Full moon, 2 AM, silence reigns.  No more than a shadow, Eliza stared at the small neat house.  It was smaller and neater than she remembered, but she didn't spend too much time with her past, so she wasn't surprised this bit of her childhood was strange to her.  A light came on in the bathroom.  Someone was in the room where she'd wept so many times, a place where she'd first discovered her body and the place where she could find solitude.  When she was young, her room had no lock and the bathroom was the only place where she could be confident of privacy. The light went out and she wondered who was in the house now.  She wondered if they were happy with their lives, she wondered if it could still be her mother and. . . and him.

Chewing on her lower lip, she wondered if she was happy.  Mentally poking at her emotions, she wasn't sure.  Would she change anything?  Of course she would!  There's no way she'd go back to the being the dull, preoccupied being she had been.  Still, there was that sense of yearning and desire for fulfillment that she'd never found.  Yes, she'd change things, but she didn't know what.

Her stomach fluttered as she approached the house, close enough to feel the life within.  Her fangs quivered, but she'd not come here to feed.  She wasn't sure why she was here.  She'd felt a growing dissatisfaction for over the past week till she just had to do something.  It was crazy, but she'd finally just boarded a bus - any bus -not really knowing or caring where it was going.  She'd taken a two week pass and just started traveling. Going into a station, she got on the first bus leaving.  She had no idea where she was going, and with her state of mind, she didn't care.  She felt as if she was moving in a fog and everything felt altered, skewed, and unreal.

As usual, she sought the quiet, darker, rear of the bus.  As dawn approached, she took shelter in a cheap hotel room near the bus station she'd found herself in.  Her Gold Card was accepted with no question about her not having any luggage.  Pulling the shades, she flopped on the bed and passed into a dreamless sleep.  Awakening at dusk, she settled and resumed her bus journey to nowhere.

She'd managed to find her seat in the rear of the crowded bus, but a young Marine asked permission to sit next to her.  Looking into his eyes, she liked what she saw.  His smile made her think maybe he liked what saw.  They chatted pleasantly, Eliza learning a lot about him and revealing almost nothing about herself.  She enticed him, subtlety, but surely she enticed him and drew him into her influence.  The moon was almost full and the hunger was on her.  She'd been too preoccupied to feed for awhile and he was so alive, desirable and available!  By midnight, on the darkened bus, he was her's.  

She was to his left.  His head was on her shoulder, his left hand rested on her leg, his hand warm and exciting on her thigh, while his right had cupped her breast.  Had anyone noticed, they may have smiled at the 'young lovers.'  

Shifting his body, gently, to create no commotion, she carefully began to feed.  His soft moan of pleasure indicated his satisfaction with what he was feeling.  Ever conscious of her donors, as she thought of them, she gave as well as she got.  For years, dreams and half memories would grace his life and bring a smile to his face.  He may never be sure what had happened on that strange ride with the beautiful pale lady with the sad eyes, but he'd think of her, smile and feel vaguely excited and wistful.

Dawn was rapidly approaching, so she gently awakened her Marine companion.  He awoke slowly, amazed to find a bare warm breast in his hand.  Carefully removing his hand from inside her blouse, he started to apologize but Eliza stopped him from saying anything by putting a soft hand on his lips. "Thank you," she whispered and vanished like smoke into the breaking dawn.

Awakening at dusk, she bathed, shook and brushed her clothing.  She managed to get the spot of blood from her blouse, so that in the dim light, no one would notice.  Since she had no luggage, she had no change of clothing, but she was too absorbed to care.  Her quest was her primary and almost only focus.

Stepping into the evening, she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck and goose bumps form on her arms.  She recognized this street.  She'd walked it many times in her past, in her nightmares.  She hissed as she remembered the pain and the humiliation.  She had tried hard to forget.  She tried, and for years, she'd succeeded, but in her dreams, in her nightmares, she could still see him looming over her, tearing the shirt from her body and laughing at her pale, thin, body with just budding breasts.  She remembered screaming in agony, screaming for her mother as he beat and kicked her.  

She could remember, lying there, unable to move.  She could remember her mother touching her still form and calmly saying that he'd killed her.  She remembered them talking about getting rid of the body.  The trunk of the car was dark and somehow comforting, like a safe, warm womb.  When the trunk of the car was opened, it was dark and she was pulled from it by her hair and one leg.  She felt herself being carried and then she was flying.  The shock of the surprisingly cold water roused her to sufficient consciousness to allow her to keep her head above the water, allowed her to suck air into her tortured lungs, allowed her to painfully fight her way to land.  

As she struggled to land, the tail lights of her family's car were vanishing in the distance.  A beaten, bloody, half naked twelve year old girl lay on the side of the road, whimpering, waiting - hoping - to die.

