Unexpected

         Charlie stepped onto the porch of her late grandmother's house in Phoenix, Arizona. She set her luggage down and searched her pockets for the key.
         "Can't see a damn thing in the dark." Standing in the moonlight, she strained to see which of the many keys on her key chain was the correct one. "Here we go." She stepped back to the door, unlocked it, and brought her luggage in.
         Charlie switched on the hall lamp and dropped the keys on the small table it sat upon, squinting in the sudden light. As she scanned the room she thought, Someone must have been keeping up the place. After fifteen years, it should be knee deep with dust. She glanced in the kitchen and den, which were directly off the hall, but was too tired to investigate further. All I need is a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, I can go through every room. After all, I own the place. Let's see. Gran said there were five bedrooms: one on the first floor, behind the kitchen, three on the second floor, and one in the attic. I'll take the middle one upstairs. Gran had said that one was Da's. Charlie picked up her bags and lugged them upstairs.
The room was mostly bare. Gran had been packing her son's things to be sent to him, when Charlie's mom had died, fifteen years ago. She had immediately flown to Ireland to help care for her granddaughter. The house was left vacant. Charlie plopped down on her Da's bed and turned on the bedside lamp. Next to the bed was an old, well used, baseball bat. She picked it up and ran her fingers along the grain of the wood, feeling each little bump and groove.
         Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie noticed a shadow cross the doorway. Holding the bat as a weapon, she cautiously walked to the door.
         Before she could identify what it was, it came flying at her from the darkness. Charlie swung instinctively and hit it, knocking it to the ground. 
         "Oh my God." Charlie stared in horror at what she had hit. A young man, maybe a few years older than her lay at her feet. There was a spot on the right side of his head where she had hit him that was slowly darkening with blood. Charlie glanced at the glistening stain on the bat, then dropped it in revulsion. Quickly, she knelt beside him and laid a hesitant hand on his neck to feel for a pulse.
         Nothing.
         Charlie sped backwards on all fours. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I killed him." Her heart was pounding too loud. She couldn't think. The blood rushing through her veins dizzied her, and she closed her eyes to shut out the sight of what she'd done. Suddenly she felt ill. She got up and ran down the hall to the bathroom where she got sick.
         Sitting on the bathroom floor, Charlie told herself to get up. Logic was taking over where emotion had failed. She had to call the police. She had to report it. It was in self-defense. She hadn't murdered him. She'd defended herself. No matter how many times she told herself that, she just couldn't believe it.
         Carefully, Charlie picked herself up. She walked on wobbly legs back to the bedroom, only to get another shock that sent her back to the floor. The young man was sitting on the bed, holding his head. Blood ran in rivulets between his fingers.
         "You were dead." Logic was deserting her, too.
         The young man glanced up at her, looking all the world like a wounded wild animal. His eyes were blacker than night and narrowed in pain and anger. His lips were pulled back bearing his teeth. Straight white teeth. . . .and two, long, pointed canines: Fangs. He hissed, leaning forward slightly, causing Charlie to crawl back away from him until she hit the railing outside the room. They sat in silence, one watching the other, for what seemed like hours, though it was only a matter of minutes. The blood stopped, dried, and then disappeared. He took his hands away from his head and began working his jaw. His eyes, full of suspicion, never left her.
         "You broke my jaw as well as cracking my skull." He spoke in a soft whisper almost too quiet for Charlie to hear. His accusing tone sounded as casual as if he were talking about her having stepped on his toe.
         "You were dead." She repeated.
         "I was." He replied matter-o-factly. "But I'm a Vampire. We don't kill easy."
         "You-You're-Vamp-" Charlie tried unsuccessfully to speak.
The young man gingerly touched his head. Apparently finding it healed, he tapped his finger against it, hard. "Yes. A vampire. And this is my house. I don't allow beggars in. Trespassing here is punishable by death. A sentence I have yet to carry out with you." He stood up.
         "No! I mean . . You can't . . I . . ah . . This is my house!"
         He frowned. "You've got to be crazy as well as homeless. The woman who owned this house was in her seventies when she left. You can't be more than seventeen." He started across the room towards her.
         "She-she was my grandmother. She gave the house to me. When-when she died." Charlie gripped a baluster and found it to be loose. If she could just get it out . . . .It worked once. If she knocked him out again, it would buy her enough time to get out.
         "And what makes you think I'm going to just take some crazy woman's word?" He gave her a lopsided smile, showing one gleaming white fang.
         "In m-my bag . . my green . . bag. There's a . . a deed. It's proof."
         He stopped. His brow furrowed. "You have got to be the most interesting prey I have had in years." He flashed her a full smile. "All right. I'll play along. Which one is it in? The green one?" He bent over her duffel bag keeping her in sight.
"In the-the side pocket." The bottom half of the baluster was free. She kept working it.
         "Here?"  He unzipped the pocket and pulled out the envelope Gran had slipped it into. Opening it up, he whispered, "I'll be damned."  He held the deed in one hand and dropped the envelope on the floor.
         With a small snap, the baluster came off into Charlie's hand.
         "What was that?" He spun to fully face her.
         Charlie froze. Her heart sped up again, threatening to break her ribs with it's pounding. Her mouth was devoid of any moisture and she struggled to swallow.
         "What are you doing over there?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Get up." He stood, himself. "Come in here." When Charlie hesitated, he came and grabbed her arm, bringing the baluster to the front of her. "What were you planning to do with this?" He snatched it out of her hand. His grip on her arm was painful. Charlie grimaced, both from the pain and the loss of her weapon. "Get in here." He picked her up and half carried, half  dragged her into the bedroom and dropped her on the floor next to the bed. "What am I going to do with you?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "How many people know you're here?" He asked. Then to himself, "The last thing I need is a swarm of humans looking for a lunatic I disposed of weeks ago."
         "My father knows. A-and a few of my friends."
         "Have you always had a stutter?" Not waiting for an answer he plopped into a chair across from the bed. "So, if I let you go. You could bring back help and evict me. Which would be not good. For me, anyway." He was staring at her without really seeing her. Charlie watched in fascination as his eyes faded from black to brown. He gently chewed on his lower lip, and she could see his fangs were shortening to a normal length. Now he looked handsome. Long black hair pulled into a ponytail low on his neck, his soft brown eyes lost in thought, tan, well toned arms showing through a white T-shirt, fine-boned, long-fingered hands clasped across his stomach, long legs in black jeans propped up on a box, untied Nikes sloppily pulled onto his feet.
         Charlie cleared her throat. His eyes focused immediately. "What if you just left. I won't tell anybody. I wouldn't even know where you went."
         His shoulders sagged suddenly and he heaved a weary sigh. "I suppose that might work. But I'm finding two problems with that." He wiped a hand across his face. "One, I don't know if I can actually trust you. Two, I don't want to leave."
To Charlie, he seemed tired, both emotionally and physically. "You can trust me. I never go back on my word." Both were silent for a while. Charlie glanced out the window. The sky was lightning from black to blue. She murmured to herself, "The sun is coming." Her fear ebbed slightly at the sight.
         His head snapped towards the window. “Shit”. Slowly turning back to his guest, he smiled. “It seems as if we’ll have to get cozy. I’m not going anywhere for a few hours and, I think, to be on the safe side, neither are you.” He stood and dropped the curtain without taking his eyes off her. Once done, he shoved his hands in his pockets as his smile turned lopsided. “What shall we do?”
         Charlie gulped.
         He returned to his earlier relaxed pose, propping his feet up once more. "So. Moira was your grandmother?”