After what felt like an eternity of wobbling and near misses, Jett finally found the first address. It was a bright pink house with a small, neatly trimmed lawn. Loud pop music played from inside.
He leaned his bike against a mailbox and carefully extracted the top pizza box. He checked the address again.
'Yep, this is the place.'
Jett walked up the path and rang the doorbell. The music abruptly stopped. The door swung open to reveal two teenage girls. They both had bright pink hair and were wearing matching sparkly outfits.
They looked surprised to see him.
"Uh, hi," Jett said, holding out the pizza.
"Pizza Inferno?" He asked.
"Yeah, we ordered it," one of the girls said. She had a phone in her hand.
"But like, way longer ago. What took you so long?"
"Traffic," Jett mumbled. And a drink guy, and his general lack of coordination. He said none of those out loud.
"Ugh, whatever," the other girl said. She rolled her eyes.
"Just give us the pizza. We're starving."
Jett handed over the box. "That'll be $20.50."
The first girl dug in a small, glittery purse. She pulled out a handful of crumpled bills.
"Here," she said, counting out the money slowly.
"Keep the change," she gave him exactly $20.50.
"Thanks.." Jett said. He lingered for a moment.
"So, uh, what's with all the pink?"
The girls exchanged a look. "It's for our band," one said.
"We're called the 'Pink Apocalypse.'"
"Cool," Jett said, though he wasn't sure if it was cool.
"Well, enjoy your pizza."
He turned to leave, but the other girl stopped him.
"Wait! Do you want to hear our song?"
Jett hesitated. He really needed to get going. Mr.Pyre would have his head if he was any later. But the girls looked so excited.
"Uh, sure," he said. "One song then."
The girls grinned and pulled him inside. The music started up again, even louder than before. It was fast and chaotic, with a lot of screaming, Jett winced. He wasn't sure what to make of it.
When the song finally ended, the girls beamed at him.
"So? What do you think?"
Jett tried to find something positive to say:
"It was...energetic."
"Thanks!" they said. "You're our new biggest fan!"
Jett forced a smile.
"Yeah, totally. I gotta go, though. More pizzas to deliver."
He practically ran out of the house and jumped back on his bike. He pedaled away as fast as he could the sound of Pink Apocalypse faded behind him.
The next address was in a quieter part of town. The houses were smaller, and closer together. He pedaled a little slower, enjoying the relative peace.
He found the house. It was a small, cozy looking place with a swing set in the front yard. A young boy was playing there, kicking a soccer ball against the side of the house.
Jett leaned his bike against a tree and grabbed the remaining pizza boxes. He walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A woman opened the door. She looked tired but had a kind smile.
"Hey," she said. "You must be the pizza guy."
"Yep," he said. "One Inferno Supreme and one Veggie Volcano."
"Perfect," the woman said.
"Come on in for a sec, if you don't mind. I just need to grab my purse."
Jett hesitated. "Uh, sure."
He stepped inside. The house was small but warm. Toys were scattered on the floor. The smell of home cooked food hung in the air.
The boy from outside ran in.
"Mom! Can I have a slice?"
"In a minute, sweetie," the woman said.
She rummaged through her bag. "Sorry about the mess. It's been a long day."
"No problem," Jett said.
He glanced around. He wasn't used to being inside people's houses.
"Nice place."
The woman finally found her wallet.
"Here you go," she said, handing Jett the money.
"Keep the change." She gave him a few extra dollars.
"Thanks," Jett said. He smiled at the boy.
"Enjoy your pizza."
As he turned to leave, the boy tugged on his shirt.
"Mister, do you like soccer?"
"I'm okay at it," Jett said. "Why?"
"Want to play with me?" the boy asked, holding up his soccer ball.
Jett glanced at the door. He really needed to get back to Pizza Inferno soon. His boss would be furious if he was even later. But the boy's eyes were so hopeful.
"Just for a few minutes," he said. "But then I gotta go."
The boy cheered and ran outside. Jett followed him. He kicked the ball around with the boy for awhile.
He wasn't great, and his accuracy was atrocious, but he had fun. The boy was surprisingly good.
"You're really good," Jett said, panting audibly.
"Thanks!" the boy said. "My dad used to play with me, but he's gone now."
Jett felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that.."
"It's okay," the boy said. "My mom's really strong. She takes care of me."
Jett smiled. "She seems nice."
He checked the time on his phone. "Okay, I really gotta go now. But it was fun playing with you."
"Bye, pizza guy!" the boy said, waving.
