The Last Corvus (completed)

Ch. 15 Isadora

Chapter 15

Isadora

I haven't slept a wink since the dream.

At first I tried staring at the ceiling until my alarm went off, but then I remembered the stack of boxes stacked next to the bed, and that I quit the Deli. I need to call the boss and tell him. Once it's a reasonable hour.

I've tried to distract myself by starting to unpack, but I've already finished filling the dresser and am halfway done unpacking all of my books (the majority of the boxes, it turns out) onto the bottom shelf, and my mind hasn't had a reprieve. I keep replaying the dream over and over again, my fingers practically on autopilot. What strange things to dream. I mean, not that dreams have a set plan or anything. I once dreamt about being chased by a herd of triceratops riding dirt bikes before being cornered under a bed frame and tortured by a witch. Yeah, this one was much more pleasant.

But that I was such a major component in it is bizarre. I've barely known him for a day and a half and he's already dreaming about me calling him "my sweet". And another thing: a black nightgown? I would probably never wear something like that, tees and boxers are too comfortable.

Speaking of which; did I change last night? I look down and, nope, I didn't. Ugh, I really need a shower. Where are the bathrooms in this place? I don't remember passing any on the way in. But then I might have for all I know, all the doors here look the same.

Grabbing jeans, a towel, and my favorite red long tee/tunic, I go in search of the showers, locking my new room behind me. I turn right, toward the branch off to the warehouse.

Before I make it even a foot I hear a blood-curdling, yet muffled, scream. I don't even make a conscious decision and my feet are already making their way back past my room and toward the noise.

Rounding the corner, I stand at the end of another hall that looks exactly like the other. This is too confusing. I'll need someone to draw me a map. I'll ask Lin later, but until then, where had that scream come from?

A door opens on my right and a girl appears, closing it behind her. She appears to be about my age, but, as is evident by her red eyes, she could be any age; there's no way to really know. She's only slightly shorter than I am, with super-short, tightly curled blond hair, two bright orange tendrils springing from behind her ears and curling almost to her waist. She looks vaguely oriental, with the customary slanted eyes (heavily made up), barely olive-toned skin, and slightly pouty thin lips. I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a model.

I gesture to the towel thrown over my shoulder, "does this facility have showers?"

Looking me up and down, she asks, "Isadora, right?" Before I can even answer she sneers, her fangs slowly extending, slurring her words. "Great. It's not enough that that psycho has to disrupt my beauty sleep, but now I have to show the new girl around." She blinks hard, smiles and extends her hand, her fangs retracting with an almost audible click that makes her wince. I shake her hand timidly and she continues in a much more pleasant tone. "Hi, I'm Jem. Yes, only one name, think Pink. There are showers. They're just down that hall." She gestures down the hall I just came from. Figures.

Someone moans from behind the door she just exited from. She shrugs and buries her perfectly French-manicured fingers into the pockets of her unnecessarily mini mini-skirt, "oh, don't worry about him. That's just Edgar. He suffers from an acute case of delirium. Every time he sees his blood IV he thinks it's a snake and freaks out. Anyway, I'm late for work. I'll see you later, okay?"

I thank her and turn back down the hall I just came from, wondering if she's bipolar or something. Mrs. Jones sees me and turns away from what I think is the door to my room. "Why, Isadora. I was hoping you were awake. My husband wishes to have a word with you."
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"Dr. Jones?" I ask as she loops her arm in mine and leads me away from the warehouse entrance.

"But of course. How do you find your room? Did you sleep well?"

"I couldn't sleep. Nerves. I'm almost halfway done unpacking." We talk easily as she escorts me down hall after hall, eventually ending at the office I entered two days ago. She knocks and I hear voices from inside. Dr. Jones permits our entry and she opens the door to let out Phillipe, a fuzzy black guinea pig in his arms. "Bonjour," I nod to him in passing.

His eyes light and he smiles. "Bonjour. Pump number two is broken," he replies in fragmented English. What?

Winna laughs and beckons me into her husband's small office. She walks to the desk and gestures for me to sit in one of the two armless leather chairs while he ruffles through a file of papers. Putting her hand over his, they exchange a few words and she departs, calling behind her a brief farewell.

He turns to me, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, and notices the towel. "Ah, alas. I'm afraid I must detain you from showering, if only for a brief time. I only have a few questions," and then he starts questioning me before I can even get comfortable. Where was I born, what's my whole name, when did I start changing? Would I list the symptoms I've displayed thus far? Was yesterday really my eighteenth birthday?

When he takes a moment to breath I ask him about Phillipe's response, to which he chuckles and replies, "ah, well, to understand that you must first understand his story. He's not very old, given vampire standards. Maybe twenty or so; so really he's only about forty. He was born in France and raised in Australia. His parents ran a gas station for tourists in the middle of nowhere. They seldom had customers so he only knows a few phrases in English, even if he doesn't actually know what they mean. 'Pump number two is broken, cash or credit, that'll be $6.50,' stuff like that.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to run some tests. It shouldn't take long."