by Jen Pretty
AND A MEADOWLARK SANG
Jen Pretty
I have been bent and broken, but – I hope- into a better shape.
—Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
CHAPTER ONE
You know what's crazy? Vampires. Ya. They are crazy sonsabitches. Always lurking about in the dark and then popping up and biting people. You should think about it.
This isn't about vampires though. It's about me. And I'm not a vampire. I'm just a consistently poor, minimum-wage overnight employee of the twenty-four-hour Discount Emporium. I also have an unhealthy interest in the undead because of a tiny problem I've had since I was a little girl. We'll get to that in a minute though. I have bigger issues than paying the rent on the ridiculous one-room hovel that my absentee landlord calls an apartment.
Thankfully, the clock said I only had one hour left in my shift. My old black combat boots were killing my feet, and I hadn't had a coffee since the start of my shift eight hours ago.
"Did you find everything you were looking for?" I asked, giving the lady with three screaming kids a tight smile. She ignored me and grabbed one of her wayward children before the little dearie smashed his sibling over the head with a cereal box. She loaded all her purchases on the small counter, and I dutifully scanned the items. With her distracted, the children got away from her and started destroying the display of Pringles my boss had me construct at the start of my shift.
The violent boy child who was previously wielding the cereal box now had a Pringles can in each hand and shook them, maraca style, dangerously close to his sibling’s head. The younger child started screaming and ran back to his mother's side, knocking a stack of batteries off a shelf in his haste. I tried hard to like children, but until they could act like humans instead of rabid animals, I was out.
"That will be fourteen seventy," I said trying not to let annoyance show on my face.
She handed me a twenty-dollar bill while reprimanding her oldest child and trying to get her still crying child into the cart amongst the baby in a carrier and the shopping bags.
When they were finally out of the store, I sighed and started straightening the disaster left in their wake. I told myself busy work made the time go faster, but my brain knew better. When my shift finally ended and the elderly woman who worked mornings shuffled in, I went to the break room, collected my wallet, cell, and keys, and then hustled out hoping to sneak past my boss's office.
"Can I speak to you a minute before you go, Lark?" my boss, Mr. Fellum, said in his deep baritone voice.
Crap. He always smelled bad. The schedule was in the break room, and there was no earthly reason for this weekly recitation of my shifts. He seemed to think I was irresponsible, or maybe he just thought I was stupid. I'm not. Stupid, I mean. I'm not irresponsible either, but the fact that I was quiet, and petite made people think I needed my handheld and the crust cut off my sandwich. I dutifully took a half step into the tiny closet he called an office and stood awkwardly waiting for him to speak.
"Have a seat. I'll go over your schedule with you," he said like he did every Friday. I found if I put the dates into my phone while I was in front of him, he would leave me alone until the next Friday. I got out my phone and sat in the hard-plastic chair across the cluttered desk from Mr. Smellum - I mean Fellum.
"I have you down for Monday, Wednesday and Thursday," He said trying to straighten some of the papers on his desk and failing to put a dent in the mess.
I typed madly on my phone, so it would be convincing that I was putting it down. I always worked overnight Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, so remembering was not a stretch of my mental capacity, but he's the boss.
In all honesty, I was sending a text to my neighbour Frankie, reminding him we were going out tonight. As soon as I sent the short text, I got a confirmation reply, my phone on silent so my boss wouldn't know, I smiled up at him to let him know I had dutifully put that critical information into my phone.
He smiled back and leaned forward on his desk. The smell of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke clogged my nose before he said, "That's great, Lark. I'll see you Monday night, then."
I stood and pocketed my phone, muttered a thanks that would not do anything to increase his faith in me and headed out the door.
I was used to being thought of as slow, so I tried just to let that go. I had no close relationships or family, and it was better that way.
I am a master at keeping secrets, and I have plenty of them to keep.
I made it to my car and unlocked the door. It wasn't a great neighbourhood, but, my old Honda was nearly rusted through and wasn't attractive enough for any of the local thugs to be bothered stealing.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon between the buildings. This was my favourite time of day - before the people started filling the streets. The sun was for other people, not for me. I was born for the night and always struggled to keep my eyes open during the day. One of the families I had lived with cared enough to have me checked for some kind of sleep disorder. There was nothing wrong with me. I just slept during the day and stayed up all night. School was a disaster for me, and I only managed to graduate because I finished my last year online. At night.
My car started on the second try, and I drove across the city. It took me almost a year of taking the bus and saving every penny to buy the car, but I couldn't afford to keep it unless I lived in the tiny shoebox apartment across town, so it really wasn't the saving grace I thought it would be. I wanted to put some roots down here, though. The city was beautiful, in places, and the crowds big enough I could hide. So, I made every effort to carve out a life that I could see myself living.
I pulled into my parking space at the back of the brick turn-of-the-century house that had been converted to eight small apartments. Mine, the smallest, was on the top floor. It was really an attic crawlspace, but luckily my diminutive five feet allowed me to stand up in the middle. Probably the only benefit to being short.
