I took the letters from her and mailed them out. Once I started driving, I took her to the houses she wanted to visit. And, most importantly, it was my own shoulder she cried on when her efforts continued to go unrewarded. But sadly, it seemed my own efforts were also no more rewarded than hers.
A perfect storm of returns and rejections ensued, a seemingly never-ending torment of ups and downs, before—in a particularly emotional moment—she told me how important I was to her, then sealed those feelings with a kiss. And it was not a friendly peck on the cheek, either, but a true, honest, exhilarating kiss on the lips. From that day on, we were together. We didn’t even have to define our relationship—it just was—and I was more than happy with that. At some point, however, she introduced me as her boyfriend, only then telling me what I’d already known in my heart—that we were official!
I still wanted to help her as much as I could, seeing how haunted she was by the mystery of who her father was and why he’d abandoned the family. But after months and months of the same routines, I felt like my supporting her was in essence enabling her. I tried to discuss other ways of moving on, suggested talking to someone, putting that extreme focus and dedication into something else. But Fiona wouldn’t hear of it—wouldn’t even hear me out. Whenever it came to anything critical of her father or her search for him, she completely shut down.
As a result, I didn’t understand how hard it was to move on until I had lost her. I didn’t go to school with her, so it wasn’t like I was running into her every day. However, I still couldn’t shake her from my head. Each time I did see her, I yearned for her even more. When I received a new Return to Sender letter, it brought all those feelings back and I hated myself for not being the one protecting her any longer. I’d taken away her primary grief outlet, since I knew she didn’t talk about her estranged father much to her other friends. It was something special and meaningful that we shared, and I’d gone and ripped it from us both.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there in my car. Alexis had told me Fiona no longer worked at Hot Coffee, but since she still frequented regularly, I’d stopped there first. Alexis and Eli were the only ones on shift, and it turned out Fiona hadn’t even been at school that day. The girls had tried to contact her, but Fiona wasn’t responding. If she wasn’t responding to them, I knew there was no chance she’d respond to me, so I simply drove to her apartment where she couldn’t so easily blow me off without hearing me out.
The sun had sunken behind the row of apartment buildings, but the sky was still light. I figured I’d waited long enough to not be interrupting dinner, so I climbed out of Mom’s 4Runner, grabbed the peace offering picked up from the grocery store, and made my way toward her front door. Lights were on inside the apartment, a good sign. Usually if anyone was home, it was Fiona, since her mother always worked sporadic hours.
My knocking on the door brought no immediate answer, and I started debating whether to knock again or walk away. I was just about to leave when the door opened and Ms. Winter was standing before me.
“Hi, Sean,” she said, warmly. “What brings you by this evening?”
“Alexis told me Fiona wasn’t in school today, so I brought a little something to hopefully make her feel better.” I held up the plastic pack with a few cans of soup, dinner rolls, and Oreos.
“I see,” she said, her smile faltering very slightly. “Why don’t you come inside?”
She left the door open for me, so I could close it once I’d entered. I set the grocery bag on the kitchen table and took a quick peek around. Fiona wasn’t anywhere in sight. Her bedroom door was open, so she probably wasn’t sleeping, but she could still be in there. However, before I could glance into her open doorway and hopefully catch a glimpse of her, Ms. Winter offered me a folded piece of printer paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, seeing the word “Mom” in large, block letters on the outside.
“Just read it,” she said and walked into the kitchen.
I unfolded the paper and found a letter in Fiona’s handwriting; she wasn’t there at all. She wasn’t sick. She was…gone.
“When was this?” I asked after my first read-through, since the letter wasn’t dated.
“Yesterday,” she said, walking back toward me, then leaning on the back of one of the dining room chairs. “I found it in her room this morning when I went to wake her up. What do you know about her search for her father?”
I didn’t know where to begin. I was afraid if I told her the whole truth, then she’d never want me to speak to her daughter again. But on the other hand, Fiona running away to find him was serious, making it obvious how much she needed help.
“What do you know about our breakup?” I asked.
“She hasn’t wanted to talk about what happened and I didn’t pry. Teenagers break up all the time. I presumed it had something to do with you going off to NYU next year and her wanting to stay local, but I could be way off base.”
I took a deep breath, finding it hard to look her in the eyes. “It was about her obsessive search for her father,” I finally said. “I was helping her.”
She didn’t look as shocked as I would have expected, but still answered as if she was completely unaware. “Is that so? How did you help, exactly?”
She asked me to sit at the table while she took a seat adjacent. I went through how I’d helped Fiona for years—all the things I was never supposed to talk about with anyone, especially her mother. But it seemed important to come clean now, because Fiona could be in real trouble. It was the right thing to do, no matter how bad it made me feel afterwards. After this admission, I hoped Fiona would talk to me again. But more importantly, I hoped I’d be able to see her once more—home safe, where she should be.
6
Fiona
Going a day without talking to someone you’re sharing a room with was a long time, especially when there was no one else to interact with.
I wasn’t up the whole day since I’d lain awake the entire night before, but this place certainly did not provide optimal sleeping conditions, even with the decent blackout curtains. Fear and stress were the archenemies of sleep.
