Donor

by Elena Hearty

  Richard glowered at him with his arms crossed. “You disgusting little mother fucker. Are you smoking in here? What are you doing to Lenore?” His face sobered as he spotted the burns on her arm. “Oh, bad move, Charles. I hope you enjoyed your little taste of immortality because I'm going to -”

  “What? You're gonna do what, exactly? All those years I spent running around for you and Paul—all that shit's coming to a stop. Now I figure you owe me for Deirdre, and I'm taking what's mine.”

  Lenore shifted in her seat.

  “You keep your ass where it is,” Charles hissed. “You ain't going nowhere.”

  “Don't listen to him, Lenore. Go to your room.”

  Richard and Charles stood head-to-head. They appeared to be sizing each other up.

  And the front door was wide open.

  Lenore remained where she sat, staring intently at the bottle by the coat rack.

  “I told you to get out of here,” Richard said, not taking his eyes off Charles.

  “You stay where you are,” Charles said, not taking his eyes off Richard.

  Then Richard shoved Charles. “Oh, that is fucking it. I'VE HAD IT. I'm the only one who tells Lenore what to do. Got that? Now, I never liked you before you were turned, and I sure as shit don't like you any better now. You get the hell out of here or you'll be joining that slut girlfriend of yours in my furnace.”

  But Charles wasn't moving. “All this over that skinny bitch over there? This is bullshit, man. Just give her to me. Do you have any idea how many of my girlfriends you've killed over the years? I've given them all to you! You've gotten everyone. You’ve made me watch!” There was agony in Charles’s voice, and in that moment, Lenore pitied him. “Now you fucking owe me. You owe me Lenore and I'm going to have myself a real good time with her.”

  Richard spat. “I don't owe you shit, Charles. You would have sold your own mother down the river for those pointy teeth of yours. You can't have Lenore. Get over it and go home.”

  “How are you gonna make me, Rich? You gonna rip my arms out of their sockets again? You really think you can kick my ass now we're on even ground?”

  And when Charles said this, Lenore realized that he hadn't really come down to see her in the first place.

  And Richard must have realized the same thing. “Well, look who came to pick a fight. Charles, we will never be on even ground because you are a fucking cockroach. And as far as kicking your ass goes, I think I'll be just fine—I've had a lot of practice—but thank you for your concern.” Richard walked over to the coat rack and picked it up like it was a toothpick, causing the Xanax bottle to roll around on the floor below. He raised the pole in the air, smiling. “Now, this might sting a little.”

  Charles ducked with superhuman agility to avoid Richard's stroke. He pulled a dagger from his pocket.

  "Oh, how original," Richard laughed. "Are we taking self-defense lessons from Angela now? It's too bad you never got a chance to talk to her before she died because I think she would have told you that silver isn't all it's cracked up to be. At least she would have told you that if I hadn't ripped her tongue out of her mouth."

  (Lenore rose from where she sat.)

  Richard took another swing at Charles with the coat rack and managed to hit him squarely on the jaw. Charles was down for a moment but soon rebounded, coming at Richard again with the knife in hand. From what Lenore could tell, Charles appeared to be hopelessly outmatched; a six-inch blade against a six-foot pole. How on earth would he ever manage to strike a blow?

  As if to answer this question, Charles slid across the floor on his knees, running the dagger into Richard's shin.

  (Lenore started moving toward the container on the floor.)

  Richard cried out in pain. “You're going to regret that, Charles.” He shook the wounded leg as if it suffered from a muscle cramp.

  Charles's jaw had begun to swell, and he produced a lopsided smile. “I've been dreaming of doing that ever since I was seventeen years old.”

  (Lenore bent over to retrieve the bottle.)

  Richard nodded, taking a deep breath. “You've been hiding behind Paul like a little bitch ever since you were seventeen years old, and it's too bad he isn't here to protect you.” He began whirling the rack around like a baton. “Because you are so fucked, my friend. I can think of all sorts of creative ways to drag out your death now that you've been turned. I can't wait to watch your skull cave in. I can't wait to break every bone in your body.” Richard took a swing at Charles and missed. “And when your bones heal, I'll break them again.” He took another swing at Charles, hitting him in the stomach, causing him to drop his knife to the ground.

