10. A Proper Meal
The drive home seemed like it took forever. My brain refused to shut down and my heart sung its pain loudly in my chest. I felt the loss of him like it had already happened. A more reserved part of my psyche told me that I was merely imprinting my remembered pain onto the current situation. Jack's death on Eric. But really they were nothing alike. Eric had opened my eyes to an entirely different world, one which didn't make me feel oppressed and downtrodden by the expectations and hopes of those around me. That was why I had escaped the confines of the dreary UK and the restrictions that inevitably came with becoming a widow. The looks, the stares and the whispers. I couldn't live like everyone expected me to anymore, I had to be me. I was determined to be me.
Eventually, I pulled onto the driveway beside the house. I vaguely registered that I'd left the porch lights on as I gathered my bag together and grabbed the keys in my hand, killing the engine. I exited the Dodge and began walking towards the house. All of a sudden I became aware I was being watched. I snatched my gaze upward towards the light on the porch. To my surprise, it wasn't the bulbs that lit up the front of the house but a figure, bathed in white light and dressed in clean white cotton garments. His face was serene and tranquil; I immediately felt a twang of jealously at his peace. He glowed.
He seemed like an angel, or at least what you'd expect an angel to appear like, sans the wings though. His face bore a youthful radiance, but his eyes, they showed wisdom. I approached warily, slowing my foot steps.
I shifted the bag on my shoulder uncomfortably as I reached the top of the stairs, "Can I help you?" I asked. I didn't feel at all threatened by this presence, quite on the contrary, I felt an odd easiness.
The figure shook his head and smiled graciously at me.
"Who are you?" I questioned.
He blinked, "That does not matter," he replied, his voice soft and soothing and exact. The words were precise, almost scripted.
"Then what do you want?" I asked, "Why are you here?"
The figure paused for a moment, as if summoning up the words, "Do not give up on him," he said, and affection flickered across his eyes, "He will need you soon enough."
I stared impolitely at this figure, who shone and glowed brightly against the darkness, "Who? Who will need me?" I whispered, stepping forward.
I shouldn't have moved. The second my lifted foot graced the deck, the figure before me disappeared on the breeze as if he was never there. I stood in silence, gaping into the air.
Several minutes passed as I stood prone on the deck, processing the figures words. Who will need me? Who shouldn't I give up on? Who was I giving up on? Bill? Eric?
I opened the front door and let myself inside. I sat down heavily on the couch, placing my bag beside me and leant backward into the cushions.
When I stirred several hours later the TV was on and it was morning, I was still dressed in last night's clothes and I was confused. My brain buzzed. I'd had lucid dreams before but never like the one I'd had last night. It felt so different, almost as if it had been real. But it couldn't have been, could it? Who was the man I'd spoken to? I'd never seen him before in my life. And the light, it was ethereal and otherworldly.
The words he'd spoken ricocheted around my head like a memory heeding a warning. Ringing in my ears, unrelenting. Do not give up on him, he will need you soon enough.
"It is the right wing saying all vampires need to be wiped out of existence." Nan Flannigan's voice went through me, shaking me into the day. I reached for the remote and turned the TV off.
Remembering Eric's predicament my stomach dropped and I felt empty. I didn't know what to do with myself. Eric could be dead right this minute and I was utterly helpless. Though a part of me clung to the thought he would survive, he'd lived lifetimes I couldn't imagine, seen things I couldn't even dream of and done things I could never comprehend. He'd be ok.
I spent the remainder of the day tweaking the primary draft of Louis' biography, which the publishers had sent back to me with several notes. Change this, reword that, alter the paragraphing; all the usual boring stuff. It was quite nice actually, to throw myself into a task which required me not to think of anything but the writing and the story. Of course, eventually the story wound round to Stephan's futile search for his brother which inevitably made me think of Eric, which invariably brought tears anew.
I rubbed my eyes vigorously. I needed to get some normal friends. Friends with normal problems, where imminent death wasn't always just around the corner.
The doorbell rang. I rose slowly from where I sat, reluctant to answer. It seemed that every time I did, some new drama or another surfaced, whatever the time of day. I was pleasantly surprised to find Mrs Wilson standing on the porch with a bag of groceries in her grasp.
"Evelyn dear," she said immediately, "I thought I'd cook us lunch." She hobbled by me into the house and I followed after her as she made herself at home.
"Grilled chicken and salad alright with you dear?" she asked.
"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you Mrs Wilson. But you really don't have to…."
She turned her gaze to me, interrupting, "Nonsense, Evelyn. You could do with the company, we both could." She emptied the bag onto the side, "I thought I'd make cookies for dessert. I even brought milk." I was overcome by her kindness and actually smiled as she set about getting the chopping board and knives from the cupboards. I sat down at the table.
"I saw you the other day, dear, and I thought to myself, Evelyn is looking a little skinny, I shall have to cook a proper meal for her. You've been working too hard dear, I never see you out and about in the daytime anymore. You must be shattered, spending all the night working and sleeping all day."
"Yeah…." Was that what I was doing?...
"It doesn't do a person good to be by themselves all time. Because not being around people isn't good for a person. It's how one gets lonely….." She paused heavily and I wondered absently if this visit wasn't just for my benefit, "Doesn't do anyone any good you becoming a recluse," she muttered, rummaging around in the cupboard next to the cooker, "Do you have a griddle, dear?" she said, pulling out a mixing bowl and dropping the chicken breasts into it.
I sprung up from my seat, happy to help, happy she wasn't analysing my night time visitors yet, "Its here," I said, pulling it from a different cupboard and dropping it onto the rings of the oven.
