by Elena Hearty
Lenore sat on the floor for nearly ten minutes with her eyes closed, waiting for the Xanax to kick in. When it did, she experienced a tranquility that could only be described as the silence heard after the elimination of a perpetual drone; the receptors in her brain had finally stopped screaming. Now, at long last, she had her head on straight.
She drowsily eyed the grocery bags next to her, wondering what goodies lay inside. She carried the bags into the kitchen, where she then set about the task of sorting their contents into two distinct groupings: Toaster Pastries and non-Toaster Pastries. The Toaster Pastry grouping was attended to first, and Lenore consumed three packages before setting about the next task, which was dividing the Non-Toaster Pastry grouping into smaller subsets of itself, such as toiletries, Nicorette gum (which lay deliciously atop one of the bags), and the rest of the consumables. She made quick work of finding a home for all of the groceries in Richard’s pantry before taking the remaining items back to her room.
The first thing that Lenore did upon returning to her room was brush her teeth, and for a good ten minutes. Next, she put the bag of Xanax in the medicine cabinet for safe keeping. Finally, she ripped open the package of Nicorette gum and rewarded herself with a piece—instant relief. It occurred to her that some of her shakiness was probably from quitting her two pack a day habit; perhaps Richard‘s initial diagnosis had not been too far off after all.
What was she supposed to do with herself now? She thought about taking another dose of sleeping pills but decided it was a bad idea to continue using them pass the time. Books and television were going to get old pretty quickly, she thought, but it was at least worth trying to get into a routine. Back at home, Lenore almost never left her apartment, going for days at a time without so much as opening the front door. She took a shower every morning, however, made coffee, got dressed, worked, and settled in for the evening with a reality show or crossword. Were things so different now?
Lenore spent the rest of the day with the television on mute, watching soap operas via subtitle, and finishing the collection of short stories from Richard’s library. She made it until six pm without becoming terribly bored, and to her surprise, without thinking about taking another Xanax (although she had plowed through three more pieces of Nicorette gum). As six rolled around, however, she felt shaky and decided to take another four pills. Only 52 now remained out of 60, and it had only been one day. At this rate, although dramatically scaled back from previous consumption, the medicine would not last more than a week. Like it or not, she would have to taper the dose.
Lenore brought the pills with her to the kitchen so she could take them with dinner. Soon after sitting down to a bowl of cereal, she heard Richard rumbling down the hall. He popped his head in the kitchen door and watched her eat for a while.
“You sound much better today,” he said.
She nodded with a mouth full of Captain Crunch.
“So I told Paul to be here around seven with those boxes you wanted. Charles can help you pack up the room. Did you get enough food? I was expecting them to bring more stuff back from the store.”
“I’m not much of an eater,” she said. “I have to remind myself to eat or I forget about it. Sometimes I’ll go a day before I remember.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Really? Some days all I can think about is eating.”
Lenore found this comparison in poor taste.
He walked off, saying, “Please wash your bowl out when you’re through.”
Half an hour later, Lenore sat in the parlor drinking coffee when the front door opened and Paul‘s voice yelled out, “Hey guys we’re back with the packing supplies!”
She emerged to find Paul and Charles sliding several stacks of cardboard boxes into the foyer from the outside. The front door was wide open. She fantasized about evading her captors and scaling the paper hurdles in her path like the digital protagonist of a video game.
Richard appeared from somewhere in the back and studied the large stacks with skepticism. “Angela didn’t have that much stuff. Don’t you guys think that’s overkill?”
Paul shook his head and locked the door, having carried in the last load. “We have to evict 112. It’s been three months. I figured if I was going to get boxes anyway, we might as well have these just in case. I need you to contact the lawyer tonight and start getting the paperwork together on this.”
Richard's arms folded. "Yeah, that's not a bad idea. 502's been complaining about their AC unit again, by the way. I need you to take a look at that."
He looked at Charles for a moment. “Hey, take some of those boxes and get Lenore started packing up Angie’s stuff.”
Richard turned back to Paul. “I’m going to show you what I’ve got in the file for 112—the lady made a partial payment in January, but I don’t think it’s going to count for shit. OH! And get this—we‘re being sued…”
Paul and Richard walked off to the library, leaving Lenore and Charles standing awkwardly in the foyer.
Charles looked irritated to be dealing with Lenore directly. “So how many boxes do you think you’ll need?”
“Maybe three? It’s mostly clothes, I think.”
Charles nodded. He grabbed three disassembled sheets of cardboard and walked with Lenore to Angela’s room. On the way, Lenore glimpsed Paul and Richard talking in the library and waving pieces of paper at one another. They must own the apartment building. Charles would know, she thought. Charles would know lots of things.
They each sat on her bedroom floor and began assembling the boxes.
“Do Paul and Richard own this building?” Lenore asked. “I heard them talking about evicting someone.”
He did not look up. “Yeah, Rich technically owns the building, but Paul’s his partner.”
“Does Paul live here too?”
“He’s got the penthouse. They’ve had this building since the 1920’s.” Charles concentrated on the cardboard puzzle in front of him, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Lenore.
