Waiting For Sunrise

At the entrance to the school grounds, Irene heard her name being called. She twirled around, until she saw an awkward teen with a shock of thick curls growing in just about every direction but down. Pale golden streaks ran amidst the auburn hair, creating eye-popping contrast. Irene met her blue-grey eyes with a reluctant, mild smile.

"Irene, I didn't see you at the tennis court! What's up, girl?" the redhead asked, her rosy cheeks lighting up, almost hiding the freckles that dappled her face. The way she raised her eyebrows suggested to Irene that she already had her answer.

"Something came up..." Irene muttered, looking towards the school doors. Students lined the paved walkway up to them, while more congregated on the lawn. The familiarity of it provided a familiar environment to process and unwind.

"Oh, right, something came up." There was a superfluity of sarcasm in Merle's voice that put Irene on edge. "Would that something involve a certain injured fella?"

Irene froze at the mention of an injured man. How did she...?

A waggle of unkempt eyebrows brought Irene back to reality. Merle couldn't possibly know about the morning. "Of course not. Would you stop looking at me like that?" The eyebrow wags became even more pronounced. She sighed and shook her head, familiar with these exaggerated theatrics.

"Oh come on, Irene, I saw that deer-in-headlights look! You totally ditched practice to go see Jordan. Not that I blame you," Merle chirped playfully. Irene relaxed a little and gave a small amused snort. "The fair maiden tending to her injured knight!" Merle butchered a British accent. Which accent was anyone's guess. Some of the students passing by rolled their eyes at Merle then giggled to each other, but she seemed unaware.

"I see you finally got those highlights done. Did your Aunt Beth do them?" Irene asked, trying to shift the topic.

"Yeah, she only came by for the weekend, but it was a blast. Always is. Do you like it?" Merle ran a hand through her disobedient curls.

"It's really eye-catching."

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to try a new look once in a while." Her friend batted at Irene's ponytail, and she turned her head away in irritation. "I'm sure Jordan wouldn't mind."

"Shouldn't the bell be ringing soon?" Irene looked down at her wristwatch. She suddenly jolted and quickly yanked her sleeves over the band before looking away, hoping that Merle didn’t notice. "I just want today to be over already. My morning jog took a lot out of me.” She discreetly tried to scratch the residual dried blood off her wristband with her fingernails.

"Heh heh, Irene! Maybe your body is finally catching up with your spirit, and you're turning into a granny to match your dear old soul," Merle teased gleefully, mimicking a weathered old lady voice.

"Well they say mind and body are one. You are evidence of that," Irene countered, still distracted by her watch.

"Wha- hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Merle sputtered, her hands going to her waist akimbo.

"Childish body; childish mind."

Merle's face flushed and she crossed her arms over her chest, exhibiting every token of embarrassment and insecurity. "That was real low, Irene!"

Irene cringed at her own cattiness. "Sorry. I... I'm sorry."

"You better be!" Merle groused, arms still held tightly over herself as she turned away.

Palpitations hammered the shame she was feeling for her blunder. Merle was severely delayed in physical development. As her friend, Irene knew better than to poke fun about it.

The loud beep of the electronic school bell blasted, mercifully cutting the awkward exchange short. Merle jumped to attention and loped off towards the portables. Likewise, Irene headed into the school lobby on her way to her math class.

Irene struggled to push the early morning events out of her mind and concentrate. Although retrieving the three points of intersection on the parabola was usually an easy task, she stared at the graph blankly.

What will happen when I go home? Irene stared blankly at her graphing calculator. I can't do anything about it now. Worrying solves nothing. Right now I need to solve this math problem. Focus! Instead of focusing, she doodled spirals along the margin of her notepaper as a reflection of her whirling thoughts.

"Did you forget which class you are in, Irene? Because this isn't art."

Irene sat bolt upright, startled by the voice that crashed through her thoughts. She didn't need to look up to see her math teacher looming. She set her pencil down and shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered, not looking up to shield her embarrassment.

