The
icy November rain pounded down outside the window as she sniffled
disconsolately on the couch. Just her luck to get sick a week before
Thanksgiving. The only high point in her otherwise miserable day was
that she didn't have to go to school. Of course, this brought with it
the horrid, fusty boredom of one who abhors daytime television and
can't do anything else, being too sick to be active and too hopped up
on decongestant to just
lay in bed.
Julie
couldn't even concentrate on the history of the Peloponnesian wars
that she had been given for her last birthday. It was a slogging read
at the best of times, and she hadn't the energy for it. So she stared
out the window seat of her turret bedroom and daydreamed. Not
particularly interesting daydreams, as would follow if she had been
reading one of her more interesting histories (not the textbooks, but
the histories written by scholars who expected their readers to be
interested and used more specific
vocabulary than 'a sort of giant
slingshot' for a treboujet), but daydreams of being swept off into
the sunset by a magical knight with the cure for colds.
She
rested her head against the cool glass and tucked the dusty blue lap
robe more tightly around her legs. It felt like her fever was coming
back. Julie indulged in a moment of self-pity. She was sick, and
getting sicker, it was raining, all her friends were in school, and
even her cat had forsaken her. An idea made it's sluggish way to the
forefront of her brain. Not all of them were in school. There was
always Randy, her older brother
Mark's best friend, going to
college in New York. He might be home and on the computer.
She
dragged herself from the window seat, leaving her book where she had
abandoned it, facedown on the cushion breaking the spine. The laptop
with the wireless connection that was her main channel to the outside
world gleamed silver from her antique oak desk. She plopped herself
in her comfortable office chair and flipped up the lid. Signing into
MSN Messenger took but seconds, and sure enough, Randy was on. He was
always there when
she needed him, which was why she loved him.
Living
it up in NYC wrote: Hey Julie. W new?
Jules wrote: Sick.
You?
Living it up in NYC wrote: That sucks. I'm good. Got class in
a couple
minutes.
Jules wrote: Stubble it. I was hoping you'd
be on for a while.
Living it up in NYC wrote: Sry. I'll email you
a story to read, though. Stop u dying of boredom.
Jules wrote:
Cool. Thnx.
Randy didn't type anything in response, and Julie sat back in her chair with her feet tucked up, satisfied. She had been about to ask for one of his stories to read anyway. One of Randy's stories was always interesting. He was an aspiring novelist, and majoring in English. He'd also read a lot of the same histories Julie had, so she understood the references. Julie was feeling almost perky when she finally got the pop-up saying she had one new message.
She pulled her hotmail up and signed out of Messenger. It wouldn't do to be interrupted. No one was on, anyway, as Randy had just signed off. The message from Randy read; "Random vampire story. Hope you feel better soon," and had the story attached as a Word document.
Keep her safe
Romeo
was a vampire, one of the creatures who roamed the night drinking
blood to survive. He didn't advertise it, not going in for the
traditional black cape with a high color or the new fad of wearing
too much black leather. He hunted, though. Every vampire had to, just
as every human had to eat and drink to live. The night of the new
moon, though, he was on a different sort of prowl. One he denied,
that made him wander restlessly through the streets before finding
himself, much to his surprise, standing
at the end of the street
he was debating whether or not to avoid.
A
moment passed as he struggled with himself. But vampires were never
known for their self-control, so it was only a moment. Romeo flitted
from shadow to shadow down to the driveway of the house that was the
root of his troubles. Another moment passed as he stared at the
somehow imposing front door. A light at the side caught his
attention. Juliet would be in the kitchen. It was the hub of the
home, and Romeo had sat in there talking to the family more times
than he could count in the last four years. Romeo always thought of
them as 'the family.' He hadn't much experience with other families,
or other humans, and so they figured prominently in his mind.
He
had known the family for four years, since he had saved the younger
child of the family from being mugged at dusk on the way home from a
friend's house. Sometimes he wished he hadn't, as the family haunted
him. Romeo didn't even really have an excuse to be there now, as the
youngest child, Tibalt, was at summer camp and the eldest son,
Mercutio, off in Miami with friends. Judging by the presence of only
one car in the driveway, even the parents were absent that
evening.