She lit the hob and turned on the oven and began preparing the salad, "And how are you getting on with your work?"
"Oh you know, the usual," I replied, leaning against the counter, "Actually I'm just in the process of finalising a draft for a Vampire biography. First book in a series."
She turned to look at me, "Very impressive dear. I'm pleased you're finally getting somewhere with it all, after what you've had to go through recently," she smiled kindly and returned to dicing tomatoes, "Is that what those vampire gentlemen are doing visiting you late into the night then?"
My insides groaned and I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. I remained silent.
"There's that tall blonde fellow," she said, prying, switching to the cucumber, "He used to come around quite often didn't he. But not as regularly as that other gentleman has done recently, the one that wears the hat and has that dark wavy hair. He comes to see you quite often doesn't he…"
She wanted me to fill in the blank there, "That's Louis," I replied, using his alias, "He the subject of the first book." I tried to remain pretty vague, glad that she had inadvertently skated over the subject of Eric. A subject didn't want to analyse right now, heck I didn't even want to think about him at the minute or I might start blubbing again.
She nodded, "I missed Mr Compton the other evening did I?" She sounded dismayed.
"Yeah, he had to dash or he would have stayed for a chat," I improvised.
"He is a charming fellow," she smiled, a memory crossing her eyes. I raised my eyebrow, wondering if she'd think the same of him if he showed her his fangs. Mrs Wilson loved Bill, he'd played that charming game to a perfect tee. In fact, it did make you wonder just how well he'd actually played it. A glamorous effort perhaps?
"Is he seeing anyone?" she added, startling me from my suspicious theories.
I was a little taken aback, "Erm…yeah. He has a girlfriend." As far as I knew this was still the case.
"Oh," Mrs Wilson sighed, "You and he would make a nice couple," I raised my eyebrows, shocked, "He has good manners Evelyn, you shouldn't fault a man with good manners." She turned to place the now seasoned chicken on the grill, leaving me to suspect her motives.
I suppose Bill did have good manners, and she would think that, he was the only one of my 'visitors' to have given her the time of day. Naturally someone of Mrs Wilson's age would appreciate that.
So long as he remembers to say thank you after he's drained you dry, then he's ok by her. I stifled a small chuckle at my private joke.
She turned the chicken and tossed the salad without much more conversation while I readied the plates and cutlery and laid the table. We'd sat down to eat with the meal and a glass of iced tea each and almost finished before she returned to her inquisition.
"This Louis then, Evelyn dear, what exactly does he do?" she asked, saying his name carefully.
"What do you mean?" I replied, bemused.
"Does he work?"
I swallowed down my last forkful hard. I didn't know. How on earth could I have so evidently missed that? I was meant to be the writer of his biography after all. What a thorough job I'd done.
When she saw I couldn't answer her question, she relived me of the discomfort, "Only I saw him, at least I think it was him, with a colleague of his. I presumed it was a colleague, could have been a friend though now I think about it, but they did look similar. But I can't see too much from my house so I'm not sure it was even him."
I frowned, "Mrs Wilson, what are you saying?"
"They were in your back garden, in the middle of the night dear. I thought maybe they were surveyors."
My stomach sank, "When? When was this?"
"Oh a few months ago now Evelyn," she replied casually and returned to finish her meal, leaving me shell shocked.
"They looked similar? Could they have been brothers?" I tried to sound calm, but my mind was in overdrive. I couldn't let Mrs Wilson see I was worried. She was getting weaker in her old age; I'd noticed that as she'd cooked. Her hands not as fast as I'd expect, everything slower, more delayed.
"Perhaps," she nodded, and a horrible sensation overcame me as an image returned to me. An image of Eric looming over a body, whose face morphed into Stephan's and then to its true identity, flashed before my eyes. Daniel.
"You seem concerned, dear," Mrs Wilson asked, and I looked up to meet her tired, aged eyes on me.
I thought quickly on my feet, "I think you saw Louis with his brother," I replied slowly, "His brother's been missing for a few weeks now."
"Oh, well I am sorry. I didn't realise or I would've mentioned something sooner," she said, rising from her seat and taking our plates to the sink, "I didn't think it was important," she added, "I saw him come visiting on you and I just assumed it was to do with your work."
"Oh, that's ok Mrs Wilson, Don't fret about it," I smiled at her, hiding the overwhelming feeling of dread as it wash over me again.
"Will you wash these while I start the cookies?" she asked, as if the previous conversation hadn't taken place.
"Of course," I replied, and took my spot at the sink.
I absently washed the crockery and cutlery and pans and utensils while Mrs Wilson set about making her cookie dough and baking them. The smell of baking filled the house and my nostrils, making me crave the sweet fix. Once they'd baked and had been out of the oven for exactly four and a half minutes, for Mrs Wilson assured me that this was the optimum resting time, I was allowed to taste one. They were incredible, and even more so with a glass of ice cold milk.
We sat out on the back decking and ate cookies and drank milk and chatted about trivial, menial things late into the afternoon. Mrs Wilson doing most of the talking, as I listened to tales of her late husband and her absent son. Though I enjoyed my 'normal' afternoon, the thought of Stephan and Daniel in my garden long before I'd met either of them, niggled constantly at the back of my mind.
"I must be off now Evelyn," said Mrs Wilson after she'd managed to stand from the recliner.
"Well thank you very much for a lovely afternoon and wonderful food, Mrs Wilson," I replied, "You really do spoil me."
She smiled in acknowledgement and hobbled back though the house and headed home.
I reached for my phone as Mrs Wilson left. Should I? What could they really do? Had it even been Stephan and his brother and if it was, did it really help matters now?
For all I knew, Eric was dead.