Thea: A Vampire Story Read online

  THEA

  A VAMPIRE STORY

  Written by

  Steven Jenkins

  Amazon Kindle Edition

  THEA: A VAMPIRE STORY

  Copyright © 2016 by Steven Jenkins

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The right of Steven Jenkins to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted to him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Published in Great Britain in 2016

  by Different Cloud Publishing.

  www.steven-jenkins.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Free Books!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Free Books!

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Steven Jenkins

  Fourteen Days

  Burn the Dead: Quarantine (Book One)

  Burn the Dead: Purge (Book Two)

  Burn the Dead: Riot (Book Three)

  Spine

  Rotten Bodies

  “For Granddad.”

  FREE BOOKS!

  For a limited time, you can download FREE copies of Spine, Burn The Dead, and Rotten Bodies - The No.1 bestsellers from Steven Jenkins.

  Just visit: www.steven-jenkins.com

  1

  Tuesday, 4th February, 2003.

  I hear crying.

  My head shoots up from the pillow and I scurry out of bed. My first instinct is to go to Thea. I race over to her cot, lean over the railing and find her sleeping soundly, undisturbed.

  It’s coming from Ivy’s room.

  Normally, a crying child is commonplace this time of night. But things have definitely got worse since Mark walked out. I burst into Ivy’s room, tripping over one of the many toys scattered across the floor. When I switch the light on, I see my little girl sitting up in bed, her face bright red from anguish. “Mummy’s here, sweetheart,” I say softly as I race over to her. I hate to see her cry—yet I cherish these moments of comfort the most. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I stroke her long blonde hair. “Another nightmare?”

  Ivy nods her head, sniffing loudly, her tears muting a little with just my presence.

  “What was it about?” I ask.

  Ivy looks at me with those pitiful blue eyes, that look she used to give when she knew she was in trouble. It always makes me smile inside, but saddens me at the same time. How could she ever be afraid of me? I would never hurt my girls. Nor would I allow anyone else. They’re my angels. And it’s my job to keep them safe.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” I say, “you can tell me? Was it about vampires again?”

  Ivy nods again, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pink pyjamas. “They were everywhere,” she replies, tugging on the quilt. “They were trying to eat me.”

  “It was only a dream. Vampires can’t get you. They’re extinct. Like dinosaurs. And you’re not afraid of dinosaurs, are you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “See?” I say. “So just try not to think about them, okay?”

  “But Mrs Rogers said that they still live in some parts of the world.”

  That bloody teacher. “Yes,” I say with reluctance. “A few, I suppose. But not like the ones from hundreds of years ago. You’ll never meet one. I’m an adult, and I haven’t seen one. So there’s no need to worry.”

  “Is it true that if you drink vampire blood, you turn into one?”

  “Look, sweetheart, try not to think about it now. You need your sleep; you’re a growing girl.”

  “Tracy Jones says that you become a slave.”

  “What are you talking about? A slave to who?”

  “A slave to the vampire that gave you the blood.”

  I chuckle. “Tracy Jones is just teasing you. There’s no such thing as a vampire slave.”

  Ivy looks unconvinced. I don’t blame her though. Learning about vampires used to scare the hell out of me too. I wish they wouldn’t teach it in schools. Not at eight-years-old, anyway. She’s way too young. She should be learning about the wonderful things that exist in the world. Not bloody monsters. “Now, do you think you can get back to sleep?”

  I smile when Ivy shrugs her shoulders because I know exactly what she’s gunning for. “So what will make you go to sleep?” I ask.

  “Sleep in your bed?” she replies with a cheeky grin.

  There it is. Right on cue.

  “Okay.” I’m a pushover. “But just for tonight. In your own bed tomorrow.”

  “All right, Mum,” she says, reaching forward to wrap her arms around me.

  I pick her up off the bed, struggling with her weight. She’s getting bigger. I suppose she was due a growth spurt. Maybe she’ll be tall like her father.

  Let’s hope that’s all she gets from that wanker.

  2

  Saturday, 31st August, 2013.

  It’s finally over.

  After almost five years of hell, that prick has broken Ivy’s heart. The last thing I want is to see my little girl in so much pain, but I can’t help but feel relieved. Callum was a worthless parasite; she’s better off without him. What the hell did he ever do for her? Apart from get a fifteen-year-old pregnant. And get her hooked on every substance under the sun. He was never there for her. I was the one who took her to rehab. I was the one who was by her side when she had the abortion. Me. And where was Callum? Getting fucked up in some grotty flat, not even knowing what day it was.

  Good riddance!

  Ivy’s hurting now. Of course she is—she’s eighteen. But she’ll get over him. It may take some time, but Thea and I will help her through it. That’s what families are for.

  She’s been in her bedroom for three days now, and she’s barely had a thing to eat. She says she’s been clean for six months. I want to trust her, I really do, but it’s hard. I’ve been let down so many times in the past. All I can do is keep an eye on her. And now that my baby’s home, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

  I leave the bathroom and see Thea standing outside her sister’s bedroom.

