Min's Vampire

by Stella Blaze

  Another thing she’d lost that he hadn’t.

  ~*~

  The bus ride from San Bernardino to Four Corners had only been the first of many trips she had taken on a bus. Though all buses looked alike, they certainly didn’t smell alike. Some smelled of feet and body odor. Some smelled of industrial strength air freshener (the driver’s halfhearted attempt at masking the stench. But that usually just made the bus smell like lilac scented gym socks).

  But there was one driver—her name was Shirley—who actually kept her bus spotless, and Lucy always took a seat close to the front on the days she’d catch her bus.

  Shirley talked to anyone and everyone, her curiosity seemingly boundless. The best part for Lucy, though, was that Shirley would just let you sit there in silence as she happily drove and chatted up others. Yet somehow she made you feel as if you were in on the conversation.

  Today Lucy caught Shirley’s bus and she happily took her usual seat, fading into the scenery as Shirley told a rather old man with a wrinkled radish for a nose that her petunias were shriveling on the vine. “It’s just not natural,” she continued, pushing a large frizzy strand of her red hair out of her eyes. “I water them three times a week. I even have one of those Miracle-Gro attachment doohickeys.”

  Mr. Radish Nose scratched his ginormous red nose and then asked, “Are they in direct sunlight?”

  “Well, of course they are!” Shirley smiled. “I read the packet the seeds came in.”

  “Well, that’s true for out east. But for the climate out here the sun’s just too harsh. And though pretty and hearty, those things fare better in the shade in these parts.”

  Shirley made a little humph noise, and then straightened her shoulders. “Makes sense.” She smiled into her rearview mirror at Mr. Radish Nose. “I’m off in two days, so I’ll go ahead and transplant them to the other side of the house. There’s a good shady spot right beneath my kitchen window.”

  Mr. Radish Nose nodded his head in agreement.

  Lucy smiled and caught Shirley’s bright green eyes looking at her. “Gotta work on your birthday, huh?”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped and she shook her head. “How did you...?”

  Shirley smiled knowingly as she smoothed her dark red hair back again into the little flip she’d styled it into. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you can just tell. And the look on your face invariably means it’s your birthday, and you have to work.”

  “You’re amazing. You should be on TV.”

  Shirley gave a honking laugh. “I’d sure as blazes be better at it than that god awful Dr Phil.” She shook her shoulders with a chill. Lucy knew what would come next. “And that Oprah’s gotta know there’s a studio apartment waiting for her in hell for exposing the world to that lunatic.”

  Shirley hated Dr. Phil with every ounce of her rather substantial, curvy body.

  She pulled the bus over and said, “This is your stop, birthday girl.” And sure enough, as Lucy got out of her seat, waved goodbye to Shirley and then half tripped down the three little steps of the bus, there she stood under the Golden Arches.

  She sighed. “Now my birthday is complete.”

  ~*~

  McDonald’s was bombarded with customers, and not the usual Saturday night crowd. This was pure chaos and mayhem, and at first Lucy was glad for it. The busier it was, the faster the time would fly by. But her assignment tonight (the grill) had her stuck over a hundred patties of scorched meat, and her hands and arms got burnt by the overly sizzling grease.

  When it’s really busy, management will turn up the heat on the grill—to hell with corporate’s rules and regulations for the cooking of their prized beef patties. Management just wanted the burgers done and out the door with the customer.

  End of story.

  About an hour into this hot, smelly mess of special meat, she was coated with sweat and grease, and she had all sorts of tiny red welts all over her arms.

  “Lucy!” Greg, her night shift manager yelled, though he was standing right beside her.

  She looked up at him unenthusiastically—she no longer jumped in surprise at his all-too-often sudden outbursts. “Yeah, Greg?”

  Greg was on the cusp of turning thirty, his hair was starting to recede, and he always looked like he was constipated. “Go to the cooler and get two containers of the Special Sauce...” He plucked the spatula from her hand. “I’ll watch the grill.”