Jett waved back and climbed back on his bike. He pedaled away, a strange mix of emotions were swirling inside him. He was late, but he also felt..good. He made someone happy. Even if it was just for a little while.
-
He finally limped back to Pizza Inferno. The bike creaked with every rotation of the wheels. His legs ached. He was pretty sure he'd pulled a muscle trying to keep up with that soccer playing kid.
Jett wasn't very robust.
Marco was still in the building, leaning against the counter. He was scrolling through his phone.
"Hey, Jett," Marco said, not looking up.
"Long time no see, did you get lost?"
"Something like that," Jett said, carefully parking the bike.
"How's it been here?"
"Same old. Mr.Pyre yelled at a customer for asking for extra cheese. He said it was an insult to the pizza."
Jett chuckled. "Sounds about right."
Suddenly, Mr.Pyre emerged from the back. His face was even redder than before. His comb over looked like it might take flight.
"Jett! There you are!" He bellowed.
"Do you have any idea how long you've been gone? We're running a business here, not a charity for your leisurely strolls!"
"I know, Mr.Pyre, I'm sorry," Jett said. "But I had a good reason."
"A good reason? Let me guess. You stopped to have a picnic with the pizzas? Maybe build a little pizza fort?"
Mr.Pyre's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Not really, I helped a kid play soccer," Jett said.
Mr.Pyre stared at him. "You..what?"
"He was lonely," Jett explained. "And it was only for a few minutes."
Mr.Pyre threw his hands up in the air.
"A few minutes...? Jett, a few minutes can mean the difference between a hot pizza and a cold pizza! And cold pizza means angry customers! And angry customers mean...less money for me!"
"But the kid was really happy Mr.Pyre," Jett said. "And his mom gave me a good tip."
Mr.Pyre's eyes narrowed. "A good tip, you say?"
His tone changed slightly.
"Well..all right, Jett. But don't make it a habit. Pizza waits for no one, especially not for...soccer games."
He huffed and puffed back into the kitchen, muttering about the ungrateful world and the lost art of punctuality.
Jett watched him go, then turned to Marco.
"So, uh, did I miss anything else?"
Marco shrugged. "Just the usual. Oh, and someone called to complain that their pizza tasted like sadness."
Jett sighed. "Well, that's Pizza Inferno for you."
-
A white haired woman nagivated the streets outside, she crossed the road, avoiding the sparse traffic effortlessly.
The jangling bell above the door of Pizza Inferno announced her entry. It was a jarring sound in the relative quiet she was accustomed to.
The interior smelled strongly of burnt cheese, stale grease, cheap tomato sauce, and underlying cleaning chemicals. It was unpleasant, but she gave no sign of reaction. Her pale eyes glowed faintly in the fluorescent lighting.
They immediately located Jett behind the counter. She ignored Marco, her focus narrowed solely onto Jett.
Her loafers made no sound on the grimy linoleum floor. Her dark clothing and pale features stood in stark contrast to the garish, slightly desperate decor of the pizza place.
She stopped opposite Jett, placing her hands lightly on the sticky countertop. The faint scent of old roses and cold stone seemed to cut through the greasy air around her immediate vicinity.
Jett blinked. He did a double take. Was he hallucinating from exhaustion? Or was she really there? The pale woman from his bedroom. The vampire, standing in the middle of Pizza Inferno.
He still recalled what had happened that night, but he buried it down into the depths of his mind and simply accepted what happened, since it was highly likely that no one would believe him.
"Uh..hey," Jett said. He tried to keep up a casual tone, but his voice cracked.
"Fancy meeting you here. Do..do you...like pizza?"
Marco, who had finally looked up from his phone, stared at the white haired woman.
"Whoa," he muttered. "Is she a model or something?"
Mr.Pyre chose that exact moment to reappear.
"Jett! What's the holdup? We have pizzas to make! And who is this...this...Goth ice queen?"
Jett winced. "Mr.Pyre, this is..uh, a customer?"
He wasn't sure. Customer felt wrong.
"She's been staring at you for like, a solid minute." Marco whispered to Jett.
"It's kinda creepy."
Jett cleared his throat. "So, uh, what can I get for you? We have a special on the Meat Meteor if you're into that sort of thing."
He gestured vaguely at the menu board, which was mostly just pictures of pizzas with increasingly ridiculous names.
Mr.Pyre stepped closer, puffing out his chest.
"Listen here, missy. We run a respectable establishment. No loitering! Order a pizza, or hit the road."
Jet cringed. Mr.Pyre's respectable establishment had a health code violation last month.