She did not care. “Oh ok. Now that you mention it, I think Richard said something about his grandfather buying it back then… Or maybe it was his great-grandfather…”
Charles looked up from his task and began to speak slowly as if addressing a child. "No. You don't get it. Rich has had it since the 1920’s.” Lenore thought that seemed unlikely.
“Okay…but the two of them manage the building together?” She tugged at a cardboard flap like it was besting her in an arm wrestling competition.
"Yeah, I think Rich takes care of the legal stuff and the accounting, and Paul manages the day-to-day. He's more of a landlord."
“Gotcha. I was wondering what Rich does. He seems to be gone a lot.”
“Well, they’re renovating some apartments right now. I’ve been helping them with painting and what not.”
“So you work for them?”
“Nah I just help out.”
Lenore looked at Charles as she folded. "So…so you're not like them. How did you get involved with…you know…with these guys?" She did a terrible job articulating the question and could tell by the look in Charles's face that she had somehow offended him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you‘re not a vampire—you’re like me—I mean what are you doing here?”
“I am a vampire, just a different kind. I’m a psychic vampire. I feed off other people’s energy.”
Lenore smiled, thinking he was kidding. “Bullshit. Grow fangs.”
Charles glared at her. “I don’t need fangs to feed off of energy, stupid. You‘re lucky I‘m not feeding off of you right now, or you‘d know what I was talking about.” From the conviction in his voice, there was no sense in arguing.
She decided to change the subject. “Did you know Angela?” Lenore was almost finished assembling her first box. Charles had finished his second and rested his hands on top of it as if it were a coffee table.
"Somewhat. I brought her here and all." He huffed impatiently. "No
offense, but this conversation is over. I'm not going to get too attached if you get my drift. What did you want to pack up in here? Does everything go?"
She looked around the room and thought about how much more depressing (if that were even possible) it would look with all of the belongings removed. “Yeah, I guess leave the entertainment center and the clothes in the bottom shelf—just so I’ve got something to wear until new stuff arrives. The books can all go too. Hey now that I think about it, don't bother packing up the nail stuff on the vanity.” With all this new found time on her hands, Lenore would command a pedicure that was the envy of the entire apartment.
Charles tipped the bookcase, emptying the contents into one of the moving boxes. “You got it.”
Lenore began pulling items out of the top dresser drawer, refolding each one before placing it into the cardboard container. “So you brought Angela here? What made her want to come?”
“Are you still talking to me?” Charles asked, rolling his eyes.
He wasn't going to get off the hook that easily. “Yeah. Tell me about Angela. Why did she come here?”
Charles shook his head. “Whatever. You wanna talk? Let's talk. Angela didn’t want to come here. Not at first. I kinda talked her into it. I think she was being kicked out of her home. Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Lenore looked at Angela's sad possessions and wanted to hug them. "Wow. She…must've really trusted you."
Charles chuckled at this. “Yeah, I think she thought I was her boyfriend. I fucked her a few times in that bed you been sleeping on.”
A vulgar image of Charles engaged in awkward coitus had entered Lenore’s mind, and she would not soon be rid of it. She made a mental note to have the sheets washed; preferably, boiled.
“Were you—were you upset when she died?”
“Nah she wasn’t nobody to me.” Sometimes a southern twang would slip out when Charles spoke. He sat on the floor, having finished loading the first box, and looked around. “Man, they really tore this place up the other day.” He flicked out his tongue ring as if juicy flies were in the vicinity.
“Yeah what was it they were looking for again? I told Richard that you and I would keep an eye out for it while we packed up.” She had practiced this line in her head ever since walking into the room and was thrilled to have so smoothly interjected it into the conversation. Whatever Richard had been looking for, it must have been important.
“Just anything with silver on it, I guess. I don‘t think there‘s any here, though. They would have found it.” Thank you, Charles.
“I'll keep an eye out.”
He smiled at her. “Oh, will you? You think that's gonna help your case? You know Rich is gonna kill you, right? It's only a matter of time. Whatever he's promised you, it ain't gonna happen. He isn't gonna let you go.”
But Richard had promised her nothing. “What the fuck is your problem?” she asked.
“Just telling it like it is.”
Lenore sat on the lowest rung of the totem pole and Charles was going to make sure she knew it. “Oh and you’re immune, I suppose? Because you’re some sort of bullshit feelings vampire and they’ve embraced you as one of their own?” He was silent, but still smiling. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and get some tape so I can close these boxes?”
Charles did not move. “I really don’t think that you’re in a position to be giving orders to anyone, sweetheart.”
“I’ll do this myself. Just get out of my room.”
Charles got up from where he sat and started toward the door. Before he left, however, he turned around and slid his forefinger across his neck, childishly insinuating that Lenore's time was near. She thought about returning this gesture with her middle finger but was too busy wrestling an item from its drawer to be bothered trading insults.
Twenty minutes later, the dresser was empty, and Lenore walked out to ask Richard where she could find some masking tape. She found him in the library, still engaged in the same conversation with Paul from before. They had amassed several documents atop the coffee table and were now both staring at something on Richard’s computer. Charles stood at the other side of the room, flipping through a National Geographic.