Romeo proceeded to the kitchen door, but paused again
before knocking. It was unlike him to be so hesitant, but he'd given
his word to the older brother to protect the only daughter of the
family, and wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his word, at least as it
pertained to himself. If he couldn't, Romeo would never be able to
forgive himself. Nor, come to think of it, would any of the family
ever forgive him. They knew what he was, and wouldn't approve in the
least, though most of his intentions were honorable. He knocked,
though, and Juliet quickly answered it. Her face broke out into a
smile at the sight of him. "Hey, Rom. Come in." She should
know better than to extend the invitation. He felt a disapproving
frown trying to make it's way onto his face and suppressed it. This
was, after all, what he wanted. Just to be able to see her, smell
her, be in her presence. That would be enough, he promised himself.
Just to sit in her family's bright kitchen and talk to her. That had
to be enough. Of course, in the end it wasn't, and he drank all her
blood. Then her parents came home to the scene. They knew what had
happened, even if the police didn't, and they knew there was only one
vampire who would have been invited into the house. Mercutio came
home the next day, and way devastated and furious, so he hunted Romeo
down and killed him.
The End.
Julie sat back in her chair with a discontented frown. The end was so flat, and final and unsatisfying. And Randy's horror stories were normally spine chilling to the often-bitter end. This was sentimental drivel compared to his norms, completely below him. Of course, she couldn't tell him that. It would hurt his feelings, and he had been trying to cheer her up.
He
was usually so good at that. Randy had been cheering he up since she
was a little kid, except for the times he decided she had cooties or
was too young and un-cool to hang out with him and Mark. He'd been
her hero since she was 18 months old and he moved in next door, the
dark-haired kid who played with her brother. When she'd hit puberty,
he'd been her first crush, despite being four years older than her,
and he was nice enough to pretend he didn't see the way she followed
him around with dewy eyes. Julie glanced
at the story. Of course,
Mark really would have hunted him down if he'd done anything else,
whether break her heart or return her feelings.
An older brother could be a nuisance, Julie decided as she grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. It might have been nice to see how Randy would have reacted if not for the influence of her brother. His reaction would most likely have been scorn, but Julie entertained herself for a few moments with daydreams of a storybook romance with the boy next door. She caught herself and laughed. It was Randy, for crying out loud. They'd been friends for ages, and there was nothing of that sort between them. Unless the story was some sort of confession.
That particular fancy lasted only until the fever went down.
Thanksgiving came, and Julie was recovering. Her mother still wouldn't let her anywhere near the kitchen, but she was deemed well enough to mingle. Her grandparents were there, and her mother's sister, as well as Randy and his parents. Mark was home from college for Thanksgiving as well, and had brought presents (coffee mugs made by an art student friend of his for their parents, a bright blue scarf by Mark's roommate, who knitted them compulsively while studying, for Julie).
Mark, Julie and Randy were contemplating sneaking away to the basement to play video games when Mark and Julie's mother announced that the turkey was cool enough to serve. A massive meat fork was produced, along with a carving knife, and Mark and Julie's father carved the turkey. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and yams were passed around the table, until diners were full and food decimated.
After helping to clear the table, the teenagers really did sneak away to the basement. None wished to stick around and help wash dishes or talk to relatives. Instead they watched Naruto on the Cartoon Network and chatted. Neither Julie nor Randy brought up the story. It couldn't have been a big deal, right? Randy wrote a lot of stories. Earlier that month he had sent her a horror story about a woman with obsessive-compulsive disorder who stole her neighbors' cats and turned them into ceramic cats she kept in cardboard boxes in her garage. She hadn't been able to sleep for worrying over her cat that night.
Mark eventually decided to risk being drafted for dish duty and ventured upstairs to get soda. A pause inevitably fell. "So, what did you think of the story I sent you?" Randy unerringly leapt onto the subject Julie most didn't want to discuss.
"Uh," Julie responded while her face froze into a deer-in-headlights pose. "It was okay. Not like your usual stuff." Their eyes met, and caught. His were dark, and intent, and she realized that he had meant what she had read into it. Her eyes widened, and then darkened. She'd had a crush on Randy for years, and if he felt the same way . . .
They were leaning in towards each other, unspeaking, caught in a magic moment of the first realization of mutual affection, reaching for a first, tentative kiss, when Julie sneezed violently.