Ruby and Will

I spent the rest of the day wandering around the many shops, and ended up getting my ears pierced, buying nice makeup, and some sunglasses that looked like mirrors on the side that people saw. By the time I was finished my shopping spree I had only one-hundred and eighty dollars left. I spent the rest of the day looking for a job. I had stopped in at the drycleaners, jewellers, grocery stores, and even a few restaurants, but they all wanted a resume, which I did not have. Besides, if I did have a resume what would I put on it? Job experience: prostitute for father. Skills: sex? I thought. No, that would not be acceptable at all.
While I mulled over the resume that I wish I had, I caught a glimpse of a soup kitchen. On the window in big red letters it said, HELP WANTED. My first thought was that they were probably not going to pay me, but then again I had to start somewhere. A soup kitchen might just well be that start. At least then I would have some sort of real job experience. I entered, and found someone who was serving food.
“Hello, my name is Linda, how may I help you?” she greeted. She was aged with deep lines on her face; her hair fading from its natural brown gave away the salt and pepper look.
“I saw the sign on the window, you’re looking for help?” her eyes lit up, and I realized that they were blue.
“Do you have a resume?” She asked, and my heart sank a little, but I didn’t let my confidence slide.
“Actually, I have never worked before, and I do not have a resume.” I saw her elated expression slip a little bit so I went on. “But I do have some skills that could be useful for this job.” Her eyebrows perked up. “I am a people person,” I lied, but in my mind it made sense. “And I am willing to learn new things. I am punctual in everything I do, and am flexible to work whenever is convenient for you.” I bit the inside of my cheek, hoping that that would calm my racing heart. I searched her eyes for any hint, but all I could see was a bottomless pit.
“What did you say your name was?” She asked, her eyebrows creasing.
“Ruby,” I said simply.
“Your last name?” she pressed and I felt my confidence slipping away. I had to think quickly for the second time. Before too much time had passed I figured out my new last name.
“Stoker, Ruby Stoker.”
“Stoker huh,” she mused. “Like the novel Dracula? Bram Stoker?”
“Yes, exactly,” I replied, feeling confident again.
“You know, that is my favourite book.” She said. Inside my head I pictured my mouth hanging low in surprise.
“Mine too,” I smiled.
“Well then, Miss Stoker, why don’t we assign you to dish detail today?”

Through out the rest of the day I found that Linda and I had many things in common. Her mother died at a young age, and that her natural hair colour used to be red, but over the years it faded into brown. She loved Dracula as much as I did, and we recited the entire book, start to finish while we worked. She waited the hungry people, and I cleaned their dishes. I didn’t mind, however, washing dishes; it was in fact relaxing a little. I found that I could think more clearly, if that, and that the thoughts of my sisters were kept at bay. I enjoyed working.
When closing time came around, Linda and I escorted a few men out of the soup kitchen. One had hid in the broom closet, and the other in the men’s bathroom, probably in hopes that we wouldn’t notice and lock them in. The cooks had already gone home so it was just her and I.
“Nasty little buggers,” Linda whispered once we had managed to get the men outside. I tried not to giggle at her snide comment, only because I was thinking the same. “So you’ll be back tomorrow then?” Linda asked me.
“Yes, of course. What time do we open?”
“Seven o’clock. Be prepared for a lot of work. The mornings are the worst.”
I helped Linda lock up and then said my goodbyes. I felt warm inside after as I walked back to the ally I had found the night before. My stomach growled, so I pulled out the half empty vodka bottle that I’d already cracked open. I drank a few shots and let the alcohol sting my throat. Then I drank some more, and put the bottle away. “That should do till morning,” I whispered, and then took my moms’ old leather jacket from my back pack. I wrapped myself in it and fell to sleep to the smell of her rose scented perfume that still lingered. I had no dreams, no nightmares. All I knew was that I went to bed happy.

