Come Feed The Rain--Chapter One

Chapter One





Christmas Eve, 1999



Christmas had never been one of my favorite holidays. Whenever I saw the first snowfall of the year I didn’t see the beauty of it or the even the possibilities of ice-forts and epic snowball fights with friends down the street. Instead I could only envision the slush and ice I would have to walk through for the next three months and the bitter cold I would have to deal with every morning on my way to school.



Even when it came to the prospect of gifts all I could think about was how much everything would cost my parents, how they’d end up working later and later each day just to make enough money to pay the bills after everything was said and done. Mom called this a pessimistic trait, but I called it sensibility.



Even with my holiday woes I tried my best to keep them to myself for my mother’s sake. My mother Elena was a total Christmas fanatic—almost to the point of obsession. Each year she went completely overboard, spending more money than she could afford on gifts and food and always insisting on decorating our tiny Seattle apartment with more figurines of Santa and elves than most Catholic families had of Mary and Jesus. If she wasn’t holed up in her room for hours on end wrapping presents to near artistic perfection then she was down at some charity event or Christmas pageant volunteering all her time and money until she completely wore herself out. Most years Dad tried to rein her in but sometimes all he could do was shrug his shoulders and try to humor her. 



During each year I would sometime watch Mom, wondering why she went so crazy around Christmas. Looking back on it now as a grown adult I realize that it was because our world at the time was so screwed up that Christmas was the one month out of the year that Mom could forget—even ignore—the evils outside.



Because I was so young and naive at the time I never quite understood how dangerous my world really was. I didn’t question why there were guards stationed in front of all the city buildings each night or why army issued soldiers patrolled the darkened streets once the sun went down and our curfew set in. I never thought twice about why Dad always insisted on barricading the front door every night or why Mom had all the windows replaced with bricks and steel blinds in each new apartment we moved into. I never questioned or really gave any of it much thought because it had always been my life. 



That all started to change once I’d graduated from elementary school and went into junior high. The older kids around me had sisters and brothers who had lived through the bad years before my birth and were less protected by their parents from the truth. After I while I began to pick up on a few things by listening in on gossip and looking up what no one would tell me online.



As the story goes, it was just one short year before I was born that vampires had been found living among us. It had been by accident due to one poor vampire who had spent one too many hours out in the summer sun and had apparently spontaneously combusted right before a photographer’s camera. Pictures were taken before the body had been carted off to the nearest lab for analysis and within twenty four hours the entire world had either seen, heard, or were talking about the incriminating photos. 



Most people—scientists, parents, doctors—couldn’t believe that something as outlandish could actually be real but also couldn’t afford to deny the evidence for long. Not two weeks after the photos had been pushed out more vampires—this time an entire family of four—were discovered by neighbors and were brought before the public as real life evidence.



After that it was as if the world had stopped thinking. Friends turned on each other, human rights deteriorated, privacy was breached and countless innocents lost their lives in the frenzy of trying to distinguish allies from the enemy.



Knowing they would be hunted out of hiding sooner or later, the once secret vampire community of the world chose willingly to expose themselves in front of millions. Peace, they claimed, was all they wanted, all they had been trying to achieve for the past elven centuries.

Unfortunately by then hysteria had seized the world, and freedom and peace had become and unattainable dream.



Every vampire—man, woman or child—was brought into holding camps were they were swiftly and painfully executed. Some managed to escape, others even succeeded in fighting back. Many went willingly, sacrificing themselves in hopes that there death would stop a war between races from breaking out.



However their courage was in vain, for within four months of the vampires’ coming-out a declaration of war was put into public action. The entire world would fight, every corner of the globe ironically uniting for the first time in Earth’s history under the solitary goal of exterminating the entire vampire race.           



I was born into a world of fear, of death, and of confusion. History, science—even nature—was brought into question, everyone looking for answers as to how we could have allowed such evil monsters to live side by side with us for so long. How many unsolved murders were made by humans? How many missing people were really missing? How did this happen, and how could we stop it?



There were no answers, no coherent thoughts, no debates. Only survival.



By the time I was five the world had started to fall into a routine. Wake up, go to work, be home by sunset and try and live through the night. Vampires were at there strongest at night, crawling through the shadows of the streets to trap their prey, some ransacking homes and killing as many as ten or twenty families each night. Guards did their best to protect as many families as they could but sometimes a gun just wasn’t enough.



