Authors: Shantea Gauthier
I smiled. "That bad, huh?"
After a couple rounds of waxing, tweezing, and wiping, he grabbed the chair and opened his mouth to say something else.
"I can't take it anymore, I want to see it!" I blurted.
He laughed, clapped his hands and spun me around.
It’s so short.
My hair had gone from a long chestnut mane to a short, almost spiky, stylish hairstyle. It was an actual style. The long bangs across my forehead made me look more feminine and the eyebrows made me looked groomed and polished.
“I look like a girl!” I almost shouted.
Sergio smiled. “You look like a woman, honey. Too many people think that having long hair is more feminine, but they're just lazy and blind. It’s all about how you work it!”
He snapped his fingers over his shoulder and held up a hand mirror.
“You know what the back looked like before, right?”
No
. "Yes."
The mirror showed the styled hair in the back of my head. I don’t know what I should have expected. “Nice.”
“When all that grows back you can use an iron to smooth your hair and it’ll be a cute little bob, but for now flipping it up like this hides all those little scrapes.” He practically whispered the end of the sentence and gave my shoulder a slow little fingertip slap.
I stared at myself, dazzled at the transformation. The bruise on my cheek and the bags under my eyes looked less noticeable, even without makeup. “You’re a genius.”
“Don’t I know it, honey!” Serge laughed and snapped, spun me around and whipped the cape off. “Regina, get her some product and a brush if she needs it. On me. The eyebrows too! Charging for that is like charging a dying man for water in the desert.”
Ouch
.
I could only imagine what the bill would have looked like if I had been charged for everything.
Double ouch.
I signed the credit card slip and listened to Regina explain how to use the product and brush, already feeling the sting of my future credit card bill.
I admired myself in every surface that I passed by and by the time I got home I wasn’t even hungry. Maybe it was the extravagant cost of the haircut that made me sick, or my body needing to heal its wounds, but all I wanted to do was sleep.
The wind outside, the dogs running, the children playing, the adults yelling all conspired to keep me awake. The fact that it was still light out didn’t help, either. My new hairstyle begged to be seen, but… I couldn't. I wanted to stay in my apartment, under the map of the world I refused to face.
I plodded reluctantly to the living room when it was clear I would not be sleeping. I flipped my old TV on to a show about travel and started a pot of water for the pasta. I set the oven on low for garlic bread and poured a glass of water. I was never great at cooking. Sandra was always trying to teach me how to love the kitchen but I never had the patience. I forgot about the pasta once it was in until the water boiled over. I salvaged my soggy pasta and my loaf-sized crouton by pouring sauce and butter on everything. I watched three hours of TV before I finally went into my bedroom, moved a heart on my map from India to Madagascar, and went to bed.
Something tapping at my window woke me up. I rolled over and tried to ignore it, but it persisted very intentionally.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was impossible for someone to be tapping at my third story window. I pulled a pillow up over my head, thinking of all the cartoons I'd watched where the scary monster at the window was just a tree branch.
The real monster was always under the bed or in the closet.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Tap, tap, tap.
There were no trees outside my window. Something must have gotten caught as it was blowing by and was being knocked around by the wind. A bag from the dollar store, with a small toy or something in it, that's all.
Taptaptap
.
Feeling ridiculous, I decided to check the window. Just as I pulled the covers down, the tapping startled me back under. Annoyed at my own stupidity, I pushed the blankets onto the floor and got up. I jerked the blinds open.
A long pale fingertip, at the end of a long pale hand, attached to a long pale man, reached toward me.
Tap, tap, tap
.
chapter 5
The pale man stood outside of my third floor apartment window in a slim fitting charcoal grey suit, with a pale blue tie that accentuated his pale blue eyes, with his jet black hair slicked back.
I shook my head. He tapped on the window again.
This isn’t real.
Tap, tap, tap.
I shook my head again.
He raised and dropped his shoulders and rolled his eyes in a big pantomime sigh. Like
I
was being an inconvenience to
him
.
This isn't really happening, so he can't hurt me,
I told myself.
My legs shook and threatened to buckle under me. I knew that it wasn't true. This was really happening.
I reached for the window and slid it open a crack.
The man's legs dangled in the air. He was either floating or holding himself up by the side of the window frame with so much strength in his fingertips that he appeared to be relaxed, exerting no effort at all. I didn’t know which was more unlikely, or which was more frightening.
"Well," he said softly, "aren't you going to invite me in?"
