The Deal by wizardtho
Chapter 1:
I live in a world where vampires are not fictional creatures who prey at night. Vampires are real, and have themselves embedded in just about everything under the moon. You are likely to see them at night while out to a movie, never knowing that you've passed them. They aren't hideous looking demons. In fact, most of the tales about them are untrue, except for that they sleep during the day. That is only because of their eyesight being extremely sharpened, and the harshness of the sun being 'slightly bothersome'. Of the most common vampire facts, everyone knows that you never become indebted to a vampire, then not pay him or her back by the deadline. They always find ways for that debt to be fulfilled. Nine out of every ten times, those include blood, severe pain, and eventual death. You will receive no extensions or leeway with a vampire. It just doesn't happen... ever.
I knew -after my mother's death- that my father wasn't doing well. My mother was his whole world, along with me when I was born, and it was like his soul was ripped away from him when she died a horribly long death due to cancer. He still tried to be there for me, but I could have very well been an alien to him at 16 years old.
He knew nothing of how to care for a teenage female, and I was at the age where I often went to my mother with personal or emotional questions to ask. Those said questions would mortify me if I thought to ask my father, and there was no way he would patiently explain what was happening like my mother would... so I held it all in, and a silence was born between us.
I didn't realise we were having money problems. Granted, I wasn't born into a severely wealthy family, but we had always been comfortable. I never asked for anything that wasn't necessity. It started becoming apparent to me, though, almost a year after my mother's passing, when we were running low on food in the house, and I offered to do the shopping for my father.
He had seemed stressed lately, and at my offer, he stiffened and winced. I don't think he realised that I noticed, but I ended up conceding when he begged me for over five minutes to fix the same thing we had eaten the night before, claiming he still had a craving for it. Fish.
My father had been fishing a lot lately, and we had more fish in the chest freezer than we had other food in the house, even though I felt like we had been eating fish constantly. That's when it got me thinking, and I thought so hard all night, that I had trouble sleeping. The next morning baffled me, though, to the point where I started berating myself for all of my thoughts the night before.
When I came down to start breakfast, my father was plating bacon, eggs, and waffles, none of which were in the house the day before. “You're up early, Daddy. Did you go shopping already? I was hoping to go with you.”
He gave me a playful pout, “Sorry, My Darling Girl. I guess the early morning fishing trips have my sleeping schedule all messed up. I'll give you some money to go on your own, if there's something personal that you needed. I know I've been out of it lately, and I'm sorry for that, but I also know that your birthday's today. Have you thought about what you want?”
I shook my head, not at all understanding what had gotten into my father. There had been a complete change in him overnight. “No, nothing personal, but I'm running low on a few school supplies.” I was also hoping to look at sketch pads, since mine was almost full, but I wouldn't have asked for a new one.
I sat down in front of my plate, then continued, “As for my birthday, I'm stumped. I really don't need or want anything.” It was my standard statement every year, but I could see that my father was hoping for something else. I tried to placate him by saying, “Though, my sketch pad is almost full, and my pencils are down to almost nubs.” He smiled brightly, and I knew I had done the right thing.
That afternoon, I walked into the house after a horrible day at school, to find my father sitting at the kitchen table, with a small cake and two presents in front of him. He had a huge smile on his face, and said happily, “Happy Birthday, Makenna. I was able to get a half-day off, so I could spend time with you to celebrate.”
I smiled and relaxed, my anxiety from the day instantly washing away at the prospect of spending time with him, and dropped my books on the coffee table as I said, “God, that sounds good. Don't you think the cake should wait until after dinner, though?”
He chuckled, “Nope. We're starting a new tradition. On special days, like birthdays, we do the cake first, then we'll go out for dinner later.” I giggled and shook my head at his playfulness, “Alright, Daddy. Cake first, dinner later.”
My father had gotten me an extremely expensive hand-bound sketch journal, extra matching paper that could be bound into it, and an artist quality set of supplies in a locking train case. It was filled to the brim with pencils, charcoals, and graphite, and had a place under the lid to hold my new journal. It was all too much... too expensive... and I tried to tell him that I couldn't accept it. All of my attempts were futile in the end, and I hugged him tightly as I tearfully whispered that I loved him.
We couldn't have been having money problems if my father could afford to buy me such expensive things for my birthday, right?
