by Kat Turner
Though many pieces remained missing, a handful landed in place. “This isn’t right, Susan. Whatever you’re doing is a horrible, terrible idea.” After she spoke her feeble warning, Eve’s focus returned to the gun shoved in her back.
“Don’t you say bad things about the Pollyannas.” The boy punctuated his inflamed, high pitched order with a mean poke of his rifle.
Idiotic grin splitting her face, Susan waved the blood in front of the Pollyanna’s cage. Its face followed the motion. A wide ribbon of a black, forked tongue slid between knives of teeth.
In a swift thrust, it struck, slamming its face against the glass with a thump that made Eve jump back. Adrenaline cooked her extremities.
Viscous, milky liquid oozed down the glass in slow streaks.
Susan clapped and barked like a dumb seal. In that moment, Eve wanted to murder her. Could she act fast enough to pull it off in time? Swing around, grab the gun, and wrest it from the boy’s scrawny hands? Bludgeon his menace of a moronic mother until she stopped twitching?
Blood bag in one hand, Susan used the other to free an empty water bottle attached to the tank. She filled the bottle with blood and reattached it.
The loner Pollyanna slurped at the metal tube, draining the bottle in under a minute. It grew before Eve’s eyes, bloating like a fresh tampon dropped into a toilet. Satiated, the fiend tucked into a ball and shut its eyes. The animal slept, ponderous mass of flesh rising and falling with big breaths.
“My own mama said I was no good, good for nothing but turnin’ tricks. But I knew she was wrong. I almost wish the mean old cunt was alive to see me, her worthless white trash daughter, working for a big old fancy corporation.” Susan rooted under the front of her dress and excavated a cigarette and lighter. She lit up, closing her eyes as she sucked and released smoke, face puckering into an anal knot.
“You do this for Scarab.” It didn’t take a genius to guess the origin of the bloodthirsty monsters.
“I’m their best breeder and caretaker.” She fluffed her lacquered hair. “Get a shipment of eggs every month. Hatch ’em, feed ’em, breed ’em, and send ’em back plump and fat and ready to go.”
Ready to go?
Susan stooped and peered into a cage, presenting the back of her head as an easy target.
“What are they?” Even if she could subdue mother and son, she’d need more information to plan the next steps. Determine how to manage Lacey, whose role in all of this remained a mystery.
“Equal parts cockroach, rattlesnake, tick, and piranha. Custom-made agents of biological warfare tailored to withstand the harshest conditions. Survive a nuclear apocalypse or extinction-level natural disaster. The real deal.”
“The vampire blood makes them so hardy.” Eve’s heartbeat quickened. She had to keep the rag soaked with Jonnie’s blood out of this psychopath’s hands, because it was anyone’s guess how exposing the Pollyannas to his life force could impact him.
“Buncha geniuses at Scarab, lemme tell ya. They reuse, recycle, upcycle all their byproducts. Great company. Real great people.” Susan voice dropped to a hushed tone as she mused on the virtues of her employer.
Now. Eve whirled around, disarming the boy with a single confident tug. He yelped as she pulled his unwashed, wiggling body to hers and pressed the business end of the rifle into his chin. It gave her no pleasure to take a child hostage, but she needed Susan’s cooperation to fix this fiasco.
And beating the bitch unconscious would not help her gather intel.
Susan charged, then stopped. Her bony chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths, mirroring the rhythm of the slumbering abomination behind her.
“What is Scarab doing with dead people, cults, and demons? Vampires. The squirrel. Lacey. How does it all connect? Speak.”
“Don’t hurt my baby, my only living baby.” Susan doubled over, yowling hysterical wails.
Rustin sobbed infantile, womb-stabbing cries. The bitter stench of fear seeped from his dry skin. “I don’t wanna die, don’t wanna die.”
Shame saturated Eve all the way to her bones. She had to get this over with ASAP. “Talk, Susan, and, nothing bad happens. Tell me what I want to know, and I release Rustin.”
Lacey raged around Eve’s subconscious, screeching and pounding walls.
Well, you aren’t going to get whatever it is you want right now. Accept it.
The possession screamed, haggard tangle of hair flying every which way as she flailed her tantrum.
