Man... I'm such an idiot, was all Faye could think as she realized it was damn near dark. "Such an idiot," she repeated aloud as she crossed the road, her feet meeting the asphalt with a new found quickness. She'd been so absorbed in trying to let go of the day that it was like she hadn't been outside witnessing the signs of the night's methodical approach. One second she was concentrating on keeping a steady pace, and the next, she was realizing the golden glow from the sun had all but disappeared beyond the horizon.
It's one thing to lose yourself when your well being's not involved, but that irresponsibility takes on an entirely different vibe when you're a half hour's run from home, and there's little daylight left.
It's not that Faye was afraid to be out running at night, she knew plenty of places it was safe; although, right then, she wasn't in one. She could think of nothing more frightening than the dried-out corn fields waiting to be cut down for the winter that she was going to have to run beside in the pitch black.
The random scattering of farm houses built long before the road she would pass them on didn't cast enough light with their sixty watt porch bulbs to illuminate anything in her path. Admittedly she knew Old Mill Road had the potential to be a little dangerous because of the way it curved around the property lines. However, she discovered that slight danger seemed more imminent after sundown. She resolved right then to find time earlier in the day for her run or it was getting skipped.
She tried to keep her focus on the road although every sound had her imagination running right along with her. She was sure there was some nefarious thing following her.
"It's just the wind," she panted, hoping speaking the words would add something to make the statement truer. Unfortunately, it only made the rustling corn stalks seem more sinister.
"Just the wind," she repeated, and as if on cue, a high pitched screeching filled the air. Her heart stopped as a blinding light washed over her freezing her in place.
Instinct kicked in a fraction of a second later forcing her to dive out of the way in a maneuver that was exaggerated thanks to all of the adrenaline flooding her system. She hit the ground hard. A sharp pain started in her head followed by a fog. She heard one final lurch somewhere in the distance, and then sank into unconsciousness.
"Holy... Mother..." Roxy exhaled drawing in a huge breath. Her foot instinctively found the gas pedal; flight or fight, and only one applied to her present dilemma. A few miles from her destination; no witnesses... she was going to leave. It's not like this was my fault, she thought. Who stands out in the middle of the road like that anyway?
"Moron." She started to shift out of park to speed off when her phone rang playing the generic tone she set for Cyrus. She glanced at the device sitting in her cup holder... and then took her hand off the shifter annoyed.
Roxy didn't answer, but she could hear Cyrus scolding her for leaving. She knew what he would do, and what he'd expect her to do. He would politely check on the pedestrian. He wouldn't chance any negative attention, especially not so close to his home. After all, it's not like I actually hit the dummy...
"Here's to doing the right thing," Roxy said as she opened the door of her SUV and hopped down from the driver's seat. She expected to apologize to a shocked, but otherwise physically intact person, maybe even offer it a ride. She was not, however, prepared for the scent of fresh blood swirling in the air. The sweetness of it assaulted her.
In the span of a breath Roxy became a predator descending on its prey.
Roxy lifted a girl up into her arms; the force of her approach causing the girls head to swing back and forth violently. The bobbing motion caught her attention long enough for her to note the blood she smelled was oozing from a gash on the girls forehead, and it smelled better than anything she had to compare it to. Roxy inhaled deeply, then without further ado, she looked to the delicate flesh of the girl's neck, and bit; sinking her teeth in deep.
When Roxy felt the popping sensation of puncturing a vein she could no longer remember why she wasn't supposed to be drinking whenever she wanted, and when the blood filled her mouth... she no longer cared.
It warmed her much faster than anticipated. The effects were instantly noticeable, even in the fingertips which normally took a good amount of time to heat. The warmth filling her spurred her to keep drinking. She felt like she was floating, stoned... "Roxy," a voice she knew broke into her moment.
"Roxy!"
