Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis: Genesis ❯ Chapter VI ( Chapter 6 )

A/N: Sorry the chapter turn-out is going so slow. Exams are coming soon, but over break I'll be able to write more fluently ^^;; Thank you for your patience.

Chapter VI

Lyrial held her wrist, rubbing her palm over the tender flesh. It had been a few weeks since her unruly houseguest had made a snack out of her, but occasionally, the graying scars would throb uncomfortably. Sano had tried to assure her that the bite mark was healing properly and that because of her mortal genetics it would take longer for the tenderness to vanish completely. Longer indeed, Lyrial thought dismally to herself as she rubbed her wrist again while waiting in line at the local grocery store. Classes had been all but impossible to focus in and the young woman was internally overjoyed that winter break was just around the corner.

“If I can just make it until Friday,” She told herself, moving forward in the queue, holding her plastic grocery basket at the crook of her elbow. “Then I have an entire month to sort all of this out.” Surly she could survive two more days. Now, Lyrial was not one for having a full blown conversation with herself in public. However, with recent events as they were, she deemed herself the only trustworthy one with whom she could converse. Alan was hard to talk to about Sano. Her roommate had dismissed the odd behavior, still under the impression that the foreign looking man was a nightshift at the hospital. Lyrial hadn't the heart to tell Alan that their houseguest was actually a supernatural being with a ravenous appetite for human blood. The brunette sighed and shook her head. She needed someone to talk to or she'd go absolutely mad—had she not all ready, that is.

The line crept forward again as each satisfied customer bagged their produce and headed out into the cold winter air en route to their homes. The sky was grey and white, promising snow later in the evening. Powerful gusts of December winds burst through the streets in increasing frequency and Lyrial shivered at the thought of walking home in that dismal weather. She pulled her coat tighter around her and pouted. The old woman in front of her placed a box of cereal, some apples, and a carton of eggs onto the conveyor belt and waited as Mr. McArthur slid each item over the scanner, each article beeping cheerfully as it was registered.

“Cold, isn't it?” Lyrial broke from her contemplative daze to look at the old woman. She was hunched over with a brown shall over her head and shoulders. Her face was small, tan, and highly wrinkled. Her nose was crooked and arched; her old eyes were baggy and unfocused. Trying to be polite, Lyrial nodded her head, shifting her hold on her basket, holding it by its handles.

“There's something about this winter,” the old woman continued. “Something dark about it,” she said and waved her finger warningly towards Lyrial. “Something evil.” The old woman rounded on the brunette as is possessed by some sudden and violent urge to attack her.

“They will come for you, girl! It is you that they are after!” She raged and Lyrial backed up, bumping into the people behind her. She dropped her basket of goods, the produce jumping from the plastic confines upon impact with the linoleum floor in the process.

“All right, that's enough,” Mr. McArthur said in a raised voice. It was authoritative and commanding; something very out of character for the sweet old grocer. “Take your things and go, Sofia.” The shawl wearing old woman stared with furious eyes at Lyrial, still brandishing a warning at her. From behind his register, Mr. McArthur's hand slipped out of sight and flicked a small white switch. Mere seconds later, two well-built young men came from seemingly nowhere and stood by Mr. McArthur. He waved his hand dismissively and the two men, dressed well in dark pants and overcoats began to forcibly escort the prophesying hag from the grocery. She had little time to clutch her purchased goods to her chest before turning one final time to Lyrial.

“Soon, girl, this will all change. Soon you will be lost to the light!” she crowed before the young men in overcoats took her out of the store and began to usher her down the street. Lyrial and the other customers of the grocery store gaped at the scene, the former placing her hand over her chest and feeling her racing heart. She shook her head and rubbed her face. Why did these things only happen to her? Why couldn't old Sofia have screamed at the single father in front of her? What was it about her that merited strange and horrifying experiences? It was all too much this time. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed in front of the empathetic strangers in the grocery store.

Mr. McArthur untied his apron and hurried around the check-counter.

“Barbara, take over,” He said and grabbed his walking stick. He came to Lyrial's side and put a comforting arm around her shoulder, guiding her from the eyes of the customers to the sliding glass door exit.

“There, there. Don't you pay any attention to that old woman. She's always sputtering off nonsense like that. I know, there, there. It's been a long, difficult month for you, Lyrial,” Mr. McArthur murmured as he walked the disturbed young woman down the street.

“My groceries…” She sobbed, looking over her shoulder towards the store. The white balding man shook his head.