My entire body vibrated with paralyzing fear, betraying me completely. I managed to give my head a jerky shake. I tried to step back but the blanket caught my foot and if I moved any further I knew that I would fall. My leg didn't have the strength to shake it off so I was rooted to the spot.
"I didn't think you'd be so beautiful," he said.
Serge would be proud.
"Thanks,” I whispered.
"That wasn't a compliment, just an observation."
"What do you want?" My vocal chords started to unfreeze. I couldn't wish the situation away. I could only deal with it.
"I want you to join us."
"Who's us?"
He sighed loudly. "Are you sure you won't invite me in?"
I shook my head. "What do you want with me?"
"There's a war out there and you’re making friends with the wrong side."
"What are you talking about?"
He smiled then, pale pink lips parting to reveal long pointed fangs. I backed away, forgot about the blanket binding my foot and fell backward, painfully onto my butt.
"Don't worry," he said in a false comforting voice that didn't seem like it was actually meant to soothe me at all. "I won't hurt you. Unless of course you ask me to. And if you did ask, well, I wouldn’t deny a pretty girl like you."
I shook my head, eyes wide as an owl’s and kicked my foot to free it. "No. Whatever you want. No. Leave me alone."
"I think we started off on the wrong foot." He looked down to explain his joke.
Jokes told by men floating outside of your window at night are probably never funny. This one wasn’t. I didn't laugh.
He continued, "My name is Harold. I am not here to hurt you. I am here to educate you, and if you really like what I have to say, I'd like to recruit you. I trust you got our little gift?"
Eat me, drink me
. I nodded.
"In that vial is a very personal gift," he said. “It is from me to you and it is very valuable. If you drink it, it will make you stronger and faster. It will protect you from creatures like Simon. If you drink it, you can call me and I will answer."
"What about creatures like you?" I asked. Without the difficult task of staying on my feet, I felt bolder. At least I didn’t have to prevent myself from falling down.
"You can try silver and garlic, I'm sure. But I'm no monster. I want to help you."
"Why?" I demanded. "Help me what?"
"Help you stay alive," he said calmly. "Because if they want you, we want you first."
"Who?"
"Who do you think? Don't make me say it out here, it's not safe to talk of such things.” He leaned closer and spoke in a whisper as if we were coconspirators. “If someone overheard me, they'd think I was crazy."
If someone saw a man floating three stories up talking about werewolves, they would be more likely to think
they
were the crazy one.
"What’s in the vial? You told me what it will do, what's it made of?"
He rested his forehead on the screen. His voice came through as a whisper carried on the wind. "My blood."
"And the cake?"
"My God," he said, sounding offended. "That is a cookie. It is a French
macaron
, none of this cloying coconut goo your people call macaroons, but a real
macaron
. If you eat that you will feel love and sunshine and warmth and happiness. When the crispy shell of the cookies gives way and the crème filling melts in your mouth you will know true ecstasy."
“What’s it made of?”
He shrugged with the shoulder of his free hand. "Sugar and eggs, some kind of flour. Lavender. It's delicious, not magical."
"But your b-. The vial is magical?"
His eyes locked onto mine, filling me with a sense of peace. "All blood is magical. Mine just has some benefits that you need. It will heal your wounds and make you stronger. Invite me in and I'll let you have a drink right from the source."
The night air was warm, and it was so rude not to invite him in. He had come all this way in the middle of the night to help me, and I was making him stand outside like I didn't trust him.
I shook my head to clear it. Those thoughts weren’t mine. If I didn't invite him, he couldn't come in. That's why he kept asking me. Emboldened by the knowledge, I stood.
"No, thank you. Now please go away."
"Remember," he said, staring intently at me. "Drink it. It will heal your wounds, and if you are ever in need, just call me and I’ll have to come to the rescue."
When I approached the window to close it, a breeze carried his scent in. He smelled like melons and honeysuckle, sunshine and summer picnics. He smelled like a lie. A beautiful, intoxicating lie.
"What are you?" I asked.
He smiled. The fangs were gone. "I'm a vampire."
He said it in way someone might say "I'm a Science Major." The matter-of-fact way was not what I expected to hear the information that a vampire was hovering outside of my window, asking to be let in, asking me to drink his blood.
I nodded and slid the window shut.
He put a palm against the window and pressed. The glass cracked while he continued to apply steady pressure.