The next few weeks flew by. I worked at the soup kitchen all day, every day. Linda and I became close acquaintances, and I enjoyed her company. Each day was a good memory of my new start, and each day was filled with excitement. The music on the radio in the soup kitchen was always lively, and upbeat. The joy of it all made my heart swell with happiness, as Linda and I danced in and out of the kitchen doors; she, bringing food to the loyal customers, and I gathering dishes. We were always the last ones out, and for my hard work and good attitude, Linda snuck me a bowl of soup after each day. I was grateful for her kindness.
It was a Friday night, however, as I was walking back to my ally when I saw her, my sister of only ten years old, Monica. She stood on the street corner in a mini skirt that showed a peek at her petite butt. Her shirt, a v-neck tank top that stopped mid drift, and revealed her belly for all to see, and her hair was long and wavy in a tight pony tail. She wore my mothers’ old high heeled stilettos and was puffing smoking from her tight, bright red lips. Many men walked by her, some tapped her ass, and she smiled like she was told to. She flirted with men of high class who were fashioned in suits, and blew kisses to others. Then finally, a greasy man stopped in front of her and handed her a bill. She smiled, and looped her arm in his as she followed him to his car. They drove away.
In all my disgust I watched this horrific scene over and over behind my eyes until I realized I hadn’t moved from my spot on the sidewalk, and was leaking tears from sore eyes. I could hardly breathe; it felt as if my air supply was being cut off as I desperately suck the air in. I couldn’t stand there any longer, so I ran. I ran away from that street and onto another, I didn’t care what the name was. I bet I looked ridiculous. Anyone who saw me would see a girl in dirty clothes running with tears streaming down her face, but I didn’t care what anyone saw.
I ran past houses, and allies, and yanked a few flowers out of someone’s garden. I ran until finally I came to the outskirts where the St. Xavier Cemetery stood, flooded in moonlight. I ignored the creepy shadows of the twisted and dead trees as I walked down the rows. I searched for one grave in particular, different from all the others. I looked for the pathetic wooden cross that, looking so petrified and dead, stood out of the ground among the nice marble headstones on a slant. My father was way too cheap to give my mother one nice thing, even when she was dead and in the ground. She was buried in a little container, because cremation cost less than the casket deals and, even though he had the money, he put her under in the cheapest way possible, hence the shitty wooden cross made of old plank wood that he found back behind the house.
I knelt down in front of the cross when I had found it, and placed the flowers on the ground underneath it. I realize then, that I had picked pink carnations and I felt the irony for pink carnations meant, I’ll never forget you. I began to whimper, as I felt a pang in my heart.
“Oh mum, how did you manage to live through this life? I don’t know if I can do it.” I dug in my back pack for her favourite book, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. “Dad is as nasty as ever, sending the young ones to the streets now, like dirty prostitutes. I saw Monica, and I am disgusted with myself for leaving them to fend for themselves. Why we mum? Why are we the ones with this life, why couldn’t we be wealthy or at the least, loved?” I looked up into the ink black sky and wiped my tears. Then I caught my breath and opened Jane Eyre to a random page and begun to read.
‘And so you’re glad to leave me?’
‘Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I am rather sorry.’
‘Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I daresay now if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn’t give it to me: you’d say you’d rather not.’
‘I’ll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down.” Bessie stooped; we mutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quite comforted. That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the evening Bessie told me some of her most enchanting stories, and sang me some of her sweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.
I snapped the book shut, unable to read any more, and lay on the ground as I wept and thought. I missed my mother dearly; I missed her bedtime stories, and her smile that always lifted my spirits. I thought about the passage I had just read, and that even happiness came to an orphan whom nobody cared to love. Why was it that every time I read, I was reminded of myself?
“Why do you cry?” a deep voice spoke from out of nowhere really.
“Who’s there,” I whispered. Alarmed, I jumped to my feet and circled around, looking for the owner of the voice. I found no one.
“Me.” The voice said with mockery from behind me. I jumped and spun around. Again, no one was there but a dead tree that I hadn’t bothered to realize earlier. Then someone laughed and I held back the urge to scream profanities at whoever it was.
