The silence of her house were broken by a knock.
If she hadn't been a vampire, she never would have heard it. It was way too silent.
She slowly walked towards the door, irrationally afarid. She had no reason to be scared in any way. In the chaos that were the summer of victory over Victoria, Jasper had taught her how to fight. He said that her fierceness was almost made for fighting.
A human she could scare away, a vampire she could beat. She had no reason to be scared of the door.
She almost wished that it would be a salesperson. She takes great pleasure in scaring them while asking questions, just to see how far they would go for a sale. How much gritted teeth and lingering glances at the neck they could take before making a rushed retreat.
Ever since the vampire community was exposed on national TV, who quickly spread all over the world, it had been a struggle for vampire rights in society. The law of non-discrimination state that a vampire can't be denied the same services as a human. She sometimes wish that it didn't apply to doorsales.
But of coarse, it was to late. Before the society decided to accept vampires as just another form of life, Jasper was already dead. Killed by the flames of raging humans.
She put her hand on the doorknob, intending to turn it, but hesitated.
Did she really want to find out what was on the other side of that door?
It could be another reporter stinking of garlic. No matter how many times it had been stated that vampires aren't allergic to it, the humans wasn't taking chances.
She had a feeling that the humans wore it anyway, just to annoy the vampires with their hightened senses.
She mentally prepared herself and slowly, painfully slowly, opened the door.
It wasn't a reporter. It wasn't a salesman. It wasn't a crowd with torches and pitchforks.
It was just a woman, sitting on her doorstep, panting frenatically and holding her hands on her stomach. She was pregnant, and it looked as if she was in labor.
"Please help me," the woman said said weakly between pants.
She kneeled next to the woman and reached out a hand to touch the stomach. The woman didn't even flinch.
"Why me?" She said without looking at anything but the stomach. "You know what I am so why me?"
"They said-," she made a face in pain. "that you were a maternity doctor. That you were good with kids."
"Before I was suspended from practise," She objected. "But that was 5 years ago."
"You never forget," was the answer, before she made the pained face again.
"There is a hospital just down the road."
"Please," she begged. "It's time."
The woman reached for her hand, another weird thing to do for a human. She didn't hesitate this time, like she had with the doorknob. This was serious, she had no time to be selfish and protective of her personal space.
She did something she hadn't done in the 5 years she had lived here, alone.
She opened the door and let someone in. She carried the woman effortless and put her down on the diningroom table that were never used, but had come with the house.
She got pillows and towels, water and scissors and a cloth. She put the pillows behind her, the towel and water beside her and gave her the cloth.
"Put it in your mouth. I don't need peole thinking I'm torturing someone in here."
The woman did exactly as she said.
Then it started. The endless cries of pain, the rush of the blood, tha heart pumping like it would die if it didn't, the never ending word: Push.
Something went wrong. The baby wasn't turned properly, which made everything so much harder. She tried, she really did. She did a C-section and nearly ripped the baby out in the hurry. She cut the cord and struggled to make it breath. It turned purple for a very short moment, and if she had had blood, it would have frozen in terror. When it finally gave up that small cry, she couldn't help a smile.
It felt good to smile. It sure was a long time ago.
She turned around, to give the baby to it's mother, when something hit her mentally. "please help me" "they said you were a maternity doctor. Good with kids" "it's time"
"there is a hospital just down the road" "it's time"
She looked at the woman, who was staring at the ceiling.
"Time for what?" She asked softly, absentmindedly rocking the baby.
"He's coming for me." The house was quiet again, not a sound exept the breathing of the humans.
"Who?"
"Death," her eyelids fluttered. "He's here." The eyelids closed.
A moment passed, but the running of her blood didn't stop. She hesitated, she could hear something that shouldn't be there. Near the heart, it was flooding. Blood not pumping, but flooding.
And then it stopped.
It all stopped.
There wasn't a sound except for the baby in her arms. A baby boy, ready to take over the world. Ready to be alive, to grow up and become someone.
She walked away, baby in her arms.
It was in the middle of the night, just minutes after the woman had died, that she reached the hospital. Breaking in was easy. She just walked through the main doors and turned left.
She knew the way.
She stole everything she could need. Blankets, breast milks substitute, some clothes.
She broke in to another store and got a car seat.
She already had a car. She had packed a bag for an emergancy like this. Clothes, creditcards and a hairbrush.
She drove away into the sunrise, Jackson by Johnny Cash playing on the radio.
Jackson was a good name. It sounded like Jasper.