better, Cameron, I'd think you were scared."
She had no idea. I stared out the windows, questioning if he followed me here.
"You can rest easy. I simply told him you'd be around town today."
I sighed, both out of relief and out of unease. He probably just wants to sell you something. Don't work yourself up for nothing. I nodded and smiled. Gloria smirked at my weird mood changes.
"Thanks Gloria,” I said, picking up my laundry and walking out.
Pulling out the keys for my green Honda Civic, I whistled. Most days I could be classified as easygoing, and there was no reason to lose that quality due to a boy who wasn't even born when I got married. I smiled as the cool May breeze touched my stubble covered face. A couple years ago, I would've been swearing, hurrying to get home to a wife who didn't appreciate me and a condo that ate up my entire paycheck. Now those days were long gone. “And good riddance,” I grumbled.
I hopped in the car, stared in the rearview mirror and chuckled. “You're getting on in years, old man.” My reflection agreed, revealing the crow's feet at the corner of my, I would like to think, wise, brown eyes, when I smiled. Although I looked good for my age, I knew youthful handsomeness had left me a decade or two ago. The wrinkles in my neck taunted me as I changed my angle to the mirror. I laughed the evidence of time slipping away off, and put the keys in the ignition.
The engine of my car roared to life, along with some country song that blared from the radio. Pulling out onto the deserted road, I sang along with Garth Brooks, feeling comfortable enough in myself to let him take the hard to reach notes. The traffic was minimal due to a basketball game at the local college. I opened my window when I reached that part of town and crooned louder. I most humbly accepted the applause I heard coming from the gym and even tipped my cowboy hat when the song ended. A man can dream, can't he?
The road leading up to my stretch of land took only about fifteen minutes—fifteen long, peaceful minutes that I enjoyed every time. I passed a few houses that were dark, adding to
the black stillness. Up until last year, it was a rare occasion I got to travel at night. My ex-wife always needed me straight home after work, obliging me the second I walked through the door with a never ending list of chores she spent the all of five minutes writing up. Man, do I miss those days? Hell no!
Pulling into my little hillside property, I chuckled. My dream home.
I stacked the two baskets of laundry on top of each other and made for the door of the trailer I lived in. Fumbling with the keys, I let out a hearty laugh. Who would want to break into this world class resort?
The night's presence, mixed with the earlier storm, had cooled the air, and I was freezing by the time my clothes and I made it inside. Instead of heating the trailer, I walked over to my answering machine. The number three blinked up at me, and I beamed. That is until I heard the first message. My ex-wife's banshee voice shrieked at me. Another drunken stupor, my dear? I pressed delete. The next message was some salesman. I erased that one too.
As my answering announced the arrival of the third message, I made my way to my recliner chair and sat down, my legs propped up with a handy dandy button at my side. I prepared myself to yell or laugh at the last fool who thought I would call them back.
"She's crying, she's always crying,” a soft male voice whispered. “She needs you, Cameron.” The memory of the boy from earlier rang in my ears, and I knew it was the same person delivering this message. “Help her!"
I jolted out of my chair, my heart racing as if I had just run a marathon. I picked up the answering machine, somehow expecting more information to come pouring out if I did. A beep sounded and a recognizable, tiny voice said, “You have no new messages."
I fumbled with the buttons, trying to rewind that last message. Eventually, my shaking fingers did something right, but the message was only static. I played it over three times to make sure. No eerie voice, no haunting message about some she, just static.
That night as I crawled into bed, all I could think about was that man explaining something to me after scaring me shitless this morning. It upset me to no end. Was it just some dumb prank? Or should I really be scared for that girl ... woman ... cat, for all I knew?
Little sleep found me that night. In the predawn hours, I gave up on the quest, though I felt groggy and cranky. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down with a good book. After five minutes of reading the same paragraph over and over again, I let the paperback fall to the table and cursed.
When my gaze shifted, I jerked back, the coffee cup tipping and spilling all over me. That strange, young man stood outside my kitchen window, not ten feet away. His dark stare sent chills down my spine.
I grabbed paper towels and soaked up the mess on the table and on my scalded skin. Looking back up, I sucked in a deep breath. Where the hell was he? The stranger in the black trench coat couldn't be seen from my angle. I hurried to my door and ran outside, paying no mind to my bare feet.
Circling my trailer a couple times, I had to admit that my mind either played a trick on me or he'd just vanished into thin air. Both options filled me with unease. The soles of my feet screamed agony as I hobbled back inside.
"Am I going insane?” I groaned, sitting down to wipe the dirt and other things I didn't want to think about from my feet. A couple pine needles pierced my skin, but I was lucky that was the worst of it.
"I need your help."
The soft voice forced me to my feet. My eyes searched for something to defend myself. He stood in the corner of the main room, lurking in the shadows. I couldn't see his face, and that fact unnerved me.
"Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” I barked my questions.
"She needs someone like you.” He stepped out of the darkness. His face looked pale in this light too, and I wondered whether I was looking at a ghost. His dark eyes pierced through me like a dagger, unflinching and cold as hell.
