Suzie and the Monsters

by Francis Franklin

  It’s like being hit in the chest by a giant, invisible fist. I’m thrown backwards, back against Cleo. Three more blows to the chest. I’m sliding down the wall, pain exploding inside me, flowers of blood blossoming above my left breast. I’m aware distantly that Cleo’s shouting at me, but it’s not until she gets her phone out that I remember there are worse things than being shot. I grab her phone and fling it away. ‘No doctors,’ I say. ‘No police.’

  I find my iPhone, tap in the code, but suddenly there’s too much blood smeared across the glass and I can’t get the phone to work, and I’m trying to wipe it off but everything hurts so much and I’m crying tears of frustration. Cleo takes the phone from me. ‘Call Alia,’ I say. ‘Tell her to hurry.’ I hug my knees to my chest and just concentrate on breathing, and for a long time all I’m really aware of is the fire in my chest and the blood pounding in my ears, until, an eternity later, Alia is here, taking my left arm, Cleo under my right, carrying me up the stairs to my flat, and I’m trying to tell Alia to send Cleo home, but they’re not listening to me, just arguing with each other, I can’t understand them, but at last I’m in bed and the pain is starting to recede and the relief is euphoric so that it’s nice to just lie here like this for now.

  Alia and Cleo come into the room. God they smell good. ‘Ai!’ I cry out as I find my wrists and ankles are tied to the bed frame. ‘Let me go,’ I plead. I’m so hungry! ‘Please!’ I pull at the chords, and the wooden frame creaks, but doesn’t break. I try to catch their eyes but they’re avoiding eye contact.

  Alia sits on the bed next to me, keeping her eyes locked on Cleo’s. Cleo has been crying, and looks confused and frightened. ‘Please help me, Cleo,’ I whimper, which just makes her cry again. She keeps her eyes fixed on Alia.

  ‘Quiet, Suzie,’ Alia orders me. ‘I’ll help you, but I need to talk with Cleo for a minute.’ She takes Cleo’s hands. ‘I’m glad you were here to look after my girl, but I think it would be best if you went home now. I promise you I’ll take care of Suzie.’

  Cleo shakes her head. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Because you’re her friend?’ Cleo nods. ‘Then you need to make me some promises. This is very important.’ Alia waits until Cleo nods again. ‘Okay. Good. First, you must never ask her how old she is.’ Cleo frowns, but nods. ‘You must never ask her her real name.’ This startles Cleo, but eventually she nods again. ‘And if she ever gets hurt like tonight, there are three rules: don’t call for a doctor, don’t make eye contact, and make absolutely sure she can’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I made these promises to someone twenty years ago, when I was about your age. I didn’t understand then, but I have begun to. This is the first time I have ever seen Suzie hurt, and yet look. Where are the bullet holes? You don’t need me to tell you that something impossible has happened tonight. I will tell you, however, that Suzie hasn’t aged a day in the twenty years I’ve been her friend, that I’ve never seen her eat anything, that she is faster and stronger than anyone else I’ve ever met, and that she has a talent for messing with people’s heads. I will tell you also that I love her almost more than anything in this world.’

  ‘Alia!’ I plead, and pull at the chords again.

  ‘Do you promise?’

  Cleo nods. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Okay, little Suzie. Tell me what you need.’

  ‘Hold out your arm, yes, closer, closer, a little closer,’ and then my teeth are piercing her wrist, her rich, hot blood flooding my mouth, a few drops escaping to run down my cheeks, but swallowing as much of that life-giving, healing nectar as possible, thinking of nothing but its liquid ecstasy and the thrilling of my veins, until she yells ‘Stop, Suzie! Stop! Enough!’

  I release her with a gasp, and cry out ‘Alia!’ as she collapses on top of me. She needs help and I am trapped. ‘Untie me!’ I beg Cleo, but she’s in shock. ‘Damn it, Cleo! Alia needs help!’ Cleo looks at me reflexively, but she’s no longer in danger from my eyes. ‘Please Cleo, help Alia, or let me help her.’ Cleo shakes her head, but only to clear it, for she stands up abruptly and starts working at the knots holding my wrists until suddenly my hands are free and I am holding Alia who is barely conscious, pulse weak, her skin cold. Blood from her wrist is staining the bed sheets. I tell Cleo where the bandages are, and she runs to the kitchen to get them, while I hug my love Alia, whispering her name over and over.

