Angeles Underground

by Michael Pierce

  “The Pissarro brothers; they’re the worst,” she said once we were coming back to life. “I’ve only seen them once but cleaned up after them many times. They give me gooseflesh, and I can’t even really get gooseflesh anymore.”

  “The nurse wasn’t so bad,” Mallory said. “She just had her snack and left—not that I want to imply I’m in any way getting used to this kind of treatment or enjoying it in any shape or form.”

  “There is a whole subculture of those who do,” Kelsey said as she began to change out my bedsheets.

  “We’re aware,” I said. “We’ve been to one of the vampire clubs.”

  “Fangloria?” She seemed rather surprised. “What’s it like?”

  “Honestly?” Mallory started. “Kinda like here, only with more willing participants. A lot of blood and boobs.”

  “And add butts to the mix,” I said.

  Kelsey burst out laughing, showing her age—just like a true teenager. “That’s probably where I’ll have to go once I’m released from here. Unless I become a doctor or nurse who gets complimentary visits, I don’t think I’d be able to afford what this place charges for outside guests.”

  “There’s always animal blood,” I said. “I know some vampires live on it.”

  “Have you ever tasted animal blood?” Kelsey asked.

  “I’m not a vampire, so no. That’s just gross.”

  “Exactly,” Kelsey countered. “It’s about that good for us too.”

  “Do you still eat regular food?” Mallory asked.

  “Yeah; my body still needs regular food to survive. The blood cravings are in the early stages and I think I’ll be consuming both for a couple of years. In that time, the food should steadily lose its taste and the nutrients become less effective until my body stops using them altogether and simply flushes them all out.”

  “What will you miss the most?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s so much… How do you pick just one food? I love breakfast, so maybe French toast. I love it with butter and syrup, sometimes with whipped cream and bananas. Cinnamon French toast with pecans.”

  “You’re making me so hungry,” I said. “And the food here isn’t exactly stellar.”

  “And I doubt we’ll be getting French toast,” Mallory added.

  “Sorry,” Kelsey said. “I guess you still have a while before breakfast.”

  Once Kelsey had finished cleaning our room, she led us to the showers again to clean up. My body had so many cuts and gashes from the Pissarro brothers that Kelsey had to practically paint me head to toe in her blood. But under the cool spray, all that blood was rinsed away, leaving me with the scars I’d been living with for years—along with the healing cut on my palm that I made sure Kelsey didn’t accidentally heal.

  According to Kelsey, it was around 2 p.m. when she left—back to just Mallory and me, locked in a room together, still trying to figure out how to deal with each other when one of us wasn’t in agonizing pain or despair. We quietly sat on our respective beds. I was about to lie down and try to get some more sleep when Mallory spoke up.

  “You can open the curtains if you want,” she said, producing a sad smile. “I miss the sun already. I miss the beach. I miss just being outside. And how long have we been here—a week or so?”

  “It is hard to keep track,” I said as I flung open the curtains, letting the day’s brightness seep into the room. Sunlight wouldn’t be streaming in through the window for another hour or so, but the daylight alone was enough to be comforting.

  “We’ve had several maids and chefs throughout the years. Even an au pair when I was little because my mother was always at the country club or a fundraiser or some charity function. She had a cause for every day of the week.” Mallory lay down but adjusted her pillow so she could still see me. “My father never seemed to take much interest in the help. He was always busy doing—well, we know now—Society duties and obligations. Then he had his businesses, like Hot Coffee, which he was growing and multiplying. I want to say he owns eight to ten companies now.

  “We had this one maid when I was in seventh grade who came in several times a week. Our previous one, Mrs. Ortiz, had to leave suddenly. I never knew why, but then again, never cared enough to really ask about it. The new maid was pretty and young and had great references. My mother had her reservations, but it wasn’t like we had never had attractive help before. My father told her she was being paranoid and not to worry.

  “She was always nice to Aaron and me. She even helped us with our schoolwork when no one else was available. She quickly became a staple in the household.” Mallory paused as she reminisced on her childhood, her expression suddenly turning dark. “My mother found them in bed together about a year after she was hired. My father claimed it was the first time and was simply a big mistake, but it eventually came out they’d been having a regular affair for six months or more. She wanted a divorce, but when their lawyers went head to head, it became apparent she wouldn’t get nearly as much money as she thought—as much as she thought she deserved. So, she stayed, and he tried to repent, but nothing seemed to work. She got lost in a myriad of prescription drugs until one day, I found her unconscious in the bathtub—pills all over the floor, a broken glass of red wine. She nearly drowned.”

  “Oh my God; that’s awful!” I cried.

  “Until very recently, that had been the worst day of my life,” Mallory continued. “I drained the water and tried to wake her up before calling 911. The worst part was, she knew I’d be coming home from school, and we had no staff scheduled for the afternoon; she knew I’d be the one to find her. It was punishment for being daddy’s girl—siding with him even after what he did. But I hadn’t really sided with him, just distanced myself from her once she started to self-destruct, after she reluctantly decided to stay.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “She went to a rehab facility for a while. When she got out, my father hit her with divorce papers. No one wanted to go with her, so she moved out of state to start over. I see her about once a year now. They’re not exactly pleasant trips.”

