Page 2 of To Save a Vampire
A gasp is torn from my lips at the sight of the burnt bird. Smoke trails up from its little body lying along the concrete wall. Forty-four glances back at the tiny dead animal, and his hand twitches like he’s fighting to move before slowly reaching out. Warm fingers skim ever so gently over the back of my hand. My breath falters from his feather light touch. His hand rests over mine, barely touching my skin. I can feel the weight of his watchful gaze on me, almost testing me to respond to his boldness.
The guard in the tower leisurely walks the long stairway to the ground. I notice, attached to his thick black belt, there are no weapons normally seen on officials in our camp. How much sedation are these pikes under to create that kind of safety for their staff?
The guard is chubby, a trait I’m unaccustomed to in our community since food is directly supplied and rationed to ensure we all have enough. He reaches his fat, little gloved hand down and grabs the bird, heaving in a breath when he stands, as if the tiny creature is weighing him down. He waddles to a dark corner of the room and tosses the little bird aside. The bird lands without a sound onto the pile of animal corpses.
The foul stench in the air is now apparent to me. The little mound of hawks, squirrels, and even a cat produces a stench that makes my stomach turn. I can only hope that pile isn’t the pike’s dinner.
The touch along my knuckles feels heavier now. Comfortable and casual.
Intimate but not.
His hand is still on mine. I pull it slowly away without looking at him. Perhaps I passed his little test.
My mother leans into me, her warm vanilla scent filling my lungs and calming me with the simple familiar smell. “I wish you would have worn a different shirt today,” she whispers, glancing at my neckline.
There goes the familiar comfort she brings.
Forty-four smiles into the distance, and I wonder if he heard her. I barely heard her. He looks back to me, and I think about what my mother said. I look around, and other pikes are discreetly studying me, probably because I’m on the wrong side of the safe little glass window, but I have yet to see Forty-four look at my neck or the pulsing vein there. In fact, all he has done is stare into my eyes. He hasn’t made me feel like he wants to violently rip the life from my throat.
Not yet anyway …
As he purposely scans the area, I can fully see the device in his neck. There’s no scar, but I can see the outline of the vocal restraint though.
My stomach twists as my mind wanders. He’s hurting. They all are. But the face they put on for the surrounding guards is a brave one.
Shaw steps closer. Obnoxiously closer. He stands between my mother and I and places a palm on my mother’s shoulder and then my own. My spine tenses. When I look up I can see Forty-four’s jaw tic as he removes his hands from the table and looks away from the doctor, choosing to stare blankly at the wall behind us.
“Char, I think this is enough for today. Forty-four doesn’t seem to be in the mood for communicating. We may have to dispose of this one after all.” I can hear the amusement in his repugnant voice. “Fallon, why don’t you wait for your mother inside? Charlotte, tomorrow afternoon we will have to make a final decision on case number forty-four. After all, we can’t keep all our darling little projects.”
Doctor Shaw steeples his boney fingers, his eyes shining as he appraises my mother from head to toe like she’s one of his many possessions within the compound.
One man shouldn’t make me so uncomfortable.
And yet, he exceedingly does.
My mother nods in agreement and stands slowly from the table to speak with Shaw just behind me. I’ve only been seated for a few minutes, and, surprisingly, I’m not ready to leave yet, especially after the doctor’s subtle threat.
Reluctant to end my meeting with the monster across from me, I linger just a little longer. I’m left to sit awkwardly with this pike who can’t speak.
It’s odd to be seated so close to them now when I’m used to seeing them from a distance, safely behind the lobby viewing window. At the thought of the window, I can’t help but remember how Forty-four reacted last week when Dr. Shaw showed his true disgusting colors that lie just under his meticulously suited surface.
Last week Shaw spoke softly in my mother’s ear near the viewing window within the lobby. He stood close, too close, too encompassing. Her head tilted slightly away from him, her shoulders bowed uncomfortably backward if only an inch. I shifted my weight closer to them, but not enough to draw any attention to myself.
It started so simple. With a smile, he touched her wrist and pressed nearer as he spoke low, a persistent hum of words. Closer he leaned until she attempted to push him gently away, but his tall thin stature didn’t budge. My mother was restraining herself, a source of assured confidence sheathed in a calm, sweet face because we both know our government would not relocate someone with such a poor background if anything were to happen at her job.
The ramifications of her past always linger just over our heads. Too many mistakes result in a less than sympathetic council in our community.
Shaw’s gruff tone grew a bit louder and more threatening. Echoing even. When my hurried strides finally brought me mere inches from them, one of the pike, number forty-four, slammed his fist against the double enforced glass. Directly in front of Shaw’s face.
The shaking window hummed through the lobby. The sound of cracking glass crunched under the fist of the pike. Lines within the window splintered out before our eyes.
Sedated. The word echoed around my mind. The reinforced glass cracked under the weight of sedated strength.
A twisting hairline crack in the thick glass was all that remained of the incident. I never asked my mother what the incident was really about. It’s an unspoken agreement I have with her; I don’t ask serious questions. Because deep down, I know it’s safer not knowing. I could easily guess, but as open as my mother and I are, there are things we don’t speak of: the creepy Mr. Shaw, why our government wastes her medical degree at the compound rather than the clinic down the street, my nearing unity date, my father …
The memory of Forty-four standing up for my mother warms me.
“Thank you.” My voice almost strains. The gratitude toward a lowly pike feels unnatural in my mouth. Everything about how we treat them feels unnatural really. His eyebrows lift high. A mixing look of surprise and confusion crosses his face. I suddenly wonder if he speaks English at all. “For the other day,” I add, nodding to my mother.