The morning sun streamed through the open blinds of my apartment as I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door and walked into the tiny kitchen. I flicked on the stereo to cover the sound of the Petersons fighting on the floor below and took out a frozen dinner. It didn't matter that it was seven am, it was dinnertime for me. I popped it in the microwave and closed the window blinds. The darkness of my apartment was soothing after a full night in fluorescent lighting.
Once I'd finished my dinner and washed my fork, I changed into pyjamas and collapsed into bed to sleep till it was time to head out with Frankie.
My eyes peeled open slowly and checked the clock. It was already four in the afternoon and time to get moving if I wanted to eat and get dressed before Frankie banged down my door. I hopped into my tiny shower and scrubbed the sleep out of my eyes. My black, shoulder length hair was low maintenance so, when I was done, I dried it quickly, checked my pale complexion in the mirror, sighed, wrapped myself in my favourite robe, and made breakfast while watching the news. There were three more missing people. In a city of only two hundred thousand people, there were a lot of missing people. More than the national average. Enough to be noticeable but not enough to cause a panic or bring too much attention to the city. Most people brushed it off, but I knew the truth. The dark underbelly of any given city was well hidden from the ordinary folks who went about their daily lives in peace.
Until their peace was ruined.
I clicked off the TV and dressed quickly in my favourite black jeans and a black tank top with a bit of lace along the top. Ya, I'm a bit cliché, so what? The bars in the area were dark and not too loud, that's where Frankie and I always headed.
; Frankie and I had similar life goals. Goal one was to stay out of our shitty apartments as much as possible. Frankie lived below the Peterson's who lived below me. The Petersons' screaming matches were legendary. Mrs. Peterson's voice was so high pitched I sometimes wondered how the windows hadn’t shattered, and Mr. Peterson tended to throw things. Breakable things.
Goal two was to keep our friendship low key. Frankie was good looking, but I never felt any real chemistry between us. I wasn't sure Frankie was even interested in women. In truth, we didn't know much more about each other than names and cell numbers. That worked for me. Plus, company in my free time was nice. He was just coming off his job at whatever he did as I was getting up for the night. I had never asked him what he did. It didn't matter.
About fifteen minutes later there was a bang on my door. The Petersons were getting wound up, so Frankie's timing was perfect
I opened the door while fishing my keys out of the bowl and he spun on his heel. I followed behind in silence. Frankie was average height with dark, near black hair that flopped over his forehead. He always wore the same leather jacket with ‘Crossroads' scrolled across the back. I assumed it was a gang or motorcycle club. I had never seen another jacket like it. We walked a few blocks up the road to Arnie's Bar and Grill. Arnie's was mostly a sports bar. Big TV's mounted on the walls displayed the latest football game recaps, and the music was on. A handful of men in jerseys were sitting around drinking beers, but it was otherwise empty. It was still early.
Frankie and I chose our seats, one between us so we didn't have to sit so close, and we ordered drinks. I always had gin and tonic, and he always had rum and coke. We spent more than an hour enjoying that peace.
"Come here often?"
Just like that my peace was broken by a slurring, drunk, jersey-wearing idiot. Fuck me. Usually, Frankie's presence kept the riff-raff away. On special nights, though, a drunk guy would take it in his head to approach me.
I spoke without turning my head. "Not interested."
"How can you know if you haven't even looked at me?" he muttered and stumbled onto the seat beside me.
I prayed for strength and then turned my head and caught sight of him. His head was tipped back like it might fall off his shoulders and his eyes half closed. He was just about to pass out. Not a catch. I looked him in the eye and deadpanned, "Not interested."
That didn't go over well. He stumbled off his bar stool and narrowed his eyes. "You dumb bitch. You are lucky to get my attention. Do you even know who I am?"
"Alright, Ted, back off or I'll have to ask you to leave," Arnie said from behind the bar where he had been wiping the perfectly clean bar top in stereotypical bartender manner.
"Fine," the drunk man muttered. "I'm leaving, anyway." Then he staggered out the door and into the night.
I threw back my drink and ordered another. Frankie caught my eye and gave me a wink before he set down his glass and headed to the washrooms in the back.
"You Ok?" a refined voice asked from the seat drunk Ted had vacated.
I couldn't catch a break. I took another big gulp of my drink before I spoke. At least this one didn't sound drunk.
"I'm fine," I answered curtly, hoping he could take a hint.
He couldn't.
"Do you often attract the disgustingly inebriated?" he asked, giving the bartender a wave. My heart rate spiked as I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye, unwilling to give him my complete attention but also immediately sure I never wanted to turn my back on him either.
"You don't appear disgustingly inebriated," I mimicked, trying to act natural. "So, I guess not always."
See this is where my problem came in. I knew the man beside me was dead. As far as I could tell, I was the only one who knew. I had never met anyone else who mentioned this unmarketable skill, but then, advertising it was apparently akin to a death wish.
The first time I remember commenting on a person being a vampire, I was only eight, and the ensuing bloodbath left me barely alive and an orphan. Not a mistake one repeats.