“Fine.” Susan gathered her bearings with a choppy, audible inhale. Her nostrils flared, the frown on her face a stoic portrait of acceptance. “Guess I’ll take it from the top.”
Fifteen
Jonnie didn’t break promises. That wasn’t the man he was, plain and simple. For now, the medical team had Cara stabilized and back to her normal, following the latest scare. He looked at the picture of her, smiling and awake, that Anya had sent him right after he’d left. They’d borrowed a bit more precious time.
He hopped over to PayPal, sent his sister another five-figure deposit, and closed his phone with a sigh. Hi bank account was running low, but in a few days a royalty check from the summer mini-tour would drop and build it back up.
Enough worrying about money. He returned his thoughts to Eve. Because one week was up and she hadn’t made contact. This was Eve, though, he thought as the Uber drove him from the airport to her funeral home. She was probably swept up in her work, her mission, and due for a reminder that she was cared for. Classic Eve.
The rangy driver grooved to the tune of Swedish orchestral heavy metal, leaving Jonnie plenty of quality time to sink into his thoughts.
Classic Eve. He smiled along with the intimacy, the familiarity such a moniker brought.
Beyond the hatchback’s windows, overcast skies painted the day in blah, muted tones. But Jonnie glowed with pleasant warmth. Classic Eve. Honor-bound, dignified and serious, loyal to a fault. He supposed it was the loyalty, most of all, that got to him. Jonnie drummed fingers on the door handle.
He knew the deep things about Eve, how she lived with integrity and focus, did right by those who expected it. He knew her mysteries, the barbed gift of her magic. She kept a bit of distance from others, was guarded, lived in a snail shell of self-protection. And who could blame her?
Still, did she order her life in a way that favored loneliness and solitude as the default setting? Starting with her career, did she arrange the pieces of her world, of her, in a manner intended to scare off those who dared get close, who sought to breach her tight inner circle?
Perhaps. But as thorny as she could be, as spiny and defensive, her inner beauty was too grand to stifle. But beyond the big stuff, Jonnie yearned to grasp the little bits of Eve. The trivia that’s as much a part of intimate knowledge of someone as their values and flaws. He longed to know her favorite things, her quirks and habits, her preferences and aversions.
He wanted all of Eve. He was greedy like that. There was the whole vampire issue to deal with, but he could cope. He could control his darker urges, of course he could.
The car pulled up to the curb, coming to idle underneath an awning supported by pillars. A classy, homey white building bragged a landscaped front yard and tasteful façade.
Miniature Halloween pumpkins, their cute faces drawn in black marker, peeked up from flower beds. No other decorations, certainly nothing ghoulish or skeleton-themed, adorned the place. Jonnie smiled. He imagined Halloween aesthetics could amount to a delicate subject for a funeral home to negotiate, and of course Eve navigated the maze with sensitivity and finesse.
Very much one of the Eve-details he craved, right there.
He scooped up the gift basket he’d bought for her, a collection of self-care items ranging from lotions and candles to wine and cheese and chocolate. A punch card for yoga classes and a gift certificate for a massage rounded out the presents.
Because if anyone needed a bit of pampering, it was Eve. Eve, living in service to others, could sta
nd to be a bit selfish for a change.
“You lose someone?” The driver raised his voice over deep, melodious male vocals and soaring stringed harmonies blending violin and electric guitar.
“No. I’ve just now found her.”
“Right on, man.” With a chortle, the scruffy chauffeur cranked his music.
Jonnie got out of the car, the basket of crinkly cellophane and artfully displayed personal products bulky in his arms, and went to the front door.
A man in a black suit stood vigil, facial features youthful though male pattern baldness crawled over his shiny head. Beside him on an easel rested a glossy poster of a pretty middle-aged woman, her name printed in cursive beneath her photo.
The guy smiled dryly at Jonnie. “Of course she can’t use any of that, but it’s the thought that counts I suppose. You one of the cousins?”
“Oh, no. I stopped by to see Eve. My apologies, I wasn’t aware services were going on at the moment.” Now he felt like an arse. In his excitement, he’d forgotten to check and see if a funeral was taking place.