“Never you mind about them, my dear. I'll have them brought to your apartment. Let's get you home,” He said firmly and kept the brisk walking pace. The wind whipped up and stung their cheeks and faces. Lyrial squinted her brown eyes shut against the frigid barrage, but Mr. McArthur bravely walked against the wind as if it were nothing. His cataract laden eyes seemed to pierce through the wind.

“Lyrial, I want you to forget what Sofia said today.” Their walking stopped. Lyrial's shock was beginning to die down as she realized that they were now back at the apartment building. “Forget it all,” Mr. McArthur urged and Lyrial rubbed her face with her hands more fervently than before.

“How can I?” she asked in a strained voice. “What did she mean? They'll come for you? It's you they're after?…What does that mean? Who are they? Mr. McArthur, I'm scared….” The words left the young woman's mouth in a tempest of syllabus and rushed sounds. They strung together and made her throat rasp from over exertion and the cold. Her breathing became as rushed as her attempted communication. Mr. McArthur placed a large calloused hands on her shoulder, urging her to calm down.

“Lyrial, listen to me,” He said and squeezed her shoulders. “I want you to go up to your apartment and forget about what happened in the store today. I'll have your groceries delivered here this evening. Go upstairs now. Do your schoolwork. Take a nap. Start dinner. Do something—anything—to forget what was said to you today.” His words disturbed Lyrial almost as much as old Sofia's mysterious foresight. Nevertheless, the girl nodded dumbly and reached into her purse for the keys. She entered the numerical code on the side of the building. The lock buzzed loudly and she hurried through the heavy iron door. As it closed behind her, she leaned against it and held the side of her face. She tried to slow down her breathing and focus her mind. It was whirl wind of thoughts and emotions.

Slowly she grasped the railing of the stairs and began her ascent. As she trudged up the concrete blocks, her mind began to replay the events in the grocery store over and over again. It began with Sofia rounding on her, wailing nonsense and striking fear into her heart. Then the athletic men in overcoats appeared and dragged the old woman away. Who were those men? They stood by Mr. McArthur and he seemed to command them with a wave of his hand. Lyrial couldn't recall having seen those men in the store before, or Mr. McArthur socializing with men of that kind. It was so bizarre and only fueled her confusion and the dizziness that came with it. She gripped the railing tightly, having to stop in her climb to catch her breath. She touched her forehead with one of her palms, trying to still the stirring in her brain. She felt she would tumble down the stairs if the dizziness didn't subside soon.

Lyrial felt her stomach clench and her esophagus ache. She covered her mouth with her hand and started running up the stairs. Her foot missed the full platform of one of the steps, and the bottom of her shoe slipped against the concrete. Her hands flew out to catch her fall as her knee scraped painfully against the edge of the stone step. The sudden jolt of impact was too much on her queasy organs and she turned her face towards the railing and retched. The girl groaned and curled up on the stairs. She turned her face upwards, gazing at the remains of her journey to her apartment. It seemed so far. The stair corridor was spinning. She closed her eyes and held her head.

“Please, stop! Please, just stop it!” She cried and curled up tighter but still she felt the room swirling at a maddening pace. Her stomach lurched again but she held back the bile. She had to make it to her apartment. If she could just get out of the stairwell then she'd be okay. The vertigo would disappear once she made it to the landing. Getting to the landing though seemed like a task of Herculaneum proportions. Lyrial gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her hands and knees. She cried out when her scraped and bleeding knee was pressed into the concrete, microscopic debris embedding itself into the open trenches of skin.

She stilled, moving off her knees and curling up on her side against the stairs. Her head throbbed in displeasure to the spinning room and Lyrial closed her eyes once more, trying to quell the ache. She lost track of how long she was like that, knotted up in a little ball of agony decorating the stairwell. She knew not the time; it felt both late and very early simultaneously. Hours, minutes, seconds…any unit combination would have been a sufficient guess as to how long it was before Lyrial felt a hand on her back, comforting, strong and familiar in an eerie way. With her eyes still tightly closed, Lyrial turned towards the touch, rolling into a set of arms that plucked her up from the stairs and cradled her. Shaky with relief, the young woman allowed herself to be lifted and carried up the remaining flight of stairs. Her eyes fluttered open blearily and for a fleeting second she thought she had caught a glimpse of silver…

 

Alan trudged up the stairs of the apartment complex, rubbing the snow out of his hair as he did. The storm was bad this evening; it had come out of nowhere. The sky had blustered for the past two days, threatening a blizzard but never delivering.

