After the Mark

CHAPTER FOUR: Marked by the Night

I got home, locked the door, and crawled under the sheets without even changing my clothes. Sleep refused to come. I kept tossing and turning, my mind trapped on one thing—the girl. The girl from the bathroom.

Who was she?

Did she bite me?

Was she a vampire?

Vampires weren't real… were they?

Yet there was something about her that didn't feel natural. Her skin, her face—too perfect, too pale. She looked young, no more than twenty-five, but there was an age behind her eyes, something ancient. I shut my eyes tightly and tried to remember what happened in the bathroom.

At first, only flashes came.

I was on the floor.

There was pressure on my chest—tight, crushing.

Her hand… her hand was beside mine.

Was she whispering something to me?

No.

She was feeding on me.

The memory snapped into place. I had been barely conscious, but now I remembered. When she was done, she sat up and wiped her mouth, calm and unbothered. Then she—

I couldn't remember anything after that.

I got out of bed and walked to the mirror. Carefully, I removed the bandage on my neck.

The bite marks were gone.

I turned on the light and checked again. Nothing. No wounds. No scars. Just clean skin. The only proof was the dried blood staining the bandage in my hand. I squeezed it tightly, then threw it to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed.

After a while, I checked the time on my phone.

3:33 a.m.

Since sleep clearly wasn't coming, I figured I might as well work out. I raised my legs onto the bed and started my decline push-ups—the same routine I'd been doing for a month now. I could usually manage fifty reps at once.

Ten.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

Fifty.

No burn.

Sixty.

Seventy.

Eighty.

Nothing.

Ninety.

One hundred.

One twenty.

One forty.

One sixty.

One eighty.

Two hundred.

Still nothing.

I stopped and stood in front of the mirror. I wasn't out of breath. Not even slightly. I went back to the bed and lay on my back, staring at the spinning ceiling fan as memories flooded in—my abusive father, my overprotective mother, my six siblings. The day our house burned down. The fire that took my mom and my siblings from me.

Tears slid down my cheeks.

Then, without warning, I fell asleep.

I woke to the sound of a drilling rig. My neighbors were trying to dig a borehole, the noise unbearable. I checked the time on my phone and my stomach dropped.

It was past noon.

I was supposed to be at work by 8 a.m.

Fifteen missed calls from Mark.

I jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, suddenly feeling strange—like I was getting sick. The kind of weakness that comes before malaria, except I wasn't hot. I showered quickly, brushed my teeth, changed my clothes, and stepped outside.

The sun hit me like a weapon.

My head throbbed. My vision blurred. I felt like I was about to collapse. I stumbled back inside, grabbed my sunglasses, and tried again. Every instinct screamed at me to stay indoors. I could feel the blood vessels in my head pulsing violently, a severe migraine threatening to split my skull—but I pushed through and made it to work.

Mark was already behind the counter. He didn't say anything, but his face asked the question clearly: Where have you been?

I ignored him, went into the changing room, put on my apron and cap, then joined him.

"Bro, are you okay?" he whispered. "You look very sick."

"I don't even know what's going on with me," I replied. "E be like say I wan get small malaria. I just dey sleep since morning."

"Omo, nawa o. Manager don dey find you. That's why I've been calling you. See… he don dey come sef."

I looked up.

And there he was.

He didn't have his usual smile. Today, his face was blank.

"Guy, where have you been?" Frank said. "You're five hours late."

"I'm sorry," I replied. "You might not know this, but I went through a life-and-death situation last night. I'm still recovering."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story. A girl knocked me unconscious… and she bit me."

"Bro, where is the mark?" Mark asked, pointing at my neck.

"Um… it's gone."

Mark chuckled. "How is that even possible, guy?"

Frank sighed. "Okay, I don't have time for this. Daniel, I have to deduct from your salary."

"Wait—what?" I said sharply. "Deduct from my pay? Why na?"

"I'm sorry, but I have to. We had a staff meeting this morning—you know about it—and the senior manager was around. You were absent. He told me to deduct your pay. I need to be on my best behavior right now. You're one of my closest friends here, but I have to deduct ten percent."

I looked at Mark in disbelief. He lowered his voice. "That's why I've been calling you."

I turned back to Frank and slowly removed my cap. "So you're telling me you're going to take ten percent of my pay just because I was a few hours late—even though I've never missed a single day since I started working here?"

"Look, it's just procedure. I tried defending you, but you know how that man is. He doesn't want to hear anything."

"So you're actually going through with it?"

"Guy, haven't you been hearing me? I have no choice."

"Okay," I said calmly. "But if you do, I'll report you. I'll tell them how you don't even have a certificate and how your dad placed you here."

Frank's face changed instantly.

"Bro, calm down. It's just ten percent," Mark said quickly.

I snapped. "How far? Don't ever 'bro' me again. Bro, bro, bro—that's all you say. Woman, woman, woman—that's all you know. God, you're so pathetic."

I pulled the apron over my head and continued, "You know what? I'm done with this dull, stupid job. You can keep the pay."

I jumped across the counter, threw the apron at Frank, and stormed out of the mall. Every eye followed me.

Outside, the sun hit me like fire. The migraine returned instantly, splitting my skull. I tried to cross the road, but my vision blurred violently. I reached for my sunglasses—then remembered I'd left them in the dressing room.

I tried to move anyway.

My legs refused.

Everything spun. People began to slow down, some stopping completely to stare. I felt myself swaying. Someone was coming toward me. I couldn't see her face at first—only a silhouette. A girl. A leather jacket. Long black hair.

As she got closer, my vision sharpened just enough.

It was her.

The girl from the bathroom.

The girl who bit me.

I collapsed to the ground. She knelt beside me, her face blocking out the sun. I could see her clearly now.

"Help me," I whispered.

Then everything went black.