Thea: A Vampire Story

by Steven Jenkins

  “Piss off,” I say with a grin.

  Sniggering, Kate gets off the chair, heading for the toilet. “And they can turn into bats as well.”

  11

  Thursday, 21st April, 2016.

  I’ve been sitting on my bed, staring at the blood for the last thirty minutes. Why the hell did I let Mum guilt-trip me? I thought I was stronger than that. And I should have never got Kate involved. Even possession carries a ten-year sentence—and here it is, in my hand, a small vial. Blood from an actual vampire. For some reason, I imagined that it would look different. I mean, I expected it to be blood, but, well—just different. Christ, it could well be human blood. Even sheep’s blood for all I know.

  Or red wine. I take a sip of mine, finishing off the glass, and then sigh, realising that I’ve made a terrible mistake. What the hell was I thinking? I should flush the blood down the toilet, and put this ordeal behind me. Mum doesn’t even know that I have it yet. I could easily say that the deal fell through. But then she’d want her five grand back, and I definitely don’t have that kind of money lying around.

  To hell with it! It’s only money. I can owe it. I can’t possibly give this to her. What if he turns into something even more hideous than before?

  I unscrew the cap at the top of the vial and sniff the blood. It doesn’t smell of anything.

  Shit, what if smelling it infects me?

  Calm down, it’s blood, not cocaine. I screw the lid back on quickly.

  And what if she can’t get enough animal blood to feed him? What then? He could turn on her. On the postman. The neighbours. Jesus, bloody Christ, this is insane. I’m not doing it. The old bastard can die as far as I’m concerned.

  Thea and I will have to watch Mum like a hawk, day and night. She’ll soon get over him. Husbands die every day. She’s not the first woman to lose someone close. I lost my little girl; she was innocent. Dad is most definitely not. Mum will just have to cope with it, and that’s that.

  I see a horrid image of Mum, lying on her bed; her wrist sliced, the mattress soaked through in blood. The sight goes through me, and I shudder.

  The sound of the back door opening and slamming shut travels up to my bedroom. Thea’s home from school. In a panic, I quickly leap off the bed and stuff the vial into my sock drawer. I take a few breaths to settle my nerves and then leave the room. I glance down at my watch: it’s almost half three. She’s home on time. Miracles can happen.

  Thea comes trudging up the stairs towards me.

  “Where’s the fire?” I ask her as she passes me on the landing.

  “I need my iPad,” she replies, disappearing into her bedroom.

  “What’s the big rush?” I ask, walking over to her doorway. Her bedroom is in such a state; it’s no wonder she can’t find anything.

  “Some friends are picking me up,” she replies as she searches her bed and desk. “We’re going into town.”

  “What friends?”

  “Some friends from school. No one you know.”

  I can feel my blood start to boil as I watch her fling pieces of clothing onto the floor. “Is Jared going to be there?”

  “Maybe. So what if he is? We’re just friends.”

  I want to shake her, tell her that teenage boys are only interested in one thing, but that will only end up making matters worse. “Listen to me, Thea. I’m not comfortable with you going out on a school night to see some boy.”

  Thea finds the tablet underneath the pillow and then glares at me. “He’s not some boy. He’s a good friend. And you can’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with.”

  “Yes, I bloody can if I think you might get hurt.”

  Thea snorts. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t know the first thing about Jared. He could be a Saint for all you know.”

  “Well that’s exactly why I don’t want you seeing him. For all I know, he could be another Callum.”

  “Callum?” Thea laughs out loud. Does she think this is some kind of joke? Well I’m not laughing. “Jared is nothing like that loser. You keep comparing my life with Ivy’s as if I want to end up like her. Screw you, Mum. I lost a sister too. Do you really think I’m going to start taking drugs, get an abortion and wind up killing myself? Do you?”

  I can feel my chin start to quiver. I fight it off. There’s no room for tears when it comes to Thea. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that! This has nothing to do with your sister. This is me being a good parent.”

  “Ha! A good parent? That’s rich coming from an alcoholic.”