  “Okay.” She turned and started to walk away when Greg hollered again.

  “Grab a bag of sandwich lettuce too.”

  She nodded her head and waved that she’d heard him, but she didn’t bother to look back at him. She stayed close to the wall as she navigated further back into the bowels of the fast food restaurant. Twenty-three workers ran around like computer animated chickens with their heads chopped off, with no rhyme or reason, and just barely missed running right into each other.

  She yanked open the cooler door, almost getting bowled over by an acne pocked kid named Gibson, and then slipped into the cool, clammy embrace of the walk-in cooler. If it wasn’t for the smell—an overtaxed refrigeration unit, fresh and rotting vegetables and fruits, the grease that coated every square inch of the store, and of course the mildew of refrigeration moistened cardboard boxes—she would enjoy the temperature dip.

  Plus the unit itself made a white noise that blocked out all other noises. So it was kind of peaceful.

  She stood there for a lovely moment and let the cold envelope her—and forgot that she was this Lucy now, and let a flash of her old life, the old radiant and amazing Lucy, warm her. She tried not to take a breath. This lasted for exactly ten seconds, and then she had to take one. That alone snapped her back to reality, and she started to move toward the shelves she needed to pull stock from.

  First the bag of leaf lettuce. In most McDonald’s stores even the lettuce is pre-shredded and the tomatoes pre-sliced. All so everything about the burgers you buy are exactly like the burgers you get in any other McDonald’s, anywhere you go.

  Gram had said it’s called the Socialization of America. That it’s a real thing, and that’s why it’s taught in almost every college in the land. But since she wasn’t going to college... or anywhere else... she’d decided not to give the lettuce and tomatoes at McDonalds much thought.

  The large plastic tubs of Special Sauce were only around five pounds apiece, yet they were not only physically cumbersome, but always rather slick and hard to hold onto.

  She set down the bag of lettuce, picked up two jars of sauce—arranging them so her arms and her chest were holding them snugly in a pincer—and then grabbed the lettuce again. She pushed against the cooler door, yet it didn’t give a bit.

  Nothing unusual. The door was notorious for sticking. So she put some muscle into pushing against it, but it still wouldn’t budge.

  Shit! I’m so not getting trapped in the walk in cooler on my freaking birthday! I’m... she pushed against the big metal door with all her might... Just... she pushed again, really putting her back into it... Not!

  The door swung open and she stumbled out, her arms full and her feet suddenly slipping-sliding beneath her. She skated and spun across the floor, amazingly missing all the other McDonald’s workers, and crashed with a rather loud thud into the opposite wall. Her feet slipped out from under her and she dropped to the fetid tile floor with a sickening crunch.

  ~*~

  “Hey, Lucy... wake up!” The guy’s voice was so familiar, yet it felt as if she hadn’t heard it in years. Her eyes snapped open—Jeff Haas knelt over her. His smile was wide and his eyes so pretty and happy to see her. Then she realized she was laying on the ground... correction, on the tiled floor of Mrs. Henderson’s Spanish class, and everyone from her old school—her old life—was clustered around her. Afternoon sunlight drizzled in sparkling rays through the large unadorned windows. The light played against Jeff’s cheek and made his eyelashes shine.

  She felt tears well up in her eyes. She was so glad
to see them all and the looks of worry etched on their faces. Had that all been just a bad dream?

  “Sorry, Lucy,” Jeff said, running his fingers softly over her forehead. “I was just trying to surprise you for your birthday. You kinda jumped and fell down when you saw it.”

  “Saw what?” She was so confused, and her head was spinning.

  “Your gift.” Jeff’s smile was so bright and warm she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

  Mrs. Henderson prodded her way through the assembled students and stooped down to look her hard in the eye. “The school nurse is on her way, and she’s called your father.”

  “Daddy?” The thought of him coming there made her heart tap-dance in her chest. There was nothing she wanted more than to see him. That realization, that he was on his way, made it undeniably true. All of that—the FBI/incarceration/moving to Gram’s/working at McDonald’s mess—had really all only been a really horrible, really annoying dream. And now that she thought of it, her head really did hurt. She’d probably hit it when she fell.

