Guardian

You would think after so long doing this, I wouldn’t leave such a mess. 

Maggie licked her fingers and looked down at the grisly scene before her. A greasy-haired man lay on the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood, leaking from a torn-out carotid. His bloodshot eyes were locked in a glassy stare at his bedroom ceiling. This was a true waste of skin—a man who looked, tasted, and behaved like human garbage.

She would probably just have to rip the carpet up, but at least she could use it to wrap the body for disposal. He would spend a few weeks secured to the bottom of Lake Michigan before being discovered, maybe identified—the police were hardly consistent about this sort of thing—and promptly forgotten about. He was, after all, a class-A scumbag in life. 

The more unfortunate part of the situation was the woman on the bed. She was bloody herself, badly beaten, with scrapes of Scumbag’s skin under her nails. Maggie could smell enough drugs in her blood to tranq a horse. Some of those were her own doing, but Maggie was fairly certain the poor girl’s unpleasant companion had spiked whatever she was taking before somehow getting her into his ratty apartment. By the time Maggie had arrived on scene, she was too far gone. 

So she did the only sensible thing and bit her on the neck. It was a last resort to be sure, but had only backfired a few times. She didn’t like to think about the bad ones.

She set to work. Ripping out the carpet and wrapping Scumbag in it was easy enough. Blood had soaked through to the hardwood beneath, but she managed to scrub that away without too much work. 

And to be frank, the wood floor looks much better than the dingy carpet.

She had to move her new friend to strip the sheets off the bed. The young woman’s body was lighter than she expected. Though most humans felt light to her, so who was to say how underweight the waif was. Luckily, little enough blood had soaked through that she could clear out the girl’s DNA in just a few minutes. She carried her into the bathroom and set her down gently in the tub—the girl would have a rough night, but her comfort came second to disposing of Scumbag. 

She returned to the bedroom and shouldered the rolled-up carpet containing the corpse. The streets wouldn’t be packed at this hour of night, but it would still be a hassle to avoid being seen, especially with such a bulky package. Diet and exercise had not been the highest on Scumbag’s list of priorities. 

 She found a baseball cap by the door and put it on to cover up at least a bit. No doubt pedestrians would still question the petite, brown-skinned woman walking through Chicago’s West Side, carrying a rolled-up carpet in a bloody jacket, but hopefully that would only be the third weirdest thing they would see in the city at night. She plucked his keys off the counter and shoved them in her pocket before squeezing out the door.

No one was in the hallway or the stairwell as she carried Scumbag out of the complex. The streets had a few stragglers, but as she expected, the others all kept their eyes down and kept to themselves as she turned east and started walking. People she met—or turned—often asked how she stayed hidden for so long. She told them they’d be surprised how little attention people paid when you didn’t give them a reason to care.

She worked her way through the streets, avoiding what little crowds gathered on a frigid weeknight in November. The chilling wind caught her stolen cap a few times, and by the third time she gave up and just let it blow away. So much for that disguise. She kept walking. Scumbag’s apartment was not in the most convenient place for his disposal, but it was alright. She only needed to make it as far as the river. 

It took her longer than intended to reach the water. She knew the streets fairly well at this point, but there had been more groups in inconvenient places than she had wanted, leading to more detours. She would have to rush the cover-up a bit, but it would be fine. She didn’t plan on staying in the city for much longer anyway. 

She slipped across the street and onto the bridge. There was no more convenient way down, so she took a running start and leapt the railing. She straightened her legs and plunged into the water, her corpse-rug stopping her descent at the surface. She pulled down on it for a minute, cursing her light frame, until water soaked through and it finally sank. 

Together with her burden, Maggie drifted to the bottom of the Chicago River. The muck on the bottom was thick, but it would take more than some sticky mud to hold Scumbag down for more than a week. It was by far too dark to see, but she wasn’t exactly as reliant on eyesight as most people. She rummaged around in the detritus, searching for the one thing humans were best at producing—trash. Eventually she came up with an old lead pipe, which she used to spear the bundle to the riverbed. She stuffed the carpet with random pieces of scrap and piled a few concrete chunks on top before deciding it would have to do. 