“You know, whoever you are, this isn’t funny.” I said sternly to the air, or so I thought.
“Actually it is quite funny indeed, seeing you spin around in circles and such. Have you not thought to look up?” I did look up then, and there, in the dead tree was a young man.
“You are so childish,” I said, hoping I’d offended him. He just laughed louder, and then hung up-side down from one of the dead branches.
“Look, no hands,” he joked.
“I am going to laugh hysterically if that branch breaks and you fall.” And just as I’d predicted, the branch broke and down he came. I opened my mouth to laugh but it wasn’t laughter that came out, but a sigh of surprise. He had managed to land on his feet. He eyed me suspiciously and then threw the broken branch over his shoulder and stood like a king. It was then I realized that he was quite attractive. He looked like a model with his picture perfect features. His stance was deadly straight which made his height extremely noticeable. He seemed relaxed, as his facial features gave no hint as to whether he was anything but content, and his hair was a bleached blond that reached his shoulders. His most dashing feature, though, was his electric blue eyes, that for some strange reason seemed to glow in the dark night. He wore an open leather jacket that revealed his light skin pigment, and camouflage cargo pants.
“What are you doing in a cemetery at this time of night?” He asked, breaking my muddled mind from staring at his chest. I stumbled to find the right words for the argument.
“I could ask you the same question,” I narrowed my eyes at him. He was suspicious for sure, and I have learned not to trust anyone.
He smiled, “I always come here to relax, your turn.” He said with tease as he moved one step closer. Warning bells went off inside and I took a step back, to keep the distance between us. He saw my reaction and propped himself against the tree he’d fallen out of, awaiting my answer. I found it no harm so I told him.
“I’m visiting the dead.” A smirk grew on his face and he began to pick at his abnormally long fingernails.
“Ah the dead, cold, grey creatures,” he said with disgust, “A friend perhaps?” He guessed.
“My mother,” I said without colour, trying to understand what he meant by cold, grey creatures.
“I bet she was a whore, filthy females these days.” He spoke with hate, and as he said the word whore, my blood ran hot.
“I wouldn’t go around judging people you never knew,” I spat, but dared not turn away.
“Oh, is that right? And what, may I ask, are you going to do about it, hmm?” His features changed from calm to amusement.
“Well, for starters, I’ll wipe that damn smirk off your face,” I said, feeling quite annoyed at this stranger for being so rude.
“Feisty,” his eyes narrowed but they looked like they were laughing at me. He took a step forward, and before I could blink he was standing over me. I caught my breath, and I felt the fear in me spike; he was way too close for comfort. He inhaled loudly and then a shiver ran through him. “Doesn’t the night just smell delicious?” I breathed in to see what he was talking about.
“No, not really,” I said, and took another step back. He flinched and I noticed he’d grabbed my wrist. I yanked it back, but his grip was like cement. His other hand came up to my hair and he smoothed it back.
“I liked your red hair better.”
It hit me like a brick then, and fear took over me; rushing in my veins like a ticking time bomb. He had been stalking me. “What do you want, money?” I asked. My voice shook with fright.
“No, not money, not even your blood on my hands,” his electric blue eyes rolled like waves. In them I could see the beach, a sunny day. “All I want is you.” I snapped my attention away from his eyes.
“What do you mean, all you want is me?”
“Exactly how it sounds,” he said calmly, and scared as I was, I forced myself to look at him. He was smiling. Not a sadistic smile, or a wicked grin, just a smile. My fear subsided a little.
“I’m not in the business anymore, sorry.” I said, because I knew what he wanted. The way he looked at me with eyes of energy; pupils dilated.