The gatekeeper cocked his head, confusion bunching his face. “Who’s Eve?”
Vicarious offense made Jonnie draw back in surprise. His lips parted. The woman had put together an entire program for this lad’s dead relative, and he didn’t even know her name.
He no longer felt like the arse in this situation. “The director,” he said curtly.
“Oh, right, right.” The man shook his head. “Duh. The staff have this way of being invisible. Fading into the background. Come on in.” After issuing the invitation, he stepped aside.
Jonnie bit off a smartass remark. An ache pulsed beneath his ribs. Eve deserved to be acknowledged, cherished for the important work that she did. Not deemed invisible, a non-person who best step aside when others were finished using her labor.
“Yes, well, I thought she could use a bit of recognition.” He brushed past the man and walked into an open, airy room perfumed with floral aromas and decorated in classy hardwood accents and a dusky rose sofa, loveseat, and easy chair set.
Healthy plants and white wooden furniture imbued the space with the vibe of a grandmother’s house. People in black sat around on the couches and other seats, sniffling and playing with their phones as they awaited the event.
An ajar door leading to a smaller room offered a coy peek at an open oak casket. Three women hovered in front of it. One whimpered softly, struggling to read a note. The other two rubbed her arm and back in support.
Stirred in with a generic empathy for the bereaved strangers was a mild curiosity as to the origins of the myths that vampires slept in coffins. But now wasn’t the time to navel gaze or ponder folklore.
Jonnie swam through a growing crowd of attendees with the deft movements of a seasoned backstage shark, ignoring the smattering of oohs and ahs as people placed his identity.
A rhythm guitarist was blessed with a bit more anonymity than a solo star or singer, but it never took more than a short time in public before he started getting stares. No bother. On most occasions he was happy to mingle with fans, but not today.
Tucked in a nook near the exit was a door with a gold plaque in the middle. Jonnie sauntered over to it, read Eve’s name, and knocked.
She answered, looking sexy as hell in a tailored pinstripe skirt suit and black heels. She’d straightened her hair, and it hung glossy at her shoulders.
But the pleasing sight of her attractiveness was subsumed by worry the moment he looked into her eyes. Her gaze was numb. A blank hollowness blotted pain, betraying something terrible.
“What’s wrong, Eve? My God, what’s wrong?” He stepped forward, hitting an invisible wall as he moved to breach the doorway. Right, silly vampire rules.
The rueful ghost of a smile drifted across her lips, and in a wink dissipated into the ether. “Right. Come in.”
She stepped aside and beckoned warily, shutting the door and locking it. He walked into an organized, tastefully scented office.
An ancient fern in a woven basket hung from the ceiling, dripping ropy Medusa leaves halfway to the neutral-hued carpet. Poster prints of mindfulness-related sayings and modern art paintings decorated the walls.
He lowered to a plush loveseat bookended by two short tables displaying stacked pamphlets discussing grief. Jonnie held her hand, tugging until she sat beside him. “Talk to me. What’s wrong? How can I help?”
“I went over to Lacey’s old house yesterday.” She spoke like each word threatened to level a hex.
“And, Eve?” Jonnie urged in nurturing tones, offering comfort as best he could while beset by the foreshadow of grim revelation.
“This, uh. This was yesterday.”
Fuck. Was she in shock? She sounded like a trauma victim, deadening her emotions as a coping mechanism. He’d heard the distinct vocal inflection before, in the cadence of his sister’s speech when she spoke of her daughter.
Jonnie tore open the gift basket and freed a chocolate bar. Eve likely hadn’t eaten recently enough. People enduring acute emotional suffering rarely did. And if her nutrition faltered, her health could suffer.
“Here.” He opened the candy and held it out. He’d cook her a proper meal later, but for now she needed an immediate influx of calories and sugar.
As she accepted his offering and fidgeted with the paper, Eve’s eyes slid to the basket on the floor. “I’m sorry I spoiled your surprise with drama. I’m sorry I’m not a normal person.”
“Stop. You’re a beautiful person. What happened over there? Did someone hurt you?” Heat coursed through his veins. If someone did, they’d regret it.