  Charles dashed to recover the weapon, but Richard cut him off and picked it up instead.

  (Lenore rose slowly, the bottle clenched tightly in her fist. What was her next move? The door. Perhaps she wouldn't actually have to use her weapon after all. The men on the floor seemed far too distracted to notice her presence.)

  Or so she thought. Lenore felt someone behind her and looked down to see Charles's arms wrapped around her waist. Then she looked up to see Richard swinging the coat rack at the two of them.

  Charles's voice sounded panicked. “Rich, you hit me with that thing, you're gonna kill your girlfriend over here.”

  Lenore desperately tried to open the container in her hands, but her sweating, shaking fingers were unable to pop the lid.

  Richard raised his weapon, undeterred. “Isn't that just like you to start hiding behind someone else. Well, I think you picked the wrong bodyguard this time because I didn't feel like heading to the grocery store this week anyway.”

  Lenore closed her eyes and waited for Richard to bring the object down on her, but there was only silence.

  Charles laughed triumphantly. “Well, didn't I just know it all along? You like her. You ain't gonna kill her.”

  Richard lowered his weapon. “Oh, I'll kill her alright, but it won't be today, and it sure as hell won't be for the likes of you.” He wrinkled his brow, approaching the two of them. “So I don't get what you think it's going to happen here. You think I'm just going to let you go now? You think you're getting out of this apartment alive?”

  “I think we're gonna call Paul,” Charles said, strengthening his grip on Lenore. “We'll straighten all of this out with him in here, and -” He looked down to see Lenore still trying to work the cap on the bottle. “Well, if that don't beat all. Lenore's gonna take some pills! Stop the presses!” He grabbed the container from her hands. “I told you this shit was bad for you.”

  Richard rolled his eyes. “Give her the fucking bottle back, Charles.”

  “Nah,” he said, single-handedly springing the lid. “That bitch has herself a problem and I think I'd be doing her a favor by pouring all that shit out.” He raised the bottle over his head and turned it upside down.

  And his winced as a stream of powder fell onto his face. "What the—COUGH. COUGH. What the fuck—COUGH. COUGH."

  A fine mist hung in the air, giving Richard's foyer the surreal ambiance of a fairy tale land. And the fairy tale monsters cowered and cringed. And the house of gingerbread began to crumble.

  And our heroine pushed down on the hands that restrained her, and they gave way. She walked into the sparkling cloud with her eyes closed and her hands out, a rare smile on her face. Over this silver rainbow stretched Lenore's perfect universe, and she could not think of a more appropriate gateway to immortality.

  “Silver!” Richard cried, retreating from the haze. He clutched the face and screamed. “Fuck. FUCK.”

  Charles did not scream, however; he was too busy coughing.

  And Lenore did not know what happened next because she bolted out the door.

  Chapter 11

  Quantum Immortality

  Lenore raced through the city streets. The concrete floor felt like ice against her bare heels, numbing her toes and causing her to stumble forward. Muscles that had grown weak during her term of imprisonment strained n
ow to propel her, causing a great burning in her legs that grew worse with each passing stride. How long would she be able to keep this up? Judging from the deep breaths she was already taking to maintain pace, not long.

  How far had she gone? Half a mile, perhaps? The unfamiliar metropolis offered no landmarks to track her progress, and Lenore was afraid to look back—even for a moment—to judge the distance she had crossed, for fear that Richard might be gaining ground behind her.

  And he almost certainly was; her scent marked the sidewalk below, betraying her location like a fresh trail of breadcrumbs. That trail needed to come to a stop, and soon. But how? A car. She needed to flag down a car and speed away to a place where her captors would never find her. Hadn't one just passed her a moment ago? Why hadn't she chased it down? Lenore's head pounded as she forced more icy air into her lungs; she wasn't thinking straight.