"Don't say sorry - show me by getting back to work."

Embarrassment turned to vexation as Irene heard a snicker from behind her. Hastily, she began plunking numbers into her graphic calculator, trying to at least appear busy. This seemed to mollify her teacher who continued his patrol of the classroom.

"Aw, did the teacher's pet get a scolding?"

Irene was not going to engage. After a few more remarks behind her back, her peers grew bored, as they always did, and found something else to whisper about.

Lunch time rolled around.

Irene forgot to pack a lunch that morning in all the commotion, which made the break seem to stretch on. She passed the time reading in the library, although with some difficulty. She occasionally glanced out the window into the school yard, where some students were in the middle of a pickup game of kickball. She wanted to be out there, running and using her body instead of her brain, but her stomach chastised her with a stern reminder that she had not eaten all day.

By the time lunch had ended Irene's mind had gradually drifted away from her harrowing morning and flowed into classic literature. Focusing on the fictional woes of Shakespeare's tragic heroes, helped her to temporarily misplace her own worries. However, the last bell of the day echoed a stern reminder that life had yet another complication to offer her.

The school bell wasn't the only herald of more stress.

"Irene! Hey!" came Merle's bubbly voice from behind. Irene reluctantly turned around, daunted by the thought of dealing with her friend's temper. Her fiery friend marched over and slung her mottled arm around Irene's shoulders.

"Merle," Irene stiffened up, anticipating an ambush.

A trickle of laughter cascaded from her fellow teen. "Irene, you're always so serious! Come on, let's go!"

Irene did not budge, flabbergasted. "Go... where?" Despite the relief that rolled in like a wave on the beach, it receded just as quickly. What did I forget?

"Movie night! Movie night! Remember?" Merle bounced around excitedly, clearly having been expecting it for a while.

Irene's insides flopped like a beached fish. Dismally, she recalled her promise of a night of rented DVDs and junk food. But she couldn't stop herself from worrying about the man in her house.

What if he dies and I get blamed? I need to know he's alright. Was it really okay to leave him?

Irene eyed Merle. If she told her friend the truth, she would invite herself over to see for herself, which opened up a whole other host of problems.

"Sorry Merle, but I have to go straight home."

Merle's happy face transformed into a pout. Irene braced herself for the usual fireworks. "But you promised!"

"Movie night can wait," Irene replied assertively. Any gentleness she may have once used in disappointing Merle had long been strangled out by desensitization to such extreme moods.

"Oh, don't tell me you are going to go ditch me for your boyfriend again!" Merle squawked, tightening her lips.

"I won't be seeing Jordan today. I really need to get home."

"What can you possibly need to do that will take up your whole evening? Your father isn't going to be home for another week!" Merle exclaimed, her eyes smoking with disappointment.

"I don't have time for this Merle! We'll have to do it another day." Irene turned back to the direction of the buses. She knew it would take some sweets and a double feature to smooth over her friend's ruffled feathers. Merle was home alone as much as her, but unlike Irene, she hated it. "I'm going to miss my bus."

"Okay, fine," Merle relented petulantly. "You go do whatever is so important. But remember, all work and no play makes Irene a dull girl," she prophesied before stomping off, shoulders up like an ornery gorilla.

With a mighty yawn, Irene finally made it back to her porch, struggling with the lock like she did every day. Her thoughts drifted to Jordan. His presence would have been a stalwart ally to her composure, and she'd feel a lot safer having him near. But he'd be in recovery for some time. Shame bloomed as Irene derided herself for not visiting more, but being in the hospital was too difficult for her. Why did Jordan have to show off by not wearing his helmet!?

Irene alone had to face the consequences of the morning's heroics. A transformation overcame her; her heart raced as the doubts formed. Why did I let that man talk me out of calling an ambulance? Once he's better he'll probably trash the place and rob me blind. Not that there's much worth taking. But could I really ignore someone in need of help?

Irene rolled back her shoulders, took a few deep breaths, and prepared herself to show only confidence. She grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water, then ventured downstairs. I can still call the authorities if things get out of hand. Everything is fine. When this is all over, it will make a great story. Merle will eat it up.

