"Birthday blues I guess."
Was I envious just then that the girl might be pregnant?
Ignore it.
"So what are you up to tomorrow?" she asked, eager to change the subject. "I know there aren't many people going to the gym lately."
Donovan was a fitness instructor at the local gym. It was a small place that was usually busy, though not much lately. Fiona feared the people of Chapel Green were getting idle.
"I have a feeling they're going to let me go," Donovan admitted.
By the look on his face she knew with certainty that this had been worrying him for some time.
"What?" she asked. "You've been at that place since it opened."
"They're selling. They can't afford it any more." Donovan sighed. "There's this job at the local mall gym open. It pays more, but it means an hour's drive there and back every day."
"I think we can manage that."
He sighed and kissed her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the minute I found out. I just...I was shocked. I thought I had a job for life. We were like a family."
She could understand why he didn't say something sooner, though it did hurt a little that he didn't immediately confide in her. Perhaps they weren't too different to the young couple they'd seen walking past the band stand after all. They had secrets.
Perhaps it was the right moment for her to admit what had been on her mind for a while now. It was time to be brutally honest.
She cleared her throat. "I've been thinking..."
"About having children?" Donovan asked.
Fiona looked up into his eyes. "You know me so well."
"I think it's time."
"You do?"
"Don't you?"
It was what she wanted to hear, despite the fact that having children would disrupt their carefree, idyllic life. Having a child would complete them, cement them as a proper family. She wouldn't love Donovan any less. She figured she'd love him more, seeing him as a doting father.
She nodded. "I'm already off the pill."
"And I might have stuck pin holes in that condom we just used," Donovan added slyly.
Fiona laughed. "We really should communicate more."
"It's not something to laugh about. I was being serious."
She nodded, accepting the truth. It was difficult to admit that maybe they weren't as perfect as she'd imagined their marriage to be.
"Did you not mention you wanted to try for children because you thought you might not have a job?" Fiona asked, hoping to push him into opening up.
"It was partly that." He looked away, seemingly torn. She took his hand and squeezed it. "I want to be a father so badly, but you know what my parents were like. I was scared I might end up like them."
"You could never end up like those losers." She hesitated. "No offence."
Donovan's parents had been distant, uncaring and sometimes cruel. They often told him they should have aborted him, or wished him dead for being such a failure. Fiona could never understand why they acted that way with him. Neither could her husband. She was just glad they'd decided to never visit or go near those awful people ever again.
"The very fact that you're worrying over this tells me you won't ever be like them,” she told him. "And you don't have that weird, creepy cult stare they have."
He laughed. "They really were creepy, right?"
"You had a lucky escape; and our children will be lucky for having you as a father."
They kissed, thoughts of a future filled with children and grandchildren, Mamma Mia on Broadway and family trips to Disney World. It was a bright, hectic future that she couldn't wait for.
I think I'm already having ideas for the wallpaper in the nursery.
A low growl jerked Fiona out of her daydreams. There was a young man staggering up the bandstand steps towards them. His whole body was jerking, like he was having some sort of seizure. He had blood around his mouth and his eyes were crazed, wild. His teeth seemed sharper than normal, like he'd filed them down to points. He looked, somehow, dead.
"I need blood," the man groaned. "Please!"
He stopped, staring at them. He didn't scare her, not much. She felt sorry for him.
"Do you need any help?" Fiona asked.
"You're bleeding." The man stared at Fiona and smiled. "I smell it on you."
Fiona wondered how he knew she was on her period.
No. He can't know. He's just some kid on drugs.
"Call an ambulance," Fiona ordered. She wanted to go to him, to help him, but something was holding her back. Her subconscious was warning her. "He needs help."
"Can you give me some blood?" the man asked, smiling at her. "Go on. Please."
"Why do you want my blood?" she asked.
"It smells so fucking good."
Donovan pulled out his cell and was tapping in 911 when the man darted forward. Fiona screamed as he grabbed her hand, trying desperately to bite her wrist. She tried to pull away but his grip was like a clamp and the noises he was making were animalistic, hungry.
"Let me taste it!" the man screamed, scaling at her arm, his nails raking her flesh.
"Get the fuck off her!" Donovan screamed.
Donovan smashed his cell phone against the attacker's head. The man turned to him and snarled, pounced. Fiona found herself thrown against the wooden floor as her husband was picked up and thrown around like he weighed practically nothing.
"Donovan!" Fiona shouted.
The snarling man was ignoring her now, hell-bent on her husband. Fiona could only watch in horror as Donovan's head was smashed repeatedly against the side of the gazebo until there was nothing left but blood and pulp.
Donovan...
The man turned to her, smiled, and bit down into what was left of her husband's head. She screamed.
THREE
MAMMA MIA,
Here I go again...
* * *
"Are you listening to that again?" Donovan shouted.
Fiona popped her head around the kitchen door, grinning inanely. She had on a red and black striped apron and her face was smudged with flour. Donovan laughed.
"You don't like ABBA?" she asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.