  “Excuse me? Ma'am?”

  She turned her head to see a man jogging beside her. He looked like he wanted to help her. Everything was going to be okay.

  “Do you need help, miss?” the man asked, glancing Lenore's tattered clothing and burns on her arm. “Why don't you slow down for a minute and I'll help you. What are you running from?”

  Lenore stopped and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Why was she hesitating? Surely it was safe to ask this man for assistance. It wasn't like Richard had sent him or anything.

  It wasn’t like Richard had sent him or anything.

  And this was how all of Lenore's panics began: with a thought that she could not shake.

  What if Richard has sent him?

  The thought took hold of Lenore. It began to tug at her, threatening to drag her beneath the surface like a hidden undertow. But it didn't make any sense. How could Richard have sent anyone? She had only left minutes ago; he was probably still in the apartment writhing on the ground.

  What if he isn't writhing on the ground? Did you take a good look at him on your way out? Maybe the silver didn't hit him at all.

  The thought was absurd. Richard was grabbing at his face, wasn't he? Besides, even if he wasn't hurt, how would he have sent someone so quickly?

  Maybe he called his lawyer friend.

  Lenore stared blankly at the man before her, sizing him up. He looked harmless.

  Paul looks harmless. They all look harmless.

  She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. This was irrational. If she couldn't trust the man in front of her, then how could she trust anyone?

  You can't trust anyone. They'll be chasing you for the rest of your life.

  The man approached her soothingly. “I've got a cell phone you can use. Do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

  Lenore backed away from him. What was his deal, anyway? Why would he want to help her? What did he have to gain?

  It's a trap. It's a trick. It's a ruse. RUN.

  She sprinted away, hearing the man call out behind her, “Alright, then. I guess you don't need my help after all.”

  Lenore kept going, feeling a tinge of regret as his words faded in the distance. What if he was legitimately trying to help her? What if he really would have called her an ambulance? It didn't matter. When Richard caught up (and he would), he would just kill them both. Standing around on the sidewalk, even to make a phone call, was a one way ticket back to the apartment; where Charles was waiting to see dinner theater to its gory conclusion; where Paul was waiting to kiss her on the forehead and whisper his goodbyes; where Richard was waiting to thrust her into the furnace.

  No, best to keep moving. A car approached, and Lenore angled toward it, eying the driver appraisingly. Was it safe to flag it down? The driver moved his hand to use the turn signal, and Lenore could not be sure, but she did not like something about the movement. It was too fluid. What if the driver was a vampire? Best not to take any chances. She would just wait for the next vehicle. Wait for something safe. Yes, she needed to find something safe.

  A police car. Maybe she would hold out for a police car. That had to be safe, right? Once inside, she would explain her situation and… No. No, that was a terrible idea. How many people had she watched die over the past (Three? Four?) several months without lifting a finger? Surely the police would understand—or would they? What if the cops were in on it?

  Lenore's mind swirled with conspiracy and betrayal. No one could be trusted. Everyone was out to get her; ready to slow her down, drag her back, and eat her alive.

  She shook her head for a moment, confused. Something was different. The scenery. The scenery had stopped changing. Why was that? Because she had stopped running. Because she was bent over, heaving, desperately trying to catch her breath. God damn, it was cold. Her shadow in the light of the street lamp appeared to tremble with every inhalation. It looked small, frigid, tired.

  An alleyway fractured the line of row homes behind her. That might be a good place to (wait) hide. That might be a good place to (wait for Richard to come and get her) sit and think and figure things out for a while.

  Lenore walked into the darkness and rested her head against the brick wall. For the first time since leaving the apartment, she felt safe. But what would she do now? Where would she go? Who would help her?

  And then there was the terrible realization that her life was gone. Gobbled up and forgotten, like the endless parade of visitors to Richard's laundry room. She had no job to get back to. No worried family or friends sat vigil by the phone. No lover waited by the cold side of the bed, clutching the sheets at night and dreaming of her return. The world was only full of strangers and monsters and people in between, and she no longer belonged.