“Of course the night I get the late shift all hell breaks loose!” Alan scoffed shaking the collar of his coat quickly to loosen the stubborn flakes that still clung to his clothing despite his honorable attempts to dislodge them. He pushed open the landing door and entered the hall. Digging through his coat pocket for his key, Alan sighed heavily. The internship he had taken up to get extra cash for Lyrial and himself was really taking a toll on him. He would have a few classes in the morning, go home for lunch at the apartment, then change and pack up to work at Saint Jude's General Hospital until the resident doctors there decided he had been run ragged enough to be dismissed. Sometimes he wondered if the pay check at the end of the month was worth it.

Alan fished his key from his coat pocket and slipped it into the mouth of the lock. He turned the small metal key and pressed down on the handle; the door slid open and Alan collected his key.

“That's odd,” he said as he entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He pressed the button lock back into place and frowned. “Why was it unlocked?” He stood there for a moment in silence, depositing his key back into his coat pocket before pulling off the heavy garment and hanging it on the three little hooks by the front door in the small foyer. The apartment was quiet. It was late, midnight at least, so he didn't expect Lyrial to be up and about. However, it was too quiet in the apartment. The dishwasher wasn't running, neither was the dryer. The heater didn't even hum its usual announcement of functioning. It had been over a month since the break-in but at times like this, at night, alone in a silent apartment, Alan would become acutely uncomfortable.

He pulled off his scarf, hanging it over one of the hooks and pulled off his boots. He walked forward into the apartment. The lights were off. He groped at the wall for the switch, finding it after a moment. He flicked it up and an empty clicking sound echoed back at him but no light came on.

“It must be the storm,” he told himself, moving into the kitchen by memory and feeling at the drawers until he found the one he knew to hold a flashlight. He produced the device from the mouth of the drawer and pushed it on. The tiny bulb spluttered pathetically and Alan slapped the flashlight against the palm of his hand angrily.

“Don't you dare,” he warned and shook the flashlight. The weak ray of light stabilized and Alan laughed triumphantly. “That's what I thought,” he added and moved out of the kitchen to the living room. Nothing seemed to be out of place suspiciously and moved about the apartment. As he moved towards Lyrial's room, a lump grew in his throat. It was no secret that his delicate roommate was terrified of the dark; therefore, the two of them had purchased a nightlight disguised as an air freshener. That way, Lyrial would not have to be subjected to absolute darkness. Alan now noted that the nightlight's gentle glow could not be seen from underneath Lyrial's door.

A red flag went up in Alan's mind and as the braided young man grasped the handle to Lyrial's bedroom he wished he had perhaps grabbed a knife or something from the kitchen before wandering around in the dark, silent apartment. The nightlight was battery powered and therefore could still be alight without power in the apartment. His hand shook on the handle and he took in a deep breath, raising the flashlight above his head, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary. He opened the door faster than he had intended to, stumbling somewhat forward and losing any kind of surprise attack he would have been afforded. Alan quickly raised the flashlight, scanning the bedroom with the weak beam of light. Lyrial was asleep in her bed dressed snuggly in a flannel nightgown. Her pretty face frowned when the light shone on her eyelids and Alan averted the beam as to not rouse her.

A rustling sound caused Alan's heart to skip a beat. He shot the beam of light towards the noise and saw only that Lyrial's closet was open. A hanger swung lightly, the dress he had bought for her a month previous swayed with the motion. He stared at the moving fabric and the hand grasping the flashlight trembled, making the weak beam shake. The sound came again and Alan all but dropped the flashlight. He juggled the device in a panic before catching it just before it collided with the carpeted floor. He aimed its light towards the closet fearfully and slowly crept forward. He glanced over his shoulder back at Lyrial. The girl had not so much as stirred since he had come into the room. He waited a moment, the light still aimed at the closet accusingly, but his violet eyes rested on his roommate. For a second he likened her to a doll, beautiful and delicate, but unmoving. When it registered in his nervous mind that she was breathing evenly, a testament to her deep state of rest, Alan relaxed a fraction.

“What the hell is going on?” He whispered quietly, looking back at the dark opening of the closet. The hanger had stopped swinging and the dress had stilled. A scurrying sound came from across the room and caused the young man jump and followed the sound with his flashlight. He now faced the door which still hung open from his entrance. He was too old to believe in the boogeyman, or any other such nonsense about terrors of the dark. There were no monsters under the beds or hiding in the closets. There was no reason for a grown man like himself to be jumping at every little rustle or creek. There was probably a mouse, for goodness sakes, more terrified than he was, trying to find its way home. Alan began to laugh lightly at his own foolish reactions.

He shook his head and moved out of Lyrial's bedroom.