"Y-yeah," Jett repeated weakly. "What he said. No loitering!"
He stared at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She still hadn't said anything. Just those intense eyes fixed on him. It was starting to make him sweat.
"Maybe she wants to order blood pizza," Marco suggested playfully.
Jett shot him a look, if only Marco really knew. "There's no such thing as blood pizza, Marco."
"We could make one," Marco added. "Extra red sauce."
She remained utterly still amidst the chaotic energy of the three. Her posture was poised and regal despite the squalid surroundings.
"Outside."
The word was spoken softly, yet it cut through the noise with clarity. It was moreso a command than a request.
She gave a miniscule tilt of her head towards the glass door leading out to the street. Her pale eyes stared at Jett, expecting absolute compliance.
The air around her felt degrees colder.
Jett swallowed hard. Her voice was soft, but it had a weird..weight to it. Like it wasn't a request, but something he had to do.
"Uh..outside?" He repeated. He glanced nervously at Mr.Pyre.
"But..the pizzas.."
Mr.Pyre's face was turning purple again.
"Are you deaf? I told you, no loitering! Get rid of her, Jett!"
Marco seemed fascinated.
"Ooh, is this like, a forbidden romance thing? Should I play some dramatic music?"
He started humming the Jaws theme.
"Don't!" Jett exclaimed.
He looked back at her. Her eyes were still locked on him, she hadn't moved a muscle. He felt a weird mix of fear and..something else. Curiosity? Annoyance? He couldn't tell.
"Fine," Jett mumbled. "But I'm on my break. And if Mr.Pyre yells at me, it's on you."
He carefully stepped out from behind the counter. He avoided eye contact with Mr.Pyre, who was sputtering and waving his arms.
Jett ignored him, he walked around the counter toward her, and went out onto the street. The noise of Pizza Inferno faded behind them.
Outside, the sounds of the city - traffic, distant sirens, the faint sounds of machinery rushed back in. But she filtered them out.
Her eyes watched Jett as he walked behind her, blinking slightly in the late afternoon light.
She didn't stop immediately in front of the door, instead, she continued a few paces down the sidewalk, moving towards the entrance of a narrow alleyway between Pizza Inferno and an adjacent Laundromat.
It offered a modicum of privacy, a space that was slightly removed from direct line of sight of the pizza shop's windows and the flow of pedestrians.
The scent of damp brickwork and discarded refuse mingled faintly with Jett's own unique scent—fear, fatigue, cheap soap and a sweetness she remembered from his blood.
She stopped abruptly in the mouth of the alley, turning to face him fully. Her expression remained neutral, she had the usual look of indifference.
'She hasn't even told me her name.' He thought.
The dark alleyway smelled like wet garbage and..something else he couldn't quite place. It wasn't a nice smell.
He stopped a few feet away from her, trying to keep a safe distance.
"So..," Jett said, trying to sound casual. "What's up? Did you change your mind about the pizza?"
He glanced towards the shop.
"We have a really good garlic knot appetizer. It's shaped like a skull."
He paused, realizing how unusual that sounded.
"Or, uh, is this about that night?" He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Look, I'm not gonna tell anyone. If that's what you're worried about. I'm pretty sure no one would believe me anyway."
"Hey, boss, I got attacked by a Vampire! Yeah, right, get back to work, you incompetent twenty year old!"
He grinned nervously after mimicking his boss. It sounded bad, even to his own ears.
"So, why am I here? Are you going to drain me again? Because I'd really rather you don't, I've got a pretty low Body Mass Index."
Her pale lips parted slightly. The sound was soft, yet carried immense weight in the narrow space.
"Not now."
There was a brief pause. Her head tilted almost imperceptibly, her eyes were scrutinizing him as if observing an unusual specimen under glass.
"You are..irregular."
'Irregular?' Jett repeated in his mind. 'What does she mean? Am I folding my pizza boxes wrong? I'm certain my folding technique is top-tier.'
The words were flat and analytical. They seemed devoid of judgement and emotion. She took a single step forward, closing the small distance between them slightly.
The air around her felt frigid. She raised one hand, her long, pale fingers extended. She didn't reach for his throat this time, nor did she move quickly.
Instead, her hand hovered near the side of his neck, her fingertips pointing towards the faint, twin puncture marks left from the previous night. Her touch didn't make contact.
"Look," he said, "I shower regularly, I think. I brush my teeth. I try to eat my vegetables. I'm a functioning member of society! Mostly."