The house was dark but life pulsed within.  She remembered part of it now and she let the pain, sadness, and  despair wash over her.  How could her mother have done this to her?   How could she!  A hot rage consumed her being.  Her fangs deployed and her hands twisted into talons of destruction.  She flashed to the porch and struggled, fighting the urge to rip the front door from the frame, roaring into the house and slaughtering every living creature within.  Shaking with rage, she fought for control over her emotions, over her urges, and she won.  

Why was she here?  How was she here?  Her mind screamed for answers as tears came to her eyes.  A sob struggled to erupt but she choked it back, staring at the entrance to her own personal hell.

She could see it.  She could feel it.  It was happening all over again. She could see the headlights come around the bend and she knew she was going to be hit.  She could almost feel her body being mangled.  Struggling to roll to safety, her abused body wouldn't respond.  Her scream blended with the screeching of the breaks and the squealing of tortured rubber.  She closed her eyes and waited, hearing impending death shrieking toward her.  She could smell gasoline, and oil and feel the heat of a hot engine on her face. She heard the auto's doors open and the sound of exited and concerned voices.  She could feel herself being pulled, lifted and cradled and then there was blackness.  

She heard the rattle of glass and there was a rush of sunlight.  Opening her eyes, see saw a cheerful bedroom, a cheerful, motherly appearing woman, and wonder upon wonder, the aroma of a hot breakfast assailed her nostrils from a small table sitting next the bed.  Hunger took her like a storm and she struggled to sit so that she could eat.  Seeing her struggles, the woman she would grow to think of as Mom, rushed to help her sit and watched, very pleased, as she struggled to maintain some decorum as she ate.

At first she realized how strange it was.  She was in a dead girls bed, wearing a dead girls clothing, and in many ways, living a dead girls life.  The older couple that had rescued her had lost a daughter exactly one year ago to the day and hour they had come around the bend in the road and seen her abused body lying in the road.  They had come to a screaming halt with the frame of the car covering her body, but she was untouched.  They had pulled here from beneath the car and Joseph, a medical doctor, had examined her and realized the nature of her wounds and made the decision to put distance between themselves and this spot.

As she recovered her strength, the first few days after her rescue, Joseph and Beth sat with her and gently extracted enough of her story to understand what had happened.  These were intelligent and lonely people who had lost a daughter to a drunk driver.  They were neither superstitious nor religious but finding her in the middle of the road, nearly striking her, and realizing that she could never really go home, struck them as something far more than mere coincidence.  When they had asker her for her name and she'd responded, "Eliza," she didn't understand the impact that one word had upon them both.  The one word that was the name of their daughter.  Even Joseph was at a loss for words or any possible rational explanation.

As she gained strength and recovered, she found herself easily sliding into the role of a family member.  She felt comfortable and safe with her new guardians.  When the school year started, she'd attended school as Eliza Radu, the daughter of Joseph and Beth Radu.  The school administrators were told that she'd been out of the country for an illness the past year and she'd had to repeat grade seven, which allowed her time to catch up on her education and even excel.  

Eliza clenched her fist and drew it back as if to smash the door but only stood there, trembling like an autumn leaf blown in the wind.  Tears marred her cheeks but she regained control of herself and realized that dawn was rapidly approaching.  It was time to return to her hotel.  She had no protective clothing so she couldn't delay.  

Sitting in the darkened room she prepared for her day's sleep.  Even in daylight, the dirty windows, yellowed curtains and shades effectively blocked the light.  The yellowish dim light reminded her of a comfortable, secure cave.  Even though the smell was musty and not quite clean, she lay down, sighed, curled into a small ball and was claimed by a dream filled sleep.

Standing in the shadows she stared at the dark house.  No one was home and she was excited by the thought that she'd see them return.  Her rage had subsided somewhat, and she had established more control over her emotions.  There still a deep burning anger within her that covered the raw wound that could never heal, the wound of being betrayed by her birth mother.  Could anyone recover from that?  She wondered who was living here now?  Questions and speculations raced through her mind and she could no longer remain idle.  She easily found an open window on the second floor and silently entered.  It was the master bed room, a room she'd never been allowed to enter.  Goose bumps prickled her body again.  It was very, very strange standing in this room.  Looking around, her breath shortened and she felt dizzy.  On the dresser was a photograph of a woman that she recognized as her mother.  Bending to examine it, she could see a hand written date scrawled on the lower edge of it.  She supported herself on the dress, feeling faint.  It was the year of her abandonment.  She felt a hot tear splash on the back of her hand.  It was so long ago, so far away in her life, and suddenly, it was like yesterday.  

Sniffing and straightening, she looked around the room.  There were various photos of her mother, and yes, the man who had beaten her.  She took a deep breath, realizing that her mother and he were still here, in the same house, and she was here, now, waiting for their return.  She left the master bed room, feeling a sense of relief.  Down the hall, there it was.  It was her room.  She stood before the door, a sense of foreboding almost crushing her, and she turned the knob.  