She walked along the bottom of the river, back in the direction she came. When she felt a concrete wall she crept upwards until her face broke the surface. Looking around, this section of riverwalk seemed empty, so she slipped up over the railing and half-jogged back toward the West Side. Strangers might question why a woman was running around sopping wet after midnight, but subtlety mattered less than getting back to the other girl before morning. 

After what felt like too long—and a couple curious passersby dodged—she was climbing the apartment stairs and letting herself into Scumbag’s apartment. The girl was in the bathtub, in exactly the same position she’d been left in. Still as a corpse. 

The girl could be attended to at the safehouse. Maggie hadn’t brought a change of clothes, or any other real supplies with her. The particular case had crept up on her. She hadn’t planned to save this girl’s life tonight. 

If you can call this saving.

She checked the bedroom again. Clean. She checked the other rooms she’d moved through. Clean. She locked the front door and kept the keys. They would likely be meeting their owner at the bottom of the river in the next few days. Back in the bathroom she moved the girl and scrubbed the tub, removing any traces that she had been here. The man’s body would be found, but it was in the girl’s best interest if she simply disappeared. 

Maggie grabbed the girl by the ribs and hauled her up, settling her as gently as she could on her shoulder. Now would be the difficult part—out the back window, down the building, and back to her safehouse before sunrise. A less-than-perfect disposal followed by a clumsy-as-hell escape. All in a night’s work. 

She unlocked the window and stepped onto the fire escape. She slid it shut behind her, and without looking down, she jumped.

Maggie awoke to the orange glow of the sunset through her window. 

The house she kept around this area was outside the city, among buildings low enough that the sun didn’t simply disappear when it got low. It was a small but homey little place, and she was particularly fond of the old recliner she had slept the day away in.

She stood and strode into the bedroom. This time the girl had moved, just a bit, as evidenced by the ruffling on the beige sheets. She had regained some of her complexion, and her wounds had sealed up. Maggie had changed the girl’s clothes and scrubbed off some of the blood before putting her to bed. She found not waking up to dried blood flaking off their skin did wonders for how her initiates took the news of their situation.

The girl stirred again, mumbling a bit. Maggie leaned in and checked her pulse. Nothing. She took the stool at the foot of the bed and leaned her head against the wall to wait. Someone as old as her woke from dormancy immediately, but newborns had some of that groggy human sleepiness at first. It would be a matter of time before the girl was lucid. 

She watched the last of the sunset through the bedroom window. Every inch the thing sunk below the horizon was like a fog clearing from her eyes, a weight lifting off her shoulder. Popular mythos said she should be a pile of ashes whenever she was caught in the sunlight, but in reality the thing just made her slower, clouded her mind, made her want to sleep when she had no practical need for it. 

She had been asked more than once if she missed being out during the day. She was far enough removed from the conveniences of daytime living that they didn’t appeal to her. After all, her world was much brighter in the dark of night. 

Besides, the sunset was the most beautiful part of the day. Even the humans agreed on that.

The last glow vanished, and a croaking groan came from the bed. The covers ruffled and two sticky hazel eyes crackled open. The girl looked around, surprising Maggie with how calmly she took everything in. Eventually the girl’s eyes settled on her. 

“Who’re you?” she slurred.

“My name’s Margaret. But you can call me Maggie.” Establishing herself as familiar as possible also made the process easier. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Emma.” Emma. Nice name. “Where am I?”

“My place. You had a bit of an incident last night, so I brought you here to recover.” 

Emma nodded. She wiggled herself into a seated position, upright against the wall. She’s certainly waking faster than most. 

“Well, thanks for that I guess. I don’t remember most of last night. I think I was on…” She caught herself and shot a wary glance at Maggie. “I think I was drunk. Where did I end up?”