  I try to slap Thea across the face, but she catches my wrist.

  “See what I mean,” she continues. “You call yourself a good parent? I would never hit someone across the face. I didn’t learn that from you. I learned it from being a decent human being.”

  I think about hitting her with my other hand, but then I see Dad hitting Mum, and I come to my senses. I’m not my father! Pulling out of her grip, I take a step back. “I didn’t mean to,” I say, trying to calm my trembling hands. “I’m sorry.”

  Thea shakes her head, disgust in her eyes. “So you should be.” Brushing past me, she marches towards the landing. “I’ll see you later. When you’ve sobered up.”

  “No you won’t,” I tell her as she reaches the top of the stairs. “You’ll see me now.”

  She stops in her tracks, turning to me with a giant grimace. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re grounded. You’re not setting foot out of that front door.”

  “What! You can’t stop me.”

  “Yes, I bloody can. I’m your mother.”

  “So? I’m your daughter. I’m allowed to have a life, you know.”

  “Yeah, but while you’re under my roof, you’ll obey my rules. And I say you’re grounded for a week.”

  Thea’s face turns red instantly. I can see her grip on the banister tighten. She hates me; I know she does. But if I don’t do this now, if I don’t take a stand, then in another year she’ll end up just like Ivy. And that ain’t happening!

  “You can’t do that!” Thea screams. “It’s not fair!”

  “Yes, it bloody is fair, madam. And don’t even think about sneaking out because so help me God, I’ll smash that iPad to bits. And your pocket money; that’ll go too. Are we clear?”

  For the first time in years, Thea is lost for words. Have I cracked it? Is a firm hand all it takes? A few more ground rules?

  Is that why I lost Ivy?

  Thea storms past me, back into her bedroom. “I hate you!” she screeches as she slams the door behind her. “I never want to speak to you again!”

  I think about sending a snarky reply her way, but I don’t. Let her stew in there a while. She’ll calm down when she sees that I’m right. No matter how weak Mum was with Dad, she was never weak when it came to disciplining me. At the time I hated her for it, called her all sorts of things. But Mum is still in my life. She may be a little screwed up sometimes, but who the hell isn’t?

  I grab my empty wine glass from my bedroom and take it downstairs to the kitchen.

  Tonight I won’t be drowning my sorrows.

  Tonight I’ll be celebrating an overdue victory.

  12

  Friday, 22nd April, 2016.

  Thea has missed the bus again. She hasn’t said a word to me since she got in the car. Sleeping on it clearly hasn’t softened the mood.

  Was I too rough on her last night?

  Maybe, but it’s too late to back down now. Thea will grow up a normal, happy person. And someday she’ll look back on this and thank me for coming down so hard on her. It won’t be tomorrow—or even next year. But one day.

  “Aren’t you going to eat that?” I ask her as she stares at a slice of buttered toast. “It’s going to get cold.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she drones without looking at me.

  Another breakfast skipped. I glance at her cheekbones; they’re far more noticeable than usual. “Come on, Thea. You have to eat something. You’ve got a who
le day of school ahead of you. You won’t learn anything on an empty stomach.”

  Thea pulls out a napkin from the glove compartment and wraps it around the toast, then crushes it into a ball.

  “Well that’s a waste of food,” I point out, shaking my head in disgust. “You know, there are millions of starving children out in Africa.”

  “Fine,” she replies, stuffing the napkin into the centre cup-holder, “you can send it to them.”

  “That’s not a very nice attitude to have.”

  Thea glares at me with her devil stare. “Whose fault is that, then?”

  I almost shout at her, tell her not to talk to her mother like that. But I don’t. Instead, I hold my tongue, take a moment, and then force a smile. “You have a nice day in school, sweetheart.”

  Thea climbs out of the car, throws her school bag over her shoulder and then turns to me, her pale skin now a shade of red, clearly about to say something she’ll regret. But instead, she slams the door, so I quickly lower the passenger window. “Have a great day,” I shout to her as she storms off. “And I’ll see you after school. Don’t forget—straight home because you’re grounded.”