Like a bad movie, the hinges squealed a rusty protest as she pushed it open.  Stepping into her old room, her breath came fast and short and she wanted to cry.  Dust filled the room and it looked as if no one had entered it since she was last here. She looked at the bed and she was almost positive that she could see the dent in the pillow her head had left when she got up that long ago morning.  The bed was made but one corner was turned down.  She still did that.  It made it easier to crawl under the covers at night.  

As she looked around, her eyes widened with the stunned realization that this room of pain was as it was the day she'd left, never to return to it, until now.  She opened the closet door and there were her clothes.  The dress she'd saved so hard for, the one she wanted to wear to the dance, (for once, she'd wanted to fit in) was hanging just as she'd left it.  Memory overwhelmed her and she dropped to her knees and leaned forward, covering her eyes.  Rocking back and forth, she wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying. 

Climbing to her feet, she more calmly looked around the room.  She spotted a photograph on the dresser and she misted up as she remembered it.  It had been taken at the beach on a wonderful summer afternoon.  She looked it through teary eyes and then picked it up to view it better.  It was almost like looking into a mirror she realized.  She was about the same size now as she was then.  Her hair had been cropped into a page boy in the photo, like it was now.  She had to smile.  At 12, her breasts were almost as big as they are now.  Turning the picture over and over in her hands, she realized, that though she'd gotten older, she'd not grown much since that time.  She had been an average twelve year old girl.  A wry grin twisted her face.  She still was.  Only now she had fangs and claws and killed people.  She may look the same, she realized, but she was far from being the same person.

Light from an automobile flashed across the window, and she realized that a car was parking outside of the house.  Putting the picture back on the dresser, she looked out of the window and did not recognize the car.  "Of course not, silly," she told her self.  "That was over 20 years ago.  That piece of junk is rust and dust by now!"  Two people got out of the car and she could hear raised voices.  She instantly recognized them.  They had not aged well, but they were her mother and he.  She couldn't make out the words but the tone and their gestures made it clear that they were arguing.  She reflexively put her hands over her ears to block out the sound.  She didn't want to hear the horrible thing's he'd say about her.  She jerked her hands downs.  They couldn't be fighting about her.  That was crazy.  She no longer had to fear anything they could do.  She snarled, smugly satisfied that is was they who should fear her now!  

She heard them enter the house and heard the continuing argument.  The voices where loud, angry and vile.  The tones escalated until she heard a loud slap and heard her mother scream with pain.  The man's voice was loud and penetrating.  "You friggin' slut!  You've sold your ass for the last time."  She crept to the head of the stairs and saw her mother getting up from the floor, blood running down the side of her face.  

"Pig!" she screamed and spat into his face.  He stepped backwards and silently wiped the spittle from his face.  Her eyes widened with shock and she raised her hand to her mouth.  He reached to his belt and removed a knife from a small leather case.  Her mothered stared at the knife in his hand and began backing up.  "No, no, no," she kept repeating as she backed to the wall, eyes wide and frightened. 

He grinned and flipped the knife open.  As he raised the knife to strike, Eliza screamed, "Momma!" and flashed down the stairs and put her body between the two of them.  The plunging knife was unstoppable and it caught her in the upper chest, driving her back against her mother and pushing her mother into the wall.  

He stared at her, mouth dropping.  "My god," he whispered.  "Eliza."  

She pulled the offending blade from her, and feeling her fangs deploy, she straightened and hissed into his face, a fine blood spray spewing forth. She threw the knife across the room and in a single motion backhanded him .  The force of the blow drove him across the room and he slammed into the wall with horrendous crash.  His body stiffened and he topple forward, falling face down, stiff legged.  He was making small gurgling sounds and his body was quivering.  There was a spot of blood on the wall where he'd hit and the back of is head was oozing blood and was oddly flat.  Eliza spun and faced her mother.  

Staring into the bloody and tortured face, she wanted to say something but her voice seemed to be gone.  She could feel her mouth forming word, "Mama," but no sound came out.  Her mother looked at her and she felt a soft touch on her cheek and heard her whisper, "My baby," and then her mother crumpled to floor.  

She looked around the room from her past that had been somehow thrust into her present.  Her mother was on the floor, bloody and unconscious, but alive.  The man, she looked at him with utter contempt and disgust and barely controlled the urge to spit on him, she didn't know or really care if he'd live or die.  She walked over to the telephone and knocked the phone off of the hook.  She pushed 911 with her knuckle, looked around one last time, and walked out of the door, knowing this chapter of her life was finally closed.  She sighed.  Somehow, some way, she knew that this was not an end but a beginning.  

Tears ran down her cheeks but they were not tears of sadness.  She felt exhausted and drained but lighter.  A weight had been removed from her soul.  It was time go to home.  She smiled.  She had a home.  She also had a cat who was probably wondering where the hell she was!  It would be good to get home and see Cindy and Toby.  She wondered what Mark and Liala were doing.  Did they hit it off, were they an item or had Liala resumed her old ways.  She faded into the darkness as an ambulance roared past, heading along the route she'd just walked.  

It would be good to get back home start her life again.