As the sun went down, I knew the new workday at Sisters of Mercy was only just beginning. A short while later, the lights automatically came on in the room; it was just a matter of time before someone came to collect us for breakfast. By this point I felt starving, yet doubted my ability to hold down any food.
Mallory lay sulking on her bed, her mouth set in a hard line, back against the wall, staring at the door.
We both tightened up when amber eyes appeared in the door’s view portal. The door clicked open and a dark-skinned nurse in black scrubs invaded the room with a rush of energy.
“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!” Her voice had a melodic timber and soothing southern drawl. “It’s a full moon outside. I’m Nurse Dalio.” She first approached my bed, reached over me, and threw open the curtains.
“Pardon me, if I don’t share your enthusiasm,” Mallory said, sourly.
The nurse wasn’t bothered by Mallory’s moodiness and removed two vials of purple liquid from a pocket. “Since you’re volunteers here, you can volunteer to take your medicine. It’s mandatory for all the other patients.”
“What does it do?” I asked, still under my covers.
“It takes away some of the sting,” she said, smiling wide and holding up the vials to give me a clear view.
“None for me, thanks,” Mallory said, her voice still venomous.
The nurse shrugged. “Your choice,” she said and brought her attention back to me.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to lose my faculties but also didn’t want to be in constant fear and agony.
“What do you mean by sting?” I asked. “Is it a pain blocker?”
“It’s a sedative that will ease your anxiety and slow you down. It won’t block any pain.”
I glanced over at Mallory, who seemed interested in our interaction. She
shook her head, almost like a warning.
“I’ll pass too,” I finally said.
“No problem,” Nurse Dalio said. “Can I assume you’re both hungry? Ready for breakfast?” She paused, then added, “Or you can stay here and have some food tomorrow night.”
Mallory scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. She crossed her arms and stared ahead, into the hallway.
I wasn’t about to stay in the room alone, so I threw off the covers and followed the nurse and Mallory out of the room. I wondered if we’d see Jack or Ashley tonight… or maybe even Matthew? I hoped he’d come and check up on me, but like with everything else in this place, I had no idea what to really expect.
As we navigated the hallways, I felt the same sense of attention from the hospital staff as the night before. Multiple sets of eyes looked me up and down, sized me up, practically undressing me. But I hadn’t gotten that feeling from our own nurse, so I was beginning to wonder if my paranoia was playing tricks on me. An insane asylum had a way of making you feel demented, even when you’d felt perfectly normal the day before. I didn’t know if that was a universal truth, but it sure captured my reality as we headed for the cafeteria.
Nurse Dalia waited against the wall as Mallory and I waded through the line to get our breakfasts—eggs and oatmeal, toast and whole fruit, as well as a dispenser for juice and water. I felt a caffeine headache coming on when I noticed there was no coffee or tea. I was sure their coffee would be terrible, but still needed something to satiate the creeping pain.
“Do you have anything with caffeine here?” I asked Nurse Dalio as we all sat at an empty table.
“Not for patients,” she replied.
“But we’re volunteers,” Mallory said, sitting beside me. “You said so yourself.”
“Volunteers or not, you’re patients first. Eat up. You need your strength.”
Frustrated and aching more from the realization there was no coffee coming, I picked at my food with a plastic spork, the only available utensil. I picked at small bites of oatmeal to see how my stomach would react. Mallory was not as cautious as she wolfed down everything on her plate, followed by her glass of orange juice and water.
Nurse Dalio watched us eat, almost looking envious. I still didn’t know if her kind could even eat regular food.
I watched as other patients filtered in and out of the cafeteria. As I’d seen from the night before, many were young, most appearing withered and hollow. There was no fight in these patients, only the aura of pure helplessness. But if I looked hard enough, I could always find someone who didn’t fit the norm. Though these few lively patients were probably the newest captures like us, there was still the possibility that hope could survive in the direst of places—even here. That alone gave me hope, too.
After breakfast, Nurse Dalio led us to the Common Room, where a multitude of patients sat scattered around, engaged in nearly as many activities. This was where the patients came alive the most, interacting with the largest pool of patients with the lowest amount of supervision; it was a place where these patients could almost be human.
“I have to go check on some other patients,” Nurse Dalio said. “So, have a look around and get acquainted. You may roam the patient wing, but not beyond. Given your situation, I’m sure you have ample motivation to follow the rules. I trust you won’t cause any trouble. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask any of the patrolling nurses or orderlies. Can you handle that?”
I nodded and Mallory simply looked away, focused on the roomful of people.
“Very good. I’ll be back to collect you in an hour or so,” she said, cheerfully, before scurrying away.
“Maybe you can make some friends here,” Mallory said as she began meandering around the room.
I concurred we had spent enough time together—even though we’d been ignoring each other for ninety-five percent of it—and went in a separate direction from her. I snagged a chair against the wall, then flipped through the stack of old magazines on the end table. They ranged from one to five years old, all of them well read. I kept one open on my lap but barely read it. Mostly, I watched others interact, occasionally glanced up at the television, and tried to commit the faces of the supervising doctors, nurses, and orderlies, to memory.