  “I’m sorry for all that happened.”

  “I know you have father issues, and I know I’ve given you crap about it. But as you can see, I have some pretty deep mother issues. And for years, I’ve blamed them on your mother, then taken it out on you.”

  At this point, it wasn’t a big revelation that my mother was the maid who allegedly broke up her family. I couldn’t imagine my mother doing such a thing, but didn’t believe Mallory was lying. There was obviously more to my mother than I knew, which seemed to be the big commonality between my parents.

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked. “I’m not going to justify and rationalize what my mother did. It’s messed up; I won’t deny that. But I swear to you, I had no idea. I’ve never even seen her bring a guy home. I didn’t know she had a dating life at all.”

  “The two of you do look a lot alike.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I said. “But it’s easy to tell us apart by the scars.”

  “Yeah… I haven’t been overly sensitive about that.” Mallory sighed. “I know you want to get out of here—we both do—and I’m really trying.”

  “It’s nice to actually talk—even though what we’re talking about sucks,” I said. “But it’s important.”

  Even though she didn’t officially apologize, I took the conversation as a win, a real step forward for us—and for hopefully getting released from this awful place.

  19

  Matthew

  It was always a gamble if Susan would be here or not, but it was finally time to face her and get some answers. Things were getting far too dangerous, especially not knowing what she was involved with. Now, with the Vampire Order in the mix, something had to be done—and fast.

  I wasn’t worried about hiding anymore and parked in the closest available spot. I walked straight up to Susan’s door and rang the doorbell. But no one answered.

  It
was twilight, the sun now well behind the buildings, so I glanced at the kitchen window for any signs of interior lights. From what I could tell, all the lights in the main living area were off.

  I rang the doorbell one more time for good measure and heard a dog yapping from the apartment upstairs, but no sound coming from Susan’s flat.

  Undeterred, I crept around the back and entered the apartment through the bathroom window like previous times. I surveyed all the rooms to make sure the apartment truly was empty, then see if she had left her laptop or anything of informational value, but the place was just as clean as the last time.

  While waiting for Susan to return, I ventured into Fiona’s room. “Rebecca, are you here?” I asked. It took a few seconds, but I received a response. “Hi, Matthew,” she said. “Is Fee coming home soon?”

  “I think she will be,” I said. “I can’t give you a specific date or anything yet, but I think she’ll be home real soon.”

  “Awesome! I get so sad when she’s away. I hate it when she and Mom go on summer vacations. It’s so lonely here. Last summer, they went on a cruise and were gone for like two whole weeks. They had a good time though.”

  “But you missed them and wished you could have gone too,” I said, empathizing with the dead girl. I remembered them going on that vacation—a week-long Caribbean cruise while spending another week in Florida. I had someone keep an eye on them in Florida, though I didn’t insist on someone joining them on the cruise.

  “Yeah,” she said, and I could hear the grief in her sweet voice.

  I paced the room, glancing around at all of Fiona’s personal items. The room smelled like her, so much so that I could close my eyes and imagine she was right here, close enough for me to wrap my arms around. Then I dropped onto the edge of the bed, frustrated I was seemingly reduced to waiting for everything. It was so hard when all I wanted to do was take action—do something. The waiting made me feel helpless and useless.

  “Do you miss Fee too?” Rebecca asked.

  “Is it that obvious?” I chuckled.

  “You seem sad.”

  “Yes; I miss your sister. You’re not the only one who wants her to come home.”

  “But I thought she was doing something with the group you’re both in, so why can’t you see her?”

  “She’s… umm… how do I put this? She’s going through some training I wasn’t invited to. So I’m waiting just like you are.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “What do you know about vampires?” I asked as images of Fiona in the vampire-run asylum invaded my thoughts.

  “Dunno,” she said innocently. “Aren’t they like bats or something?”

  “I take it Fiona or your mother don’t talk to you about them,” I said.

  “Not really.”

  “That’s okay…” I started to say, but then heard a creak from somewhere outside the bedroom. “Is someone here?” I whispered.

  “I can check,” she said.

  But I didn’t wait for Rebecca to report back. I sneaked out, peering around the unlit, dusky living room, then noticed a dark figure step out of the kitchen holding a large butcher’s knife.

  20

  Sean

  Fiona’s mother left the apartment about ten minutes after I did. She didn’t recognize my new car and unknowingly walked right by me, seeming in somewhat of a hurry. Her behavior when I’d brought up Matthew had been suspicious, making me now curious to find out where she was going. So, I decided to follow her.

  I pressed the push-start button to be ready for when she drove by, but the engine coughed and sputtered, lights flashed on and off, and a rhythmic clicking sounded in the background. I released my foot from the brake for a moment, then tried again, only to get the same result. The battery was dying and the car refusing to start.

  I’d only owned it for a few days and it was certified preowned. This was ridiculous! Sure, I had bought the extended warranty, so this would be covered—but that sure as hell didn’t help me now.