He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “I’m not looking for your sex. I’d kill you, and neither of us wants that now do we?” A tear leaked down my cheek, I was so confused. If he didn’t want me for sex, and he didn’t want to murder me, then what the hell was he doing? He wiped my tear away and my skin crawled with anger. I smacked his hand away from my face, and shoved him. I watched him fall back, and turned to run, but before I could take one step, I was lifted and thrown across the cemetery; hitting a large gravestone. It broke, and pain shot into my back; I couldn’t breathe.
He was over me again. I looked up into his face; he had wanted to murder me after all.
“Just kill me,” I choked out a whisper, for that was all I could do. I was more than positive that something was severely broken, if not fractured. He bent down until his face was parallel to mine; there was no emotion in his eyes. His nostrils flared and he brought his lips to my neck, and bit me. I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t, I did not have the strength. All I could think was that he did want to screw me. Screw me while I was being murdered. The sick bastard! My mind screamed. My vision was beginning to spot when he pulled away from my neck. There was a liquid of some sort falling from his lips, but I could not register what it was, all I could concentrate on was the pain in my back. He bit his wrist, and held it to my mouth. I refused it.
“Drink it.” He said, but he sounded so far away. “It will save you.” I knew I was dying then, and I didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. He pushed his wrist to my lips and my mouth opened unwillingly, and sipped; I was paralysed.
It tasted like sugar; hot liquid sugar, but it burned my oesophagus like vodka. The aftertaste was like sunshine; if sunshine had a taste. It was like a day at the beach, salt water, crisp wind, and fish. It was easy to swallow; like water, and I felt like I was on the beach.

The white sand squished between my toes, and the sun kissed my skin as water splashed up and hit my face. The light breeze played with my hair, and soon I was soaked in the spray of the clear blue water. There was no one on the beach but me. I danced with the wind, and spun around fast; my white dress dancing too. I fell, and just laid there; it was peaceful. When I finally sat up, he was there; sitting across from me. He wore black fitting pants, and a pirate style buccaneer shirt. It softly drifted around him as his hair floated in the breeze. The skin on his face smoked, and his blue eyes looked like the water, a clear blue that almost seemed see-through. In them, I saw happiness, and sorrow. Then the sun disappeared behind dark clouds. His skin stopped smoking and rain started to fall.
“I want to leave.” I whispered. I could feel tears welling in my eyes as rain splashed my skin with tease.
“Not yet,” he said; his hand appeared on my shoulder. He was staring into my frightened eyes. How did
he move so fast? His cold fingers wiped at my tears and when he pulled his hand away I realized that I was crying blood; he licked his fingers and his blue eyes lit up. His head tilted back and he laughed. I looked down at my dress to see dots of blood. The red made it look like a ruined canvas; even the rain was blood. What is going on? My thoughts questioned.
I felt something wet at my feet. The water, tinted red, was beginning to flood the beach; I could feel my heart pound behind my ribs. I looked at him for an answer but his face showed no emotion of worry.
“It’s okay,” he whispered; I believed that everything would be fine, but somewhere deep inside was telling me to be frightened. Something about him made my skin crawl.
A bright streak of lightning cracked through the clouds and sent a quick eerie light to his face before disappearing. He looked like a wild animal on the hunt, staring at me like I was his prey. My heart jumped in my chest, sending with each beat of blood, a pang of pain. I grabbed my chest in attempt to stop the pain; nails digging into my skin.
My breath came shorter, and I felt hot tears slip down my ice cold cheek. Lightning struck again, and my knees gave out. I fell into the muddy water from the flooded beach. My heart squeezed in agony, and I screamed.
He knelt down beside me; held me in his arms and smoothed my wet hair back.
“It will all be over soon,” he whispered.
I longed to ask what he meant, but I couldn’t; the pain had paralyzed me. My screams became silent, and he began to move away; leaving me in the water to fend for myself. I tried to reach out to him, but he was too far away to touch.
“Wait, come back!” I wanted to scream. I saw his lips move, but no sound came out, and I knew that the end was nearing. I choked for the air that wasn’t reaching my lungs, as a spasm ran through my body; tightening every muscle. My heart died.