Up until my eleventh year I’d never been face to face with a vampire or had ever even seen a picture of what they might look like, how they differed from humans, if at all. I was curious but at the same time didn’t ask too many questions, opting instead to feign innocence like my mother. Still, I held a healthy fear of the night, and made it a point to personally lock all the doors and windows each night and to always make sure I had a knife tucked within reach under my bed.



I never would have though in a million years that I would ever actually have to use that knife. That all changed on Christmas Eve, 1999, the last Christmas I would ever share with my mother.



The night was bitterly cold, the snow falling harder and faster than it had all December. Dad bought extra space heaters and blankets to fight off the winter air the leaked into the apartment but it still wasn’t enough. Mom and I sat in her room wrapping last minute presents, the both of us covered in blankets, out feet wrapped in three layers of fuzzy socks as we made our way through the never ending pile of gifts. 



“And this one’s for your Grandma is Italy,” Elena said, pushing a glass figurine of St. Peter into my pile of un-wrapped gifts. Mom’s side of the family was heavily Catholic so anything religious was deemed a safe gift to give. “Make sure you put that one in a box by itself with bubble wrap or it’ll break on the plane ride there.”

         

        “Way to procrastinate, Mom,” I said, setting the gift aside as I continued working on large box for my aunt Rachelle on Moms’ side. “This is going to take weeks to get to Grammy.”

        “It’s more of a surprise this way,” she said shrugging. “And you’re wrapping that bow wrong.”

         

By now I’d learned not to argue with my Mom’s obsession with giftwrapping and simply handed the box over for her to finish. As she fixed my wrinkled bow I took the opportunity to watch her face, always comforted by my mother’s beauty. Mom was one of those women who could wake up perfect and go to bed perfect without a single drop of effort or artificial enhancers. With naturally honey-toned skin and short, curling dark brown hair she looked every bit like her Greek-Italian heritage proclaimed, even had a pair of deep amber eyes to finish her goddess look. She was graceful by default, always had a smile on her face and a kind word to say even when her days were less than giving. I know everyone said their mothers were the greatest in the world, but for me it was true. I lived with a selfless saint, a woman so dedicated to her child she made Mother Teresa look like a half-wit. Dad often said he’d fallen in love with Mom’s ability of unconditional love first, her soul and personality second. 

         

                  “What?” Mom asked, catching my stare.

                  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, smiling. “Where’s Dad?”

         “He’s just over at Mike’s downstairs, visiting. I’m hoping he’ll be awhile—I’ve got four presents for him under the bed that still needs to be wrapped. Do those for me, will you, honey? Three should be a bat, a new baseball glove, socks, and a silver watch in a small black box. Just keep the watch in the box and wrap it up as is.”

         Bending over the side of the bed, I fished out the bat that I’d picked out myself at Wal-Mart, the baseball glove, the socks, but no watch. “I don’t see a watch down here, Mom,” I said, straightening up.

         “Keep looking. I know it’s—oh, shit!” she cried, smacking her hand on her forehead as she muttered a string of oaths. “I forgot the damn watch! I was supposed to pick it up a whole two weeks ago!”

         “Well, too late now,” I said, turning the bat over in my hands as I tried to figure out how I was supposed to wrap it. “It’s already nine forty-five—way past curfew.”

         Mom bit her lip, thinking hard. “It is, but I know the pawn shop owner lives above the shop so I think he’d let me in.”

“Mom, I don’t think Dad’s going to care much if he has to wait one extra day to get a watch, no matter how nice it might be. Just wait till tomorrow.”

              “But tomorrow’s Christmas! The store will be closed!”

              “There’s always New Year’s,” I argued, fighting her. “Just let it go.”

                “I can’t. It’s not the same,” she said, shaking her head and standing up. “If I hurry I can make it; the owner won’t mind. God knows we’ve been loyal customers over the last few years.”

                I stopped wrapping. “Mom, you can’t be serious.”



She didn’t say anything; only walked out into the living room out of my view. Sure she was joking I went back to wrapping the bat, turning it this way and that in an attempt to try and make it look nice. After a few minutes of failed attempts I gave up and I leaned toward the doorway, looking for Elena.



“Mom I can’t get this; can you—” I stopped, dropping the bat onto the floor. From my place on the bed I could directly see into the living room where Mom sat on the couch pulling on snow boots and gloves, her winter coat already donned. A butcher knife rested on the coffee table by her purse. Standing up, she tucked the knife away in the side zipper, the handle sticking slightly out as she made her way to the front door.