  Confession (Saturday)

  It’s a long night for me, too much to do for me to really stop and think about the consequences. I have difficulty breathing whenever I do think about it, about the fact that Alia and Cleo know what I am, a monster, the stuff of nightmares. I have drunk the blood of my beautiful Alia, and not just a lick, a trickle, but deep hungry devouring. There are moments when I just have to sit and let the tears flow for a while, until I force myself back into action.

  After cleaning and binding Alia’s wound, I remove her blood-stained clothing and also Cleo’s and my own blood-soaked garments, dumping everything in a big pile on the kitchen floor, and let Alia sleep on the sofa, wrapped in a clean sheet. Although the duvet cover was slightly stained, the duvet itself has survived unblemished. I put a new cover on this and lay it over the sleeping Alia.

  It’s immediately obvious that someone broke into the flat while Cleo and I were out last night. The door and frame are cracked, all the furniture has been moved, the cupboards emptied. Nothing’s missing, as far as I can tell, and there’s very little damage apart from the doorway. Even the computer wakes up happily when I tap a few keys.

  While Cleo has a shower I remove the rest of the bed sheets and sort out a load for the washing machine. I also throw almost all of Cleo’s and my clothing into a large bin bag, including, alas, my beautiful red dragon corset. I decide it’s worth trying to clean the Meteoritas and Tributes, although they may need professional help. The mattress is a complete loss, a large dark red stain on one side, some slight discolouration underneath. I place it sideways against the wall.

  When Cleo gets out of the shower, I hand her a towel and my last pair of Armani jeans, and tell her to help herself to whatever else she needs. She isn’t talking to me, and I don’t really know what to say to her. Leaving her to keep watch over Alia, I jump in the shower myself. The only evidence that I have been shot, less than three hours ago, are angry scars on my chest, and these will probably have faded by dawn. Afterwards, I don’t bother with the hairdryer or anything, just tie my hair back in a knot and get dressed in my grey Nike tracksuit and old trainers, and head out to the 24/7 supermarket to buy tea, honey, orange juice and biscuits, and also a mop and bucket, some scrubbing brushes and a couple of bottles of concentrated bleach.

  Then for the next three hours while the world and, most importantly, my neighbours sleep around me, I am carrying buckets of bleached water up and down the stone steps leading to my flat, making the stairwell and my flat both stink of chlorine, or whatever it is they put in it, mopping and scrubbing, until the trail of blood I left all the way up to the flat disappears. This is hard work. I’d rather run twenty kilometres and spend an hour on the pole than do this again. I throw my clothes into the bin bag, and climb back into the shower. I turn the temperature as high as I can stand and let the water gradually burn the fatigue from my muscles and the stench of bleach from my hair and skin. I’m a rosy pink when I climb out, and my scars can hardly be seen now. I put on a floral Dolce and Gabbana dress, bought in a strange mood, and worn now in an even stranger one, and my new Burberry woven leather platform sandals.

  Cleo is barely awake. I tell her to get some sleep, if she can, although there’s nowhere to sleep at the moment except the armchair she’s in. I make tea with lots of honey and wake up Alia. She sits up, staying wrapped for warmth in the duvet, and sips at the tea slowly, drowsily. Just after seven in the morning her phone starts chirping. ‘Hi, honey,’ she says to her girlfriend. ‘Yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine, don’t worry... Yes, still at Suzie’s... No, of c
ourse not... Not sure, lunchtime maybe... Yes I’m fine, go back to sleep, honey, I’ll phone in a couple of hours, let you know... No... No, really, don’t... Uh huh... Okay. Bye, honey... Love you too.’ She puts the phone down with a heavy sigh, and settles back to sleep.

  At eight o’clock I’m working my way through the Yellow Pages, trying to persuade a joiner to come out and fix the door immediately. After several frustrating phone calls, ‘Bright Away’ promises to send someone around before ten.