“You were at this guy’s apartment.” Emma’s eyes bulged. So she did remember the departed Scumbag. “I think he laced whatever he gave you. He hurt you, bad. So I took care of him.” Some things were like a bandage, and just had to be ripped off. 

“Oh… well, I didn’t know him that well. I just went over for a…” She was clearly still hesitant to admit to the drugs, but sighed and accepted the cat was out of the bag. “A fix. You said he hurt me? I don’t feel hurt.” Her eyes popped again and her jaw fell open. “He didn’t…”

“I’m not sure what exactly he did,” Maggie cut in. “When I got in there you were on the bed, roughed up a bit, but clothed. I think I got there in time.” She gestured at her own shirt. “I did have to lend you some of my clothes, though.”

“Oh…” Emma lifted her arms, inspecting them. She stretched and bent her neck side to side. “I don’t feel roughed up. Don’t really feel hungover, either. Actually, I feel great.”

And, time to break the news. “Yeah. About that, Emma, you were in really bad shape last night. As far as I could tell, you were as good as dead. So I changed you.” 

Her look of amazement at her own good health was replaced by a wary glare. “You did what to me?”

“Emma, you died last night. And now you’re not human anymore.” 

It took a moment for that to sink in. Denial always came first. “Is this a joke? You’re just kidding, right? Is this some elaborate roleplaying rehab or something?”

“Afraid not, sorry. Though in this state you won’t need the drugs or rehab ever again, at least.”

Emma just stared back, hesitant to engage any more with someone she thought could be a doctor, a shrink, or even a cop. Time for the big guns.

“Check your pulse, Emma.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, but her hand shot up reflexively. A few beats past and her face grew concerned again. Her hand fell to her chest, and then her wrist, but each gave the same result. 

“Nothing.”

Maggie nodded. “That’s right. Never will be anything again, either. You’re dead, Emma. You can decide whether I ‘saved’ you or not later.”

Her hand fell. She shrunk back, as if trying to sink into the wall. “So, like, I’m a…”

She didn’t need to finish that sentence. “More or less, yeah.” 

Funny enough, her hand went to her mouth next. “But I don’t have fangs.”

“Watch this.” Maggie opened her mouth and pointed to her very normal, human-like canines. She focused a bit and they elongated, growing to animalistic rounded biters. She let Emma ogle them for a moment before she released them. “Takes practice to do it at will. Yours will come out when you get hungry at first.”

“Woah.” Emma stared at her closed mouth and ran her hand along her own teeth. Maggie had to suppress a chuckle at her amazement. “You’re like, not pale either.”

“Yeah, that’s just a myth. You keep your old skin tone.”

“Oh.” Emma considered her white arms. “Guess I wouldn’t change much either way.” Jokes are a good thing. She’s coping at the very least. “So like, where are you from?”

“Egypt.”

“Oh, that’s cool. And you’re like immortal, right?”

“Not quite. We don’t age. We can still die again.”

Emma nodded. “Ok. So how old are you?”

My least favorite question. “Very. Much older than any human.” 

She didn’t seem quite satisfied by that answer, but it would have to do.

“Anyway, I’d like you to travel with me for a bit. You have a whole new life to get used to, and your body has changed a lot. It’s even harder if you’re alone.”

“Uh,” Emma hesitated, “my old apartment, my friends.”

“It’s usually best to just leave all that behind. You’re practically a different person now. It’s impossible to hide the changes.” 

“Right.” Her face fell. Maggie let her take a moment. It was, after all, a lot to process. At least it beat being dead. Most of them thought so. 

“Well, if you’d like, we can go for a walk. You need to get used to your new self.”

Emma stayed quiet and just nodded her assent. 

Maggie stood. “I’ll be in the next room over whenever you’re ready to leave.” She stepped over to the door and left. The door was nearly closed behind her when Emma spoke.

“Wait, Maggie…”

She stuck her head back in.

“You said you took care of that guy. He hurt me, and you brought me back.” She stared down at her open palms. “Why? Like, why save me? You didn’t even know my name.” 

For the first time in weeks, Maggie smiled. “Why not?”