  A mouse scurried past Lenore's feet, and Paul emerged from the shadows. He came to sit beside her, and brought his hand around her shoulders, pulling her close. “What's going on with you, kiddo?” he whispered. “Why are you letting me catch you?”

  When Lenore turned to meet Paul's eyes, she saw that he was smiling, and the playful creases around his lids looked an awful lot like the way back home. And she wanted to tell him this. She wanted to tell him how glad she was to see him, and that she didn't care if he killed her, just so long as he would pretend to be her friend once again, just for a little while longer. But all that escaped her lips were incomprehensible sobs.

  He stroked her hair. “Are you having one of those famous panic attacks you were telling me about?”

  She nodded tearfully.

  “Well, let's just sit here and wait for it to pass. I'm in no rush to get back. You just about scared the shit out of me, you know. I knew something was wrong when I got up to the penthouse and Charlie was missing along with Rich's keys. I knew right away he'd gone down there to give you a hard time. Jesus.” He shook his head like someone stirring from a nightmare. “When I got to Rich's apartment and saw that the door was wide open I thought something horrible had happened to you. I know this is going to sound strange, considering that I came here to take you back and all, but I'm just happy you're okay. I would have hated for things to end before I got to tell you I'm sorry. And I am sorry, Lenore. Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry.”

  “So you're not still mad?”

  “Mad? Are you kidding? I'm mad at Rich for not telling me you were out of food. When he came by and said you hadn't eaten in two days, I just about hit the roof. I shouldn't have given you the silent treatment earlier. I had no idea you were too scared to ask me for groceries. You know why I couldn't speak to you, though? It's because I knew I owed you an apology. And I swear, one was coming. I'd even told Rich I was going to get you out of the apartment next week.”

  Lenore smiled and then started sobbing again. “I'm sorry too.”

  “Shh. Don't be. Don't ever be sorry for defending yourself. And that's all you were doing. You just happen to be a little too good at it.” He stood up and pulled Lenore to her feet. “Here, you've got to be freezing,” he said, placing his jacket around her shoulders.

  Lenore slipped her arms through the sleeves and winced as the cigarett
e burns rubbed against the silk lining. After several painful attempts, she opted to let her arms hang free instead.

  Paul made a face. “Jesus Christ. Is that what Charles did to you while Rich was away?”

  “I sure as hell didn't do it to myself.” She cringed as he took her arm in his hands and ran his fingers over the wounds.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've seen Rich do a lot worse to people,” he said, letting go. “I've done a lot worse to people myself, to be honest.” He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of pills. “I brought you your medicine.” Paul held the tablets out to her as if trying to feed crumbs to a seagull.

  And she responded with like enthusiasm. “Thanks,” she said, happily munching.

  He frowned at her feet. “I wish I'd thought to bring you some shoes, though. I can't believe you ran all this way with no shoes on. You should have seen the looks some people were giving you.”

  “I used to run six miles a day back when I was in high school.”

  “You know, that is not something I would have guessed about you. But it turns out you're just full of surprises. For example, I didn't think it was possible to kill a vampire with silver, but it looks like you found a way.” He grinned. “I suppose some congratulations are in order.”

  Lenore's jaw dropped. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Charles is dead, kiddo. He must have inhaled some of that dust because he died coughing up blood all over Rich's new carpet.” Paul started laughing. “Rich is so pissed off, I can't even tell you.”

  “About the rug?” Lenore chuckled in spite of herself.

  “About everything. Did you see Rich's face before you ran out of there?”

  She shook her head.

  “You burnt about half of it off. I don't know if his left eye is ever going to grow back.”

  Lenore smiled. “I put his eye out?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah. That's karma, right? Empathy. Maybe Rich learned a little empathy. Who knows? He's mad as hell, though, that's for sure. Good for you. I'll bet you'd been waiting to do that for a long time. How did you ever manage to get your hands on silver in the first place?”