“Sleep well, angel cakes,” he said and closed the door with a quiet click. He laughed again and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Something amusing?” Alan gasped and dropped the flashlight. It clattered dumbly against the carpet and the weak bulb broke upon impact. Now consumed by the darkness of the nighttime apartment, Alan swallowed the awful lump in his throat. He peeked over his shoulder before spinning around suddenly, coming face to face with an imposing dark shape.

“S-Sano?” He asked uncertainly, holding his fists up, guarding his face from a possible blow. He had been sent to the clinic once for blunt force trauma and wasn't all too keen on having to repeat the experience. When there was no reply from the shape, Alan's brows furrowed.

“If that's you, Sano, say something, damn it!” This time Alan's words were met with a tenure of laughter.

“You know, Alan Maxwell,” the figure said and moved forward, close enough for the distinct features to come into focus, close enough to feel the breath of another fanning across his cheeks. “There was a time when your people feared the dark. When they feared those of us who prowled in the shadows and stalked your kind with an animal passion, craving what your warm living bodies possessed. That time, it seems, has shifted.” The satisfied sounding laughter came from the figure again though now Alan recognized the voice to be that of their elusive housemate, Sano.

“And I think it's high time you remembered what you knew to be true as a child.” Alan felt his heart begin to gallop as Sano spoke. He backed up, his heels bumping into the closed door of Lyrial's bedroom.

“W-What are you talking about? Stay away from me!” He warned and shoved the foreigner in the chest before running past him through the dark living room. Alan's violet eyes were poor with no lighting and he soon collided with the edge of the couch. He grunted and during his attempted recovery, his feet became entangled with each other and he was sent hurdling towards the carpeted floor. He threw his arms forward to catch his fall, his palms sliding unpleasantly against the coarse fabric of the floor. He felt a heat growing in his palms and he hurriedly crawled to his knees, attempting to get up and away from Sano. The man was insane! What was he talking about? What did he mean by all that nonsense? He spoke as if they were a different species!

“I want you out of this apartment!” Alan said, getting up to his feet and making a blind sprint in the direction which he knew to harbor his room. Once inside he would be safe from this resident lunatic. He would lock the door and wait until morning. For some reason, the idea of sunrise seemed to possess an amount of safety to Alan. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why this was—he was a grown man and not afraid of the dark. He was well-built and therefore feared few of his peers. But for some reason Sano terrified Alan. Maybe it was the mysterious foreign accent or the distinct silver color of his hair and eyes; perhaps it was the fact that his canine teeth seemed unnaturally sharp…though now Alan was assured that it was Sano's apparent insanity that gave rise to his fears.

“What a coincidence,” Sano replied, moving through the dark with prowess, intercepting Alan's escape. The braided young man rammed into Sano's solid form, mistaken him for the open door of his room which lay just beyond those broad shoulders and thick leather overcoat. Alan took in a sharp pull of breath—colliding with Sano had knocked the wind out of his lungs. It had been like running full force into a brick wall. The silver haired young man's eyes fell upon his fleeing flatmate with mirth. He moved with the quickness of a striking cobra, moving his hand over Alan's mouth and pushing him until his rear hit the back of the couch. Violet eyes widened in panic as Sano pressed himself against Alan, leaning uncomfortably close.

“It's all a dream, Alan. Tomorrow this will all have been nothing but a nightmare.” The captive brunette struggled against the formidable opponent before he felt Sano's other hand around his throat. He called for help, the words muffled severely by his captor's hand. Sano squeezed tighter, watching the color in Alan's cheeks intensify as the oxygen supply was slowly decreased. The med student clawed at Sano's hand, desperately trying to free himself and allow air to flow back into his deprived lungs. The feeble attempt, however, was initiated too late it seemed. Alan felt his senses begin to dull and his vision, all ready limited by the darkness of the room, begin to deplete even more. Finally his world fell completely black and his struggles died away until he was nothing more than a rag doll pinned between the back of the couch and Sano.

The Vampire began to chuckle as he recoiled his hands, allowing Alan to slump to the floor, his chin resting against his chest.

“They're so fragile,” he noted before picking up the other young man. He slung over his right shoulder and turned to Alan's room. He opened the door calmly and moved inside, closing the door behind him.

 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Lyrial groaned and rubbed her face, sitting up. She had a massive headache and couldn't recall reason for it. Upon opening her eyes, she found herself at the kitchen table wearing the dress that Alan had bought for her about a month ago. Her bare shoulders were covered in a light blue sweater with quarter length sleeves. She frowned and rubbed her face again. She was fully clothed and groomed but didn't remember getting in such a state nor being in the kitchen. Lyrial looked around and saw a kettle on the stove, eagerly boiling water for tea. The brunette stood up and scratched the back of her head before it registered in her confused brain that someone was still ringing the doorbell.