"It's driving me up the wall!" he shouted. "It's our day off. Can’t you play something else?"
"I like music when I'm baking."
She grinned and walked up to him, taking his hand. He seemed content to work, but she was having none of it.
"Dance with me," she said, dragging him into the kitchen. The music was blaring and the kitchen table was a mess of baking supplies. "Dance with me!"
"If you put some better music on," he said sulkily.
Fiona laughed. "It's ABBA or nothing, honey."
He grinned and pushed her against the side of the table.
"This is not dancing," she teased.
"It depends on how energetic we get," he said.
He leaned her over it, forcing her back onto the table. She could feel wetness on her skin from where she'd spilled some milk.
"When the oven buzzes we have to finish," she said, breathless as he slid his hands up her bare legs. "Carla will kill me if I don't bring my coconut sponge cakes."
He ignored her, concentrating only on getting their clothes off as fast as possible. As far as she was concerned the coconut sponge cake could go to hell.
* * *
Mamma Mia,
Here I go again...
* * *
The song was playing over and over again, endlessly on loop. The lyrics were starting to grate and Fiona was beginning to fear she was going mad. She would've preferred the dream about Donovan making love to her on a messy kitchen table to come again. At least that wasn't nearly as monotonous.
Not that I find ABBA monotonous. It's just that...
"Donovan?"
She opened her eyes, finding herself in a dimly lit room. She could hear bleeping monitors and footsteps clacking on tiled flooring. There was the smell of antisepti
c. She could hear people murmuring in low voices, whispering, conspiring.
I was listening to Mamma Mia when I was fourteen and I realized I was in love with Donovan.
Fiona put her hand to her mouth, remembering. Donovan was dead.
"Honey?" a voice whispered.
Fiona closed her eyes. She couldn't put up with her mother right now. All she wanted was Donovan. She wanted to close her eyes and pretend he was still with her.
He's still alive, he's just resting. When I open my eyes again he'll be sitting there, watching me, a smile on his face. He'll think I'm silly for worrying so much.
"Do you want some water?" Dana asked.
Fiona shook her head.
"Were you humming something as you slept?" Dana asked.
"ABBA," Fiona mumbled. "Bake sale."
"It's weird how you can only bake when you listen to ABBA," Dana mused. She giggled. "But you did raise a lot of money at the bake sale to help the drama society put on Legally Blonde. Why didn't you audition for that? You would've been really good."
Fiona ignored her mother's blathering, wishing she'd just go away. She knew the reason why her daughter didn't act any more.
How can I do local musicals and be an accountant? I'm not Wonder Woman.
"You want a grape?" Dana asked.
"No," Fiona stated.
"Carla brought them. She's concerned for you."
Carla was an elderly Hispanic woman who'd been in charge of the local drama society. Her and Fiona had been friends for a long time. Sometimes, when Dana was being a pain, she'd wished Carla was her mother instead.
Silence reigned for a while. Fiona could faintly hear her mother twisting her hands, nervous, but ignored it. Why wouldn't the woman just leave?
"There was an animal attack," said Dana. Her voice trembled. "I'm so sorry."
"Animal attack?" Fiona queried.
"Animal attack. Strange."
Fiona remembered the first day she saw Donovan. They were both five years old, precocious, and deeply nervous to be starting school. He'd given her a daisy to help calm her down. It had been magical.
"There were several people killed," her mother explained. "It was a massacre. I'm not sure whether this town will ever recover."
Donovan was dead.
Donovan was dead.
She fell asleep, the sound of her mother's crying the last thing she heard.
Fiona stared into the mirror, noting her gaunt, putrescent features. She looked like a walking corpse. She felt like a corpse. Without Donovan she had nothing to live for.
"Donovan would hate to see me like this," she muttered.
The bathroom stall behind her flushed, and a young girl came out. It was the same girl she'd seen walking with her boyfriend in the park two nights ago. She looked just like Fiona; grief stricken, pale and lost.
The girl splashed water onto her face from the faucet. She stared at the mirror, her reflection so like Fiona's own she shuddered.
"Are you okay?" Fiona asked her.
The girl shrugged. "As fine as you."
The girl washed her face again, grabbed a towel, and dabbed her skin dry. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide, as if she was afraid to close them.
What did she see in the dark?
Fiona looked at her. "You lost someone too."
"I saw you in the gazebo."
She'd been so happy that night. She and Donovan were going to try for a baby. They were going to be happy and complete and now all that had been ripped away.
"I'm Clover," said the girl. "A wild animal killed my boyfriend."
"I'm Fiona. A wild animal killed my husband."
No, that's not right. It wasn't a wild animal. They keep telling me it's a wild animal, but it wasn't.
It was a man.
She shook her head. A man couldn't have done that to Donovan. It was impossible. It had to have been a wild animal, a wolf or rabid dog maybe.
"Do you think it was an animal?" Fiona asked.
Clover's response was dry. "Only an animal could do that."
"I know, but..."