She was serious.



“Mom, stop!” I shrieked, stumbling as I jumped off the bed to beat her to the door.

“Ivy, what in the world—” My outburst startled her long enough for me to get in front of her and block her only way out of the apartment.

“Mom, please don’t go out there.”

“Ivy—”

“Please!”



Elena stopped, her mouth agape. “Honey, what’s gotten into you? I’ll in and out—ten minutes tops! Now let me by.” When I didn’t budge her eyes narrowed, angry now. “Ivy, move this instant.”

“No!”

“Damn it, I’m the adult here, not you! I always go out—it’s perfectly safe.”

“You don’t know that! You’ve never once stepped foot outside of this apartment after curfew—not once! I’m not stupid, Mom, I know there are vampires out there! I know you like to pretend like they’re not real but they are! You can’t seriously just expect me to be calm and let you walk out of here when it’s pitch black dark out!”

Mom was quiet for a moment, stunned by my rant. Carefully as if I were a frightened kitten she took a slow step towards me, palms up as she reached out to touch my shoulder. “Ivy, listen to me—”

“Don’t!” I screamed, yanking away. “Don’t talk to me like a child and think that makes everything ok.”

“Ivy, calm down! There is nothing out there that’s going to hurt me and—”

“But—”

“Shush and listen! Sweetheart, I know you’re not a child anymore and I know you’re not ignorant to what’s going on out there, but neither am I. There are guards patrolling everywhere—almost to the point where there are too many. It’s perfectly safe, I promise you. Besides that, there are hardly any vampires left in the city; they’ve all escaped to the country and are living in the woods and rural areas. If I thought for a second it wasn’t safer to live in the city would we still be here?” I didn’t answer but she knew I knew the answer was no. “If you don’t believe me then ask Daddy when he comes back. Now please, honey, move aside. I’ll only be ten minutes.”

“Mom, no!” I screamed when she tried to brush me away. I grabbed onto the door handle, clinging to it for dear life. Elena grunted, growling my name as she tried to drag me away from the door by the arm. “No!” I screamed again, slapping her hands away. 

“Ivy—goddamn it!” she huffed, letting me go. We scowled at each other, mirrored eyes glowing with adrenalin. “Ivy,” she said below her breath, almost calm. “Move. Aside. Now.”

I shook my head.

“Ivy!”

“No!”

“Oh—that’s it!” she screamed. Grabbing one arm and one leg, she yanked me hard away from the door, sending me flying down onto the cold floor. I landed with a hard smack, my hand getting caught painfully under my weight. Mom hesitated at the now open door, obviously feeling bad for going so far. Muttering a small “I’m sorry” before stepping through, she only stopped when in a last desperate attempt to keep her inside I grabbed onto her leg like the sniveling toddler I was, my arms linking around each other in a tight vise.

“Mommy stop!” I pleaded for the last time, my voice cracking with emotion.

For a minute she looked as if she’d stay. Seeing the hurt in my eyes she stepped back into the room and leaned down, her thumb finding my tears. I watched her, my chest heaving, sobs wracking my body as I fought for air. I’d never been so upset, never been so petrified in my entire life. I knew, even thought I was so young, that two versions of my life hung in the balance: a life with my mother, and a life without. If she walked out that door I knew she wouldn’t come back.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” she said softly, her hand on the doorknob. “Try to calm down, okay? I don’t want your father upset, not of Christmas Eve. I love you, sweetheart.”

Those were the last words I would ever hear her say in that apartment. As the door shut behind her I fell to my side on the floor, my arms no longer able to hold me up as I curled into a tight ball. I’d heard stories from Dad about men and woman who wondered out at night and were killed in parks, streets, schools, even churches. I’d seen the pictures on T.V., heard the radio broadcast, even seen a dead body here and there when the ambulances weren’t quick enough. I wasn’t naïve. I knew what Mom was walking out into, understood the risk even if she didn’t. I knew, even as an eleven year old, that that night was going to be a defining moment of my life if I didn’t do something. 

Looking back now, I can’t believe my stupidity as I sat up, quickly pulled on my coat and boots and walked calmly into the kitchen for a knife, just like Mom had. I chose a steak knife; small but long and sharp enough to do damage. I put the knife in my coat pocket, took a last deep breath, and walked out the front door after my mother.