“Oh! Coming!” She called and hurried to the intercom that by the door of her apartment. “Yes? Who is it?” She asked while pressing the receiving button. There was a pause in the obnoxious buzzing that alluded to a visitor wanting access and a static ridden voice came through the speaker.

“It's me,” a female voice said and Lyrial frowned and giggled a bit.

“Yeah, me who?” She asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice. She was still quite confused as to why she couldn't remember anything from the night before. Vaguely she recalled being in the grocery store and walking home with Mr. McArthur, as well as brief flashes from her harrowing experience with old Sofia, but other than that there was nothing. Her mind was blank and hazy like the hours past had been nothing more than a bizarre dream. The clock by the intercom system said it was now eleven in the morning on Thursday. There were nearly twenty hours unaccounted for from her most recent memory and the present. This huge gap in time made Lyrial very uncomfortable but she was determined to turn it around. The month had been disastrous on many levels and the young woman attempted to find even the tiniest modicums of positivity.

“Kaya,” the static voice replied from the intercom, interrupting Lyrial's self-prep analysis. Twenty hours, she reasoned as she pressed the entrance buzzer to allow the unseen Kaya entrance into the apartment building, wasn't all that bad. It wasn't even a full day unaccounted for and yet none of this was making Lyrial feel any keener on waking up with no recollection of prior events. She stepped away from the intercom system and ambled aimlessly about the living room of the apartment for a few moments, trying desperately to remember anything short of being in the grocery store.

Lyrial, I want you to forget what Sofia said today. That was Mr. McArthur's voice! Lyrial stopped abruptly, her brows furrowing. I want you to go up to your apartment and forget about what happened in the store today. The young woman closed her eyes tightly and held her head, the dull throbbing migraine resurfacing as her diluted mind attempted to revive the hazy thought. I want you to forget….to forget…Forget, Lyrial….Forget what happened today…Forget….Forget… The room was spinning again. The brunette tried to reason with her own thoughts. It was as if someone was inside her mind commanding her rather than persuading.

Forget, Lyrial….Forget everything that happened….Forget….The floor felt as if it would drop out from beneath her feet at any moment. She felt queasy all over again and she wobbled, bumping into the small end table that held a varied collection of newspaper articles and the telephone. The latter jostled in its plastic cradle but managed to somehow stay balanced atop the tedious stack of media. Lyrial groaned when her headache persisted with the roulette room. She grasped the edges of the little end table. Her dizzy eyes opened and fell upon the newspaper articles. There was something about a killing a few streets over in the rougher side of town. Another article described how a young girl went missing this week and was found a day or two ago in Zoilia Park. In fact, Lyrial noticed as she started to recover from her sudden attack of agony, that most of the articles containing violent attacks or kidnappings had some connection to Zoilia Park.

A knock came from the front door and Lyrial jumped. She pressed a palm to her hurriedly beating heart and shook her head. It was silly of her to be startled so easily when she knew Kaya was on her way upstairs. She had only unlocked the door moments ago, or at least, she thought it was moments ago. When Lyrial moved to the door she glanced at the intercom system. The small digital clock in its interface now read eleven thirty. Her fine brows furrowed uncertainly as she grasped the handle of the front door, unlocking it with her other hand, before pulling it open.

“Half an hour…?” She whispered uncertainly to herself before turning her eyes from the deceitful little clock to her door guest. “Kaya! I'm so sorry. Were you waiting long? I…guess I didn't hear the door,” Lyrial lied and moved to the side so that the older girl could enter the flat. Kaya was a tall woman, nearly six feet if Lyrial had to guess. Although she was older by a few years, her body didn't seem as developed in the womanly ways as Lyrial's was. Kaya was nearly flat-chested, only small budding mounds hid under her clothing. Her facial features were soft though, round and sloping unlike her azure eyes that were sharp and unrelenting like a fierce winter storm; they had a dictatorial quality about them, Lyrial thought, eyes like that were meant to be obeyed.

Her clothes had changed in the months since they had last encountered one another. Kaya seemed to have assimilated more of the regional qualities rather than parading about in the foreign garb of whatever nation she had previously called home. The shoes on her feet were well-used sneakers. Kaya traveled frequently, changing addresses and numbers more often than Lyrial thought to be normal, and her footwear were a testament to her constantly nomadic lifestyle. Her jeans were stonewashed and appeared used as well—they were a size or two too large and gave Kaya a boxier contour than Lyrial remembered her having. The ill chosen brown sweater didn't help much either.

