The Blood of Cynthia Vale

Mr. Athan Williams was not a normal man. From the first moment that Cynthia Vale laid eyes upon him, something had ticked wrong. Normal men did not possess skin so bleached as dried bone, too thin to veil the delicate cobweb of veins pulsing just millimeters beneath; normal men’s limbs did not hang in such a state of peculiarity that they resembled a rag doll carelessly abandoned on the floor; normal men’s teeth were not sharp and did not flash blindingly bright in the sunlight. And it was for these reasons that Cynthia had spent her afternoon peering with a sense of morbid curiosity over the rose bushes lining the edge of the lawn at the oddity of a man that was to become the next door neighbor of the Vale family.

So long she peered, in fact, that Cynthia had been able to forget her husband's impending return from work. Mr. Williams was simply so unusual; from the excessive multitude of layers he wore, to the odd, animalistic sharpness prickling behind his eyes, only remembering once the screeching of tires sounded behind her and Mr. Thomas Vale himself stepped out of the car and walked up to greet her. "Cynthia, couldn't you hear me?"

Cynthia turned her back to Mr. Williams and towards her husband, preparing a warm smile to greet him with, “I’m terribly sorry, dear,” she paused to give him a brief kiss, “I was simply lost in thought,” 

Together they walked into the house, parting ways once they reached the dining room; Thomas to the ancient leather chair situated in the corner and Cynthia to the kitchen to prepare for supper, as the Vale children would soon arrive home from school.

Cynthia hummed a pleasant tune as she took the pan from the cabinet next to the sink. "Thomas?" she called, turning on the oven.

"Yes?"

"I was curious, which sounds best for supper; ham or beef?" she asked.

"Ham sounds lovely, dear" 

Pulling the slab of meat from the refrigerator shelf, Cynthia returned to her humming. The rest of the day moved past as always, and the arrival of Mr. Williams was forgotten until the following morning, when Cynthia awoke to find an empty stretch of sheets and blankets where Thomas was supposed to be. It wasn't an oddity for him to already have departed for work when she first emerged from sleep; she thought nothing of it. 

Within half an hour Cynthia was ready for the day, and only another fifteen when the last of the children was ushered out to the bus stop on the street corner. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Williams from the porch, and tried as she might, could not resist casting a sheepish glance towards his towering figure. 

Cynthia sat down in the kitchen several hours later, when at long last her list of chores had dwindled to almost none. She tugged at the length of ribbon securing her golden curls in place, letting them hang free around her shoulders. Leaning until her shoulders pressed into the chair’s back, Cynthia let out a sigh. Ding!

Flinging the curls in front of her face, she sat up abruptly and hurried to the door, pausing a moment to tie back her hair into place and straighten out her clothing before she turned the knob to reveal the blinding smile of Mr. Williams. However sharp she had thought his teeth were before from a distance had increased tenfold now that they stood in a closer proximity. "Mr. Williams, what a lovely surprise," Cynthia greeted him with a smile of her own.

He extended a hand towards her. “We haven’t officially met yet, have we? Athan Williams,”

Cynthia was surprised by the lifeless chill of his skin, “Cynthia Vale,”

"May I?" he gestured to the door.

She stepped to the side and swept her arm towards the living room, "Of course,"

Athan sank into one of the chairs around the wooden coffee table, setting down a parcel Cynthia hadn't noticed him carrying before. After lingering by the door for a moment, she asked “Forgive my manners, sir, would you like a drink?” 

He nodded. Quick strides brought her to the kitchen. "What sort would you like, Mr. Williams?”

"Water is fine," he replied from the kitchen doorway.

Cynthia turned sharply. She hadn't heard him get up. "Wonderful,"

After she had brought out two glasses from the cupboard above the stove; his filled with water and hers with a light tea, she returned to the living room and settled into the chair opposite from him. "These," Athan said, grabbing the parcel and placing it into her hands, "are for you,"

Quickly she untied the thin white string to reveal a bundle of blood red roses. A slight smile crossed her face, "You're too kind, Mr. Williams," Cynthia brought the flowers to her nose, inhaling the delicate scent.

He returned the expression, "Leftovers from trimming the bushes; I thought you might appreciate the gesture. And Athan is fine, please,"

"I'm curious, Athan, why the sudden move here? There isn't much that goes on around here except for the rumored vampire sightings,"

"I was in need of a change of pace," he shrugged, settling back into the chair, "Here's as good as anywhere,"

Silence stretched between them as he took a sip, "although I can't say that the rumors had nothing to do with it," 

Cynthia smiled and leaned forward. "Then I have to ask, what do you think of them? The vampires?"