  “See, Lucy. Everything’s fine. Your dad’s on his way, and it’s still your birthday.” Jeff’s wide smile turned shy and his brow did that sexy furrow thing it does when he’s unsure of himself. “So, you ready for your gift?”

  “Presents!” She chimed as she sat up fast and felt her head throb with a burning pain. “Are you kidding? I’m all about the presents.”

  “Okay,” Jeff said, and then turned and grabbed up something in his arms. When he turned back to her, Lucy cooed sweetly. In his arms was the cutest little golden retriever puppy. It was one of the few things she’d never been allowed to have. Her father was allergic.

  But her smile hastily faded as she really looked at the little golden bundle of boundless joyful energy. It was dead. Not only was it dead, but it was missing an eye and blood was dried in a thick line from its mouth all the way across its chest.

  But it was looking right at her, panting with its little puppy tongue hanging out, and its tail wagging.

  “How do you like your gift?” Jeff said.

  ~*~

  Lucy clawed and screamed her way out of the dream, her eyes opened wide and her head scalded with pain. She reached up to hold her head, but then her arm joined in on the pain-a-palooza. She was pressed up against the stained stucco wall, the greasy tiles cold and hard against her body.

  At first everything else was a blur. Odd shapes hovered around her, and she heard voices. They were all talking about her. The only thing that was clear was a blackness that snaked around the periphery of her blurred vision. It faded into the din as she heard someone say, “I saw her come barreling out of the cooler.”

  “Yeah, well, I think she was stuck in there,” said someone else. “I’ve had that happen before.”

  “And don’t forget Brad and his pickle mishap. That shit was all over the floor.”

  Gradually everything came into focus, and she felt cold and sticky, on top of the pain in her head, shoulder, and arm. There was a tangy, sweet, totally nauseating smell. She looked down at herself and saw she was covered in special sauce. It dripped from her hands, was splattered over the black slacks she’d bought on sale at Wal-Mart, and had plastered her McDonald’s polo shirt to her chest. She knew without looking that it was dripping from her chin, and a glob ran cold and wet down the lobe of her right ear.

  “Shit Lucy!” Greg stood over her, eyes wide and his hands on his hips. He looked pissed. “Look at the mess you made.”

  The pain in her head turned to a hot annoyance as she looked up slowly into Greg’s eyes. “Mess I made?” Her voice was low and strangely even sounding. “You sent me after too many things at once—”

  “You should’ve made two—”

  “I got stuck in there because you never had the latch on the door fixed, and I slipped because there was—” She looked over to the floor in front of the walk-in cooler. There were even some pickle slices shining green against the sandstone red tile. “Pickle juice on the floor!”

  When she looked back up at Greg she saw him gulp.

  She was about to point her finger at him and tell him her father’s lawyers were going to sue the shit out of him, and McDonald’s, and the company that designed such a faulty latch, when the pain in her arm suddenly sparked to life again and raged like a bonfire. It sapped her words out of her head and replaced them with raw pain.

  There was a long, cold silence, and then Greg said, “We’ll call an ambulance to take you to County.” His voice was thin and very polite.

  A hospital! And doctors and tests and needles and...

  “I’m fine!” she snapped, and Greg’s head jerked back at the force of her words. Seeing the sudden effect of her voice, she forced a fake smile on her face and pulled herself—though cringing at the nagging pain—up off the tile floor.

  “I’m fine,” she said again, this time with smooth sweetness. All she wanted was to get the hell out of there, and go home. Her birthday had already been heinous enough; she’d rather not tempt fate anymore. And she wasn’t about to spend the night in the emergency room.

  “I don’t know.” Greg was returning to form. And once Greg got it into his head about something, he always forced the issue. His beady eyes squinted down at her. “I think you should go to the hospital and get checked out.”