He paused, considering:
"Okay, maybe functioning is a strong word. But I have a job, I deliver pizzas. People need those pizzas. It's vital service! So, in what way, exactly, am I..irregular?"
He leaned forward slightly, his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Is it my hair? I haven't had a haircut in a while. Or is it my fashion sense? I know Mr.Pyre thinks my jacket is an abomination, but it's comfortable! Or is it..oh God, is it my aura? Do I have a weird aura? Because I've always suspected I might have a slightly off-kilter aura."
He looked genuinely concerned.
"Please," he said.
"Enlighten me on my irregularities!"
None of his words registered as relevant to her, they were like raindrops on immovable stone. They were the chaotic surface ripples obscuring the deeper curiosity she felt.
His mundane anxieties were utterly disconnected from the fundamental difference she perceived in him.
Her gaze which had been locked on his eyes, shifted downwards slightly, lingering for a fraction of a second on the two small, fading puncture marks again. It was the source of her initial interest. The point of contact where his irregular vitality flowed into her.
She withdrew her hand. She took a single step back, restoring a few inches of distance between them.
"My name is Renja."
She said, before vanishing, literally. He no longer saw her standing in front of him.
He was still trying to process the irregular thing. Was it an insult? A compliment? A medical diagnosis?
He had no idea.
He sighed and trudged back to Pizza Inferno. He was exhausted, both from the Vampire encounter and from a long day of delivering pizzas.
Marco was cleaning up, humming to himself. Mr.Pyre was nowhere to be seen, which was a relief.
"Hey, you okay?" Marco asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or, you know, something equally spooky."
"Something like that," Jett mumbled. He grabbed his sling-bag.
"I'm heading out."
As he was about to leave, Mr.Pyre suddenly appeared, holding a rusty, beat up bicycle. It was even worse than the ones they used for deliveries.
"Jett!" Mr.Pyre cleared his throat. "Wait! I have an..an offer for you."
Jett blinked. "An offer? After you threatened to fire me?"
Mr.Pyre cleared his throat, and shook his head:
"Yes, well, I've been thinking. You're..dedicated. you're..persistent. And you have a certain flair for customer service."
Jett raised an eyebrow. "Flair? I got yelled at by a drunk guy and interrogated by a Vampire."
"Detail, details," Mr.Pyre said, waving his hand dismissively.
"The point is, we need you, Jett. And to show my appreciation, I'm giving you..this."
He shoved the rusty bike towards Jett. The handlebars were bent, the seat was torn, and one of the tires was flat.
"It's..a bike," Jett said slowly.
"Not just any bike!" Mr.Pyre exclaimed. "It's.. it's a symbol of your..your invaluable contribution to Pizza Inferno! You can keep it! For free!"
Jett stared at the bike. Then he stared at Mr.Pyre. Then he looked at Marco, who was trying not to laugh.
"Are you serious?" Jett asked. "You're giving me this..death trap..as a reward?"
"Think of it as a bonus!" Mr.Pyre said brightly and continued:
"A..a wheeled bonus!"
Jett sighed. He was too tired to argue. "Fine," he said.
"Thanks, I guess."
He awkwardly mounted the bike. It wobbled precariously. He looked at Mr.Pyre one last time.
"Don't expect me to be on time tomorrow," he said. "This thing is slower than a snail on vacation."
-
Jett struggled to pedal the broken bike. It lurched and rattled. He was making slow progress. He just wanted to get home and sleep.
Suddenly, a familiar car pulled up beside him.
It was the drunk man from earlier.
He pulled down his window. "Hey! Pizza dude!"
The man shouted. He seemed even drunker than before.
Jett groaned. "Oh, not you again!"
"Need a ride?" The man offered.
"You look like you're having..bike troubles." He gestured at Jett's bike with his hand.
Jett hesitated, he really didn't want to get into a car with a drunk driver. But the thought of pedaling that wreck home was even less appealing.
"Fine," Jett said. "But you drive slowly. And carefully."
"Of course, of course," the man said.
"Safety first! Now, how do we get that..thing into the car?"
They wrestled the broken bike into the backseat. It barely fit. Jet climbed into the passenger seat, staring at the lavender and orange sky as dusk arrived.
The car smelled like stale beer and regret. The man started driving. He swerved a bit, but not too badly. His name was Jake, he kept talking mostly nonsense.
"You know," he said, "you were right about the logic thing. Free pizza doesn't always make people happy. My wife yelled at me for trying to get free pizza."
Jett sighed. "See?"
"But advice? Advice always makes things better. So..here's some more: Never trust a talking squirrel!" Jake said.