  At nine o’clock I’m on the internet looking for a new mattress, and twenty minutes later I’m on the phone to a local department store arguing about delivery of the new and collection of the old. Alia wakes up again during this argument. ‘I’ve got a couple of friends who can take care that,’ she says, so I sort out payment and arrangements for collecting the new mattress from the warehouse. Alia switches on the television, and finds a cheerful cookery programme to watch, helping herself to the biscuits and orange juice from time to time.

  I take the bag of blood-stained and bleach-stained clothing to the household waste centre, my second visit in two days. I desperately need to go shopping for more clothes. Back home, I discover the joiner has been and gone, having taken some measurements.

  I’m too nervous to sit, and unable to concentrate on anything very much, except trying to find some way to explain myself to Alia and Cleo. ‘Yes, I’m a vampire, but I’m a nice vampire, the cute and cuddly kind... okay, yes, I drink blood, but only from men, and who needs men anyway? ... right, yes, women too, in fact there was a policeman here a few days ago asking about that... no, I don’t sleep in a coffin, don’t be stupid, and garlic and holy water don’t do anything to me, or crosses or other religious items... if you put a stake through my heart then, yes, it will probably kill me, and if not I’m sure it will hurt like fuck...’

  At midday Alia stirs, deciding she needs to be active. ‘I need a bath’, she says, ‘I can’t go home all stale and sweaty like this.’

  ‘Wait here,’ I tell her and go prepare everything. She makes her own way through to the bathroom, very shaky on her feet, but she doesn’t look too bad, and I help her into the water.

  She lies back and enjoys the warmth for a few minutes, then sits up and starts soaping herself, enjoying the smell of almonds, and then washing her rich, dark curls with a generous handful of the carnation shampoo. ‘Mmm, I love this,’ she says. ‘Can you rinse me off, please, sweetheart.’ My heart lifts, that one word a sudden ray of sunshine cutting through my gloom.

  The joiner reappears a few minutes later, having already carried a new door and some wooden beams up the stairs, and I leave Alia relaxing in the bath. Will Bright is in his fifties, and seems happy to just get on with his work, but gladly accepts a cup of tea when offered. He spreads out some old sheets and sets up a portable workbench, and soon the air smells like pine and sawdust.

  After drying Alia off, I give her my new Jaeger suit, which is a little tight on her but still looks good. Fortunately her shoes survived the night in good condition, because I don’t have any in her size. She spends half an hour in front of the mirror, drying and brushing her hair, and exploring my make up. She picks up the Forever Red. ‘I wondered what happened to that,’ she says with a mock frown, pocketing it. She’s looking more alive every minute.

  Finally she turns to face me. ‘What the fuck happened last night, Suzie?’

  ‘It was the man from outside Alex Graham’s.’

  She has to put her hand out to steady herself. ‘What the hell have I got us into?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I will find out, trust me. Did you find a locksmith?’

  ‘Charlie said he’d do them today. I’ll ring you when he’s done. I don’t like the idea of people shooting at you, Suzie.’

  ‘When they don’t read about my death in the paper, they may try again. And what about Cleo? Just because they didn’t come back for her last night doesn’t mean they won’t be looking for her now. She’s a witness.’ A gasp from behind me tells me that Cleo is listening from the doorway. ‘But I don’t think they know who she is, so if I can get her home without being followed she should be safe.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Alia replies. ‘I really don’t think I’m up to driving. Can you take me home?’

  ‘As soon as the door’s fixed.’

  Just as Will Bright is handing me the new keys, about half an hour later, her friends arrive with the new mattress. It’s good timing.

  *

  Outside her house, Alia kisses me briefly. ‘Take care, little Suzie,’ she says. Her girlfriend Jamie is glaring at me from the front door.

  ‘Can we go somewhere for coffee,’ Cleo says, climbing into the front passenger seat. ‘Or something.’ She is wearing her pink Truffles but has opted for my peacock Burberry silk shirt. It’s quite stunning, the way this elegant colour resonates with the cool anger she is suppressing.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. We’re not too far from East Finchley, and only ten minutes later Cleo and I are sitting opposite each other at Dan and DeCarlo. I’m enjoying my usual super-sweet espresso. Cleo is munching away at a sandwich and sipping a huge foamy chocolate-sprinkled cappuccino. Alia’s essential acceptance of my nature has boosted my spirits a lot, but I’m still feeling a little lost, waiting for Cleo to start asking questions.