By now she would be on the street, at least a half block ahead of me. I walked down in a daze, oddly calm. As scared and as upset as I had been only five minutes ago, now I walked as if I were going to school in the early morning, walked with confidence and assurance that everything would be alright.



It must have been the child in me, the innocent part that still lingered and could make me believe that no matter what, everything would turn out the way I wanted, that walking out into the dark streets after my crazy mother was a natural and as safe as anything I would ever do. I let that part of me win, let it take over else I knew I wouldn’t be able protect her if anything went wrong.

         All I had to do was follow her, keep out of sight and make sure on the way back that I beat her to the apartment so she wouldn’t know I had followed. Easy as I thought of it in my head but hard when I realized I’d have to get past the front gate guard first. I knew the man personally, had walked past him every day for the last three years of my life as I came and went from school. There wasn’t any way he would let me past the front door let alone through the eight foot tall iron gate surrounding the apartment complex outside.

         Lucky for me I knew an alternative way out. In the basement there was a service door that lead out into the ally. It too was blocked off by another gate but this one was smaller, only five feet tall, easy for me to climb over quietly if I was careful.

         Once I was on the street, I made a mad dash for the ally that ran right along the street Mom would be walking. From there I could keep an eye on her, help her if she needed it, but could also stay out of sight. God only knew what she would do to me if she caught me sneaking after her life this, especially after what a scene I’d made.

         Keeping to the shadows, I ran through the ally, looking out for her in the openings. Snow still fell, the hard wind driving it sideways into my face. Within a minute I was covered and freezing, but I was able to make no sound thanks to the small paths that were protected from the snow, giving me somewhere to set my feet on solid ground.



It wasn’t until two and a half blocks of running that I finally caught up to her, thankfully perfectly safe. She hummed as she walked, her hands dug into her coat pocket, her head down to lessen the exposure of her face. I slowed my pace to match hers, especially careful of where I stepped. We walked quietly for another three blocks until we made it up to the pawnshop, her in front, me hidden in the back. I watched behind a large dumpster as she knocked on the door, making enough noise to call down the owner form his home upstairs.

Once she was in, I breathed a sigh of relief. Only five blocks back to go, and I would never have to do this again. I’d tell Dad about this, and he’d yell at Mom so bad that she’d never even think about pulling a crazy stunt like this ever again. If that made me a snitch then so be it. It was worth it to know that nothing like this would ever happen again.

It took fifteen whole minutes before she came back out, and by then I was half frozen to the ground, my teeth chattering slightly in a mixture of fear of cold. She thanked the store owner, promising she’d make this up to him, and made her slow walk back to our apartment.



Clenching my teeth against the wind, I stood up and continued my walk with her, only this time half paying attention. I felt stupid now, felt like a baby at the way I’d acted. Mom was just fine. She didn’t need anyone’s help, especially not mine. 

The snow was beginning to lighten, now falling softly, almost sweetly. I caught a snowflake in my hand, barely catching its design before it dissolved in my hand.



Just then something cold hit the back of my neck and it took everything I had not to cry out in surprise. Looking up, I could see some of the snow from the roof had fallen off, most of it now on my back.



I picked up the pace, knowing I’d have to be home before Mom or I’d get it. Then again, I could always claim I’d gone to look for Dad, saving me the hassle. I decided on that instead, somehow enjoying my little walk. I’d never been out at night before, and while I couldn’t say this had been a pleasurable experience it was still and new one and I marveled in it nevertheless.



Another drop of snow hit my neck, this time making my squeak out a cry. Through another opening of the ally I could see Mom stop at the sound, her body alert. I ducked by a nearby cardboard box, hoping she wouldn’t come to investigate. She didn’t, and thankfully kept walking.

It was on the ground that I heard the laugh. A small echo of a singsong voice floated through the ally, bouncing off the walls and hitting my ears. I stopped breathing, too terrified to stand. Looking back, I could see nothing. No one was following me, not even a rat.



Pushing myself up, I willed my legs to walk forward, only this time I cut out of the ally and onto the semi-safety street. Mom was a half a block ahead of me, her pace slow, easy, relaxed. She was humming again, a song she used to sing to me as a baby. Not wanting her to hear my feet crunch in the snow, I waited until she was a whole block and a half ahead before I started to follow.