  In the rearview mirror, I saw Fiona’s mother’s car pass, heading out of the parking lot. I had no way of following her now, and beyond that, I was stuck here.

  I tried to start the car several more times before giving up and calling AAA, then prepared myself for the twenty to thirty-minute wait.

  I watched numerous people coming home from work and split my attention by scrolling through my Facebook feed. Then I received a call from the AAA driver, saying he’d be there in the next five minutes.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll just wait here.”

  When I turned my attention back outside, I noticed someone new walking along the sidewalk near Fiona’s apartment. Then I noticed he’d come from Fiona’s front door. Twilight and the shadows extending from the apartment buildings were already obscuring his features, but I’d seen enough blurry pictures of him now to realize who I was looking at.

  Matthew?

  He hadn’t left with Fiona after all; Fiona’s mother had been right about that. But I was convinced he still knew where she was.

  Matthew circled the building and disappeared around the back.

  I couldn’t believe how quickly my luck had changed. I’d wanted to follow Fiona’s mother, but spotting Matthew was a much better discovery. I didn’t worry about the fact the AAA truck was almost here; I got out of my car and rushed to follow Matthew around the rear of the building.

  A greenbelt stretched along the back of the property, a brick wall on the far side, with a main street beyond—the one where I’d gotten into the accident. Fiona’s apartment was three units down, and I got there just in time to see her bathroom window being pushed closed.

  If he hadn’t been a suspicious character before, now he was breaking into Fiona’s house? I thought about calling the police, but then decided I needed to face him on my own. He had answers and I was going to get them from him.

  I ran to Fiona’s back patio, hopping over the short wall, then attempted to lift the bathroom window. I couldn’t get it to budge; the bastard must have locked it.

  It was a setback, but only a small one. I raced around to the front door and found the fake rock hidden in the bushes, which luckily still contained a spare key to the apartment. Fiona had placed it there for me before we’d even started dating, and it was something I thought her mother still didn’t know about.

  I unlocked and opened the door as quietly as I could, then tiptoed inside. Matthew was in Fiona’s room, talking. As I listened, I heard another voice—a girl’s, but it wasn’t Fiona’s. As I closed the door, it creaked. The voices in the bedroom fell silent.

  I hurried away from the door, ducking into the kitchen. My heart was racing, and I was beginning to think this was a terrible plan. What was I getting myself into?

  On the counter before me sat a kitchen knife block. In a panic, I grabbed the handle of the butcher’s knife.

  The apartment was quiet now, not to mention eerily dark—with three people in here who didn’t belong. I crept to the edge of the kitchen and peered around the corner, only to find the shadowy figure of Matthew only a few feet away.

  21

  Matthew

  “Don’t move!” the boy yelled, his voice shaky. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

  It took me a moment to realize who I was looking at—Sean Porter—but what he was doing here in the dark was beyond me.

  “I’m not looking for a fight,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to ask you the same thing,” Sean said. “I know who you are. I know you’ve been following us.”

  “Whoa; back up. What are you talking about?”

  “Where’s Fiona!” he burst out, thrusting the knife ahead of himself.

  “Can you lower the knife?” I asked, putting my hands up in surrender. “I’m not a threat to you.”

  “Who were you talking to? Who else is here?” Sean took a step back but didn’t lower the knife.

  “Nobody else is here,” I said. “I was talking to a co
lleague on speakerphone. Can you please lower the knife?”

  “I know you know where Fiona is, so I suggest you do yourself a favor and tell me—now!” The shaking in his voice had reduced, but the knife was less steady.

  “What makes you so sure I know anything?” I asked. “I don’t even know you.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Sean argued, his left hand reaching toward the wall and flipping on the light switch. He had to squint as the dining room chandelier illuminated.

  The minor distraction was enough for me to lunge forward, grab his occupied hand, and twist the knife out of his grip.

  Now he was wide-eyed and backed up against the wall, shaking like a chihuahua.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, placing the knife on the table—though keeping it close to me to keep him from getting any more ideas. “Now you’re going to tell me why you’re here.”

  “I followed you in—or I was going to follow you in, but you locked the window.”

  I hadn’t realized he’d seen me and now was curious who else might have been watching. I’d scanned the area before going in.

  “Fiona gave you a key?” I asked.

  “She had an emergency one hidden outside and showed me a long time ago. I’d never actually used it before—never had to. How—how did you move so fast?”

  “I’m naturally quick,” I said with a shrug. “Though specialized combat training doesn’t hurt.” I noticed him eyeing the knife, so picked it up. When I started walking toward him, he began to hyperventilate, but I quickly turned into the kitchen and slid the knife back into the wooden block. “How do you know about me? Do you know my name?”

  “Matthew… umm… something. Fiona’s mother mentioned it, but—but I can’t remember,” Sean stuttered.

  “So, Susan does know about me…” I said, more to myself.

  When I looked back at Sean, he was staring at me inquisitively. “Of course, she knows about you. Aren’t you like her friend’s son?” He paused. “I knew it. I knew it was a line—that there was something else going on. I could see it on her face when I showed her the pictures.”