It's getting to be spooky season! Who else is excited? Werewolves, vampires, and pumpkin spice lattes, oh my!
I have gone through and fixed some things. Thanks for those pointing them out!
Chapter 7
The Wilsons
Knock knock knock
The Wilson's lived in a brick house with an off-white door and trim. A cast-iron railing surrounded their quant yard, with two stone and brick pillars welcoming the entryway. Two rose trees in large urns sat beside the door, one on each side. Sakura admired the rose bush's colors as she stood on the stone steps.
After knocking, she adjusted the basket she carried. It was not heavy; she was just nervous. Her gaze traveled past the roses to the sidewalk, then down the block where an alley was. Even during the day, it looked pitch black, and she remembered her own hesitancy to walk through one when she was shopping with the Hyuugas the other day.
At first, she did not understand how supernatural creatures could exist and still be hidden in society. Many of them were messy, ugly creatures. How could the walk among a society that emphasized aesthetics? She understood now. How many people avoided alleys and dark corners for fear of what they might see? Ironically, people kept themselves in the dark. Is that what happened to Mrs. Wilson? Had she wandered into a dark corner without knowing what waited within its cover?
The brass door wobbled and a clicking noise came from it. Sakura faced the door and waited patiently. Mr. Wilson himself opened the door, leaving it half open and standing in the doorway. He looked cleanly shaven, but there were bags under his eyes and stress wrinkles on his forehead. His beady eyes stared down the barrel of a sizable nose. His eyes narrowed at seeing her, but he did not look mean.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson." Sakura greeted. "My name is Sakura Haruno."
At hearing her name, his face relaxed. His grip on the door went slack, and it opened wider. "Ah! You are the doctor's daughter. Good man he is." He responded warmly. Everyone respected her father, and she had been relying on that reputation to get her through the door.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked her.
"Actually, I am here for Mrs. Wilson." She responded politely.
Mr. Wilson frowned. "Are you here on your father's behalf? He is not the one treating my wife…"
"I have come to visit with the Missus and see how she is doing. I heard about what happened, and even baked some treats for her." Sakura raised the basket for emphasis. She kept her cheery smile plastered on, hoping it was convincing.
Mr. Wilson considered it for what felt like a long time, the frown still on his lips as he looked away. Her mother had told her that had been very protective of his wife since the incident.
She thought that he was going to deny her and shut the door in her face. Instead, he said "Actually, it might be good for her to have some company. She…has not been herself, and it may brighten her mood."
Finally, he stepped to the side and held the door open. "Please step inside."
The inside was very much like the outside. Clean, good style, and not cluttered. The Wilson's barely touched the upper-middle-class territory, and both had grown up poor before Mr. Wilson landed a good job. Their house reflected as such. Shoes that were old but well-kept made a small line in the mudroom he led her through. The handrail she used as he guided her up the steps was not ornate but sturdy.
After climbing the steps, there was a singular hallway. He took her past three doors before he opened one at the end. Mr. Wilson explained that Mrs. Wilson was residing in the spare bedroom while she healed from her traumatic experience. The doctor and chief inspector had thought it best since she was now also dealing with a cold from being out in the wilderness for so long. The space was to help calm her mind as well.
Mr. Wilson opened the door and led her inside a square room. It was dark, and all the curtains were drawn shut.
"The sunlight is still too strong for her, gives her terrible headaches." Mr. Wilson explained.
Sakura stepped in, her shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
"Do not open them, otherwise the missus gets testy." Mr. Wilson explained.
Sakura nodded. The spare bedroom was painted yellow, and only held a small dresser and an oval braided rug that covered most of the room. There was a crib in the corner. The Wilson's had no children yet, but the crib had probably been bought in preparation.
"Cynthia, you have a visitor." Mr. Wilson said gently as he approached the bed. She looked like she was sleeping, but her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head to look at him.
"Really? It is Amelia?" She asked.
Mr. Wilson patted her hand.
"No, my dear. It is Sakura, the Haruno's daughter. She has even brought some treats." Sakura handed over the basket, and set it on the bedside table so Cynthia could see. He fluffed her pillow as she sat up to look, resting her back against the headboard.
"Mebuki's daughter? Oh! How lovely." Mrs. Wilson responded with a small smile.
Sakura had used her father's reputation to get through the door, but what she really need was her mother's rapport so Mrs. Wilson would be willing to chat with her.