The bed in the basement remained occupied. Cyrus didn't stir. He was as still as a corpse, as still as her sister was as she was laid in her coffin. Irene could clearly remember the gleam of the white satin reflecting the pink hues of the makeup, which wrongfully set the illusion of life. She could see the strands of the golden wig now, spread out on the pillow. People remarked that it looked like she was asleep, but Irene knew better. Her sister smiled in her sleep, but there was no smile on that mask. Monica was lively, what laid there couldn't be her. That was just a shell that looked like her; a mere doll.

Awareness of something cold and wet dripping down Irene's arm snapped her out of her memory. She turned the cup upright, muttering under her breath. A slight movement crept into her peripheral vision. Her eyes darted to Cyrus, who had turned to face her. His dark eyes followed her every movement as she walked towards him. A sick feeling lurched in her stomach. Irene dismissed it as mere nerves, leftover from her thoughts of Monica.

"Here, I brought you some water. I can get you some toast if you are hungry." Irene passed over the cup, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'm not hungry, only thirsty," he responded, taking a sip.

Cyrus's lips were a shade pinker. Weren't they split? Now they were hardly swollen. In the back of Irene's mind a siren was blaring, but her conscious mind awaited a more rational explanation for the change. Maybe her memory exaggerated the extent of his injuries. It was dark; maybe she didn't see him clearly. There were plenty of other explanations. Resolved to continue on the course of compassion, Irene knelt down beside the bed, grabbing the first aid supplies she'd stashed just underneath.

"Drink as much as you would like..." Irene opened up the plastic case, looking for the scissors.

"You don't look very old. Do you live alone?" Cyrus abruptly inquired. Irene lifted her light brown eyes, fixing him with a stern stare to cover the wave of anxiety the question stirred.

"I live with my father," Irene told him in a firm tone. She suddenly wanted to get her hand on those scissors as soon as possible.

"Really? I haven't seen him… he doesn't mind me being here?"

"He's working." Irene didn't need to tell him he wouldn't be home for a few days. Irene swept under the bed to see if the scissors had fallen out underneath.

"Where's your mother?" The bed creaked as he shifted, a shadow falling over her.

"Dead," Irene snapped, anxiety disguising itself as irritation. She quickly backed away. She eyed the man, feeling increasingly more vulnerable. What did I get myself into?

"Oh. And your sister? You mentioned…"

"Also dead," Irene didn't want to talk about it, but she also didn't have the presence of mind to come up with a suitable lie. She hoped her clipped responses would send a signal to the man to back off.

Apparently, that signal was not received as the man continued his line of inquiry. "So your family's all dead or absent? Gee, that sucks," the man responded with a blaise attempt at sympathy. Irene eyed him for a solid minute. Getting no further response, Cyrus added, "Want to talk about it?."

"Not with a stranger," Irene responded curtly, her impatience growing. "Besides, I don't dwell on it." Finally, she noticed the sought-after scissors sitting atop the drying machine. She clicked her tongue at her forgetfulness and retrieved them, reassurance blooming as she felt the plastic handle in her hand.

Maybe I should go next door. But I don't really know the new neighbours. What if they call the cops? What if they ask where my father is? Irene was terrified that the system, purported to safeguard minors such as herself, would rake her father over the coals. Warming at her touch, she gripped the scissors even tighter.

"Really? I thought that's what all teens did, dwell on everything." Cyrus sounded inappropriately amused.

"I've got better things to do than throw a pity party. I have no use for that attitude." Irene returned to Cyrus' side, kneeling beside him with scissors in hand. If he tries anything, I'll be ready. But maybe I'm worrying over nothing, he might just be socially awkward, like Merle.

"And what, pray tell, do you find useful?"

An icy gaze was Irene's first response. A protracted silence was the second. Finally, came the third - which was to move things along.

"I'm going to change your bandages... and then I want you to leave."

