Chapter 4
Four
Sullivan
Miss Piggy tap dancing on a grande piano, it’s been a long day.
I never thought my first full day as a free man would be spent bleeding to death in my previous captor’s bathtub with a cramp in my hip that could hobble a thoroughbred, but one can’t have everything.
The pile of books Dr. Martin left me are intriguing, but I can’t focus enough to read right now.
The food’s all gone and so is the bottled water, though it’s never bothered me to drink from the tap. I’m so thirsty I keep getting up to do just that. Pee, drink, pee, drink, pee, drink, each time leaving more perfectly round beads of blood on Dr. Martin’s used-to-be-squeaky-clean floor.
It’s not water I’m thirsty for, but it’s not like Dr. Martin would have a ready supply of bagged blood waiting for a fugitive vampire either.
Outside the closed door, four white feet pad back and forth. Their owner meows her dissatisfaction at being locked out. Or his. Could be a boy cat. I have no way of knowing.
Twenty-Four is too curious for his own good, heading to the crack below the door to investigate. The cat swipes, but he scurries back before she can make contact. They play this game off and on for hours, and I have nothing better to do than watch. And occasionally provide commentary.
“You know cats eat rats, don’t you, Twenty-Four? Even I know that much.”
He looks at me. He knows his name and is clearly trying to understand the rest. He’s quite smart. He will need blood too, eventually. What if Dr. Martin doesn’t like that? What if it freaks him out?
Then the worst possible thought occurs to me.
What if Dr. Martin doesn’t come back at all?
What if, instead, he sends a calvary of II Tech goons to come and recapture me? I’m a sitting duck in this bathtub. All my planning, my sneaking, risking my own neck… What if it was all for nothing?
Maybe I need to come up with another plan.
Hide under the house instead of in it.
But as soon as the idea hatches, I know I won’t go through with it. Spiders and snakes and various other creepy-crawlies with spindly legs live under houses.
Yuck. Scary. No.
Dr. Martin isn’t going to betray me. I have to believe that. He looked at me with such sympathy. He gave me his food. He let me keep Twenty-Four. He said his friends call him Ru, then told me to call him Ru. A man like that won’t turn me in.
Right?
Right.
So, there’s no need to fear. Just wait. And think of something else.
My butt’s numb.
My hip hurts. My stomach hurts. My everything hurts.
If I wasn’t so bored, maybe I could ignore the discomfort, but staring at the faucet isn’t very interesting.
There’s no way to track the time. No clock. No window. As if I could look out anyway. The sun would fry me.
So I doze off and on until I hear a car door shut in the driveway. Then the distinct sound of a key in a lock. The door opening and closing. Footsteps. Just one set.
I’m anxious and relieved all at once. It must be him. And that means he didn’t send the guards after me.
“Socks. It’s actually good to see you,” he says, relief in his voice that I don’t understand. A gentle tap tap tap on the bathroom door. “Sullivan?”
Twenty-Four leaps into the tub with me and hides in my lap. I drop a hand over him to offer extra comfort.
“Can I come in?”
Your house, your bathroom, your tub, I think, but it’s nice of him to ask. I’m not used to my privacy being respected. “Please.”
The door slides inward and reveals Dr. Martin with the cat that’s been tormenting Twenty-Four all day weaving around his legs. A little gray thing with four white feet and yellow eyes.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I say, as my brain-to-mouth filter is apparently on hiatus.
He blinks and sets a brown paper bag on the sink. “And I’m glad you didn’t eat the cat.”
My stomach turns. The thought is revolting. “Why would I eat your cat?”
“Sorry, sorry. That was a dumb thing to say.” He fidgets with the buttons on his sleeve. “Just, you didn’t have any blood to drink and you’re a vampire and the cat’s essentially a furry blood bag, and, yeah, I’ll stop there. Sorry.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I guess it’s fair he thought his cat was in danger. But gross. I would never.
“Um, you okay?” Warmth in his brown eyes makes me think the question is genuine. He really wants to know. Maybe he’s even been worried about me.
“I think so. Just bored.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. It sucked leaving you stuck in my bathroom, but I couldn’t afford to be absent right after you escaped.”
“I understand.”
“How’s your stomach?”
I glance down. Twenty-Four is nestled on my thigh, leaning on a sore bit, but it doesn’t hurt that much at the moment. “Better, I think. I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”
I may have to drink blood to live, but that doesn’t mean I like looking at it. I’m squeamish, if we’re being honest. Especially if the blood in question is my own.