“No. Not like that.” She bit of some chocolate, chewed, and swallowed. “Ugh. I needed this. You’re an angel. I was up all night, surprise surprise. But I found things.”
Eyes that knew too much, that knew atrocities, moved wearily to lock in with his.
Eating, she rose, still holding his hand as she led him to her tidy desk. Jonnie refused to allow their imbroglio to ruin the simple pleasure of touching her warm skin. They deserved every bit of happiness they could steal. He stroked the inside of her palm with a single, slow caress.
She replied to his gesture by petting his index knuckle with her thumb pad.
Jonnie shoplifted a smile, a stolen ration of happiness proffered in a time of famine.
She broke the clasp, circled to the front of her desk, and got down to business, pawing in a drawer.
A few framed pictures decorated the top of the polished wooden surface. Eve riding with a pack of cyclists, black hair a parachute opening behind her helmet. Her and Meg posing by the Mona Lisa. A close up of a beagle.
While Eve rummaged, Jonnie studied the photos. One held his attention over the rest, and he picked it up.
It featured four people. The first impression of it gave Jonnie pause, and his world shrank to awareness of the photo in all its minute detail. Everyone gathered on majestic stone steps. Behind them, a gold-domed building towered.
In the middle of the group stood an older, interracial couple. A bespectacled man leaning on a cane beamed, and a woman with a shock of red hair and a huge, colorful tattoo peeking out from beneath her tee shirt collar grinned. Beside who was likely her mother, Eve wore a sundress printed with roses. On the opposite flank, a young man in a cap and gown held a diploma and showed off a big smile full of perfect teeth.
Three of the people glowed.
A photogenic gestalt of perfection blessed the parental couple and the graduate. Mellow afternoon light blew a flattering kiss, highlighting laugh lines and joy and overall comfort in the skin. Blue morning glories climbed up a brick wall in the background, bringing out cobalt tones in the mum’s ink.
But Eve didn’t enjoy the same camera love. Though her mum hugged her, Eve’s posture gave off the effect of pulling back. She’d been adjusting her body when the lens clicked, a miniscule movement at the wrong moment that created an impression of off-ness. A shoulder hunched too high, an awkward
bend of the knee, a squint.
An odd, blotchy shadow struck one side of her beautiful face, eating her left eye in a macabre erasure of natural light.
As Jonnie stared at the picture, his heart grew larger, expanding in a swell of maudlin awareness. The body has a way of keeping the score, of registering epiphanies through sensations impossible to ignore. And his was doing exactly that in the moment.
Eve didn’t fit. She was the oddity, the abnormality, the rock in the shoe.
There was a second puzzle piece left over when the rest of the jigsaw came together in harmony.
The first hint of water trembled in the corners of his eyes. They were two pieces, he and she, that never fit.
But she did fit. She fit with him, in their own bizarre puzzle. The two of them together sculpted a new whole out of broken, damaged, and cast off parts. A Frankenstein’s monster, sure, but one with a good soul.
A soft, affectionate laugh came from Eve. Soft and affectionate, but coming out corrupted with the tiniest clove of bitter astringent.
“You’re looking at my brother’s graduation from medical school. I love my family with all of my heart, but yeah. It was a weird day. My parents were overjoyed. I could tell they felt guilty, too, bad for me, and they kept trying to mask how giddy they were. And failing, because they’re the sort of wonderful people who can’t hide the truth of their happiness no matter how hard they try. My graduation from mortuary school was awkward at best. Vince’s, well, it was the moment they’d been waiting for since they decided to have kids.” A dry chuckle shot through with sadness pierced his skin and stabbed his heart.
Eve took a step closer, close enough for him to feel her body heat, smell her sweetness. “It was made official that day—they officially got one normal kid. Not just a normal kid, a great kid. One perfect kid on his way to becoming a hero, a gifted surgeon who saves lives. People have been comparing him to Obama since high school and…I’m happy for him, happy for Mama and Daddy, too. They really lucked out with my brother. He makes up for getting stuck with the freaky daughter who cuts up corpses and talks to ghosts. I was up late that night in the hotel, cause you know how I can never fucking sleep, and I heard them popping the champagne and crying tears of joy. I don’t blame them—”