  She doesn’t retaliate; she just keeps walking until she reaches the school gates, disappearing into the crowds of teenagers.

  I let out a long exhale of relief; unsure whether or not I just got a second victory.

  Either way, I need a glass of wine.

  13

  The TV’s on in the living room but it might as well be static. I’m too pissed off to take any of it in. It’s almost six and Thea’s still not home. I’ve called everyone I can think of and no one’s seen her. I’ve been to McDonald’s, the shopping centre, her friend’s house. Nothing.

  Where the hell is that girl?

  My blood feels like acid in my veins. There’ll be no more Mrs Nice Guy when she walks in. If she thinks she can test me, she’s out of her bloody mind. I’ll ground her until she’s eighteen if that’s what it takes to keep her safe. That’s what Mum would have done to me; that’s what I should have done to Ivy. Thea needs me to be a firm mother, not some pushover disguised as one of her friends. I won’t fail her.

  I can’t fail her.

  Shit, I bet she’s with that fucking boy. That Jared. I wish I had his bloody address! If he lays a finger on my girl, I swear to God he’ll be sorry.

  I finish the bottle of wine and then go into the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard, I pull out another and set it down on the worktop. I glance at the back door. Another hour and I’ll track down where Jared lives. Then she’ll be embarrassed. No thirteen-year-old wants to be dragged out kicking and screaming by their mother. I know I would have been mortified if Mum had done that to me.

  An image of Callum suddenly pops in my head.

  I only met the bastard twice—once at the front door, and the second at the funeral. I could have killed him, right there, in front of everyone. But what would have been the point? Ivy was dead and nothing would have brought back that innocent little girl. Anger and regret are worthless emotions. But there’s hope for Thea. A second chance. And this time things will be different.

  I pull out the corkscrew from the cutlery drawer and open the bottle. Just as I make my way out of the kitchen, I hear the back door open.

  Thea’s home.

  The grip around the bottle tightens. Keep it together, Sarah. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “With friends,” Thea cagily replies, avoiding eye contact.

  She tries to slip past me towards the hallway, but I grab her arm. “Don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not lying,” she slurs, trying desperately to pull her arm free. Is she drunk? Stoned?

  I catch a glimpse of her eyes—they’re bloodshot.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” I ask her, but I already know the answer. I saw it countless times on Ivy.

  She starts to squirm frantically like a captured worm. “Get off me, Mum—you’re hurting me.”

  “What have you taken?” I ask her, trying my best to get a better look at her face.

  “Nothing!” she snaps as she slips from my grasp and races towards the stairs.

  I chase after her. “You get back here, right now!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “I called your friends. They told me they hadn’t seen you since school. So come on, out with it. You’ve been taking drugs with Jared—haven’t you?”

  Thea bolts up the stairs, clearly avoiding my question—which only proves that I’m not paranoid. “I haven’t taken any drugs,” she points out. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Your eyes are bloodshot and you’re slurring your words. I’m not stupid.”

  At the top of the stairs, Thea stops and glowers down at me. “Slurring? You’re one to talk!”

  “And whose fault is that? I’ve been sat in that living room, waiting for you to get home for three hours. Three bloody hours! For all I knew you could have been lying in a ditch somewhere. Dead! I almost called the police!”

  Thea storms off towards her bedroom. “Well next time just call them! At least then maybe they’ll lock you up!” She slams the door hard; the sound ripples around the house.

  “Yeah—and you can stay in your bloody room,” I shout, “because you’re grounded for another week!”

  “Good!” I hear Thea scream from her room.

  I look down at my hands; they’re shaking again. Not even two bottles can steady them. Returning to the kitchen, I grab the wine and take it back into the living room. As I pour myself a glass, all I can think about is Thea, sitting in some grotty flat with Jared, smoking God-knows-what. I gulp down a huge mouthful of wine and pick up the TV remote to channel surf. Boys. Drugs. Is that why she’s so thin? Is she hooked already? I take a long exhale to try and settle my nerves, but it does nothing. Thea is turning into Ivy. I can see it from a mile off. No matter what I say, no matter how different I do things, she’s still her sister—through and through.