“It’s possible the wounds have healed enough you won’t need stitches. God, I hope so because the YouTube video I found of students practicing on banana peels gave me exactly zero confidence, and all Google has to say on the topic is do not, under any circumstances, DIY stitches.”
I scrunch my nose and swallow. The last thing I want is to be poked with more needles, but if that’s what needs to happen, I’ll endure. I always do.
“We should check.” Dr. Martin kneels and leans toward me, gaze snapping to Twenty-Four. “Everyone wants to know why you took him.”
I stroke the rat’s soft fur and curl his tail around my fingers. “I like him.”
Dr. Martin nods. “Can’t say that’s not a solid reason.”
“He deserves his freedom.”
“That too.” He tugs at his shirt collar like he’s hot, but it isn’t warm in here. Maybe I make him uncomfortable. “Can you move Twenty-Four so we can take a look at your injuries?”
I set the rat on my shoulder and wriggle my shirt up. Movement makes me itch. Dried blood flakes off in brown chips.
I don’t want to look, but I’m too curious not to. Can this body really heal such wounds with nothing but a little food, water, and time?
Yes. Yes, it can.
It’s astonishing. While the area is still inflamed and puffy, the gashes left by the razors have closed on their own. There’s no more fresh blood.
Dr. Martin sucks in a breath. “Wow. That’s… Just, wow.”
I’m tempted to poke at the jagged red lines, but they’re still sore. And icky. So icky. Suddenly, I want to be clean. Need to wash. Must scrub the memory off myself as soon as possible. “I think I should use your bathtub for its intended purpose. May I?”
“Of course.” Dr. Martin, who’d been staring, backs off. “Um, I’ll get you some clothes. Be right back.”
Ru
In my bedroom, I rifle through my closet. Sullivan is smaller than me. Enough that he’ll be swimming in my clothes, but it’s not like I could retrieve his. As if he’d want them anyway.
Stealing blood was hard enough. Recovering his personal things isn’t going to happen. It makes me sad. He has nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
He does have a genetically modified lab rat that I should probably be worried about escaping into the local population and somehow causing the apocalypse, but I can’t take Twenty-Four from him. No way. That rat is all he has.
Plus, Sullivan is right. After everything he’s been through, the rat does deserve his freedom.
I choose a pair of gray sweatpants, a black T-shirt, and some basic white socks while thinking back on the day Sullivan and I met for the first time.
It was my first week at II Tech. I was nervous, but eager to please. The grief from my parents’ deaths still weighed heavily on my mind, and I was beyond ready to throw myself into something else.
Anything else.
A new job fit the bill perfectly. A new job my parents would have been proud of. Something they could have bragged about when they got together with their retired friends to play pinochle and drink cocktails before noon.
A few days into the new gig, I was introduced to my first hybrid vampire.
Before that, I hadn’t known any of them were there.
Didn’t realize what II Tech was created to do.
Was surprised to be escorted through a long hall outfitted with living quarters—if you could call them that. More like little dorm-room prisons.
Hayworth, not Sullivan, was the first vampire I met. He was, and still is, cranky and mean. His dirty blond hair was long and unkept, hanging in clumpy ringlets around his scowling face. He spat at me when given the chance, and told me I’d never make it there.
Well, he was right about that. II Tech is definitely not for me.
One day later, I met Sullivan. He couldn’t be more different than Hayworth. He had a peaceful nature, sweet and quiet.
They never had to punish him for using his strengths and powers against them (Hayworth gets tasered on the regular). Sullivan never attacked the techs or the guards. Not like the others. He was gentle. Docile. Even timid.
As I entered his room—his glorified cage—he was sitting cross-legged on his twin bed. He lifted his gaze to mine, emerald green and wary.
I don’t know who was more nervous, him or me.
Probably him.
He certainly had more cause.
I remember wondering what he was thinking as he held out his arm, ready for Oliver to draw the blood they would be testing later.
I shake off the memory before guilt sinks its teeth even further into my mood.
Careful not to intrude on Sullivan’s privacy, I crack the door just wide enough to lay the clothes on the bathroom counter. Steam clouds the mirror. That done, I set about making some dinner.
I’m no gourmet cook, but even I can manage frozen pizza and sodas. There’s beer in the fridge, and I’m tempted to chug one to take the edge off, but Sullivan’s never had alcohol. I don’t want to be smelling like a bar when he gets out of the shower, so I ignore them.
But I can’t ignore the bag of blood warming on my kitchen counter. The red sack draws my gaze and elicits a shiver. A reminder of what Sullivan is. That there’s a vampire in my home.
In my bathroom.
Naked.