For two straight days, Amanda didn’t go to school; Wednesday and Thursday. She watched the news channel waiting to see if Madelyn had alarmed the media to this ‘disastrous’ news. So far there wasn’t segment that wasn’t at her house. And Mrs.Brachen had turned the television off so she wouldn’t be seeing Philips girlfriend act strange. CottonGrewd Street is several blocks away from Qlanberry Street. Mrs.Brachen (Philip’s mother) wouldn’t stop talking about him as a toddler.
“And you know what he did next?” Mrs.Brachen asks.
Amanda’s eyes blink.
“What?” Amanda honestly didn’t know which story Mrs.Brachen was talking about.
“He marched on and put the fish bowl on the dog house!” Mrs.Brachen said.
There’s a purple cup right beside Mrs.Brachen on two bar stools that are improvised for a counter. There are big bands that bind these bar stools together, but, people may refer to them as binders because of their metal appearance. The Bar Stools have wheels that are balls people would throw for their dog to catch. These chairs are right beside the comfy chair Mrs.Brachen is sitting on.
Mrs.Brachen and Amanda share a laugh.
“Your son has been trying an Irish accent.”
Mrs. Brachen had been taking a sip from her drink until she spit it out.
“Irish?” Mrs.Brachen said, her face transforms from a happy parent to a concerned parent. It was instantaneous in a way. “Since when does my Philly…”
Amanda taps on her cheek.
“He’s doing it for a cheerleader.”
“Who is this cheerleader?”
“And why she is so special...?”
Amanda laughs from Mrs.Brachens simple and logical question.
“She fails at math, and…” Amanda said. She knew the girl too well, and everyone in school knew it. “You won’t believe it; but, he claims she finds Irish accents very attractive.”
Mrs.Brachen lowers her cup.
“Don’t say he has been helping her…” Mrs.Brachen said in a low voice. “My boy shouldn’t help a girl who relies on people to help her.” She sounds so determined to stop something. “I don’t want my son to be set up like I did; depending on one person.”
The television is off, which wasn’t on in the first place, and the blinds are down.
“So you depended on his dad?”
“Yes…” Mrs.Brachen said,she puts her hand on Amanda’s hand. “His father…and I…were on the bad side of the law for a time.” She squeezed Amanda’s hand. It was as though a secret is going to be told. “Truth is; the reason why Philip has partial hearing is…I took drugs when I was pregnant with him.”
It is like a weight had been lifted off Mrs.Brachen’s shoulders.
“…I thought he lost his hearing from too much arguing.” Amanda said, as Mrs.Brachen lets go of her hand.
Mrs.Brachen did not smile.
“I’ve lied to him.” Mrs.Brachen admits.
“And who else has done this too?” Amanda asks.
Mrs. Brachen takes out a card from her pocket.
“Dr.Hiddleston.” Mrs.Brachen said, letting Amanda see his business card.
Amanda read the business card.
“I have lots of those cards; you don’t need to give it back.” Mrs.Brachen said as Amanda’s grip on the card had tightened.
Amanda read over the phone number multiple times; each time it seemed unusual. It couldn’t be possible. That number is old and way too familiar for Amanda. It can’t be…it’s been so long, Amanda is trying to be logical thinking about this, and it’s probably a coincidence. This Doctor could not just be a different man. It could be the same man. Amanda puts the card into her jean pocket.
“You are a really good friend of Philip…” Mrs.Brachen is trying to ask a question, very awkwardly. “Could you please pry him away from…”
“Done.” Amanda held her hand out, for a hand shake.
Mrs.Brachen takes Amanda’s hand and pretty much do a handshake on it.
“I knew you would be a good influence for Philly.” Mrs.Brachen thanks her, after their handshake ended.
They have a conversation that eventually drifts off to infinity aka a wide variety of topics.
“Where do you work?”
“I work at the plastic factory.” Mrs. Brachen said, with a shrug. “It used to be a mannequin copier; the one where it copies the physical appearance of a person.” Mrs.Brachen uses her hands to make motions as she explains like Philip does. “And well…you see the result.”
Amanda raises an eyebrow, somewhat.
“What is it?”
“A rubber, hardened…” Mrs.Brachen puts her hand out in the middle of the air. “And a very convincing like replica of a person. All you need to do is paint it.”
Amanda’s eyebrow subsides.
“Philip, how long is this sirade going to continue?” Amanda asks,
“As long as it takes.” Philip quickly said, dropping his book bag at the corner of the door. He had this face that only a really-important-event-is-happening would require. “Quick mum, turn the Telly on!”
Mrs.Brachen has a quick surprised glance, catching her son using the word ‘Telly’. She presses the remote’s green button, and then the television surged to life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~
…Outside the doorstep of Florida Police department…
…Confrence of the sorts going on…
“We have solid proof that vampires exist.” It was Madelyn talking to reporters. She held a paper of the sorts in her hand. “And I lived with one for several years.”
