Vampire Sunrise

Jane

Jane had no particular sleeping pattern and was jumpy most of the time, so knocking on her door was like gambling; I had a 50/50 chance of having her answer the door or being shot through it.

She sometimes worked during the day and sometimes worked all night, depending on the job. "Such is the life of a tattoo artist, my dear," I remembered her telling me during a conversation we had a few weeks ago.

Jane wasn't picky about where to service her clients. Her apartment or the customer's place would both work depending on the money it made her. She didn't operate an "official" tattoo business but was a businesswoman and knew how to hustle. Every client accepting her services must follow strict safety and sanitary practices, plus clients had to pay upfront before receiving any of her artistic talents.

Jane only played by her rules, and that's why I liked her so much. She appreciated her privacy but never had a problem opening up to me for some reason.

She stood slightly shorter than me, hairless and covered with various tattoos. Her mixed heritage almond-colored skin and green eyes were accompanied by lashes so long they could make runway models jealous.

She was fit, partially because of the punching bag hanging in her living room, where a couch used to be. Not sure how she got Allen to allow it, but she had her ways.

I knocked on Jane's door quietly. If she weren't in the shower, she would have no trouble hearing me. Jane had lived here for over two years and once told me, "It's the best deal in the city as long as you don't mind bleeding and carrying a gun."

We were both downstairs, giving blood when I met her for the first time. I nervously gave my rent payment for the first time, and Jane was next to me in another chair. She started talking to me without a prompt.

Jane was smart and probably saw through my anxiety. She most likely wanted her new neighbor to feel better, or maybe it was just her outgoing personality shining through. Either way, we had been friends ever since.

I knocked again, and just as I pulled my hand back, a metallic clanging sounded as the door chain fell against the frame. The rusty doorknob started to crunch and move.

I hoped she had looked through the spy hole and saw me, or else "Goliath," her custom Colt 45 ACP with extended mag and carved grip, would be saying hello first. She loved guns about as much as sex and tattoos.

"Alice!" Jane said. Her voice immediately hugged me in that unique Spanglish accent of hers. "Come in, sweetie; I'm about to start a pot of tea." I gave her a side hug.

"Why are you knocking on my door during the hours of the living? Everything OK, chica?" She waved her hand and ushered me past her.

"Yes, sugar, everything's fine," I replied in my raspy southern accent. "I have a question. I don't think it's anything serious, and I hate to bother you, but do you have time to look at a spot under my ribs? It came up overnight, and I've never seen anything like it before."

"Alice, you've come to the right place; let Dr. Jane Diaz-Jones have a look-see. I can't promise anything, but I'd kick myself if I missed an opportunity to look under your shirt," she said with a slight smirk. I laughed and shook my head at her.

Jane walked to her desk and then back across the living room with a battery-powered magnifying glass in a gloved hand.

Once she was close enough, I lifted the right side of my shirt to about bra level. Three seconds later, Jane spoke.

"Holy shit, Alice. I think you need to see a doctor – like yesterday. I've only seen these things on vampires that have been burned directly by silver or sunlight.