Cyrus laughed in response. Unnerved, Irene cut the medical tape and unravelled the gauze. Her furrowed eyebrows rose in disbelief. All the bruising and swelling was gone, and the cuts were already scabbing. This was impossible, and yet, she was touching him. He was real. In fact, his very real hand seized her wrist and squeezed. She gasped and tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.

A futile struggle ensued, Irene twisting side to side and digging her feet into the ground, trying to get free of his hold. Stupid, stupid! I should have left the moment he asked if I was alone. His grin widened, and with little effort he threw her back. She tumbled to the ground, quickly crawling away from the man, but still clutching the scissors tight. Every panicked attempt to get to her feet resulted in her losing balance and falling down again.

Cyrus swung his legs to the side of the bed and rose to his feet with ease that ought to be impossible for an injured man. Irene took in a deep breath to scream, but instead held it in her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. She looked at the exit. Get up and move! Why can't I move?

"Thanks for helping me, but you probably should have looked the other way. Now that you've seen too much... yaddi yadda..." Cyrus shrugged, not bothering to finish the cliché.

Irene gulped, and rose to dash for the exit. With uncanny celerity, Cyrus crossed the room. Her hand stretched out for the door only to feel her whole body impacted and shoved into the wall. Scissors in hand, she twisted around and slashed at her attacker's exposed chest. Her hand shook as she made contact. Red liquid gushed out, spattering across her nose like tiny garnet freckles. Irene recoiled in horror and disbelief. Did I really just stab someone?

Cyrus hissed and he grabbed her throat. The weight of her body strained her neck and her legs swung fruitlessly. He held her aloft with one hand, while he grabbed her wrist with the other. His thumb dug into her flesh, burrowing between carpal tendons. Irene squeaked out a partial yelp; it hurt too much to maintain her grip. The bloody scissors fell to the floor.

No!

Irene thought he was going to toss her aside, but instead he set her down again. With force that belied his small frame he slammed her into the wall. Air fled her chest with the shock of the impact.

While she struggled to reinflate her lungs, she could feel a hand on her neck. Cyrus's savage gaze dropped from Irene's teary, unyielding eyes to her slender neck. The danger was real, and yet her heart began to slow down. She was still afraid, but the panic had burnt out, leaving confusion in its wake.

Why is this happening?

Reality struck her with reinforcement. Irene could only muster an airy gasp as a piercing pain penetrated her neck.

He was biting her. She could not believe it. He was biting her!

Light-headed and fuzzy, all Irene stared in horror at her own blood being licked from the man's lips. Again sensations dulled, and she was barely aware of the pain or blood trickling down the side of her neck.

A chuckle erupted from her assailant. Cyrus placed both of his hands on her cheeks, squishing them together, forcing her lips to pucker. Irene broke out of her daze and glared at him. Anger bloomed in her chest, and steadily rose like liquid fire in her veins. He moved his face closer to hers, and her lips unwillingly connected with his, the taste of salt and iron invading. Then the blackguard threw back his head and laughed.

Instantly Irene's hand flew to the puncture on the side of her neck, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding. Anger and confusion left her dumb.

"Speechless? Oh… I have that effect on people." Cyrus grabbed her once more, his palm pressing into the nape of her neck.

Please stop! Irene could not make the words, and she doubted they would dissuade this monster even if she could. His other hand pulled at her wrist, breaking the cover over her neck wound. She cringed, knees feeling weak. Nearer he brought his face, and Irene reflexively turned away, only to be reprimanded by the renewal of pain at the puncture site. She needed to search for a way out of this. Anything!

Shivers slid up and down her body as she could feel his slimy tongue sliding along the open wound. The pain gave way to numbness, and the only sensation on her neck was a moist chill and a dull pulsating. Cyrus ceased licking her and took a step back again. His lips parted into a broad grin, showing off his long, inhuman fangs. Irene stared in shocked silence. She wanted to rationalize, but all of her attempts ended in defeat. She was left with only one absurd conclusion. "But vampires don't exist!"