"I doubt they amount to much. Vampires are the stuff of children's tales," Athan shrugged again, though now his shoulders and smile had gained an edge, like a folded piece of paper, "still rather intriguing to consider, aren't they?" 

The edge was in his voice now, too. He cast a glance down at his wrist. "Ah, well, it seems I must go. Thank you for your time, Cynthia,"

They stood, and with a quick embrace and a final thank you for the flowers, Athan was gone.  

Lingering next to the window, Cynthia’s gaze caught on the woolen jacket covering his receding back. She exhaled and collapsed backwards against the door. It had been years since her heart had buzzed like it had for Athan. Glancing sideways from the corner of eyes at the leather chair as she passed, Cynthia walked through the dining room and down the hallway into the room where she and Thomas slept. It still smelled like him, the last traces of his sharp cologne hanging in the air.

Cynthia tugged open the curtains so the sun flowed into the room. The bottom edge had sunk below the next door house's roof. She turned to the bed, flinging off the sheets and covers, dragging them to the powder room and into the washing machine. All save the visit from Athan, the day had passed with the same repetitive cadence that the rest did. Flopping down on the sofa in the living room, she glanced down at the silver band around her finger. Sunlight caught on the tiny facets of the diamond as she pulled it from her hand and held it into the light. Standing, she made her way to the front closet and tugged her gray coat and hat from the darkness.

Darkness fell soon after she left, leaving the moon and the street lamps her only guides. Cynthia hastened between the pools of light the lamps cast; it had been a poor decision to leave so late for the grocery. Still, they'd used the last of the peas the day before and she'd have six mouths to feed when she got back to the house.

Briskly she flitted between the lamps like a moth drawn to flame, weaving through the neighborhood and swivelling her head from side as the row of houses swept past, until finally there it was, the sign reading Cypress Street and the last stretch of suburbia between her and safety. Her breath puffed out in tiny clouds against the cold as Cynthia darted around the corner and slammed into a towering wall of wool. Scattering the cans from her bag, she stumbled back and collapsed onto the sidewalk. “Cynthia?” called out a familiar voice.

Suddenly, Athan was crouched beside her, gathering the cans into his arms and into her bag. “Thanks for your help,” said Cynthia once the cans had all been returned to their rightful place.

"Anytime," he responded, giving her a smile.

Cynthia was once more drawn to the knife-like sharpness of his teeth. After realizing she was staring, she quickly turned her gaze to her shoes, then back to his face. "So what brings you out so late?" she asked, "It's awfully cold out,"

Athan tilted his head towards the moon. "I find it sort of calming, the night," he turned back towards her, "I would ask the same if the cans didn't already indicate," 

"Well, get home safely," Cynthia smiled and walked past him, waving her hand in farewell.

He waved back before melting into the darkness. Cynthia fluttered down the street, quickly opening the door and stepping inside. The table had already been set, messily albeit, in her absence, each of the chairs filled with one of the Vale children. "Mom!" cried Katherine, the eldest. 

All four jumped up to embrace Cynthia. "Has Daddy not come back yet?" she asked, ruffling down the hair of the next oldest, Andrew. 

Katherine shook her head. "Well then," said she sweetly, "we'll have to make sure everything is ready when he arrives," 

The children nodded. "We already set the table," Andrew stated proudly.

"You mean I set the table," retorted Katherine, "You can't even reach the cups,"

"She's lying, Mommy, I did help!" cried Andrew indignantly. 

Cynthia leaned over and smiled, "Thank you," she ruffled both of their curly heads and guided all four gently back to the table, "to whoever so graciously set the table for us,"

Thomas arrived half an hour later, just as the beef from the fridge was done and the vegetables warmed in a pot over the stove. Hastily, Cynthia stood to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. She removed his coat and hung it next to her’s in the front closet. "How was your day, dear?" 

He didn't respond, instead sitting down heavily at the head of the dining table. Thomas let out a sigh as Cynthia sat next to him. Few words were exchanged across the table that night, all save the occasional "Please pass the meat," or "May I have another roll?"

All of them knew better than to cross Thomas Vale when a sour mood had befallen him; it was impossible to predict how he might react, tried as they might have over the years. 

The next morning came as the previous had, with Thomas already gone by the time she awoke. It mattered little to Cynthia; they would have had little time to converse between Thomas's getting ready for work and Cynthia's preparing the children for school.