Things seemed to go well for the next six months or so, but then my father started to become edgy and almost borderline worried. He had started taking extra shifts at the mill, working longer hours in one stretch, and pouring over papers in the middle of the night at his desk in our small den. I had caught him several times, without his knowledge, but couldn't figure out what the papers were of.
My curious nature had me snooping one day while he was at work, but I determined that whatever it was must be locked up in the safe. I didn't know the combination to that, so I was out of luck.
No more than four months later, he was extremely stressed out, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. He was at his desk again, in the middle of the night, practically tearing his hair out with his fists. I loved my father dearly, and I hated to see him like that. I knocked on the partially-open door lightly, but he didn't seem to hear me, so I took a tentative step forward and asked, “Daddy? What's wrong?”
His bloodshot eyes snapped up to mine, and he fumbled with the papers on his desk as he stuttered, “No-nothing, My Darling Girl. I was just... missing your mother.”
I shook my head, “Please don't lie to me. I know you miss Mom, probably even more than me, but this isn't that. You've been in here in the middle of the night, practically on a nightly basis, for the past few months. I can hear you in here pacing in frustration, Daddy. I can see the worry in your eyes when you look at me. I can almost taste your near panic attacks in the air, they are so strong. Please, Daddy. Let me try to help with whatever is worrying you.”
My father sat up straighter, an emotionless mask fell over his features, and he stared at his desk for several minutes. When he finally spoke, it was one simple monotone sentence that made my world come crashing down. “There's nothing for you to do, Makenna, so go back to bed.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I dropped my head and whispered as I turned around to leave, “I didn't mean to upset you, Daddy. I just hate seeing you like this, and I want to help. You're all I have left, and I'm worried about you.” I heard a hitched breath behind me as I crossed the room's threshold, dashed away quickly, and barely made it to my room before the tears fell.
The next two months only found silence between my father and I. I felt like I was living alone, as my father only came home to shower, eat and sleep. I didn't see him at all on the anniversary of my mother's passing, and he didn't seem to know or care that my birthday was coming around again. I had lost all hope the night before my birthday, when he only ate his dinner, took a shower, and went right to bed without saying a word to me the whole time he was in the house.
The morning of my eighteenth birthday dawned like any other, and I reluctantly got out of bed. My only solace over the last year had become my sketch journal, which I had put my nightly dreams in, since I had no one I could really talk to.
I had truly nothing to celebrate today, but there must have still been a sliver of hope in me, because I took out a pretty dress to wear to school. It was a white empire waist sundress, had a halter neck with a sweetheart bust, and was splotched randomly with pretty fuschia/pink/peach flowers. I paired the dress with my white kitten-heeled slip on sandals, with the material that crossed over my toes and the white bow detail. I even did something nice with my hair, making sure my long chunky curls were separated and partially put up.
I was actually surprised to see my father still home when I walked down the stairs, but didn't have time to dwell on it, since the doorbell rang as I reached the bottom. My father tried to say he would get it, but I waved my hand in dismissal, since I was right near it.
I opened the door, and a very handsome man that looked to be in his early-to-mid 20's was waiting on the other side. I had the strangest sensation that I recognized him, especially when I saw his bottomless blue/gray eyes. “May I help you?”
He smiled, then said, “Yes. I'm here to see Reynold Cummings. My name is Jackson Cooper, and he is expecting me.” I think my father tried to say something as I asked for his guest to please come in, but it didn't register in my brain.
Once the man was in the house, I asked if he would like anything to drink while he spoke to my father, but I heard my father gasp and say forcefully, “No, Makenna. Go finish getting ready for school, and I'll talk to Mr. Cooper in the den.”
He was angry. I had done something wrong, but couldn't figure out what that was. Tears sprang to my eyes, since some of the first words he had spoken to me -in God only knows how long- were in anger, so I whispered as I ducked my head, “I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just trying to be polite to your guest.”
I started to walk away, but before I could move two steps, my father gave me a pained expression as he said, “He's not a guest, Makenna. He's a vampire that I made a business deal with.”
My eyes went wide at what I thought I heard my father say. I looked back and forth between the two of them for a minute before it sunk in. The sudden change in his mood and expensive gifts, the worry and pouring over papers in the den, the extra shifts and long hours... it all made sense, now. My only thought was, “Oh, Christ, Daddy. What have you done?”