One could not deny that Mrs. Wilson looked sickly with her clammy pale skin, but her eyes were practically glowing with excitement. It must have been boring being bedridden and confined.
Mr. Wilson pulled out a wooden chair from the corner of the room and brought it over, setting it to face the bed.
"Here; I will make some tea for you two." Mr. Wilson said with a smile. He seemed happy that his wife was in good spirits. Sakura almost felt guilty. The purpose of her visit was not for virtuous purposes. She would have to visit again without an ulterior motive. If they allowed her back after this.
"I came to see how you were doing and offer some warm company," Sakura told her as she sat down in the chair. Mr. Wilson shut the door behind him as he left.
"What have we got here?" Mrs. Wilson asked, pulling at the basket's cloth like an excited child. She dug out a jar.
"Fresh bread and jam, made just this morning," Sakura responded.
"Looks delicious. Shall we have some? Is there a knife?" She asked as if she had not had a good meal in a while. Mrs. Wilson was probably stuck eating broth and soup for most of her meals since she was not feeling well, and chances were she was the one who normally took care of their meals. Since she was ill, her husband must be doing his best to make meals edible.
Sakura watched Mrs. Wilson struggle with the jar's lid. Her fingers looked bony and weak.
"Here, I am used to opening cans and jars for my mother." She offered with an outstretched hand. Mrs. Wilson gave her the jar, reaching back into the basket for the bread as Sakura twisted the lid off. She watched as Mrs. Wilson smelled the bread and jam and sighed. Mrs. Wilson was closer to Sakura's age than her mother's, but her disappearance put so much stress on the body that there were more crinkles in her eyes, and her frown lines were deeper. Whatever she went through had aged her.
Mrs. Wilson, Cynthia, told her not to worry about crumbs on the ground as they ate.
"My husband will clean it up later." She said with a sly smile. Sakura was glad that the other woman's good nature was intact.
Perhaps Sakura had picked up more from her mother than she thought. She navigated their conversation with ease. She did not know much of gardening, but she knew it to be an interest of Cynthia's because her mother was part of the same gardening club. She used that to ask simple questions, and Cynthia was more than happy to answer. Eventually, Cynthia was leading the conversation while Sakura offered an ear.
The woman unloaded, and Sakura got the feeling that not enough friends came to visit her. She all but said it as she whined about being kooked up in her room, then talked of what she saw out the window after sunset, admittedly making up scandalous stories of passersby when she was bored out of her mind.
Sakura prodded that subject more, wondering if she would get any suspicious tidbits (like a mysterious figure lurking about?). However, there were none.
Cynthia must have been waiting for someone she could talk to. She was chatty and had loosened up the more they talked.
Now came the hard part.
"Cynthia…" Sakura started slowly, trying to ask delicately. "I wanted to ask. What…do remember what happened to you?"
Cynthia's bottom lip flopped in surprise. Her eyes turned downcast, and her aura deflated.
"I am sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable…" Sakura reeled back. This had been a bad idea; she knew that chances were, asking about the attack would upset the woman and possibly traumatize her more trying to remember. Being here in person and seeing it with her own two eyes, Sakura felt like a selfish ass.
"I am just worried…about it happening to other women." That sounded at least somewhat honorable, but she still felt grimy fishing for information.
Something flashed in Cynthia's eyes. "No." She said in a small voice. "no need to apologize. I understand."
Cynthia looked tired compared to the animated talk earlier. The frown made her cheeks look gaunt. She tried to peek out the window, then winced her eyes shut and hissed.
"I miss the sun. I used to love basking in the warm sunlight while I worked in my garden in the backyard. But ever since they found me, since I...disappeared...it has irritated my skin, my eyes, and my head." Her voice had dropped to a sad, low tone.
"I do not remember much." She all but whispered. Her eyes floated to the door. "And if my husband knew…" She shook her head, like shaking off the rest of the words.
"I would not tell," Sakura said honestly. She sat patiently, hands in her lap. Cynthia sighed. Her face scrunched as if she held a terrible burden.
"You are not wrong to ask. You should be worried about other women, Sakura…"
A chill crept up Sakura's spine when Cynthia said this. "What do you mean?" She asked calmly, though her heart had started to beat faster.
"Because I remember a man grabbing me." She responded.
There was a far off look in her eye as Cynthia started telling her story, the one she had not told her husband, or her doctor.