"What are you talking about?” I asked, grabbing the lamp on the side table and yanking it from the plug-in. As far as weapons go, this one screamed pathetic, but my racing heart and panicked mind couldn't think straight.
"My sister, I want my sister to be happy.” He put a hand up to block out the bright sunrise streaming in through the window. “And you're the one capable of granting her that."
My mind swirled with questions. Was I still dreaming?
"Can you close those damn blinds?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Without question, much to my surprise, I dropped the lamp and walked over to the window. Once I shut out the sunlight, I faced him again. What was it he wanted? His sister? “I think you need to leave."
I started for the door, but he grabbed my wrist. A forceful plea in his blue eyes struck something inside me, and I returned to my chair. Locks of dark brown hair cascaded against his face when he nodded his thanks.
"You left me that message?” I asked, pointing to my telephone.
He tipped his head.
"What could I possibly do for your sister, a person I haven't even met?"
"She needs something you have always wanted to give—love."
I flinched at his words. A deep sting from the truth he uttered racked my body.
"My sister doesn't trust people. Too many have broken her down."
I sighed. Many women were like that. I had held a few of them as they cried into my chest, too hurt to do anything else. More than once, I had been called a guardian angel. What they didn't know is that all I did was listen as they mended their own pain.
Looking at the man, I estimated him to be young, perhaps twenty-five or so. “Your sister, I'm guessing, could be young enough to be my daughter. I am not the right person.” I stood and stared at the ceiling. Younger women. They always wanted someone to replace their daddies, more times than not, because those men had been the main instigators of their pain.
"Please, no one else can reach her heart."
The request carried a deep tenderness that I couldn't deny, and I faced him again. “Why can't you help her? There's always time for love later."
He stepped closer and took a seat on the couch opposite me. His mouth opened, revealing something I thought only existed in stories. Fangs. I chuckled, placing the pieces together. The dislike for sun, the pale appearance of his skin, and now the fangs. “Vampires are a myth,” I said, my laugh high-pitched and quivering.
"Do I need to bite you to prove that they aren't?” His eyes roamed my body and made me feel that much more uncomfortable. “The thought of changing you had crossed my mind."
Dismissing his words, I reverted to the earlier subject. “I'm fifty-two years old, and should by no means get involved with someone younger than thirty five. If you can tell me your sister is that old, maybe I'll think about it."
"She's twenty-three."
I choked on the air in the trailer. Twenty-three! I have boots older than her. I shook my head no. My sweaty palms rubbed against my jeans. Yes, I was fit for a man my age, but definitely not in comparison to a twenty-three year old. My light, red-brown hair showed gray in some spots. My suntanned face contained deep wrinkles when I smiled and laughed. I could in no way love a girl that young.
"Cameron, I need your help."
"You really expect me to drop everything for a guy I don't even have a name for?"
"My name is Jeremy.” He extended his hand, which I shook in my stupor. His skin felt brittle like ice, and I pulled my fingers back. “I'm sorry.” His mouth turned up in a smile.
"Emotional pain heals over time, son. Leave her be and she'll be fine."
"I'm sure you're right,” he started, “but she's in physical danger as well."
I cocked my head toward him, my interest now piqued.
"I've made too many enemies since becoming a vampire.” He stood up and paced. His movements appeared angelic, as calm as a summer breeze. “It's come to my knowledge that some of those people have learned of my life ... old life.” His storm blue eyes met mine. “These demons I face will use any means to hurt me."
"So, you're afraid your sister will get caught in the crossfire?"
"Will you help me or won't you?” Jeremy sighed, his face turning away.
Vampires. Demon battles. Twenty-three year old women. “No,” I answered, scraping a hand over my aged face. “I can't. Not on this anyway."
Silence lingered between us for a long time. “I'm sorry,” I murmured, not knowing what else to say. His disappointment rippled through me, strong and palpable.
He glared at me, though his face softened within seconds. “Her name is Celeste."
I thought to argue, but yawned instead. My eyes flashed open, and I scanned the trailer. Jeremy had vanished, though for some reason I only focused on my relief, and my own body sunk down further into the recliner. I felt like I woke from a deep sleep, my limbs molding to the cushions. Had it all been a dream?
* * * *
Months passed, and soon enough, Jeremy and his request became a faded memory, a bad dream I'd conjured due to a bad burger I'd eaten the day before. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. I returned to my normal, boring life as if nothing happened. Yet, whenever I saw a young woman, I questioned if her name was Celeste, the sister in need of help. My help.
"You should go on a vacation,” Gloria suggested when I picked up my laundry.
I chuckled. “Most people my age are still working, saving up for retirement. I feel blessed I'm passed that stage in life and can work from home. What would I need a vacation for anyway?"
"You just seem so distracted lately, Cameron."
I stared down at the joyful, energetic woman, amazed she could read me so easily. Gloria had met a few of my girlfriends since my divorce, voicing her opinion each time to me. All those women are wrong for you. She'd predicted the ending before the relationships even got serious. And seeing how I was alone, I didn't doubt her judgment.
"You're one of the few romantic men out there. Shouldn't you be finding Miss Right?” Gloria's hands were on her hips, and she shot me that scrupulous stare. Her five foot five frame looked much taller when she stood like that.
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