  “Ivy,” she calls out, gently tapping on the door, “can I come in?”

  “Go away!” I hear Ivy shout from inside.

  “Do you want to watch Ghostbusters with me?” Thea asks. “It’s your favourite.” She’s persistent; I’ll give her that. But she’s only ten years old. She’s too young to understand what it’s like to have your heart broken.

  She will though.

  “Leave me alone!” Ivy screams as something thuds against the door. Thea moves away in fright—I can’t tell if it was a fist or a shoe—but either way, that girl is not ready to come out.

  I walk over to Thea, her eyes filling up with tears, and then take her by the hand. “Come on, sweetheart,” I say to her gently, “just give her a few more days. She’s still hurting.”

  “S
he’s been in there for so long though,” Thea says, wiping her eyes. “Can’t you talk to her?”

  I steer her away from the door and down the stairs. “I’ve tried talking,” I reply. “She just needs a little space.”

  “But I really miss her. It’s not fair.”

  “I know,” I say as we walk into the living room, “but we have to be patient. I’ll watch Ghostbusters with you instead. How does that sound?”

  Thea sniffs, wiping her eyes again. “Okay, Mum.”

  “And how about I make us a nice hot chocolate?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

  Smiling, she sits on the couch. “With marshmallows?”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll see if there’s any left in the cupboard.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  * * *

  Thea is beside me on the couch, curled up like a sleeping kitten. She only lasted about a half hour into the film before dozing off. Once she devoured her hot chocolate that was it. I love it when she falls asleep on the couch, or in the car. I can’t exactly carry her to bed anymore, but the sight of it still warms my heart.

  I could murder a glass of wine. Or a bottle. Hot chocolate is nice, but it’s Saturday night. And it’s been a tough few days with Ivy, so a glass of red would have gone down a treat. But I could never risk drinking in front of her. I couldn’t bear to see another relapse. My angel’s fought so hard for so long; it’s the last thing she needs to see.

  I turn to Thea and give her shoulder a gentle tap. “Wake up, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Time for bed.”

  She starts to stir, her eyes half-opening. “What time is it?” she asks, drowsily.

  I get up off the couch. “It’s late. Way past your bedtime.”

  Rubbing her eyes, she yawns and then holds out both her hands. I grab them and pull her up.

  Like a sleepwalker, she follows me out of the living room and up the stairs.

  “Are we still going swimming tomorrow?” Thea asks as we pass Ivy’s bedroom.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think Ivy will come with us?”

  I glance at Ivy’s closed door. “I doubt it. Maybe next week—when she’s feeling better.”

  Thea tuts as we walk into her bedroom. Climbing under her pink quilt, Thea smiles at me and closes her eyes the moment her head hits the pillow. “Goodnight, Mum,” she slurs. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.” I kiss her on the forehead and then softly stroke her soft blonde hair. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  No matter how many times I hear those words, they still have the same wonderful effect on me. Nothing like the meaningless ‘I love yous’ that Mark used to mumble whenever he came home drunk—and guilty.

  I blow her a kiss and then switch off the light. Leaving the door slightly ajar, I make my way towards the stairs. I stop outside Ivy’s door. Should I see if she’s ready to talk yet? Or maybe eat something?

  Best not. She’ll only accuse me of being smug and loving every moment of this. I’ll leave it until tomorrow.

  No—I’m her mother. I shouldn’t have to wait. My little girl’s in pain, and she needs a shoulder to cry on. Even if she hates me right now, even if she calls me all the names under the sun, I’ll still be there for her. It’s my job.

  “Ivy?” I whisper, tapping on the door. “Can I come in?”

  There’s no answer.

  I check my watch: 10:07 P.M.

  Shit, what if she’s sleeping? The last thing I want to do is wake her. The poor girl probably hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days.

  Putting my ear to the door, I listen out for movement. All I can hear is the faint sound of the TV.

  She’s awake. I’ll check on her. I slowly start to push the door open, bracing myself for a huge shriek, telling me to piss off.

  But it doesn’t come.

  Only the glow of the TV screen lights the room. Ivy is lying on top of the quilt on her side, facing the window. I can’t see her face; I can’t tell if she’s sleeping or crying. Let her be sleeping. She needs it.

  “Ivy,” I whisper. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She doesn’t answer. She’s sleeping, thank God.

  The TV remote is on the bed next to her. Just as I lean over to scoop it up, I see something on the bed. A dark patch; it surrounds her entire body. What the hell is that? Did she spill something? Wine? Don’t tell me she’s back off the wagon. She promised me.

  I move closer, kneeling on the bed, and see that it’s not red wine.

  It’s blood.

  I frantically switch the light on and race over to her bedside. Heart pounding, unable to catch my breath, I shake her by the shoulders. This isn’t real. I see the razor blade fall onto the carpet from her dangling arm.