"It was an animal, right? Right?
But an animal couldn't talk. An animal couldn't tell me he could smell my blood.
Clover looked concerned. "You look like you remembered something."
"No," said Fiona. "I'm just..."
She ran and got to the toilet just in time before she was sick. When she came back out Clover was gone.
There was a man waiting for her by her bedside. Fiona watched him warily as she got back in bed, still thinking about Clover. Had she seen what had killed their lovers, or was she in more shock than the both of them put together? She did seem quite distraught.
The man was Sheriff Gable Trent. She was surprised it had taken him this long to speak to her.
"Are you comfortable?" the sheriff asked kindly.
She nodded. "As comfortable as I'll ever be."
"I'm sorry for your loss," said the sheriff. "I know how hard it can be to lose someone you love."
She accepted his condolences. She knew he wasn't being contrite either. It was common knowledge in the village that Sheriff Trent had lost his wife a few years back. Her own mother had once tried to chat him up at a church social, determined to make him her next husband. He hadn't been interested.
"Does it ever get any better?" Fiona asked.
He thought for a moment before saying, "Truthfully? No."
"Right."
"I waited for a really, really long time to find someone I could love like that, and then she died of cancer. I'm still bitter. I still miss her. I still curse the universe for taking her from me." He looked away, as if embarrassed that he'd opened up to her. "But never mind me. I'm not here to talk about my life."
"What are you here for?" Fiona demanded, a little harshly.
"I just wanted to know if you were up to making a statement," said the sheriff. "I'm in no hurry, but the sooner we get this done the better."
"Fine. Let's get it over with."
She dictated the events of the night, as painful and raw as they were, with extreme clarity. When it came to her husband's attack by the feral man, she closed her mouth, unsure what to say.
He won't believe me. He'll think I'm hysterical.
"Could a man do that to my husband and all those other people?" Fiona asked.
The sheriff's eyes darkened. "No man could do that. It was wild dogs."
Fiona nodded. "Yes. Wild dogs."
"We've had trouble with them before."
She listened to him as they finished her statement. Just when she was about to sign it she saw someone at the entrance to her room, watching, afraid to come in. It was Donovan's mother. When she saw she'd been spotted she looked down guiltily and walked away.
When the sheriff left, her statement signed, Fiona couldn't help but question her own memory. Sheriff Trent was right about one thing; a man could never have smashed her husband's head in with such brutal force. He'd murdered Donovan with a savage, superhuman strength she'd never seen before.
The man drank Donovan's blood.
"He drank his blood," Fiona whispered. "He drank his fucking blood..."
There was only one explanation - vampire.
FOUR
THE HOME she shared with Donovan looked normal, innocent. Their car was in the drive. A bedroom window had been left open, letting in the fresh air. The front door was white and inviting, and their bird house mailbox was stuffed full of mail. It was like any other ordinary day. Donovan could be out in the back garden, pretending to garden while secretly taking his time because he hated it, or trying to barbecue and burning everything.
She opened the mailbox. A load of letters fell out onto the grass. Most of it was junk mail, including a flier from Donovan's favorite Chinese take-out. The rest looked like cards.
Probably cards telling me how sorry they are my husband had his head bashed in by wild dogs.
She couldn't help but laugh. They all believed the lie. They
all believed that a pack of wild dogs had smashed her husband's head in despite their lack of opposable thumbs. The village had to be idiots to believe such garbage. Sheriff Trent had to be an idiot to think she believed such garbage. Yet people always believed what they were told. If the media said it was true, and the local trusted sheriff said it was true, then it had to be true, right?
Her mother-in-law was sitting on the porch swing - the porch swing that Donovan has spent three days setting up because he couldn't be bothered to read the instructions. It was their special place. That cruel woman had no right to sit there and contaminate it with her spite.
I am so fucking angry and this woman is going to rue the day she ever messed with me.
"What the fuck do you want?" Fiona demanded. "You never wanted anything to do with your son when he was alive so..."
"I needed to see you," said Angie, staring at the ground. "I had to see you."
Fiona couldn't help but feel smug at Angie's contrite, shameful tone. She should feel remorse. Her son was dead and she'd treated him with contempt.
"Has something important happened?" Fiona asked. "Did you lose the TV remote? Did your favorite soap opera character die? Did you get a hangnail?"
"You can be angry with me all you like. I probably deserve it."
Fiona sighed, her anger dissipating at the old woman's sad face. Being angry when all she wanted to do was cry was exhausting. She looked at her mother-in-law. Her face was red from crying and she was biting her nails. Her clothes were a mess, like she'd slept in them for days.
She sat down. "I still don't know why you're here. You made it abundantly clear what you thought of Donovan."
"I don't know why I'm here either," Angie admitted.
"He was in a car crash three years ago. He almost died. You never bothered to come to the hospital to visit him then, when he needed you."
"Perhaps I did visit him and you just didn't see me. Perhaps if it hadn't been for me he would've died from his head injuries."
Shadows and Stars Page 40