"You must understand, I know that I should have said something to the police when I woke. I was afraid of how my husband would view me if he heard this. Or if word got out. I know it sounds selfish." Cynthia folded her hands in front of her. "They say it was hysteria, but I am not so sure. And…it is so hard to put in words."
"Start from the beginning, perhaps," Sakura suggested quietly. Cynthia was looking down at her sheets, too embarrassed to look Sakura in the eye. The burden that a victim always seemed to carry, even though none of it was her fault.
"It was like any other Tuesday. I go to the market because that is the only day the baker has the French bread my husband likes. I had already done to the baker's and was planning the night's supper." Her fingers wrapped around each other repeatedly. Her head ducked down even lower. "I was walking down the sidewalk, about to turn on Grove Street. Then everything gets fuzzy."
Sakura listened calmly with her hands folded in her lap. She did her best to sit still, and not show how antsy she felt at the story. What had happened to this sweet woman? She hoped that it really was hysteria. That was better than the alternative.
"It did feel like something was wrong with my head. It was spinning, making me dizzy. I tried to get home, I did not want to faint in public and embarrass myself. The last thing I remember is that I was so close. I was only a few blocks from home. Something bumped into me, and I almost dropped my bread. I turned to confront whoever…Then it goes dark, and I can only collect bits and pieces." Cynthia stopped abruptly. She bit at her lip hard, holding back tears. She choked out, "One is a man's hands, reaching out and grabbing my forearms. His mouth was moving, but his face is fuzzy. I cannot remember what he looks like."
Sakura rose her hands to her mouth. She was a selfish ass. Poor Cynthia had been assaulted, and she was forcing her to relive the event.
"But my memories are not in order. It could be from when the clock merchant was trying to wake me. They said I was quite lethargic by that point." Twiddle. Cynthia's fingers could work a hold into her blanket. "But I do not think it was." She whispered. "Because he appears again. I am already in the woods, looking up as he kneeled over me. I…I cannot remember what he did to me." At this point, she was sobbing. Sakura made a move to stop her, but now that it was coming out, Cynthia needed to keep going. "I think…he did something to me."
Sakura knew what the insinuation was. Cynthia was afraid that someone had taken advantage of her. Such an act would cause any woman terrible trauma and panic attacks. It made her despise the 'hysteria' label when such acts could destroy a woman's state of mind. Such an invasion…Sakura did not wish it upon anyone.
Sakura was concerned about a different invasion of privacy, but how could she ask the poor woman now? She simply could not.
Instead, she reached out to touch Cynthia's hand. It was cold. "I am here for you."
Cynthia flashed a sad smile. "Thank you. I am not sure, and I was too afraid to ask the doctor to…check. He would surely tell my husband." She let out a humorless puff that sounded like a laugh. "My husband loves me, you would think I could turn to him in my time of need. I have no doubt he would comfort me. Yet I cannot bring myself to tell him. He would hold me and comfort me, but what would spin in his mind? How would he view me after? I cannot bear it."
Sakura squeezed Cynthia's hand. That grimy feeling was back, slick like moss floating on the water. She would not be getting any answers she was looking for today, but at least she could atone by comforting Cynthia.
"When I try to remember, my head hurts so much," Cynthia said, her voice cracking. Then she clutched her head.
Sakura was about to tell her not to strain herself, but Cynthia let out a small cry. She ripped her hand from beneath Sakura's and dug it into her hair. She hunched over in pain. Sakura stood up and rushed to Cynthia's side.
"Ack!" Cynthia suddenly flew back, slamming against the headboard and rattling it. Her eyes were glazed, her mind somewhere else. "Those eyes…" She murmured. Then she started thrashing.
"No! Please!" Her hand flung out. Was she having a flashback, imagining her attacker? Sakura stepped out of the way. Cynthia's hand smacked the basket, sending it and a vase tumbling to the ground. The noise of the vase shattering brought Cynthia back to the present. She blinked rapidly until her eyes cleared, then they widened in surprise.
"I do not know what came over me." She looked frightened, and on the verge of crying. Her hair was wild, long strands falling into her eyes. The neckline of her nightgown was crooked from her fit.
"No worries," Sakura reassured, then bent down to start picking up the shards on the floor. She wanted to help in some way, guilt-ridden that she had triggered an episode for the woman. She picked the basket up first. The jam jar had survived the fall. She set it aside to start picking at the vase shards.