I bravely turned my back to the vamp to watch Frankie saunter down the hall. I finished my drink quickly before peeking back at the stool beside me. It was now vacant. I breathed a sigh of relief. I did not need that kind of stress in my life.
I had assumed, after my first encounter with a vampire, that being able to identify the vamps made me an instant threat and target. No reason to test the theory and no need to tempt fate by hanging around one.
By midnight Frankie was toast, and I was tipsy, so we walked our sorry asses' home and said goodnight. It was more of a grunt and a wave, but the sentiment was there.
It was only about two in the morning, so I surfed the net for a while and then turned on a movie and settled down to watch. At around five thirty Saturday morning I headed out to the gym. I taught yoga for beginners twice a week and took an advanced yoga class every other day. My therapist recommended yoga to one of my foster families when I was a preteen. It became my sacred place of peace; the first place I could go to be near other people without the need to interact beyond trivial small talk. This morning was my kid's class. They were mostly twelve to fifteen-year-olds who were into competitive sports, and their coaches used yoga for cross training. It was a fun, easy class with well-behaved and disciplined kids.
The rewards of teaching the kids were not lost on me. I enjoyed their enthusiasm and energy. It was the exact opposite of everything else in my life, and I didn't squander it.
"Hi Lark!" one of the girls from the Hockey team said. I had four hockey girls in my class, and they were all diligent and polite – a product of the highly competitive local sports teams that consistently developed national level players.
I smiled, one of my first honest smiles this week, and waved back before strolling to the change rooms to lock up my stuff and get ready for class.
It was a full class, including a few new kids. They worked hard, and we focused on breathing with some small exercises they could practice at home, and I demonstrated some new positions we would be working on over the rest of the month. By the time my class was over, I felt relaxed and supple. The stretching always helped focus my mind, and the exercise calmed my body.
A horde of sweaty teens wandered off to the change rooms, and I headed to the weight room to work on my upper body strength for a while. My advanced yoga class demanded much more strength and control than the basic classes, and I was lacking in that department. With my goal of eventually owning my own yoga studio, I felt compelled to work hard now, even though it was all a pipe dream. My chances of ever being able to pay rent on a studio were zero, but I kept my focus on the dream I had been chasing since my teenage years.
Clearly, I should have been focusing on my surroundings too because when a throat cleared behind me, I turned and found myself face to face with not one, but two vampires and they were staring at me.
CHAPTER TWO
Now, I don't believe in coincidences, and I had never seen more than one vamp in a month, so seeing three in twenty-four hours meant very bad news for me.
Be cool.
"Hey, how's it going?" I muttered, pretending they weren’t blood-sucking monsters.
Their jeans and heavy boots made it obvious they weren’t here to work on their fitness, but I could pretend not to notice that too. I moved across the room, keeping them in my peripheral vision, trying to get enough space between us that it didn't seem odd when I turned for the door. Unfortunately, they stayed between me and the only exit.
That's when I knew I was screwed. I quit the act and made a mad dash for the door. Before I got two steps, they were in front of me. I bounced off one of them, and landed on my ass, with the wind knocked out of me. I wished I had thought to scream before I ran because there was no chance of screaming now.
As I gasped, one of the vampires crouched in front of me and held up a white business card with small plain type. He flashed his fangs at me, then set the card on the floor by my feet, stood up a
nd dusted his jacket like I had sullied it by smashing into him. They both turned and left without having spoken a single word.
I heard the gym door close, and finally got half a lung full of air so put it to use racing for the lady’s locker room. Thankfully everyone from the morning classes had cleared out. I flicked the lock and slid down to the hard floor, resting my cheek on the cool door.
They hadn't killed me. Yet.
After about ten minutes of deep breathing, I remembered the card. I gave myself a serious pep talk and cracked the locker room door open. No one was around, so I crept back to the weight room and snatched the card off the ground before returning and relocking the door.
The card displayed an address on the expensive side of town. On the back was today's date and 9 pm scribbled in pen. The threat was obvious, and the invitation didn't seem optional, but who the hell shows up to their own death sentence? That would be a big nope from me.
When my legs felt steady again, I changed and went home, looking over my shoulder every five seconds to make sure they weren't following me. I locked my door, and double checked the window locks, then had a quick shower that left some shampoo in my hair, but I didn't care. I couldn't hear shit with the shower running.
I tossed on some clothes and grabbed a steak knife from my kitchen before double checking the locks. I tucked the knife under my pillow and laid down to stare at the ceiling for the next eight hours. Having received death threats from monsters, I wasn’t about to have a nice nap.
By 5 PM. I was wired and exhausted. My eyelids were heavy, and my stomach was roiling. My mind kept spinning around the same thoughts. If they knew where I lived, I had to leave. If I left my apartment, I was a sitting duck, but I couldn’t stay here if they knew where I lived. I had about a hundred dollars in my bank account. That would fill my tank a few times. I could probably get pretty far on a couple of tanks of gas.