It was on my third step that I hear the laugh again, only this time it was right behind me. 

Whirling around, I took out the knife from my back pocket, ready to stab whatever came at me. When nothing did I looked down, my breath catching as my eyes widened.



Three sets of footprints covered the sidewalk, each set in their own path. Mom’s, her tiny six-inch feet evident, my large nine-inch boots following next to her, and then another, this set without shoes. The feet were small, delicate, with small drops of blood folded in the prints.

Heart hammering, I took a step back, my eyes scanning over everything. Nothing on the street moved, no sound was heard except for the hard thumping of my heart. Everything, even the snow, seemed to pause, time standing still as terror overtook me.



With another step back I turned around, my pace quickening, breaking into a run. My feet smashed the snow underneath, the sound like a gunshot in the silent night. Behind me, another pair of feet matched my pace, made the same crunching sound as the snow beneath its feet was disturbed.



So terrified I was almost mute, I opened my mouth to scream but nothing more than a small squeak escaped my lips. Needing to make noise, to get Mom’s attention, I banged my hand against the shop windows that I passed by, making enough of a racket to reach her ears. Stopping and turning, Mom’s mouth dropped in shock as our eyes locked. Anger took over those golden globes only for a second before they switched from me to the thing running directly behind me.



Before I could reach her or cry out I felt a tiny hand grab my shoulder and rip me back, hurling me onto the ground. The knife flew out of my hand, landing a foot away in the snow beside me. Eyes glazing over in pain, I looked up, my heart about to break with terror as a red-eyed vampire looked down at me, her lips parted just enough so two sharp canines peaked out. 



It was a woman, probably one of the loveliest women I’d ever seen in my life. Platinum blond hair fell around her pale face in messy disarray, snow still clinging to its strands. Her eyes were a bright red with a crazed, wide-eyed stare, the look so intense and memorizing I couldn’t tear myself away. Her lips were devoid of all color, her cloths tattered and ripped to that of a homeless persons. I thought it only made her more beautiful, more tragic, like a fallen angle.



I laid in the snow for what seemed like forever, my eyes transfixed upon hers. She held no expression, only looked down at me with the blank stare of a cat. It was only when my mother threw herself into the woman, knocking her over, that the trance was finally broken.

“Ivy, run!” she screamed, pulling me up and flinging me into the street. The woman was up now, a small smile playing on her lips as if she were amused by my mother’s attempt at rescue. I stood there, rooted to the ground, not knowing whether to run and leave my mother or stay and help her fend off the monster. That was what I’d snuck out here to do anyway, wasn’t it? Feeling down my waist and into my pocket, I gasped, remembering I’d lost the knife.



“Ivy, I said ru—” Mom had barely gotten the words out before she was kicked to the ground, the woman’s hands around her neck, her nails digging in, breaking skin. On pure instinct I charged at her but wasn’t even able to make contact before she held one hand up, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and throwing me over her shoulder as if she were throwing a rag doll. I flew back at least seven feet, landing hard at a wrong angle on my leg. I clutched my calf, gritting my teeth from crying out as a searing pain shot up from my leg to my spine, and back down again. I’d broken bones before but it had never felt like this, had never reached such a high intensity.



The woman was still over my mother, still chocking her, only now with one hand over her mouth, muffling her screams. I tried to scramble to my feet but fell back down as my legs gave way under the pain. I pulled myself put enough to claw at the ground, moving my body up inch by inch toward Elena I couldn’t see her face from where I was but had a prime view her legs kicking and fighting, her arms wailing at the woman’s face, clawing at her skin.



I looked around for something to throw, something to jar the woman enough for Mom to break free, but couldn’t find anything but small pebbles. Pushing myself up another inch, my hand touched something hard, sharp. Brushing away the snow, I pulled the knife I’d lost out from its burial and tucked the blade in between my teeth as I agonizingly pulled myself up on my knees, my hands poised and ready to throw the knife just as the woman looked back, her eyes locking onto the blade. Smiling, she laughed, the first real expression I’d seen light up her face. 



“Are you going to stab me, kid?” she asked, barely able to get out the words from behind her chuckles. “You can’t kill me. Don’t you know that? I’m already dead.”



I threw the blade, aiming ride between her eyes. She swatted it away like a fly, practically doubling over as she laughed. Shaking her head, she turned back to my mother, an amused smile on her pale lips. “That’s quite a child you have there, Miss. Too bad I have to kill her. And you.”