Sakura looked up to check on Cynthia. Her breathing had calmed down, but she still looked in turmoil.
"Ow!" Sakura pricked her finger on a sharp piece when she was not looking and flinched. It immediately started throbbing. Using her non-injured hand for support, she inspected her finger to see if any pieces had been embedded in the skin. No shards, but her finger started to bleed. Sakura heard the bed creaking and looked up.
Cynthia's wide-eyed face stared back at her. Or rather, the bloody finger. She was leaning heavily over the bed as if entranced by the red liquid. Sakura did not like that look. She covered her bleeding finger. Cynthia frowned and turned away quickly, groaning. She noticed that Cynthia's body started to shudder.
"Cynthia?" Sakura asked cautiously.
"You should probably go now. I get this sickening feeling at the sight of blood." Cynthia told her without turning. Her voice was breathy. Sakura's brow creased, worried that she had caused the woman more distress.
"I am so sorry. Are you okay?" Sakura got up and asked. She stood at the edge of the bed, keeping a firm grip over her wound.
Cynthia's shuttering got worse in response.
"I will go get your husband-" Sakura started to say as she turned toward the door. Before she could take a step, Cynthia's icy hand shot out and caught Sakura by the wrist. It was a surprisingly strong grip by a tiny bedridden woman.
"Ah!" Sakura let out a noise of surprise, looking back at Cynthia. All she could see from the woman's back was that she was panting. Cynthia turned slowly. When Sakura caught her eyes, she no longer worried for the woman in the bed, but for herself. Cynthia had this glazed, hungry look in her eyes. Alarmed, she felt the overwhelming need to leave. Perhaps it had not been smart to be alone with a trauma victim.
"Let go of me please," Sakura said as she tried to pull out of Cynthia's grasp. It was difficult to keep the urgency out of her voice. Cynthia did not respond. Her eyes darkened and turned mean. Composure be damned, Sakura all but flung herself out of Cynthia's grasp. The force of her release caused her to stumble. Cynthia went into a crouch on the bed, then in a blink, she lunged.
Sakura only had time to put her hands out in front of her before they collided. Everything happened so fast, Sakura could not collect herself. The wooden chair clattered to the ground and Sakura's back slammed into the wall. Cynthia was manic, snarling, and wild as Sakura tried to keep her at arm's length. Cynthia grabbed for Sakura's injured finger. Reflexively, Sakura struck the woman with her opposite hand, her palm hitting Cynthia head-on. Cynthia's head snapped back. When she rolled her head forward, they made eye contact again. This time, Cynthia's eyes were no longer a warm brown; they had turned crimson.
Sakura screamed.
A bright light started to flicker in the room. Sakura looked down, squinting. Her necklace emitted that bright white light again, protecting her. Cynthia hissed and ducked away, but the light died out too soon. Cynthia recovered quickly and was coming for her again.
The door to the suddenly small room cracked open. Mr. Wilson stood at the door with a glare.
"What is going on in here?!" He boomed.
If Sakura was not currently cornered and fighting off his wife, she would have thought the demanding tone sounded ridiculous on such an unintimidating man. Instead, she yelped from the ongoing flurry of snarls and clawed hands. Mr. Wilson's eyes practically popped out of their sockets, seeing his bedridden wife in such a state. He rushed to help.
"Cynthia!" Mr. Wilson shouted. He came up behind his wife and wrapped her in a bear hug. She growled at him but kept her eyes glued to Sakura. Using that surprising strength, she broke free of his grasp to have another go. Mr. Wilson was right on her heels though, producing something from his back pocket.
Sakura caught Cynthia's shoulders as the woman came at her, and Mr. Wilson revealed a syringe from behind the manic woman. Without warning, he jabbed it into Cynthia's neck, earning a howl.
Whatever was in the syringe, it worked quickly. Cynthia's movements slowed, and her eyes drooped, but she did not stop her attack. She continued to make drowsy swings and even tried to bite Sakura. It was much easier to hold the woman at arm's length now that she was sedated. Sakura kept her hands on Cynthia's shoulders until the woman finally dropped and the sedation fully kicked in. Mr. Wilson caught her before she hit the floor.
Then there was silence. Both Sakura and were stunned. Sakura's legs were so weak that she slid down the wall. was on the ground too, cradling a sleeping Cynthia. Tears pricked at his eyes. He was the one that broke the silence.
"I am so sorry. She has had a few episodes, but nothing to this extent. I thought seeing someone would help." He glowered.