The doorbell sounded earlier that day, only minutes after the last of Andrew's backpack was out the door. "Forgive me, Cynthia, for my early intrusion, but I thought that you would want this returned to you as early as possible"

Athan extended out a ring of silver, embedded with tiny gems. Her wedding ring. “Oh! Thank you,” Cynthia cried.

In truth, she hadn’t missed the ring; she had never even realized its absence. “I must have lost it in the shuffle last night,” Cynthia looked up at him, “Here, come inside. I’ll get you a drink,”

Once two glasses had been poured, Cynthia sat down in the living room across from Athan. Several moments of comfortable silence stretched between them as the pair quietly sipped at their drinks. Cynthia studied his face, the edge of the jaw, the web of veins, the black eyes, and most intently, the teeth. 

They spoke little, simply enjoying the other's company. "Cynthia?" asked Athan once he finished his drink.

"Yes?" she set down her glass onto the table. 

"I was curious," he paused, a sliver of boyish anxiousness seeming to pass over him, "would you like to go for dinner tomorrow? If its not too much trouble,"

Surprise kept her silent for a second. "Of course. What time works best?"

"I'll be here at seven. But," he hesitated once more, "what will Thomas think?"

Cynthia waved her hand through the air. "Dinner with a friend is nothing important. I'm sure he’ll be fine,"

He grinned. "Seven it is. See you tomorrow,” 

The next moment he was gone. Giddiness raced through her veins. The arrival of Mr. Athan Williams had been a gift from above, sent to split through the monotonous rhythm her life had become. 

Cynthia counted the seconds stretching between her and dinner the next day. Later, she rummaged through the boxes on the top shelf of her closet, eyes searching for her mother's necklace. The string of pearls were reserved for special occasions, Cynthia having last worn them for her and Thomas's ten year anniversary.

The next day came and went by in a sort of haze, all of Cynthia’s thoughts centering around the dinner. She hadn’t told Thomas her plan yet, and didn’t intend to. The less he knew, the easier her evening would be. When the clock in the kitchen ticked to six, Chynthia gathered up her pearls and makeup and the blood red dress she had selected for the evening and gave each of the children a kiss goodbye.

Athan came punctually at seven o’clock and led her to the car parked in his driveway. His hands, stone-cold as always, seemed to shake as he helped her into the car. The conversation flowed swiftly between them, and it seemed like only minutes had passed before she found Athan pulling her towards the car once more. Despite the food, hunger still gnawed at Cynthia's stomach, and the feeling of giddiness had not yet worn off yet. 

His sharp, needle-like teeth flashed in the headlights of the upcoming passerby, and he seemed tense, like a wolf about to spring. Cynthia's heart raced as they sped along through the dark. She frowned through the window at the unfamiliar scenery; the neighborhoods, blurred from the rain beating against the glass, were different than those she was familiar with. "Athan?"

"Yes, dear," he responded, grinning at her.

"Where are we going? I don't recognize any of these streets,"

“Just a different route home, don’t worry,”

Sure enough, several minutes later Athan and Cynthia pulled into his driveway. Both hesitated for a moment, content to stay inside the security that the car provided against the torrent of rain lashing against the windshield. After several moments had passed, Atthan twisted behind the seat and pulled out a black umbrella. “Shall we head inside?”

Cynthia nodded, smiling sweetly. A sudden rush of coldness swept into the car as Athan opened the door, unfurling the umbrella as he stepped out. He circled around the car and opened her door as well. 

Sparsely decorated apart from the occasional awkwardly-placed piece of furniture, Athan’s house was far from cozy. The smell of cleaning solution and dust hung over everything as he guided her through the complex maze of cardboard boxes to the small gray sofa in what Cynthia assumed was to become the dining room. Together they sat quietly for several seconds before Athan broke through the silence, “Cynthia, there’s something I need you to know,” 

“What is it?” she asked softly, studying the lines of his face.

Slowly he moved his face towards her’s, a light smile curving his lips. Closer, and closer until they were almost touching. Then, quick as a snake, Cynthia plunged her mouth towards his neck, piercing through the skin like paper. Athan made a peculiar noise, not unlike that of a rabbit, the blackness of his eyes expanding, as a fountain of blood spurted forth from the wound. Cynthia didn’t care when it splattered over her dress; she had waited for far too long for the sensation of flesh parting around her fangs and the metallic taste of blood on her lips.