It took everything she had, but Roxy released the girl. She let her fall to the ground, licked her lips, and then turned to face Cyrus. He was standing a few feet from her with his hands balled into tight fists. "What have you done," he growled, obviously struggling to contain his anger.
Uncertain how to answer, or if she even could, Roxy looked down at the girl. She had nothing in the form of an explanation, she felt no remorse. There was only the urge to take more. She felt practically alive from the blood pulsing through her. It was incredible.
Turning the key, listening to the engine as it thundered to life, Cyrus knew he was going to feel better. He always felt better after testing the engine in his 1969 Camaro SS. The car was his favorite thing. It was fast and fun to drive. He shifted into reverse backing out of the garage, and then he floored it onto Old Mill Road.
As he maneuvered the car around the turns in the road he removed his phone from his jacket pocket to call Roxanne, the source of his stress, and need for the drive. She was expected at his house that evening, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with her. It went to her voice mail so he hung up.
A minute down the road he rounded a corner, and much to his dismay Roxy's Range Rover was pulled over blocking half of the lane. He slammed on the brakes pulling up behind her knowing whatever was going on wasn't good. As soon as he opened the car door he smelled blood and it took no time to find the source. His temperature plummeted as what he saw registered.
Roxanne had some girl in her arms drinking from her neck on the side of the road. He yelled her name prepared to do more, but she let the girl slip from her grasp, and crumple to the ground. Roxy seemed dazed as she wordlessly looked to the girl lying at her feet. His gaze followed as if the explanation might be lying there with her. All he saw was the pale stillness of a life fading, but not yet gone.
Cyrus could hear the slow, faint rhythm of the girls heart, and before he knew what was happening he was at her side lifting her small frame up off the road into his arms. The sound of her heart had pulled him to her, and not to finish what Roxy started, he was going to help her. She was alive, and Cyrus was going to keep her that way.
Roxanne forgotten, he carried the girl to his car and placed her in the passenger seat. He got in the drivers seat, turned the car around, and headed back to his house. He glanced over at her slumped form feeling a pang of something that made him turn the heat on for her even though he knew they'd be back at his house before the car warmed.
As soon as Cyrus pulled in the garage he turned the engine off and lifted the girl from the car. He carried her straight to his bathroom and laid her down in his bathtub. He retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet, got it wet in the sink, then dropped down next to the tub placing it against her forehead. He held it in place for a second before gently wiping some of the blood off revealing an inch long sliver just under her hairline. It was still bleeding, but it would be fine.
Two butterfly band-aids later he was on to the puncture wounds and realized he was going to have to remove her sweatshirt to get at them. "I'm sorry..." he whispered finding it strange he meant it as he tore the sweatshirt down the middle. The material parted revealing a light pink t-shirt that was far more form fitted which made him question the sweatshirts origins. It was at least three sizes too big, and for some reason the possibility that it belonged to a male bothered him.
The annoyance didn't last long though, because when he got a good look at the two swollen, purple-red puncture marks all he wanted to do was kill Roxy.
She could've finessed it, she could have kept the damage neat and clean, but no, not Roxanne. She left marks like a rabid pit-bull.
After doing what he could for the wounds Cyrus lifted her out of the tub and put her in his bed. As he eased away he noticed how delicate her features were compared to his, and then it struck him just how beautiful she was. She had a graceful bone structure, long lashes, and lips the color of frosted rose petals. Her hair was long and golden-blond, a shade or two lighter than his own. Her pink t-shirt revealed her flat stomach and a nice set of curves... and then he suddenly felt very guilty for looking at her, appraising her the way he was so he covered her to the neck with a blanket, and then he just stood there.
He stared at her for a moment like he expected something to happen. Nothing did, but he found her resting form impossible to walk away from so he pulled the upholstered chair from the corner over next to the bed, and he sat down, in for the long haul apparently.
As Cyrus sat watching the rise and fall that marked the sleeping beauty's breathing he couldn't stop wondering, what color are her eyes?