“You look good,” Lyrial said, trying to be polite. Kaya's pallid blonde hair was pulled back into a small pert pony tail that brushed the neckline of her sweater. “Are you hungry?” She asked and Kaya looked over her shoulder, shaking her head lightly.

“No…No, thank you,” She said carefully, as if gauging to decipher some cryptic meaning behind Lyrial's question. She offered to take Kaya's bag from her, only to have the offer refused quite profusely. Out of habit, she started to lead Kaya to the guest bedroom only to stop suddenly, flinging her arms out as if she were halting traffic on either side of her.

“Wait….um, actually, this room is being used,” Lyrial admitted and Kaya stopped, setting her bag down. The single raised brow requested further explanation. The blonde was used to toughing it out in hostels or the worse during her unique travels across the globe but it was very unusual for Lyrial not to have a bed for her at all.

“You see, we got a new roommate—resident, y'know?” She said and turned around to face her unaccommodated houseguest, rubbing the back of her neck apologetically. “Would you mind too terribly much if we shared a room?” Kaya smiled in a way that made Lyrial question its genuine nature.

“I don't mind,” the blonde replied and the smile seemed to blossom more into a legitimate gestured. It seemed difficult for Kaya to display any such sign of affection or friendliness. Maybe where she came from, Lyrial thought, smiling and hugging were reserved strictly for family members, or maybe not even used at all. The world was so big, she concluded, that a culture where affection was frowned upon or deemed impolite was possible to exist and it was just as possible that Kaya, with her bizarre accent, way of dress, and demeanor, was from such a nation.

“You changed the curtains.” Lyrial looked up, breaking her train of thought to see Kaya standing in front of the window in the living room. The brunette felt as if a cold shot of water had been dropped into her stomach. She had avoided that window ever since Christian had been pushed to his death from it. Kaya was up against the sill, admiring the dainty little blue curtains, a lively upgrade from the dank gray that came with the apartment originally.

“Y-Yes, yes we did,” Lyrial said with little conviction. She wanted Kaya away from the window. She felt as if the older girl was reading the crime that was committed through the glass and fabric of the bright blue curtains. “Let's put your bag in my room, kyu?” She insisted and reached for Kaya. When her hand grasped the other girl's wrist gently, she felt the muscles in Kaya's arm contract and her body stiffened. Apparently, being touched was one of those taboos in the blonde's home nation as well. As soon as this instinctual reaction had set into place, it vanished without a trace. Kaya relaxed, turning around to follow Lyrial with her bag, apologizing.

“Sorry, it's been a long day. I…had a run-in an old acquaintance just before getting here,” Kaya said, oddly emphasizing the word acquaintance. It made it seem as if the person, whoever it had been, that she had encountered was anything but friendly.

“You should be careful walking alone around here, Kaya. I know it's the day time but there have been a lot of crimes here recently,” Lyrial said, opening the door to her room and flicking on the switch. She was worried for the other girl. She had only seen Kaya travel alone and with the deliberate march of a tourist lost and unwilling to render themselves a map or guide. That kind of boldness could only be rewarded by something dreadful, Lyrial thought. The violent crimes near Zoilia Park which lay not far from the apartment complex was on the rise and if Kaya were to continue her way Lyrial feared the worst for her eclectic new friend.

“I appreciate your concern, Lyrial, but I'm okay. I may be new to this area, but I've read the papers. I try to stay far from places like Zoi….Zoy…? Zoh?...That park,” Kaya said, struggling to remember the name.

“Zoilia,” Lyrial interjected, setting Kaya's bag on her dresser. “Did you pack your life in here? This bag is really heavy,” She commented but smiled. The other girl laughed wryly and shrugged her shoulders.

“Kind of, yeah,” She replied and a bout of laughter came from both the girls. “By the way, Lyrial, your dress is really cute. Where did you get it?”

“I didn't,” The brunette replied, moving back into the living room of the apartment before turning left into the kitchen where the kettle had begun to whistle. She moved it off the burner and found two mugs. She set in the tea bags then poured in the boiling water. “Alan bought it for me when he went into Juniper—Alan!” She said suddenly, setting the kettle back onto the unlit burner before hurrying back into the living room. Until that moment it hadn't occurred to Lyrial to check on Alan. With twenty hours of her memory missing from the night before, she didn't know for certain if Alan ever came home from his shift at the clinic.