  I take my finger off the remote when I see that Ghostbusters is showing on Channel five. A tiny smile somehow forms on my lips. Ivy’s favourite movie. But then I start to cry, and I can’t stop the tears flooding out, no matter how much wine I swallow.

  14

  Mum’s texted me three times already. She’s asked me if I’d pop ‘round the house in the morning. Dad must be still breathing. She’d be straight here if anything had happened. Mum just wants the blood. I’m still unsure whether or not to tell her that I have it. And now is not the time to bug me about anything. I’ve got enough on my plate.

  It’s past eight and Thea still hasn’t come out of her room. She’s obviously stewing in there, thinking of ways to murder me. Christ, I bet she’s got my face on a dartboard.

  I imagine her sitting on her windowsill, puffing on a joint, or sniffing lines of coke off her desk. The thought makes my chest ache.

  I can’t go through all that again.

  Swallowing the last from my wine glass, I think about going upstairs, ransacking her bedroom for drugs. But I don’t. I can’t; I’m too numb to move. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the fear that I might actually find something.

  “Fucking hell!” I shout in frustration, slamming my fist down on the arm of the sofa. If that bastard has got my little girl hooked, I swear to God I’ll crush his skull with my bare hands.

  I’m moments away from smashing this wine glass, so I take a few deep breaths to calm down

  Even though I’ve never even seen Jared, all I can picture is Callum. With that God-awful Tea-cosy hat on his head, those ridiculously tight black jeans, straight out of Mick Jagger’s wardrobe, and that vacant, permanently-stoned expression on his stupid face.

  Stop it, Sarah!

  Jared is not Callum.

  And Thea is not Ivy.

  I push away another rush of tears, and I get up off the couch, heading for the kitchen. Stumbling drunkenly along the hallway, using the wall for support, I listen out for Thea, but all I hear i
s the faint sound of her TV.

  Inside the kitchen, I open the cupboard to grab another bottle of wine only to find it empty. Shit, I’m all out.

  Bugger.

  Maybe there’s some vodka left over from Christmas. Opening the cupboard next to the oven, I spot the bottle straight away. I hate spirits, but beggars can’t be choosers. Reaching in, I notice the jar of hot chocolate. I can’t remember the last time Thea and I had one. Probably last year when she came second in the hundred-metre sprint. Jesus, she was like a whippet that day. I’ve never seen her move so quickly. Ivy was fast—especially when she was young—but nothing like this. I was so proud of her.

  I’m already way too drunk to start on the vodka. Hot chocolate sounds great. I pull out the jar and pour a heaped spoonful into the two mugs, flick the switch on the kettle, and wait for it to boil. I don’t want to argue with her anymore; I’m too tired. And I’ve said what needed to be said. I fill the mugs with the hot water and stir them. Marshmallows! There should still be some here. I pull out the biscuit-tin from the cupboard and see a small packet. Yes! Inspecting the bag, I can’t see an expiration date, but I’m sure they’ll be fine. I dig my hand in, pluck out a handful, and then drop a few in each mug. I stand back and stare at my creation with slightly blurred vision.

  Nothing says truce like a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

  Slowly, I make my way along the hallway and up the stairs. Carrying hot drinks is hard enough, but even worse with a bellyful of red wine. Thank God I didn’t have any of that vodka. On the landing, I manage to spill a little from each mug, so I quickly sip each top. Please don’t let her be still pissed off with me. Reaching her bedroom door, I go to call her name but then stop when I hear something. A voice.

  A boy’s voice.

  I almost lose my grip on the drinks as a wave of anger envelops my body. Setting the mugs down on the small corner table, I burst into her room. The lights are off. I flick the switch and immediately lock eyes on the bed. Thea scrambles to get the quilt over her, trying desperately to cover her exposed chest. There’s a blond boy lying next to her on the bed, fifteen, sixteen, his eyes wide open in shock as he frantically reaches for his jeans on the floor.