AN: This is the prequel to my story, The Lost Girls. It's a single-chapter retelling of Shea's life, at the time she became a vampire. It tells the events that led to it, and provides some background on why Shea is who she is. This Bud's for you, Ghostwriter!
Los Angeles, CA, 1952
Shea O'Keefe lay in her small bedroom, listening to her father stumble around the kitchen. She knew he was probably trying to find the bottle of liquor he had already drank. Shane O'Keefe, whom she had been named for, had been perpetually drunk for more years than Shea cared to remember. The drinking didn't bother her so much; it was the fact that he was a nasty drunk. When the mood struck him, more often than not, he struck out at anyone within distance with words and fists. Unfortunately, his daughter was almost always the only one within distance.
Shane hadn't always been like this. Once upon a time, Shea had a normal life; a loving mother and a father who doted on them both. That had all changed when Shea was seven years old. Her father decided after the bombing of Pearl Harbor that it was his duty, as a first-generation American, to enlist and defend the country. He had enlisted like so many other young men within days. He'd had the misfortune of being sent to Japan, where he ended up a prisoner of war. He never spoke of it, but Shea knew he had been forced to work on the Death Railway. When he came home, she remembered being afraid of him. Gone was the strong, caring father she'd remembered and idolized. Instead, a quiet, broken man came home, thin and frail.
In the time after his return, Shane wasn't much of a drinker nor was he violent. He had nightmares, and Shea would wake up at night to hear him screaming out in his sleep. He was a stranger compared to the father she'd known, but he was a good man, if a distant one. Her mother did everything she could to bring back the man she'd married, but it seemed the most she could get out of him was a small smile or quiet chuckle. Her antics, however, made up most of Shea's best memories. She remembered one night when her mother was pulling the gizzards out of a chicken. Shea, then twelve, was peeling potatoes. Her mother had tapped her on the shoulder, and Shea had turned to find her self face-to-face with a chicken carcass. Affecting a cartoonish voice, her mother had pleaded, "Saaaaaave me! I do not want to be a pot pie!" Shea had collapsed to the floor in giggles, and even her father had given a soft laugh. May O'Keefe became pregnant a few months later. The pregnancy helped to bring her father a little farther out of his shell. It had seemed that the little family were on their way back to being what they had been before the war.
May went into labor a few days before Christmas. At the time, they lived in Idaho, on a small rural farm. Her father had gone to get the doctor and bring him back to the house for the delivery. They still didn't have a phone line in their home, as Shane had planned to install one before the war. Afterwards, it wasn't at the forefront of anyone's minds. Shea had sat with her mother as she fought through the pain of the contractions. Shea had been terrified, but her mother calmed her down, saying, "This isn't any different than it was with you, and it was certainly worth it, wasn't it?" Shea had smiled, and had tried to help by bathing her mother's brow. That day was etched in Shea's memory as if it happened yesterday.
Without warning, her mother had gasped and clutched her belly. Shea had looked down and seen an impossible amount of blood. Her mother had gasped at her, "Go, Shea! Run! I need the doctor, baby girl. Hurry!" Shea had stood horrified for a moment, then flown out the front door as fast as she could. She had run across the frozen ground in her bare feet, through the thin layer of snow on the ground. She'd met her father and the doctor about a half mile from the home. They had stopped, and Shane asked her, "What is it, Shea? What's wrong?"
"Mama," Shea had gasped. "She's bleeding!" At her words, Shane made what must have been record time back to the little farmhouse. They'd arrived to find May pale and breathing hard. Shea had been shut out of the room, and left to sit and wait as the doctor worked on her mother. Shane didn't leave May's side once, but there wasn't much that could be done. With the doctor's help, a baby boy was delivered. Shane O'Keefe Junior never took a breath, and his mother took her last minutes later. Her father had walked out of the room, never casting a glance at his daughter. He'd left the house without a single word. The doctor came out shortly afterwards, torn as to what to do. He'd come in with Shane, and had to get a ride back into town. However, he didn't feel right about leaving the little girl. He hurridly tried to explain things to Shea, who he left in a state of shock. The doctor planned to send back someone to help when he returned to town, as he didn't know what to do about the little girl. So Shea was left with her dead mother and stillborn brother until the preacher's wife showed up a while later. She'd found Shea asleep, curled up to May as if her mother would wake up at any moment. Shane had gotten intoxicated at the first place he'd found, and stayed that way since. He never even went to his wife and son's funeral.
Shortly afterwards, Shane had sold the farm and moved his daughter to California. They now lived in the growing city of Los Angeles. In her room, Shea had nearly drifted off when the door slammed open. Her father stood braced against the frame. "Where is it?" Shane asked her angrily. Shea knew what he was asking. There'd been a full bottle of that rotgut earlier. "You drank it all," Shea replied. "Like hell I did? You pour it down the sink again? Is that it?" Shane yelled. Shea rolled her eyes out of anger and frustration. "No, you drank it. That would be why you can barely stand up and why I can smell it on you from here." Shane grew angrily, and started to approach his daughter. Shea stiffened; she knew what was coming. He'd get a few hits in and then go to his room to pass out. Fortunately for her, he didn't make it that far. Shane took two steps and then collapsed onto the floor. Shea sighed. A part of her hurt for her father. She missed the man she knew when she was a child. Once, she had hoped this was a stranger who looked like her father, and someday, her real father would return and put this imposter out on his ear. It took Shea a good while to get her father off the floor and down the hall to his room.
When she returned to her own room, Shea realized that this was the best it was ever going to get. Nothing could be as bad as this place. Her decision made, she pulled a bag out of her closet, cramming her few clothes and some items she wanted to keep inside. She dressed and went into the small living room. Her father snored loudly from his room. Shea looked over the small, dirty apartment, then opened the door. She had no idea where she would go or what she would do, but she couldn't stay here a moment longer. The only thing that had kept her here was the fact that her father was her only remaining family, and she felt she needed to take care of him for her mother's sake. Shea finally realized that her father hadn't bothered to take care of her since May died. She hoped her mother would understand, but she had to take care of herself. Shea couldn't depend on anyone else.