I live in a world where vampires are not fictional creatures who prey at night. Vampires are real, and have themselves embedded in just about everything under the moon. You are likely to see them at night while out to a movie, never knowing that you've passed them. They aren't hideous looking demons. In fact, most of the tales about them are untrue, except for that they sleep during the day. That is only because of their eyesight being extremely sharpened, and the harshness of the sun being 'slightly bothersome'. Of the most common vampire facts, everyone knows that you never become indebted to a vampire, then not pay him or her back by the deadline. They always find ways for that debt to be fulfilled. Nine out of every ten times, those include blood, severe pain, and eventual death. You will receive no extensions or leeway with a vampire. It just doesn't happen... ever.
I knew -after my mother's death- that my father wasn't doing well. My mother was his whole world, along with me when I was born, and it was like his soul was ripped away from him when she died a horribly long death due to cancer. He still tried to be there for me, but I could have very well been an alien to him at 16 years old.
He knew nothing of how to care for a teenage female, and I was at the age where I often went to my mother with personal or emotional questions to ask. Those said questions would mortify me if I thought to ask my father, and there was no way he would patiently explain what was happening like my mother would... so I held it all in, and a silence was born between us.
I didn't realise we were having money problems. Granted, I wasn't born into a severely wealthy family, but we had always been comfortable. I never asked for anything that wasn't necessity. It started becoming apparent to me, though, almost a year after my mother's passing, when we were running low on food in the house, and I offered to do the shopping for my father.
He had seemed stressed lately, and at my offer, he stiffened and winced. I don't think he realised that I noticed, but I ended up conceding when he begged me for over five minutes to fix the same thing we had eaten the night before, claiming he still had a craving for it. Fish.
My father had been fishing a lot lately, and we had more fish in the chest freezer than we had other food in the house, even though I felt like we had been eating fish constantly. That's when it got me thinking, and I thought so hard all night, that I had trouble sleeping. The next morning baffled me, though, to the point where I started berating myself for all of my thoughts the night before.
When I came down to start breakfast, my father was plating bacon, eggs, and waffles, none of which were in the house the day before. “You're up early, Daddy. Did you go shopping already? I was hoping to go with you.”
He gave me a playful pout, “Sorry, My Darling Girl. I guess the early morning fishing trips have my sleeping schedule all messed up. I'll give you some money to go on your own, if there's something personal that you needed. I know I've been out of it lately, and I'm sorry for that, but I also know that your birthday's today. Have you thought about what you want?”
I shook my head, not at all understanding what had gotten into my father. There had been a complete change in him overnight. “No, nothing personal, but I'm running low on a few school supplies.” I was also hoping to look at sketch pads, since mine was almost full, but I wouldn't have asked for a new one.
I sat down in front of my plate, then continued, “As for my birthday, I'm stumped. I really don't need or want anything.” It was my standard statement every year, but I could see that my father was hoping for something else. I tried to placate him by saying, “Though, my sketch pad is almost full, and my pencils are down to almost nubs.” He smiled brightly, and I knew I had done the right thing.
That afternoon, I walked into the house after a horrible day at school, to find my father sitting at the kitchen table, with a small cake and two presents in front of him. He had a huge smile on his face, and said happily, “Happy Birthday, Makenna. I was able to get a half-day off, so I could spend time with you to celebrate.”
I smiled and relaxed, my anxiety from the day instantly washing away at the prospect of spending time with him, and dropped my books on the coffee table as I said, “God, that sounds good. Don't you think the cake should wait until after dinner, though?”
He chuckled, “Nope. We're starting a new tradition. On special days, like birthdays, we do the cake first, then we'll go out for dinner later.” I giggled and shook my head at his playfulness, “Alright, Daddy. Cake first, dinner later.”
My father had gotten me an extremely expensive hand-bound sketch journal, extra matching paper that could be bound into it, and an artist quality set of supplies in a locking train case. It was filled to the brim with pencils, charcoals, and graphite, and had a place under the lid to hold my new journal. It was all too much... too expensive... and I tried to tell him that I couldn't accept it. All of my attempts were futile in the end, and I hugged him tightly as I tearfully whispered that I loved him.
We couldn't have been having money problems if my father could afford to buy me such expensive things for my birthday, right?