  “Ivy!” I sob, staring in dismay at her beautiful face now drained of colour. “Wake up!”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I pick up a shirt from the radiator and quickly wrap it around her sliced wrist.

  Thumb to her neck, I feel for a pulse.

  There isn’t one.

  “Wake up, Ivy!” I scream as I part her eyelids. “It’s Mummy. Please!”

  Still nothing.

  This isn’t happening. Please God, let it be a dream.

  Let me wake up.

  Climbing onto the bed, I start using CPR on her, the technique somehow coming back to me after all these years.

  Open your eyes, sweetheart. Open your eyes.

  Breathe!

  I start to lose count of how many breaths and chest compressions I’ve given her.

  But nothing has changed. No sound, no movement.

  Just stillness.

  My throat is closing. My lungs, chest—they’re tightening.

  I need to get her to the hospital. She needs a doctor.

  I race out of the room, my shoulder thudding against the doorframe, and dash into my bedroom. I grab the house phone and call for an ambulance.

  But I know my little girl has gone, even before I give the woman my details.

  I float across the landing back into Ivy’s room, my stomach and heart twisted and torn beyond recognition. None of this feels real.

  Because it’s not real! It can’t be!

  I stare down at her for a moment as she sleeps soundly. Her body starts to shrink to Thea’s age. No, younger. Much younger. She’s five years old and she’s passed out on the bed, up late again watching a movie with me in bed. A bowl of popcorn resting on the quilt, a cup of hot chocolate on the bedside cabinet. Why can’t these moments last a lifetime? Why does everything have to end? As Ivy’s body returns to the present, I pray for time to roll back just a few hours. No—further back. Much further. But time has stopped. The space around me is fading fast. An empty void of nothingness.

  I climb onto the bed next to her. The quilt is soaked through, but the dampness barely registers. It is wine. It’s not my baby’s blood. It’s not possible. Draping my arm over her still body, I close my eyes and wait for this nightmare to cease.

  I love you, Ivy.

  I’m sorry…

  3

  Sunday, 27th October, 2013.

  Ivy is dead.

  My mind screams it over and over again, but the words can’t physically pass my lips.

  Thea is asleep upstairs, all cried out. I’m past crying, too. All I feel is numb, broken—like a speeding train has hit me—and there’s nothing left but scattered organs and shattered bones. If it weren’t for Thea, getting hit by a train would seem a lot less traumatic.

  The living room TV is on, but nothing’s sinking in. I know it’s some American cop show, but I can’t register the plot, who’s in it, what the name is. I just don’t care. Nothing seems important anymore.

  Except Thea.

  I went through the first bottle of red in a matter of minutes, and I’m already halfway done with the second. I want to stop—I need to stop. Thea’s got school in the morning—her first day back. The Head-teacher told her to take as much time as s
he needed, but Thea actually wants to go. She hasn’t seen her friends in weeks, and another day stuck in this house with me would probably be too much. At least school will be a distraction for her. This house is riddled, top to bottom, with reminders of Ivy. Her guitar in the corner of the room, her mass collection of beauty products in the bathroom. And, of course, her bedroom. It’s been two months, and I still haven’t been able to go in. Mum and Uncle Roy threw out the mattress while I was at the park with Thea. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing it again. Every time I pass her door, her room feels like a black hole of pain; one step inside and I’d be whisked off to Hell, to relive that day, over and over again, until I’m reduced to nothing but a shell. Thea will be alone—without a mother—and I will be lost, spiralling into darkness.

  All the bedrooms can be locked from the outside with one skeleton key. It’s been in the vase on the landing table since we moved in. I never had any reason to use it before. Well, now I do. If I could afford to move out, I would—and staying in Mum’s isn’t an option—no matter how much she begs.

  After what happened to Ivy, Mum was the last person I wanted to deal with the mattress. All those memories must have floated back to the surface.

  But I suppose it was different with Ivy—she cut her wrists open, bled to death, had every intention of dying. But Mum couldn’t be that brave. She tried to take the easy route: an entire bottle of painkillers. Anyone can get drunk and swallow a bunch of pills. It’s nothing. It’s a piece of cake. Your classic cry for help.

  It’s when your only daughter has to find you passed out on the bed—that’s when things get hard.

  But Thea and I will be okay. We will get through it. Things will get better. As long as we have each other.

  And as long as Ivy’s door stays locked.

  I take a huge gulp of wine. I wince a little; it’s finally started to turn on me. Setting it down on the coffee table, I pick up the remote and switch the TV off. The last place I feel like going is to bed. It’s not that I can’t sleep—I sleep just fine. It’s as if my body just shuts down the moment my head hits the pillow. But sleeping only brings out the nightmares. In the day I can push away those feelings of dread by keeping busy, but when I’m sleeping, there’s no escape. And when I wake, for a moment I forget what happened to her, I forget about that bastard Callum.