The window exploded around his hand, glittering shards rained to the floor. I screamed and backed away, tripped over the blanket. I hit the ground with a thud and looked up, expecting him to be reaching for me or climbing in through the broken window. He just stood there, or floated there, and poked at some of the points of broken glass until they broke off and fell into my bedroom.
"Just a little something to remember me by in case you try to decide that this never happened." He let go of the window frame and was gone.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. My tired brain replayed the incident. I compared Harold with the first vampire I’d met. Harold scared me, but he didn’t seem to want to hurt me.
I held the box, examined the cookie and the vial and turned them over and over in my hand. The first vampire, the blonde, reeked of death and hate. The black haired Harold smelled of love and happiness. I couldn’t connect the two, but they were both vampires. They were both after me.
My brain wore itself out running in circles until it was time to leave for work.
Work felt like a strange dream. Everything was confused fuzz when I saw that they had started to make good on their promise to remove the cubicles. Mine was still intact and through blurry eyes I watched Bob sulkily take down his signs. He must have been next.
Thankful for the walls, I sat in my chair, comforted by Shannon's presence. It felt so normal.
I pulled out a stack of folders and started to type.
My fingers worked on autopilot until my head swam and spun and I felt like I was half floating and half sinking. I tried to stay above water for as long as I could before I went under.
Shannon woke me up with a gentle push.
"Hey, Jade, it's lunchtime."
I practically crawled out of the cubical. I ate a candy bar someone gave me. I hoped the sugar would give me enough of a jolt to make it through the day. It didn't work.
After lunch, Shaun complimented me on the fantastic job I was doing and said I should keep it up. I knew it would be unwise to tell him that I literally slept through the morning, so I went back to my desk. I didn’t sleep again, but I didn’t work either. Had to keep up my work flow.
When I got home, Sandra was standing in my hallway with a gift bag and a long envelope. There was a piece of paper taped to the door, scrawled with thick black handwriting.
Sandra wasn't smiling. As she turned to look at me, her eyes grew wide. I whirled around, almost panicked at her expression until she practically shouted, “Holy shit! You cut your hair!”
“Yeah, do you like it?”
“It’s um…” I could practically hear her thinking,
If you can’t think of anything nice to say…
“So,” I said a little uncomfortably. “Are you going to let me in?”
Sandra dropped her eyes to the letter in her hand and raised it up to me. "Babe, do you need to talk about this?"
"I don't know what this is," I said, trying to keep panic and annoyance out of my voice. I looked at the bag, the envelope, the note on the door. Another little gift? I wasn't sure I could handle any more.
"Let's go inside," Sandra said.
I scanned the note on the door as I unlocked it. It was a lengthy letter telling me how inconsiderate it is of me to be jumping around all night when there are other people in the building with children who need to sleep. I tore it off on my way in and threw it on the floor.
Sandra shut the door and opened the envelope. Inside was piece of paper declaring "3-Day Notice to Pay or Quit." Behind that was a bill for the broken window.
"Why didn't you tell me that things were this bad?" she asked, leading me to the couch.
"I didn't-."
"Bullshit," she said. "Things don't get this bad without you knowing. You don't break a window without knowing it. What's going on with you?"
We sat down and I dissolved into tears.
"It's not even that late," I whined about the notice. "And- and the window, that wasn't even me!"
"Come here," Sandra wrapped me in her arms. "I didn't mean to sound all scoldy. I know you, Jade. You'll fight through it, you always figure things out, you'll be fine. Here, your nose is running, is this washcloth thing clean?"
I nodded, clutched the washcloth, and kept crying while Sandra muttered soothing things.
This is all because of Simon,
I thought, sniffling and snorting loudly
. He let all of this into my life. He knows more than he lets on. He saw the whole attack. Maybe one of the monsters burned his car. This is all his fault. Maybe-.
I woke up. My head hurt and my eyes were painfully dry.
"Come on," Sandra said. "Let's go. You're coming home with me. Jack has a truck, you're moving in with me. Screw this place anyway. Do you know how many underage drunkards I tripped over on my way in?"
I opened my dry mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She patted my shoulder to let me know that it was time to go.
The gift bag crumpled as we stood.
"Oh yeah!" Sandra picked it up and held it toward me. "This is for you."
I shrank back. "Who is it from?"
"It's from me, dingbat! Open it."
Under her suspicious gaze, I opened the bag. Inside was a box. A brightly decorated box with words all over it and a big picture of a smart phone.