Mallory was already talking to two other girls, proving she could be nice when she wanted to be. It killed me she could make friends so easily, yet actively went out of her way to keep us at odds—which was exactly what had gotten us thrown in here.
As I sat there cursing my luck, my headache intensified. My stomach ached as it fought to digest what I’d recently eaten. Now all I wanted to do was go to bed but was afraid to venture back to my room alone. Among the general population, it felt somehow safer—even if that was merely an illusion.
Several television shows later, Nurse Dalio returned to collect Mallory and me. She led us back to our room, where another nurse was sitting on Mallory’s bed. She had bleached blonde hair up in a tight bun and striking blue eyes. And unlike Nurse Dalio, this new nurse didn’t exemplify any of the same kindness and vibrance. She stood as we entered the room.
“Here they are, Nurse Oleander,” Nurse Dalio said. “The hospital’s newest offerings. You understand Mr. Nelson’s directives regarding these two, correct?”
“They’re in good hands with me,” Nurse Oleander said with a smile that didn’t even attempt to reach her eyes.
“Mallory here will be your fighter.”
“You’re damn right I am,” Mallory spat.
“Noted.” Nurse Oleander’s sneer widened. “Let’s get started. I’d like to take full advantage of my break.”
“Of course. Enjoy your break,” Nurse Dalio said as she retreated, closing the door behind her.
Mallory got into a defensive stance, arms up, knees bent. “Start with her first. She’s easy prey. Do with her as you will. But if you come after me, I swear I won’t make it easy on you.”
“Maybe I like a challenge,” the nurse said, taking a stalking step forward.
I slowly backed away to the farthest corner of the room, my heart now hammering as much as my head.
“I don’t doubt your capabilities among your own kind, but to me—to us—you are no less prey.” Nurse Oleander sprang on Mallory, who quickly maneuvered to fight back, but Mallory was overpowered in every way. Within seconds, Mallory lay on her back with the vampire gripping her throat, a knee digging into her chest. “I thought you said you weren’t going to make this easy on me? Should I give you another chance?”
“Just get it over with,” Mallory croaked out.
“I wish I did have a little more time, then I could really test your abilities,” Nurse Oleander said, her fangs now coming out. “Unfortunately, I have to get back to my shift soon. And others are awaiting their turns.” She then leaned down and sank her teeth into Mallory’s neck.
Mallory tried to buck the vampire off, but might as well have been trying to unpin herself from a car. The vampire was completely unfazed, continuing to feed upon the girl whose life mission had been to make my own a living hell. When Mallory was finally released, she curled up into a fetal position on the floor.
Gazing down at the crumpled Mallory, Nurse Oleander shook her head, then lifted Mallory off the ground and threw her across the room like a doll. Mallory’s body landed half on the bed, bounced, and spilled onto the concrete floor with a thud.
I gasped in horror at what this creature was capable of—the sheer strength, power, and madness.
Blood was still dripping from her lips as Nurse Oleander approached my corner of the room.
“It’s my understanding you chose to come here,” she said in a soft, yet commanding voice.
I couldn’t move—reduced to simply hugging my knees and staring up at her intimidating form.
“I’ve dealt with candidates like you before,” she continued. “In fact, I had the pleasure of feeding on the very first one who came from here. With the way time flies, it doesn’t see
m all that long ago. Let me be clear; you won’t get special treatment from me. I won’t make this easy on either of you.” She reached down and yanked me up by my scrubs top, lifting me completely off the floor.
Then my body was soaring through the air, landing hard on my bed. She was on me in a flash, fangs bared, ready to devour me. No sound escaped my throat as I tried to cry for help. And when she bit into my neck, I thought this was truly the end.
7
Matthew
I trailed Susan for most of the morning and all she seemed to be doing was mundane errands. I’d planted a tracker on her Volvo sedan, so even when I fell behind in traffic, I was always able to catch up. With her supposed erratic work schedule, I had no idea if the next stop would be the start of a shift somewhere or just another household errand.
But after leaving the hardware store with a few small items fitting into a single plastic bag, I followed her onto the 5 Freeway, headed north. And she pursued that direction for about a half hour, exiting in Diamond Bar. A few miles into the hills, she pulled over and parked on the street, forcing me to pass where she’d stopped and find the next available spot.
I parked a few blocks down and hurried back until I was in sight of her car, not so close as to be obvious. As expected, she was gone. I scanned the area to see which way she went but didn’t see her between the other people going about their days and cars driving by in both directions on the busy street.
I continued toward Susan’s car, passing by inconspicuously and glancing inside through the windshield, in case she was still sitting in the driver’s seat. As expected, she wasn’t.
As I kept my pace down the sidewalk, scanning the vicinity, I realized this place looked strangely familiar. Then I stopped, gazing at the apartment complex across the street, then at the shops I was passing, noticing the small dome of a surveillance camera attached to the soffit outside a storefront door.
Angeles Underground Page 5