With that she bent down, her mouth wide open, fangs bared as she sunk them into my mother’s neck.



I’d never heard someone scream so loud before in my life. Even when I would visit the hospital where Mom worked as a nurse and would see people being carted in with knifes stuck in their chests and bullet holes in their legs, none of their cried could at all compared to what broke from my mother’s mouth. The sound paralyzed me, made the pain in my leg seem almost pleasurable. Her legs kicked harder than ever before, her hands hitting anything, everything, but the woman didn’t budge, didn’t even flinch.



She growled a low, sadistic moan as she reached up, covering my mother’s mouth with one hand, almost trans-like in her movements.

I fell over, leaning against a nearby fire hydrant and covering my ears as I squeezed my eyes shut and I tried to block it all out, unable to stand the scene any longer as tears shot down my face. I choked on the need to breathe, my heart squeezing so tight my entire body seemed to lock up in pain.



Soon Mom’s screams died down. Soon they became nothing more than a few short mournful whines as her life slowly filtered out of her body.



The night became unbearably quiet. For the second time tonight the universe seemed to stand still. I felt like I was having an outer body experience, looking down at what had just happened as someone else.

I kept thinking this couldn’t be happing. These things only happened to other people, people you never met nor wanted to meet. It wasn’t real. It couldn't be.



Sucking in air as if she’d drank too much too fast, the woman sat up, rolling her shoulders and running her hands through her hair, almost as if in ecstasy. She looked back to me, blood running down her chin, her neck, staining her tattered clothes. She stretched toward me like a cat on her hands and knees, a new flush lighting her face, her eyes a darker, more intense red.



“Your next,” she purred, still crawling towards me. I watched her, mute. The prospect of pain, even death, meant nothing to me now. I looked away from her and up to the sky, watching the snow continue to fall down. The wind blew softly, sending the flurry of flakes into a dancing symposium of sparkling ice. I kept my eyes trained to the sky, not daring to look away, wanting this to be the last thing I saw before I died.



Her icy fingers brushed the loose hair away from my face, her metallic breath blowing against my cheek. “I can hear your heart beat,” she said, her voice sweet like a child’s. “I know you’re scared.”



Smiling when I said nothing, she and cocked her head to the side, looking me up and down as she traced the outline of my jaw and lips. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Maybe I should keep you, let you grow up a bit and change you instead of making you a snack. Your mother filled me up enough, and you barely have enough blood under that skin and bones for me to even get a kick. How would you like that, dear? Don’t you want to be like me? To live forever? Have whatever you want—no one to answer to? Wouldn’t you like that?”



Against my better judgment I turned my head, looking the woman straight in the eyes. Beyond the red hue in her eyes I could just make out a scrap of blue, a shred of her former humanity. I kept my eyes trained on that blue even as white hot tears started to prick my eyes.



“Just kill me,” I said, my voice strong and sure, not a tremor anywhere in its vicinity. “I want to be with mother. Just fucking kill me and get it over with.”

She almost looked shocked, almost looked sad.

Almost, but not quite.

“As you wish,” she said, and bit down hard on my neck.



I clenched my mouth shut, squeezing the fabric of my coat as I tried to hold the cry in. Pain like I’d never felt before burned in my neck, pressure accelerating to the point of combustion. No being able to hold it in, I screamed out, clawing at anything to hold onto as the pain rose higher and higher in intensity. I could literally feel my blood being drained, could feel my skin grow lax as the life was sucked from my body.



Letting my hands fall to the ground I willed my body to relax, to ignore the pain keep my eyes pointed straight up to whatever heaven awaited me. I flexed my finger, my toes, realizing this was the last few moments I would spend in my body. Closing my eyes, I prepared myself to die, trying to go as peacefully as I could.



“Get off of her!” I heard a gruff voice cry, a tight snarl following the command. Opening my eyes, I cried out in pain once again as the woman was ripped from my throat, her teeth breaking even more skin as she was hurled back away from my body. I doubled over in pain and surprise, cradling my neck against my frozen hands as my body shook my unbridled agony. A loud hiss slithered out behind me, a warning to whoever had interfered.



“She’s mine!” I heard the woman cry, her voice hoarse as if possessed. “Go find a guard—she’s half dead already.”

I turned my head as much as my broken neck would allow, my eyes growing wide at the scene before me.