  “I... am... fine!” That annoyed heat was back in her voice as she rounded on Greg, and practically spit each word at him. “I didn’t black out,”—which was a lie—“so I don’t need to go to a hospital!”

  Her voice ricocheted off the walls like a shotgun blast. Greg’s eyes bugged out and then he cleared his throat. “You’ll have to sign a waiver,” he croaked.

  “Fine... whatever.” She shifted her weight and almost fell back into the wall. She was dizzy, yet still on her feet... with the help of her hand gripping the wall. “Can you call my Gram to come drive me home?”

  No way was she making it to the bus stop, not to mention all the way home, like this.

  ~*~

  People whirled by in blurred colors and shapes as Lucy sat alone in the booth closest to the side entrance. That’s where Gram would pick her up. It wasn’t the main entrance to McDonald’s, so it was where the least amount of people could see her.

  The globs of special sauce on her chin and ear were easy enough to remove. She’d tried unsuccessfully to clean the special sauce from her shirt; the goop had soaked into the fabric. She could have asked if someone had a shirt they could loan her, but she was so tired, and her arm was throbbing incessantly. She sat in the booth and shivered as the air conditioning made the special sauce cold on her chest.

  She was glad though. Glad that at least that that had been the worst of it. Her birthday had delivered pain and degradation in spades. Now all there was to do was go home and take a long hot shower, and then crawl into bed.

  One of the blurs of movement stopped right in front of her, and she looked up to see a beautiful couple in a lover’s embrace, kissing like it was the end of a big budget romantic comedy.

  She closed her eyes. At least someone’s getting it right. But when she opened her eyes again they stared down at her with mirrored expressions of revulsion on their faces.

  Their faces... so familiar... oh crap!

  Lucy’s ex-boyfriend, Jeff Haas, and her ex-best friend, Tara Minger, stood clutching each other, the looks of shock and horror clear and nightmarish on their faces. But Tara didn’t remain shocked for long. And with a practiced and horribly malicious smile, she held her perfectly manicured hand to her chest—the chest that had magically grown two cup sizes in six months, and clad in a thin silk sweater that looked like it had been woven onto her body by the demented monks of Playboy magazine.

  “Lucy Hart... is that really you?” She turned her head and made with a faux embarrassed bat of her eyes lashes. “Omigod! I so thought you were just some homeless person.”

  Cold tingles ran down her arms, and her heart literally fluttered in horror. The only thing t
hat warmed her was the burning sensation that had bloomed across her face. She took a breath, ready to say something, but then she got a look at Jeff.

  Jeff’s face wasn’t cruel, like Tara’s. No, the look on Jeff’s face knocked the air out of Lucy’s lungs and made each beat of her heart painful. It was pity she saw in her ex-boyfriend’s eyes. And as he looked away from her and then slowly shuffled away to the ordering counter, she could well imagine what he was thinking.

  How did she let herself get like that?

  I can’t believe I wanted to sleep with that.

  Thank god I didn’t... oh thank god...

  Tara stood there, lean and strong and so well dressed. Her hand on her hip, her long shiny blonde hair tossed with practiced perfection as she pursed her lips.

  “Lots has happened since you left.” She gave a happy little laugh. “Did you really have to leave town on a freaking bus?”

  Lucy felt the weight of the world pushing down on her, and that at any moment she would be pulverized into the vinyl seat of the booth. Please, she prayed, tears welling up in her eyes. Pulverize me now...

  “Oh well,” Tara chirped. “Back to the real world. I’m captain of the cheer squad now, and we’re so ready to go to state. I mean, I’m not knocking your leadership skills, but I know this is going to be our best year ever!” The manic cheerleader intensity in her voice spiraled in the air and practically dripped sparklers and confetti. But then her voice dropped to a smooth, robust growl.

  “And if you didn’t catch the show, Jeff’s mine now.”

  Even though she hadn’t let herself contemplate Jeff in months, she felt this horrible pang of despair at Tara’s words, and the cruel curl of her freshly glossed lips.