Sakura did not respond; she was too busy trying to calm her racing heart. After what felt like several minutes, stood up and gathered his wife in his arms, putting her back in bed and tucking her in. Sakura was still seated on the floor.
"You should go now." Mr. Wilson said as he stroked Cynthia's hair.
Sakura crawled back up the wall, righting herself. Then started walking without responding.
"Please, do not tell anyone about this." pleaded. "She is not in her right mind. It is not her fault; she is just sick."
Sakura pitied the couple. "I will not tell a soul."
Sakura was properly shaken after her visit with the Wilson's, but not enough to stop what she did best. Later that night, she crept to the library by candlelight. Her books' credibility were questionable, but they were her only source of information she had to rely on. She needed to know what was happening to Cynthia. She knew that the woman had not been a vampire before the attack, and yet Cynthia had gazed at Sakura with the eyes of one. What happened during the attack? Was it truly a vampire, or another monster masquerading on the streets? How was that even possible for a human to undergo such a change?
Werewolves were humans who got bit by another werewolf. If they survived. From what she understood, it could happen to humans and animals alike. She would think that it was simply an infection that drove the infected rabid, if not for the sudden fangs and metamorphosis that they undergone on a full moon.
Werewolves did not discriminate, leading way to werehogs, werefoxes and she presumed what other poor animals they got their claws into. Even a cute little rabbit could be infected. Would Sakura have to be wary of coming across wererabbits as well? Or vampire rabbits?
Did vampires work the same way? Could just one bite turn someone? Her shaking hand rose to her neck. Twice, she had been close to being bitten. Yet she heard of survivors who went on as frightened husks, the fear so severe that it often earned them admittance to the insane asylum.
Sakura scanned through her small, hidden collection, camouflaged by the numerous books among the shelves. She had taken great care to conceal them and their true covers. This was a safer place than her room, where the maid came to clean. She would notice the books under Sakura's bed. However, in the library, they were hidden in plain sight, albeit with some fake covers. The maid would pay no mind when she came to dust weekly.
Sakura rose her lantern and looked for a specific book. When she found it, she pulled it out and sat at the desk. She recalled that this book had roughly outlined a 'change' or ceremony for vampires. At first, she thought it was some kind of mating ritual, but now she understood it to be how humans became vampires. She wondered how the author would know of such a ceremony unless they had witnessed the feat themselves. The author talked about in the passage as if he(or she) had been present for the event, and for the first time, it occurred to her that something else besides a human could have written it. Did vampires write books about themselves? 'Curious.'
The section she was looking for took up less than a page, so it took some time to find it. Here, it talked about this 'change' or 'ritual' to become a vampire. It required the mixing of vampire blood, whatever that entailed. The rough outline was barely descriptive. As if the author was watching a fuzzy scene and not fully understanding what was going on. Again, she wondered how much truth was in the ink. This frustrated her, and she closed the book with a feathery thump. Resting her elbows on the desk, she pursed into her hands and closed her eyes.
It was late, she should go to bed. Her eyes were tired, but her mind was wired. As always, this topic led her to Sasuke. An image of him appeared in her thoughts. She could see him clearly. He had long eyelashes for a man, something she noticed as he stared down at a lily at the flower stand. His nose had the smallest bump, only there if you were looking close enough. And she had when he pulled her close to him. His hand on her waist, her shoulder touching his chest…His jacket had this earthy smell, and the skin on his neck was pale but smooth. Her guard was up whenever she was around him, she could not help but notice these things. He truly was a handsome man.
'Was Sasuke was once human?'
The imagery came up again. The way he had tilted his head toward her and whispered.
What compelled a person to turn into a vampire? The thought of such a proud man being driven into the darkness, the reason had to be paramount. Had it been power? Wealth?...desperation? To give up your humanity…it must be to escape hardship. With his family history, it did not surprise her. Numerous ancestors were slaughtered. Had he felt powerless, his family lineage all but wiped out?
'You are assuming he turned willingly…' She realized. Had Sasuke been turned like Cynthia? Attacked and against his will? She could not help but empathize with him. She thought of him in that castle, all alone.
"Lord help me…" She muttered.
She was afraid of what she might think of him if she empathized too much.
She was afraid of what she might think of him if she empathized too much.
Sorry this was a shorter chapter, but the next scene was too long to fit in and goes much better with the scenes after.
Till next time!