“Are you saying that there’s a living vampire in Florida?” A reporter asks, holding out a microphone as did several
“Yes, mam, are you sure?” A kind, soft sounding reporter asks as well.
Madelyn’s face is practically bright with enthusiasm.
“Of course!” Madelyn said. “He’s the one who’s been draining his victim’s blood.”
“Who?” Another reporter asks.
Madelyn is holding the paper to all the reporters’ views.
“The police will not act on getting the killer; saying I have gotten too ‘bizerk’ into this!” She waves the paper sideways. Madelyn is mad, and very determined to get what she wants. “But no, I have one at my house—No, his house, living there.”
The kind, soft sounding reporter yet again makes another question.
“How do you know?” The soft sounding reporter asks.
Madelyn’s grip on the paper tightens.
“He told me, and threatened me.” Madelyn sticks to her story. “He showed me his true side.”
More reporters ask questions about how she didn’t know.
“How did you not know for several years that he was a vampire?”
“Who is this he?”
“Why were you living with a vampire anyway?”
“And why the heck are you coming out now, is this to traumatize people you hate?” A man, who wasn’t part of the group, is shouting. By this point the camera’s shifted to him. This man looks as though he just got back from surfing. “You shouldn’t be a detective for your antagonistic techniques!”
The camera’s shifted back to her.
“This is not a politic campaign.”
“OH, this is about being a spoiled brat!” The man yells. “And anyone who believes her enough to take care of this ‘vampire’ will end up dead” The cameras are focused on him. “I’m Lukus Fedler, Jr. And I was once her partner. She’s the detective who cried vampire!”
He shakes his fist.
“Don’t say that I told you so.” Lukus, the man who had caught attention, then walks away from the spot light.
The reporters turn their attention back to her.
“He just got his 15 minutes of fame,” Madelyn wrote off his warning. “And this vampire lives on Qlanberry Street at 3546 B. He does not have a car! And he’s not leaving Florida any time soon.”
Some reporters who were in the crowd are seen backing out.
“Who is it?” One odd sounding reporter insists on asking.
Madelyn, being firm in her ways, is virtually not scared to telling who it is.
“Baker;” She holds her fist out. “Anyone who wants to kill (or drive out a vampire) without the permission of the sorts; go ahead. Kill that mo—“ She says a word that gets bleeped out. “Get a stake, bullets, rakes, anything and go kill that sucker.”
The reporter, who was getting Madelyn’s words on air, backs out from the group, looking sweaty and has a red face from being out there without sun lotion. We can hear more information being given out behind the reporters back. The tension and atmosphere says this will erupt in a…terrible result.
The reporter wipes his face using a handkerchief.
“This is Harry L. Rowl, reporter of the Florida…and someone is…” He wipes his forehead using the handkerchief. “Is going to die. No, no,no, no,don’t believe what I said; this is a Watergate kind of thing. “ He immediately shook his head. “Well. No…This is the Big Bad Wolf—no.”
Rowl frowns, he saw the man behind the camera giving him an ugly look.
“Looks like we have a vampire war controversy….in Florida.” He said, taking a sigh. Rowl wipes off the sweat on his cheek. “Back to you, Cam and Chase!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~
Amanda’s eyes did not move. Her jaw had lost control. Her hands were stuck on her lap.
“…What….?” Mrs. Brachen changes the channel to a different entertainment network.
Philip touches Amanda’s shoulder.
“Amanda, are ya all right?” Philip asks his friend.
Amanda is shaking, she couldn’t say a word.
“I…” Amanda slowly said, with a tremble in her speech. “de-d-despise her.”
Mrs.Brachen turns the volume down.
“What’s going on?” Mrs.Brachen gets up from the chair.
Philip looks to his mom.
“Mom…” Philip said. He takes a moment to actually think about how to say it. It’s not really easy after a detective just told the address of your friend’s house and her dad is a vampire.. “Amanda’s not my girlfriend. She’s a friend.”
“No, girlfriend.” Mrs.Brachen said.
“Mum…” Philip’s eyes were so puzzled, well, adorable by being confused. “Um….why?”
“Because son,” Mrs.Brachen said. “I don’t want you to get hooked up with a leech.”
Philip shot Amanda a glare, when she was hiding a deserving smirk from his view.
“Her dad is Spheris baker and he’s an original vampire.” Philip then finishes what he had to say.
Mrs.Brachen’s face didn’t falter or change.
“Original?” Her eyes look back and forth at the duo. “I don’t understand how you classify vampires.”
Amanda clears her throat.
“Original vampires can’t stand in light,..B-b..but…I can.” She said, feeling more than everything coming up (emotional wise). It felt like a tornado had just entered and destroyed what it could; including destroying something that may have been able to be fixed.
Mrs.Brachen takes a drink from her cup.
“I’m a hybrid,” Amanda then spilled the truth like a horse on a race. “Vampire and human.”
Mrs.Brachen's cup fell and landed on the floor, where it shattered into pieces.