Lenore lurked in the doorway for a while, unsure whether or not to disturb them until she caught Paul‘s eye and he waved her in. “Hey there, kiddo. Are you all packed?” He shot a glance at Charles. “Weren’t you supposed to be helping her?”
Charles shrugged. “She told me she’d do it herself. Wasn‘t much there.”
Lenore did not care to explain why he left. “I’m all finished, but I don’t have a way to close the boxes. Do you guys have any tape I could use?”
Richard turned around. "Yeah, I've got some in the laundry room. Charles, help her drag the boxes to the front hallway and I'll seal them up before you guys leave." He went back to the computer and began typing, gesturing for Paul to proofread behind him.
Charles started walking back to Angela’s room, but Lenore stopped him before he reached the door. “That’s okay. I can drag them out myself. I’m good, really.”
“Whatever you say.” He went back to flipping through his magazine.
Richard bristled when he saw that Charles had stopped leaving. “DAMMIT, CHARLES. Go help her.”
“She said she don’t want no help.”
Richard stopped typing and addressed the monitor. “I don’t give a shit what she wants. We’re working in here and I can hear you standing around breathing and turning the pages of that Goddamn magazine. Get out of here and help her move those fucking boxes right now.”
Charles nodded, putting the National Geographic back on the shelf. Then he looked at Lenore and grinned. “Hey Rich, I can mess with her a little back there, right? Do you care?”
Lenore shot Charles an icy glare and then turned to Richard. “Wait. What does he mean by that? I don’t like the sound of that.”
Richard was too engrossed in his present task to pay her any notice. Paul had noticed, however, and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, Rich? I think that—“
“DAMMIT PEOPLE. I’M TRYING TO FINISH A FUCKING EMAIL. SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
Everyone, including Paul, stood in silence as Richard typed furiously on the laptop for several minutes. When he was finished, he slapped it shut and turned to the group with his eyes closed, taking several deep breaths before speaking. “Now,” he said, “what is going on here?”
Lenore, with Xanax-fueled composure, walked to where Richard stood and declared, "I am not going anywhere with Charles until I find out exactly what -” She held her fingers in the air for quotation marks. “- ‘messing’ with me means.”
Richard rolled his eyes over to Charles. “Listen, leave this one alone. I know you had an arrangement with Angela, but I don‘t think she‘s going to be into that sorta thing.” Lenore realized, to her horror, that ‘messing’ with her meant exactly what she thought it meant.
She pointed her finger at Charles. “Hell no. No no no no no. That is never ever going to happen.”
Charles flicked his tongue in her direction like he was spitting acid. "Like you have a choice."
Was this really happening? “I do have a choice, and I would rather die.”
Richard and Paul exchanged smiles behind her.
Lenore turned to leave, saying, “I’m going move those boxes now. I’ll do it by myself.”
“Have fun with that,” Charles said menacingly. “Maybe I‘ll pay you a visit later on.”
This needed to be nipped in the bud. She spun toward him, holding the catheter in her arm. “I will rip this out and bleed to death all over Rich's floor if you come anywhere near me. I swear to God.” Falsely brave, Lenore met Charles’s gaze and was determined to hold it for as long as possible. Any sign of weakness or submission would be exploited, and she could not afford to expose a single foothold.
Richard laughed, stepping between them. “Don’t worry, Lenore. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman i
f he had one.”
Charles’s face turned bright red. “Oh yeah? At least I can fuck, asshole.”
Lenore stumbled backward as Richard snatched Charles by his arm, pulling him close.
“Would you like to see how I fuck?” Richard asked.
Charles’s lips trembled. “No,” he said, looking to Paul for help. “Paul? Paul, please tell him to let go of me.”
Paul, who up until this point had been a happy spectator, walked over to where the two men stood and made the timeout “T” with his hands. “If you guys keep playing rough like that, it’s going to end in tears.”
Richard loosened his grip but did not let go. "I'm not putting up with any more of his bullshit," he said, yanking Charles around like a rag doll. "If he mouths off to me again I expect you to take care of it."
Paul shrugged. “Look, I’ll get rid of him right now if you really think it’s a problem. He said he could bring you someone next week, though—a full kill—so you need to make up your mind and let me know what you want me to do with him.”
Richard seemed intrigued by Paul’s last statement and sneered at Charles, who wriggled uncomfortably in his grasp. “You’re going to have someone next week?”
"Yeah… I was… I was gonna bring someone by. Please…I wanna make it up to you."
“Yeah I’m sure you do,” Richard said, releasing him with such force that Charles fell backward into the wall, knocking several books off their shelves. “Fine. He gets to live, but I swear I don’t want to hear another word from him from now on.” He looked down at Charles, who lay on the floor holding his upper arm in pain. “Get to cleaning up those books you spilled.”
CHAPTER 4
Paul
As Richard had predicted, Sunday night’s feeding was a piece of cake. Lenore sat across from him at the kitchen table, drinking her post-hemorrhage Gatorade and wondering what would be on television later that evening.