Things seemed to go well for the next six months or so, but then my father started to become edgy and almost borderline worried. He had started taking extra shifts at the mill, working longer hours in one stretch, and pouring over papers in the middle of the night at his desk in our small den. I had caught him several times, without his knowledge, but couldn't figure out what the papers were of.
My curious nature had me snooping one day while he was at work, but I determined that whatever it was must be locked up in the safe. I didn't know the combination to that, so I was out of luck.
No more than four months later, he was extremely stressed out, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. He was at his desk again, in the middle of the night, practically tearing his hair out with his fists. I loved my father dearly, and I hated to see him like that. I knocked on the partially-open door lightly, but he didn't seem to hear me, so I took a tentative step forward and asked, “Daddy? What's wrong?”
His bloodshot eyes snapped up to mine, and he fumbled with the papers on his desk as he stuttered, “No-nothing, My Darling Girl. I was just... missing your mother.”
I shook my head, “Please don't lie to me. I know you miss Mom, probably even more than me, but this isn't that. You've been in here in the middle of the night, practically on a nightly basis, for the past few months. I can hear you in here pacing in frustration, Daddy. I can see the worry in your eyes when you look at me. I can almost taste your near panic attacks in the air, they are so strong. Please, Daddy. Let me try to help with whatever is worrying you.”
My father sat up straighter, an emotionless mask fell over his features, and he stared at his desk for several minutes. When he finally spoke, it was one simple monotone sentence that made my world come crashing down. “There's nothing for you to do, Makenna, so go back to bed.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I dropped my head and whispered as I turned around to leave, “I didn't mean to upset you, Daddy. I just hate seeing you like this, and I want to help. You're all I have left, and I'm worried about you.” I heard a hitched breath behind me as I crossed the room's threshold, dashed away quickly, and barely made it to my room before the tears fell.
The next two months only found silence between my father and I. I felt like I was living alone, as my father only came home to shower, eat and sleep. I didn't see him at all on the anniversary of my mother's passing, and he didn't seem to know or care that my birthday was coming around again. I had lost all hope the night before my birthday, when he only ate his dinner, took a shower, and went right to bed without saying a word to me the whole time he was in the house.
The morning of my eighteenth birthday dawned like any other, and I reluctantly got out of bed. My only solace over the last year had become my sketch journal, which I had put my nightly dreams in, since I had no one I could really talk to.
I had truly nothing to celebrate today, but there must have still been a sliver of hope in me, because I took out a pretty dress to wear to school. It was a white empire waist sundress, had a halter neck with a sweetheart bust, and was splotched randomly with pretty fuschia/pink/peach flowers. I paired the dress with my white kitten-heeled slip on sandals, with the material that crossed over my toes and the white bow detail. I even did something nice with my hair, making sure my long chunky curls were separated and partially put up.
I was actually surprised to see my father still home when I walked down the stairs, but didn't have time to dwell on it, since the doorbell rang as I reached the bottom. My father tried to say he would get it, but I waved my hand in dismissal, since I was right near it.
I opened the door, and a very handsome man that looked to be in his early-to-mid 20's was waiting on the other side. I had the strangest sensation that I recognized him, especially when I saw his bottomless blue/gray eyes. “May I help you?”
He smiled, then said, “Yes. I'm here to see Reynold Cummings. My name is Jackson Cooper, and he is expecting me.” I think my father tried to say something as I asked for his guest to please come in, but it didn't register in my brain.
Once the man was in the house, I asked if he would like anything to drink while he spoke to my father, but I heard my father gasp and say forcefully, “No, Makenna. Go finish getting ready for school, and I'll talk to Mr. Cooper in the den.”
He was angry. I had done something wrong, but couldn't figure out what that was. Tears sprang to my eyes, since some of the first words he had spoken to me -in God only knows how long- were in anger, so I whispered as I ducked my head, “I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just trying to be polite to your guest.”
I started to walk away, but before I could move two steps, my father gave me a pained expression as he said, “He's not a guest, Makenna. He's a vampire that I made a business deal with.”
My eyes went wide at what I thought I heard my father say. I looked back and forth between the two of them for a minute before it sunk in. The sudden change in his mood and expensive gifts, the worry and pouring over papers in the den, the extra shifts and long hours... it all made sense, now. My only thought was, “Oh, Christ, Daddy. What have you done?”