Kaya watched Lyrial as she flitted from the kitchen like a skittish bird, racing to the other side of the apartment to where she knew Alan's room was. A thoughtful look crossed the older girl's face as she crossed her arms over her chest and watched in silence. Lyrial was a lot more timid than she remembered; she knew of the break-in that had happened in the apartment yet she witnessed no sign of a forced entry or struggle. The encounter took place a month ago but Kaya knew of Alan and Lyrial's tight budget; a broken lock, cracked glass, or any kind of capital damage wouldn't have been fixed so quickly. Why then did she find it eerily perfect in the apartment? Not a pillow out of place. Also…as Kaya looked to the guestroom that she usually occupied on her sparse visits with Lyrial she got a chilling feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. The sickening cold wound up her spine and into her heart. There was something wrong with that room.

“He's not here,” Lyrial finally announced after having checked all the rooms in the apartment save the guestroom which Kaya frowned at intently. “I hope he's all right,” she added and Kaya turned to look at the other girl.

“You haven't checked this room,” she said and Lyrial hugged herself, a tell-tale sign of her acute discomfort. Her hesitation caused Kaya concern and she moved forward to grip the knob of the door.

“Don't!” Lyrial blurted out before moving quickly to stand between the door and Kaya. “M-My roommate might be sleeping. He….He works late nights at the hospital! I-I'll just peek in quietly to see if Alan's in there. But I don't think he is, I mean, he has no business being in our roommate's bedroom…so if you'd like to just go into the kitchen and get the tea I set out, that'd be great,” Lyrial rambled on for a moment before cracking the bedroom door open and slipping inside. She sighed heavily and shook her head. Brilliant, she thought, absolutely brilliant. If Kaya wasn't completely suspicious to begin with she was after the exceptional display of discreteness and finesse.

Outside the door, Kaya stood for a moment, stunned. Her azure eyes narrowed a bit at the concealing wooden panel and her face set into a deep frown; it was a look she had not showed to Lyrial before—disappointed and distrustful. What was so important behind the door that her usually open hostess would insist that she not enter? Kaya's arms crossed over her chest and she continued to frown. Tea. All right. If Lyrial wanted it that way, then that is what Kaya would do…for now, anyway. The blonde moved away from the door slowly, watching it as if it would come alive and attack her at any moment. She was weary of the secrets it withheld from her and how it caused her hospitable friend to panic and jitter about in the most unusual way. That door stood between Kaya and the knowledge of something hidden; that door would be dealt with in due time.

Once in the kitchen, Kaya pulled the tea bags out of the mugs and threw them away. She carried the two mugs to the kitchen table and set them down. She didn't sit at once. She peered out of the kitchen, across the living room, to the door in which Lyrial had vanished. Still no sound—no movement. Kaya sighed and sat down, swirling the amber contents of her mug before taking a sip of the soothing brew.

“New roommate?” She asked herself quietly, as if just recalling the detail. The woman began to wonder about the identity of this new person. Was it a man or a woman? Where they safe for Lyrial to be around with? Kaya rubbed her chin in thought. She was still new to the other girl's life but felt inclined to worry over and protect her. It was a strange notion, she reasoned, caring so much for someone you knew for so short a time. Nevertheless, there was something about the timid brunette that Kaya felt drawn to and knew she had to safeguard. She waited patiently, taking another swig from her tea, eyes never leaving the closed door.

“Alan? Are you in here?” Lyrial whispered, groping her way through the dark room. She felt the edge of the bed and squinted her eyes, trying to make out the figure sleeping under the covers. It was afternoon. Sano should be the one in the bed, fast asleep through the daylight hours, baring more resemblance to the dead in his state of rest than he did ever awake. Lyrial could make out the general shape of a body resting soundly in the bed. Assessing that figure in bed was not breathing, she crept forward.

“Sano?” She whispered, wondering if the elusive Vampire could hear while he slept. She leaned over the bed to look into his face; it was relaxed in the throes of oblivion and he seemed very young. It was then that Lyrial realized she didn't know how old Sano was, not really. He was a Vampire and all the silly horror movies and torrid romance novels dictated that all Vampires were ancient creatures, hundreds upon hundreds of years old, sporting the façade of a teenager. Sano, however, didn't appear to be a teenager. He looked to be in his mid-twenties with distinguished features. His lip was usually stern and his jaw tight as if trying to contain some greater rage within him. But now, as he rested so peacefully, not a single tendon was tense. Somehow the tranquil appearance unnerved Lyrial and reminded her too much of death; Sano was too still, too at ease.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lyrial all but leapt from Sano's bedside clutching her throat. She felt as if her heart was about to escape through the opening; it pounded loudly in her ears and made her shake.

