| "Chapter 12" |
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 Faoland drove to the airport. Her Father's confidant would be arriving by private jet in less than an hour. He had a package for Faoland...at least that is what her Father had said in his phone call. It was hard to anticipate what her Father would do. He was always full of surprises. He had limitless resources at his disposal...so hopefully this delivery meant that he had discovered something about Trevor. In all honesty, though, he hadn't mentioned Trevor...so this package could be anything. She would just have to wait and see. ~~~~~~ Heylo sat in the cavernous, underground conference room, two floors below the surface. She had just finished briefing her kindred staff of the forthcoming arrivals...four Canadian Brujahs, an Italian Ventrue Delegation, two Mississippian Toreadors, and a Gangrel band called Dead Garbage. Most of these were visiting Ms. Rapture or her club...but the Italians were on a two week vacation. Heylo sat at the head of the massive wooden table with her papers spread out before her. Most of the meeting's participants were already on their way back to their duties...but a few lingered behind. Her first childer, Thomas, was asked to remain behind. She wanted to discuss her most important arrival...Mistress Dark...her Sire. Vilona would be visiting and she had placed Thomas in charge of the final preparations. Heylo asked, "Have you placed several vases of Roses around the room?" "Oh yes...everything is in place," Thomas replied. "How about those books I asked you to place in her room?" "Yes ma'am. I located the ones you asked about and set up a bookshelf to accommodate them. I have also set up a laptop on the writing desk, as per your request," Thomas said as he reviewed his list. "Wonderful! Have you stocked her refrigerator with Elven Wine, too?" "All done, m'lady." "Ok then...I guess we are ready for when her plane arrives. Keep in touch with the pilot and let me know the minute they touch down," Heylo requested. "I surely will...the minute I hear something I will let you know. Anything else?" Thomas inquired. "Oh...PLEASE keep those Brujahs at the far end of the complex. I don't want them anywhere near Mistress Dark. Understand?" "Absolutely...already arranged," Thomas reassured her. "Ok then...keep me posted, please," Heylo said as she collected her papers and prepared to leave the room. "Yes, ma'am," Thomas said as he followed Heylo out into the hallway...then turned left as she went right. *************************** Opening the window out to invite the sounds of the street into her apartment, she rests a steaming mug of chamomile tea upon the ledge to cool in the soft breeze wafting through the lace of curtain. Steels herself to scan yet another morning paper classifieds for any thing suitable she may be able to perform. Her eyes scan the small printed columns with more acute attention than she had done earlier last week. Losing her job had been a small blessing at first, near to a breath of fresh air, but now two weeks have gone by without a steady source of income, and the last $40 she has burns a nonexistent hole in her pocket. If she doesn’t find employment soon she’ll be in a world of trouble. Sighs slightly, resting her frame against the pane of window, it’s thickness near perfect for her to sit into as long as she dangles a foot off the ledge. The paper rests on knee as she circles the hopefuls…. Speaks softly to herself, or no one in particular, just an outward musing as the taps the pen against her upper lip. “Waitress…Where’s Colorado Springs…?” Has never been averse to moving around a little, in fact thinks it could be wise to move around a little and not feel too hearty in settling herself to a certain place for any length of time. But she yearns for a home and a place that’s solid underfoot. Has never had that before and envies those that do. Repeats it with a little less enthusiasm “Waitress….” That would mean being out in the public eye, she’s not quite comfortable around throngs of people yet, but she’s getting there. “House Keeper….” Makes a face to the notion of being another used up maid, unless of course the homeowner in question is female. Wouldn’t want a repeat of her last job’s performance. Resignedly circles it nonetheless, as it’s something she’s fully capable of doing, and right now the crackers she ate for breakfast demand she seek out all avenues open. Pauses thoughtfully on one, taps the pen beside it a few times before granting herself the reprieve to move on to other adds, dismissing it as something beyond her capabilities. But after following the column down her eyes are drawn to it once more. “Travel Companion...eccentric…all expenses…” The lure of traveling to exotic places and new cities, perhaps continents…Well the pull of that fancifies itself into grandiose blooms of world wonders and leanings Pisa’s and Eiffel towers. Wonders if that’s the sort of travel that would be involved in an offering such as this one. Dealing with eccentricities, well, story of her life now hasn’t it been? With a hesitant hand she circles this one as well. As soon as her liquid breakfast has settled to warm her gut she’ll go about mailing these contacts or calling the ones she’s already made. Puts the paper down on the small sliver of wood and stand that serves as the kitchen table in this tiny apartment to blow upon the tendril of steam rising from her mug. Cupping the warm brew between both hands she gazes off the window seat out across the neighborhood, unmindful of being seen at her perch during these daylight hours. After all, they don’t venture out during these sparkling hours and she’s free to let herself be seen. Desperate for something to come her way soon, she feels she may need to accept the next near decent offer she comes across, regardless of the shady details it may promise. With uncertainty comes great loneliness, and it’s the first time it’s ever slapped her in the face since she’s been alone. It can’t rain all the time…Heard that in a movie once, and she has believed it true ever since. