Her E-mail program was set to automatically check for new mail every fifteen minutes. She had been waiting for messages for two weeks now, yet nothing had come. Two weeks, and not a single message. Not even "spam." Several times, she had almost signed up for a mailing list or two, just so that something would appear in her waiting mailbox. Any sort of outside stimulus. Anything more than the mindless "surfing," interrupted only long enough to set out another tin of food for the stray cats in the neighborhood. (She laughed inwardly at that last thought. She had become the creepy old lady that lived in the creepy dilapidated house alone with her cats. How the mighty had fallen...) But so far, nothing.
So Scary continued to sit in her room, and continued to wait.
As she waited, she thought about the nightclub where the other Kindred certainly were. Years ago, before her change, she would have been one of the inhabitants of the upper part of the club. Trendy, fashionable, beautiful... living for the moment, not worrying about a thing. But now, that wasn't even an option. Those of her clan were always cursed by their horrific visage, but her transformation had been even more extensive. The bones of her legs, seemingly every last one of them, had shattered, or liquefied, to the point of making them completely useless. Since the nights after her Embrace, Scary had been wheelchair-bound.
She tried to forget the way the people had looked at her, two weeks earlier, when she wheeled herself through the upstairs portion of the club. Edging away from her, as if she might have some strange disease, as if any contact with her might render them a helpless cripple as well. Their reaction never really surprised her. She remembered her breathing days, when she looked upon those who were afflicted with any sort of handicap with scorn. And she had not been the only one to look down on others this way. It seemed almost to be a part of being human. She had grown accustomed to the treatment, but it still stung.
Just another reason why she would continue to sit in her room, and wait.
A few nights ago, she had actually left her room for a few hours. November nights being what they were, a person bundled from head to toe was not an unusual sight. Scary felt none of the cold, but she always covered herself before going out. Winter was the best time of year for her, as long as the snow and ice weren't too heavy, as long as the sidewalks had been properly cleared. No one looked twice at someone dressed appropriately for the weather. People were too busy minding their own business, and hoping that if they ignored the person in the wheelchair, he or she would ignore them as well. In fifteen long years, Scary had come to see things the way they were.
She still couldn't be sure why she had decided to go out. Maybe she was considering returning to The Haven, to see if she could meet some other Kindred. Maybe they would accept her for what she was, a horribly deformed and crippled Nosferatu. Maybe they would even see that she had some worth. And maybe, just maybe, she might actually find someone to talk to. But she had been disappointed too many times before. Even undeath couldn't change some things.
In the end, she simply wheeled herself around the block a few times, and returned to her room, where she once again sat and waited.
There was another option, of course. She knew where to find the others of her clan, or at least where to start looking. She had visited the sewers in other cities, and knew the signs to look for. And every other time she had done so, she always managed to find someone to help her get back out of the sewers afterwards. But every time she thought about this second option, she was always struck by fear. What if no one else was down there? What if she couldn't get out once she got in? What if she remained forever trapped below the city streets, with no companionship, and no hope of ever leaving?
Scary tried to push these thoughts out of her head. Think too much like that, and she would certainly drive herself mad. She knew that she couldn't stay her in her room, waiting, forever. That would be just as bad as being trapped in the sewers alone. Sooner or later, she would have to take the risk. At least there were two options. Back to The Haven, or down to the sewers. Either one could be dangerous, probably equally so. But sitting in her room and waiting for an E-mail that would never come had grown tedious. Time to make a choice... The Haven or the sewers...
Better than sitting in her room and waiting...
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© 2002 anneke@scarywhitegirl.net