  ‘Two weeks ago I had a boyfriend,’ she says. ‘Bit of a dick, but the sex was okay, based on my admittedly limited experience. I dumped him when I realised I preferred it when he went off playing football. My grades at school are excellent, and I have conditional offers from three universities. The exams shouldn’t be a problem. And that was my life, more or less. The only thing I was worrying about was whether my dad would force me to go shopping with his new girlfriend. She’s such a pain.’ Cleo pauses to finish her sandwich.

  ‘Now I find myself looking at women, wondering whether I am attracted to them. I spend most of my time at school fantasising about sex with you, or with the whole football team, maybe. I’m worried all the time that someone will point at me and say, “I know what you’re thinking about, you lesbian slut.” I know it’s silly,’ she waves her hand dismissively, and takes a sip of coffee. ‘Last night, my new girlfriend is shot in front of me, and I realise I don’t care if I’m lesbian, bisexual or whatever, who knows, I only care that the girl I love is bleeding to death in my arms.

  ‘Except she isn’t. She’s a vampire.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t even know where to start.’ She sips her coffee for a minute. ‘Are there more of you?’

  ‘There’s only one of me.’

  ‘I mean...’

  ‘I know. I don’t know. Probably.’

  ‘When you bite someone, do they turn?’

  ‘No. It’s complicated.’ I don’t like talking about this stuff.

  ‘You don’t have a problem with sunlight.’

  ‘I get horrible sunburn sometimes. You certainly won’t catch me sunbathing.’

  ‘And you need blood to survive.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you get it from the hospital or something?’

  I wonder which film she’s thinking about. ‘That stuff is horrible.’

  ‘So, what, you bite people’s necks?’ I nod. ‘Do you have fangs?’

  Suddenly there are tears rolling down my cheeks, faster than I can wipe them away, and just as suddenly Cleo is sitting next to me, holding me tight against her, but it’s several minutes before I am in control of myself again. ‘I’m sorry, Suzie,’ she whispers.

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ I whisper back, sorry for being what I am, sorry for being a mess like this instead of being the invulnerable Suzie Kew. I pull back and look at Cleo. ‘I told you I was messed up.’

  ‘You weren’t kidding.’

  I take her hands in mine. ‘I know we’ve only just met, only known each other a few days, but I love you. I want you to be my friend. But now you know what I am, how is that possible? I’m so terrified that you’ll walk away no
w and I’ll never see you again.’

  She isn’t looking at me. It’s not a good sign. ‘Who is Alia?’ she asks.

  ‘She’s my friend. About the only friend I’ve had for the past ten years.’

  ‘She’s your lover?’

  ‘Once upon a time.’

  ‘What happened? I mean, it’s obvious how much you still care for each other.’

  ‘I had to give her up, had to let her live a real life, even though it tears me up to see her now.’

  Cleo thinks about this for a minute. ‘She made me promise,’ she says, ‘before we came into your room last night. Made me promise not to look at you. Said she’d send me home right away unless I promised, and I didn’t realise what I was promising. When you didn’t want me to call an ambulance, I assumed you were in trouble with the police...’ She trails off for a moment with a quiet laugh. ‘I assumed Alia was your doctor, I couldn’t understand why she tied you up, why she wasn’t helping you. Instead she made me promise that I wouldn’t look at you, no matter what you said. It was a strange thing to ask, but I didn’t want to be sent home. You needed help.’

  She closes her eyes at the memory, almost has difficulty breathing for a moment. ‘You were lying on your bed, tied up, trying to escape, begging me to let you go, and I did nothing, didn’t even look at you. I felt like a monster!’ She’s crying again. I take her into my arms and hug her for a minute. ‘I know I promised not to ask certain questions,’ she starts, and I can’t help tensing up. ‘I won’t,’ she says, ‘but there’s one thing I need to understand. Why can’t I make eye contact if you’re hurt?’

  I laugh with relief, and lean back, mischievous thoughts percolating away. ‘Have you ever looked into my eyes? I mean, really looked?’ Her reaction is automatic, predictable, and completely unguarded. She is lost immediately. A couple of minutes later I wake her up. ‘Well?’

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ she says, mystified, still awaiting revelation.

  ‘Would you like this back?’ I ask, holding up her bra.