A man, tall and broad shouldered, stood over me in a protective stance, his hands clenched, a low growl emanating from deep inside his chest. The woman was on the ground not six feet away, half raised on her haunches in caution. She lunged at the man, kicking up a spray of snow as her feet skidded across the cement. He dodged her, grabbing her by the wrists and slamming her hard against the nearby wall before flicking her back over his shoulder, sending her flying across the street and into the adjacent wall. Bricks crumbled, glass broke. She growled loudly, a sort of animalistic battle cry as she pulled herself out of the wreckage, charging at the man once again.



Shifting to stand closer to me, he braced himself as she tackled him to the ground, his large hands holding her at bay. They rolled around, each one trying to gain control over the other, each scratching, screaming, biting. The man grabbed her neck, pulling her down to the ground in one swift motion. Straddling her with both hands on her slender neck he brought her halfway up to a sitting position, his eyes looking directly into hers with an almost sad expression before twisting her head completely around, breaking the connection between her neck and spine, killing her instantly.



The fight was over. 



Breathing hard, the man stood up, flexing his hands at his sides. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes—a silvery grey—stared down at me with a vacant look, his mouth turned down in a frown with two sharp fangs just barely peeking out from behind his lips. When he began to walk towards me I scooted away, falling off the sidewalk and onto the street in my effort to get away. He stopped instantly, his hands raised in surrender above his heart as he gingerly knelled down to my level.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice soft, careful. “Are you alright?”



I didn’t answer but didn’t try to run either. Inching closer bit by bit, his hands still raised high, the man sat down next to me in the snow, his eyes running up and down my body in search of wounds. Noticing the odd angle my leg was in he leaned over to get a better look at it, clucking his tongue when he was finished.



“That’ll need a brace for five months at least. I had one when I was a kid. God, I hated that thing.” When I didn’t say anything he cleared his throat, seeming unsure of what to do or say. “Is that your mother over there?” he asked, gesturing to the body a few feet away.



I could only nod.

“What would you like me to do with her? Bring her home with you? Or leave her? It’s your choice, little girl.”

I looked over at her body, not wanting Dad to see her like this but not wanting to leave her out in the cold either. “Home,” I croaked out, my voice ragged, unfamiliar.



The man nodded and stood up, jogging over to where she lay. Carefully as if she were still alive he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her against his shoulder like a baby. Walking back to me he tugged me into a sitting position, leaning down at an awkward angle towards me as his free arm wrapped around my waist to pull me up. I didn’t fight him despite knowing he was, even wrapped my arms around his neck as he lifted me up from the ground. I winced as my head rolled back, upsetting the open lesions on my neck.



“Where do you live?” he asked me as he started to walk, careful where he stepped so as not to jostle me. Half ready to pass out, I pointed south and held up four fingers.



“Blocks,” I pushed out, wincing as my neck tightened against the effort. “Four.”



I felt him shake his head, his hair dusting me face. “You were attacked this close to home and no one came to help you? Doesn’t your home have a damn guard?”



I didn’t bother to try and answer. The man continued his walk as he cut into the ally, the one I’d running in just minutes ago. I closed my eyes, letting my head rest against his warm shoulder, feeling oddly at peace. Call it child’s intuition but I didn’t feel any animosity from him or any inkling of him wanting to hurt me. I couldn’t afford to be picky about my rescuers at this point, and settled in defeat as I let him walk me home. Nuzzled against his neck, I could smell something sweet, some sort of cologne on his scarf. I breathed it in, cataloguing it into memory.



He walked in silence with his eyes cast down to the ground, careful of where he stepped. Once we were halfway home I looked up as much as my neck would allow, just enough so I could get a good look at his face before we had to say goodbye. His hair fell down in a shaggy, disorganized mess, the ends curled slightly against his face. A week of not shaving left his face dark but accentuated his cheekbones, illuminating his eyes with a brighter shade of silver. His lips, though turned down, were flushed from fighting, half parted as he still fought to catch his breath. I tried to catch a glimpse of his fangs—somewhat fascinated by them now—but he had them safely tucked away behind his cheeks, probably so I wouldn’t get scared.



His cloths were ragged, though not as bad as the dead woman’s. He wore brown snow boots with black fur at the tops, a large black coat with a red V-neck sweater underneath and a green scarf to complete the look. Very Christmassy, I thought. Mom would be proud. I touched the ends of the scarf, recognizing it as cashmere.



