𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 • 𝐌𝐉

𝟒

Four: Lunch Rush

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Days blended into nights as Michael's mind churned over the mystery of the woman he had encountered. The pull of her, something more than just curiosity, had settled deep within him, gnawing at him like a hunger that couldn't be satisfied. Despite his best efforts, he had failed to track her down. The days turned to weeks, and as the conclusion of three weeks loomed, he began to think that perhaps he was destined to move on. The shadows of his past were long, and the unrelenting thirst for blood left little room for anything else.

Meanwhile, Julie was adjusting to her new life, her focus entirely on the present. Her thoughts had drifted far from that night, and the man who had haunted her for so long was now a fleeting memory. Roscoe's, the café where she worked, had become even more popular, her exceptional customer service leaving patrons raving. They said the place was simply more enjoyable with her there, a charm she carried effortlessly. Despite the buzz and the steady flow of customers, she hadn't lost hope—she still dreamed of bigger things, even though the café had yet to see any celebrities walk through its doors.

For Michael, however, the world was a darker, more singular place. No thoughts clouded his mind but one: the blood. The blood of the mystery woman—the one that smelled like something precious, like happiness itself. Every day, every night, his hunger for it gnawed at him, pulling him deeper into obsession. He couldn't remember the last time anything else mattered. His life, stripped of emotion, had become an unending search for the only thing that could sate his hunger. He didn't care for anything or anyone; only the blood mattered. He could still taste the richness of her, even though she remained out of reach.

Three weeks passed, and neither Michael nor Julie had a clue that the other still lingered in the background of their lives, memories fading with time.

The morning Julie's alarm went off, she jumped out of bed immediately, a sharp contrast to the lethargy that often crept over her. She made the bed with practiced efficiency, already thinking ahead to the rhythm of her new routine. She repeated the steps in her mind, the words an anchor to the optimism she clung to. She moved quickly through her morning rituals, humming a little as she went. But then, her phone rang, breaking her routine. It was a cracked, battered phone that she quickly snatched from her kitchen counter. The familiar crackle of the line seemed to echo her racing thoughts as she glanced at the screen. She didn't need to check the caller ID before answering. "Hello?" she asked, tugging a shirt over her head as she moved toward the living room.

"Hey, sis," Jack's voice came through the line, raspy and familiar, a touch of exhaustion woven into the edges.

Julie's smile bloomed instantly, the sound bringing with it a wave of relief and nostalgia. It was like a piece of home drifting across the miles between them. "Jack! It's been ages. How's it goin'? You've been quiet lately," she said, her voice a mixture of cheerfulness and concern.

On the other end, Jack shifted in his small, cluttered room, the creak of the old bed frame echoing in the silence. The sun seeped through the blinds in sharp, golden stripes, painting his face with bars of light and shadow. He sighed, the weight of something unseen pressing down on him, and leaned back against the cold headboard. "Yeah," he started, his tone hesitant, tinged with something that made Julie's heart tighten. "Been goin' through a lot. Didn't want to drag you into it."

The smile faded from Julie's face, replaced by a tightening in her chest. The worry she tried so hard to keep at bay finally clawed its way in. "Jack," she said, voice soft but firm, "you're my brother. Don't say that. I'm already worried now, so spill."