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The flight was pleasant. The cabin was kept dark and soft music for atmosphere. Both passengers remained silent. The attendant sat motionless in her seat, her eyes stared at nothing out the window. When the pilot’s voice softly announced they were arriving at the BlackForest Inn airstrip, Vilona whispered, “You have performed your duties fully. You will escort Mr. Fuller to a safe place and call him a cab. Instruct the cab driver to take him to the hospital. He has had a hemophiliac episode, consisting of a severe nose bleed. You will return back to the jet fully refreshed and remember only serving me wine and napping in the dark. You have a pain in your neck from the way you slept. Mr. Fuller looks fine to you.” She continued whispering into Mr. Fuller’s ear, but it was not audible to anyone else. As the lights brightened to a dim glow, Mr. Fuller opened his eyes. The sunken hollows of his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes bothered Vilona to the point of not being able to look at him. His beautiful young face seemed aged and pale. When the attendant led him by the elbow to the door, he stumbled twice, catching himself in her strong capable arms. Vilona followed silently behind them. The captain made a surprise appearance as they exited the plane. Just as Mr. Fuller tripped the second time, alarm on the captain’s face was profound as he looked from passenger to attendant. Vilona stepped forward to assist in steadying Mr. Fuller and calmly commented, “He said he suffers from terrible air sickness, and he had a nosebleed during the flight.” The pilot drawled in his distinctly southern accent, “Is that right? I’d swear he was chow for some leech or somethin’.” Then he gave her a sideways glance and winked. His mannerisms had caught her off guard. She was so focused on keeping Mr. Fuller and the attendant with in her ‘influence’ range that she didn’t notice the lack of a heartbeat in the pilot. Her smile was moderate, but genuine. He offered her his arm as an escort, and she readily took it. His clan was of no importance to her, his company was welcome. Vilona watched Mr. Fuller depart in his cab, and the attendant turned and headed straight back to the jet. The pilot leaned over a bit to whisper towards Vilona’s ear, “She don’t actually have to be on that jet ‘til ‘bout noon t’morrow.” Vilona tilted her head away from the now much too close pilot. “Then she will be very prompt, if she is already aboard.” “Yes, ma’am that I reckon she will.” Vilona’s eyes brightened to see her welcoming party. She instinctually released the pilot’s arm and smoothed her hair. She quickly ran her fingertips over her face to comfort herself that her recent feed had restored her beauty. Her glance down to inspect the condition of her tight leather pants and crimson poet’s shirt caused her hair to cascade down over her shoulder. The blackness of the dye was still in full effect, and her clothes were only mildly pressed from her holding Mr. Fuller in her arms for most of her journey. Immediately she gasped and looked back up to the pilot, “My shoes! I forgot them on the JET!” After a moment of confusion in his gaze, he offered to retrieve them for her, but she shook her head. “No need, If I actually have to wear some, I have another pair….somewhere in my baggage. I just thought Heylo would really be surprised to see me wearing shoes!” Now feeling a bit girlish she stood wiggling her toes as her dear friend approached. ~~~~~~~~ Voice on an answering machine: “Hello? Are you home? I have too much to say to leave it on a recorded message. I will send you an email to explain.” To the email account of Faoland Cawthorne: “Ok, well I didn’t want to say Good bye like this, but it will have to do. I wanted you to hear the sad news from me, and not find out elsewhere. I’m sorry to tell you that Suzanne passed away. She was taken in her sleep two evenings ago. I can not go on in this house at the moment. My grief is too deep. I have decided that I must depart for a while. You have the house keys that I had left you previously. Please feel free to come and go as you wish. I only ask that you not wonder down below. My chambers are sacred to me. Should you need me, or should you find out any details on Trevor, please contact me here at this email address. You are also not obligated to stay. I am making arrangements for someone to watch over the house. I would not impose this upon you. I had so hoped we could have become friends. I felt that you knowing of my situation I could trust and confide in you, but there are many things within you that I fear. I do not wish to harm you. I respect your freedom and your…essence? Shall we say? I trust you will make great use of your time, and be somewhat relieved of my not asking any more favors. I have read something quite interesting in the newspaper today. I have left it on the kitchen table circled for you. It may help in your investigation; somehow I feel it may be related. Believe it or Not section of a Nationally Published Newspaper: … As I interviewed the young woman it became apparent she had suffered an extraordinary ordeal. She became quiet; her hands began to make the motions of knitting in the air. Her voice was just above a whisper and her countenance changed to that of resolve. The anxiety was flushed from her posture, and her story began as I listened. “An English teacher at school said that love is a stative verb. It cannot be used in the continuous tense in its sense of something temporary, as in I am reading a story. You either love something or somebody or you don't. Love in this sense is forever. Love has no end. There'll be love in my heart for them until the end of time. Or until I reach the vanishing point, whichever happens first. There's this line half-remembered from some course at university about looking out of the window and seeing the glass instead of the view. The panes need a good wash. That'll get done tomorrow. Being in the kitchen, staring at the window, waiting to see someone out in the street, knitting away - it's quality time. It's 3 a.m. and it's a few hours before sunrise. Just sitting here, waiting. Going upstairs to their room in the dark and fighting the impulse to go inside. The emptiness of the room now. All their baby things still strewn about the room. Nappies. No more nappy changes. Then the urge to open the door and cross the room to Phillipa's crib. I pull back the small duvet. Phillipa's eyes are open, looking back at me. Behind me, Constanze lies there with her smile. Her love forever smile. At dawn break the paperboy's neck twists from the impact of the wrench colliding with his skull. I'm new to this. (To be continued)
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