aware (peterick)

1

"So you've heard persistent growling, barking and scratching through the walls?"

"Yes. Growling," the elderly woman emphasises, her tone lacking patience. "Very humanlike growling..."

I sigh tiredly, concealing my annoyance with a cough, and rake a hand through my unwashed hair; I'm overdue a shower. "And how long have you been hearing these things?"

"About two months now."

My immediate conclusion: whatever she's complaining about has long passed its sell-by date. But this woman is old, and not to be offensive but she probably has slight problems with her memory, so of course she wouldn't know that.

You'd think that the elderly are wise, sensible beings, but when it comes to things that go bump in the night, they are the absolute worst to deal with. They'll start hearing strange noises but they won't tell anybody about it for weeks, convincing themselves that they are simply experiencing hallucinations of their dead partners whose spirits refuse to leave them alone. But what begins a sense of comfort soon turns into an unwanted disturbance.

They won't know exactly who on Earth to call, so what they'll do is contact about five other services before realizing all they needed to do was get in touch with the ASPCA. I wouldn't be surprised if my current client had asked a local priest she'd found in a Yellow Pages to bless her house and be ridden of evil spirits.

"I apologize if I'm coming off as rude," I say, mustering politeness. "But ma'am, are you sure it's not just dogs? Based on your descriptions, none of what you've heard sounds at all human. No human can survive in those conditions for two months without food, warmth and water. I recommend that you inform the ASPCA-"

"Oh, I'm sure there are dogs," she interjects, her tongue clicking. "Several dogs, in fact, that have become much quieter over time. All I hear now is their quiet whimpering and scratching, but most of the time it's the humanlike growling."

She keeps using that word, humanlike. It's the only word she's used during this conversation that makes her case liable in the hands of the NSPCC. "I hate to tell you this, but I don't think dogs can survive that long without-"

Again, she interrupts me. "I am aware, Sir. But you would know more about this than I do if you looked. There's someone in there. There's something in there, and it's barely alive, but I know it's alive. It would give me great comfort knowing that whatever it is, you can help it, so that it will no longer have to suffer."

Damn the elderly. Devious, clever bastards. "Ok, ma'am. My team and I will take a look into it, and we'll update you when we complete our investigation. Take care, now."

"Thank you," she flusters with faux emotion. "Thank you ever so much, Mr. Wentz."

"My pleasure," I lie through clenched teeth, hanging up the phone and placing it back into its cradle on my desk. I plop my head into my hands, my eyes bulging.

At his desk across the room, Brendon rotates slowly in his chair, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of gum. "I was worried she'd never stop talking."

"Dogs," I utter. "What is it with old people and dogs?"

"Are we opening up a new case?"

I kick back in my seat to stretch out my stiff joints and groan. "We might as well. I haven't been out in the field for a while now."

"How's the neck?"

"Sore."

He stops spinning and smirks. "That'll teach you not to go wandering off in the dark by yourself," he mocks. He picks up his to-go coffee cup and takes a sip, leaning back in his seat and swinging his feet up onto his desk. "The Earth's crust of which we walk on is lethal, I thought you'd know that by now. As you should know also that the VCA is our closest working partner."

I still don't know how on Earth that happened, nor do I understand why, though in recent decades, it hasn't been entirely uncommon for a creature of the night to willingly involve themselves in human crime. Which is why the VCA exists – the Vampire Concealment Association – to ensure they stay out of trouble, and most importantly, to keep their existence hidden from prying human eyes.

Aside from your other basic emergency services, hospitals, and protections against animal and child cruelty (namely the ASPCA and the NSPCC), there isn't anybody living on this Earth who knows about vampires, and collectively, I think we'd all like it to stay that way.

Current status of Monday Morning Brain Juice: all used up.

I scoff. "Oh, well I'm terribly sorry about my very important job which requires me to be on call 24 hours a day. I'm absolutely flattered that I'm the only one out of five people who work in this office who's actually committed to waking up at ungodly hours in the morning."

Brendon snorts, his hand flying to his mouth as he sputters and convulses in his chair. I'm worried he might actually be having a seizure and prepare to dial 911, but then he sneezes, sending coffee spurting out of his nose. He doubles over his desk and lays there, grinning at me. "What?"

"Am I really that funny?"

He wheezes. "I just didn't know you had actual commitments."

I shoot him my most stone-cold glare. "And I didn't know you could care less about child cruelty."

He coughs, bolts upright in his seat and turns to his computer screen. "Client name and address?"

"Tamsin O'Brien," I state, reading from the notes I'd jotted down earlier. "Little Morsel Apartments, Oak Street. Apartment number 123."

He searches the address, and a photograph pops up of an eerie rundown building standing in the middle of a dry, empty patch of land. "Delightful..." Brendon grimaces. "On the plus side, it's only a fifteen minute drive. Fancy grabbing pizza on the way home?"