Suddenly bending down, the man carefully placed Mom onto a dry part of the ground, his fingers closing her still open lids. Taking my head in his other hand, he pulled me away enough to look at me. We were close to the mouth of the ally, enough that I could even see the edge of the gate that surrounded the building. Even more surprising—almost appalling---I could see the guard standing, smoking, his hands shoved in his pocket against the cold, his gun at his feet.



“I can’t stay with you,” the man whispered, tugging his scarf off his shoulders and wrapping it gently around my neck with his free hand. “But I’m going to make enough noise that someone comes to find you, and I won’t leave until they do. The bite on your neck is bad but I know you’ll be ok. I’ve seen worse on people, and they all lived.” His eyes downcast, he glanced at my mother, shaking his head again. “I’m sorry for her, though, and you. I apologize for not being able to get to you before she…”



Reaching up, my mind and vision growing hazy, I touched his face, bringing it back up to look at me.

Thank you, I wanted to say, but couldn’t push it out. Thank you for saving my life and bringing me back home.



Smiling as if he knew what I was trying to say, the man carefully put me down on the ground, his hands warming my own. “You’re a brave little girl,” he said, brushing loose strands of hair away from my face. “Can’t you tell me your name before I go?”

Staring at him for a moment, I tried to get my name out, but couldn’t pull up the energy. Looking around, my eyes lightened, and I pointed at the ally wall. Dead Ivy clung to the bricks, its color withered, the leaves gone with nothing left but rotting vines. Looking back at me and then at the wall, confusion in his eyes, he asked, “Ivy? Is that your name?”



I only blinked, no longer able to even move my head in a curt nod. Understanding me, he nodded, and held my hand in a small shake. “Okay, Ivy. My name’s Ethan. I have to go now, but someday I’ll come back to check on you. You’re going to live through this, and you’ll be a better person for it. I’m sure you mom would have been proud at the way your handled yourself tonight.”



A squeaking gate made Ethan jump, moving his body away from me and more securely into the shadow. Looking up, I could see the guard stepping out from behind the gate, the gun now in his hand. “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice unsteady. Well, hell, I thought. A little too late now.

When I looked back Ethan was gone. A moment later what seemed to be a satellite dish fell from roof, landing in the middle of the street above me in a tangled mess of wires and metal. The guard shot off his gun—by accident or by choice I didn’t know—and shatter a window nearby. He screamed for help, shooting off his gun again and again, this time thankfully hitting nothing but the brick walls.



It was ten more minutes before guards finally found our bodies. Ambulances came, people crowded around their windows to see the bloody sight as I was lifted into the van and driven away to the hospital.



Mom’s body went in a different van, only hers went straight to the morgue.

I lived, but it took me five months of healing and three surgeries for me to be able to speak again. While my voice had returned practically to normal, a singing career was definitely out for me and my screams from then on forever sounded like pathetic little squeals.



We buried Mom a mahogany casket in early January, her favorite flowers surrounding her as friends and family said their goodbyes. Eventually I went on with my life, taking what I learned from that night and doing everything I could to grow up in a way that would make Mom proud. Dad on the other hand never let go, for a long time acting as though he had died and not Mom. If he hated vampires before he despised them now, even joined the army to help fight against them. No longer the father I knew and loved, we grew apart, each living our own lives.



For a long time afterwards I always insisted on keeping my bedroom window unlocked, sometimes wide open in the heat of summer, half expecting Ethan to appear in its frame in the dead of night. I knew this was stupid and dangerous but I couldn’t help it; I wanted him to know he was welcome in my life. As I got older I stopped leaving it open but never locked it in any of the apartments I moved in to, even if the neighborhoods were just a bit sketchy.



Sometimes when I was feeling especially melancholy I would take the scarf he game me out from under the secret of my bed, holding it to my face and taking a deep breath to try relax. It no longer held his smell but I clung to it anyway, wishing I could talk to him just once more, only this time as a grown adult and thank him for what he did for me in risk of his own life.

It would be twelve years before I would ever see Ethan again. As the years passed I lived my life as normally as I possibly could, slowly but surely finding my own way in society. His image never left my mind, and sometimes when I was lucky I would catch a glimpse of someone who resembled him on the street or in a store, and I would smile, content to pretend for just one moment that they could be him.