“Lyrial, are you all right?” Kaya's muffled voice came through the thick cedar door. The brunette sputtered and stammered a moment before collecting herself enough to squeak out a reply.

“Y-Yeah, I'll be right out.” She moved away from the bed, not daring to look back at the cold body of the Vampire which lay resting there. Quickly she slipped out of the room, being careful not to allow any of the afternoon sunshine in her wake. The penetrating rays would surly rouse Sano in an awful way and then she would have some serious explaining to do. Lyrial came face to face with Kaya, the latter with her hands on hips in a disapproving way.

“Lyrial, what's going on?” She asked but regretted the accusing tone that riddled her words as they made the younger girl wince and lean her back against the closed bedroom door.

“It's…complicated…” Lyrial managed weakly and turned her face up towards Kaya. She bit her bottom lip softly and struggled against the familiar sting of welling tears. A little choke and sniffle later, the tears overflow the gentle reservoirs and cascade down her cheeks in two pitiful streams. Kaya's stern face softened at the display of defeat and she reached out to embrace the other girl. She hugged Lyrial tight and rested her chin atop chestnut curls.

“It'll be okay. I promise. Whatever is going on, it'll be okay,” She cooed, attempting to quell the shaking sobs that came from the other girl. Lyrial clung to Kaya's waist and allowed all the confusion and fear from the months to release.

“How!?” She cried and hid her face against Kaya's strong shoulder. “I'm scared! First we were attacked by some guy in leather! Then…Then,” she paused to sniffle and cough a little being asphyxiated slightly by her weeping. Kaya grasped Lyrial's hand and led her with purpose towards the coach, setting her down before retrieving the tea mugs. She set the white mugs onto the coffee table before them and she took hold of the desperate girl's hands once more.

“Then what, Lyrial?” She asked, annunciating her name in attempts to call her back from her despair and return her to reason.

“The old woman at the grocer's…! She was screeching at me about something, something awful! Then Mr. McArthur and those men….and now!” She shook her head, holding it then feeling faint once more. Kaya held her shoulders and began to whisper in a language that Lyrial did not recognize. She felt warmth beginning to radiate through her body, starting where Kaya's hands now rested on her shoulders. It felt as if the brunette was being slowly submerged into a tub of hot water, soothing her body and spirit. She felt the tense muscles in her throat and chest begin to subdue and unknot themselves, falling flaccid beneath her flesh. She leaned back into the softness of the couch pillows and sighed.

“Alan's gone,” she whispered and fought the drooping of her eyelids. She had all ready lost twenty hours of her life to Heaven only knows what circumstances and was not willing to lose more. “Please, Kaya, help me find him. I need to know he's okay,” she added but felt her tongue beginning to trip over itself as she tried to speak. Whatever Kaya had done had made her very relaxed and consequently all her anxiety had caught up with her and made her very sleepy.

“Acil, Lyrial,” Kaya whispered and rubbed her palm over the other girl's forehead. The younger of the two's eyes fluttered before falling closed.

 

Ringing. Lyrial's brows furrowed. She could hear ringing. It was unlike the bells of a church; it was mechanical sounding, synthetic. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. She opened her eyes and looked around blearily.

“The phone!” She cried in realization and bolted from the couch, becoming entangled in the blanket that had been laid atop her. She wobbled like a shameful drunk with the blanket twisted around her calves and fell forward. Lyrial grimaced and wiggled out of the fabric entrapment and scrounged to her feet, sprinting to the small table that sported the telephone. She grasped the receiver, snatching it from its cradle the instant the prerecorded message began to recite.

“H-Hello? Yes? Hello?” She babbled before rubbing her face with her free hand, sweating. Her heart raced when her greeting was met with silence. There was a flicker of static and Lyrial held her breath. She could feel someone on the other end of the line. Someone was hesitating, terrified to even speak it seemed.

“A-Alan?” she asked hopefully, her doe eyes widening at the possibility that her roommate was still well and alive and not dead in some gutter as previous perceived. She looked to the clock across the room and could scarce believe the time it relayed: five thirty in the evening. Another six hours of her life had vanished in a moment of surrender to unconsciousness. She held her hand over her mouth in disbelief before her fears were shattered by a response from the telephone receiver.

“We need to talk.” Alan. As Lyrial listened, she sank to her knees, a look of harrowing incredulity etching into her features.

How had it come to this?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Metamorphosis: Genesis