| "Chapter 13" |
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 The doctor leans back and furrows his eyebrows. This young woman with the Euroean accent never looks up at him. She appears to be talking to no one in particular. He goes back to jotting his notes as she recalls the events of what’s passing before her mind’s eye. “The force smashes his skull against the front door frame. Without Xanax I wouldn't be able to watch his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His eyes rolling back as he slumps to the floor, a small cracked hole in his haircut bleeding on my welcome mat. He wears Reeboks and as they're sticking out over my doorstep, I grab his arms and yank him inside. There are signs in every newsagent window now: Delivery boy/girl required, 25 pounds per hour, apply within. All this really soon becomes out of the question as they're no good to me dead and people will soon start to wonder where their papers are, so since the first drunk there has been a strict detox regime. An IV drip provides essential nourishment. It pumps solutions into their systems delivering a home-prepared mixture of natural cleansing nutrients and vitamins. Plenty of iron, of course. The amount of times I've been spat at I couldn't possibly tell you, so their mouths had to be covered with masking tape. One of them keeps losing a tooth here, a tooth there, so the tape gets periodically peeled back so he can spit them out. I told him that maybe the tooth fairy would come tonight but he just snarled at me. He told me to go do the anatomically impossible. All this equipment - the tubes, the stands - were got at an auction. They showed one on TV and I went along to the next one I could find. You can buy all sorts of medical stuff, no questions asked, although all this equipment is intended for veterinary work. It was much cheaper. And it's working too, things are much better upstairs since this course of treatment began. After all, it's just like sterilizing a bottle, heating milk. They look much better for it too, a little skinny maybe, but certainly better than they'd felt in years. They should thank me. I wish I could get that thin. Keeping them all cleaned up is just yucky. I busy myself changing their incontinence pads and wiping away any poopy and trying to hum something cheery, to keep everyone’s' spirits up. Sometimes, despite their terror and fury, they get erections and kneeling down before them requires a certain amount of waving away and holding aside. They strain out at me and I do my best to pretend they aren't there. After the changing is over I stand up and they glare at me, bulges in their trousers. Number two had been a stumbler I pounced on at 5.30 yesterday morning. He's now convulsing as his body craves alcohol and he's been moaning. He moans the most. But getting him inside was simplicity itself. - Please help me. I have an urgent problem. - What kind of problem? - What kind of problems can you fix? - Water, pipes, he'd slurred, swaying. - That's perfect. How about a drink before you get started? My current domestic arrangement has made a nocturnal penguin out of me. Lying in bed during daylight hours, unable to sleep. Taking his advice, it wasn’t too hard to adapt to my new circumstances with a touch of flexibility. When I'm not feeding I just think. Mostly about him. A mid-winter early evening, a fierce, cold wind keening through my blood. These frigid gusts bit through my several layers of clothes as I pushed the double buggy along, the stowaway section of the pram filled with shopping. Baby milk powder. Nappies. Rubber teats. The usual baby stuff. Nearing my house I became aware of a figure standing in the middle of the pavement, right by my gate. - Hello, I said and drew the pram to a halt. He was blocking my entrance, looking at the ground. - Would you please move out of the way? I asked, but he said nothing, just slowly raised his head so his eyes met mine. I saw nothing of his face. Something shifting. My head drowned and I fought for air. Time shrank. A fragment of second yawned at the horizon. Like walking towards the vanishing point and then actually arriving. We were standing in my living room, the one corner lamp on and the gigantic shadow of my guest conspicuous by its absence upon the unadorned white wall on the other side of the room. She paused and for a moment she seemed to return to the present. He leaned forward and gently placed his hand over her hand that now tembled on the table between them. “What happened then?” ~~~~~~~~~~~ **shhhhh-snick!** Avaya blinks in bewilderment finding herself at her front door, her hand resting upon the deadbolt she'd just unlatched. It was the slithery soft sound of metal sliding over metal that broke her from the light state she had been in. Either that, or the ripple of flesh expanding in goosbumpled fusion along the back of her thighs from bed-warmth abandonment. What is she doing standing at her door in the middle of the night? And with nothing but the scant of bedclothes she'd disrobed to before sliding under the covers hours earlier?? Knows she put herself to bed, as her covers lay in folded over disarray from her recent occupation, but why she's still not there and suddenly standing in puzzlement soon reveals itself to be of a form of trickery. Sumersive, and sly... "Commmmmmmmmmeeeeeeee....." The whisper slithers across her consciousness like warm water across starved skin. She snaps to herself instantly then, rocketting back to her senses even as quick as her hand slaps the lock back into place. The violation of it feels thick. Oily. Even if her abode is empty, he is here in some form or fashion. The presence of her unexpected visitor seeps from her consciousness to encompass the air about her. Her breath quickens with the heavy shock of it, as much as from the realization that she's as easily manipulated as she's ever been. Even when she sleeps. Moving achingly slow to the lace of curtain covering the din of the outside light to the gloom of her room, she needs just the slightest of retractions to the fabric to discern the shape standing boldly under a streetlamp. Recognizing him to be the creature of encounter at her doorstep from just a few weeks earlier, she chastises herself in thinking it secure to believe she'd be overlooked. His chisled features are turned up expectantly to the rosy light, towards the area he gleens her form to be. Although he doesn't exactly pin her with his gaze, he's deadly close enough, and accurately adept in his administrations to drawing out the prey from the bush. Much like a hunter flossing out the rabbit from it's hidey hole. Perhaps he's here to simply terrorize her to his presence. Perhaps the pickings were slim this evening as he figured a trite -what the hell, let's try to chew on that girl from that one time-. More than likely he plays with the fear he knows he sparked in her eyes on their previous encounter, that feeling of superiority which supplies a drink of the finest mental wine. Nontheless had that certain unknown ~something~ not inked itself to her awakening, or had it come just a minute later, she knows she'd be standing in an array of undress, under that very streetlight right now. In most uncertain danger of never seeing this place again. As seconds linger into a moment, -for thats all that transpires between this exchange of pause and identify- regardless of the long hour it feels to her...the creature makes a second attempt. It's focus a sole occupant in the building...her. "Don't resissssssssssssssst..." "Come ouuuuuuuuuuuuuut..." Quickly turns her form from the visage the window offers, so that the wall firmly secures her against the gaze of the night. Despite herself, for all her formulations and absolutions, the tinge of that familiar pull tickling down her spine and along her vulnerable mortal senses is strong. And lulling... But she recognizes this for what it is, a play of cat and mouse. And like the mouse she knows she is, she's at the mindset to make her run for it, out of reach from the wiley paw of the feline. Within moments finds herself in the small white room of the bathroom, putting more walls between her and her predator. With the turn of nozzle the sound of running water pounding against the basin of the tub comes as a welcome drowning to the knock of her submissive nature. A detriment of her psyche to which he preys upon. But that nature is hers now, alone, to cradle in the lap she makes as she gratefully sinks her small form in the space between wall and commode. The cold of porcelain a steeling solid reassurance against her skin, dampened slick as it is from shower steam condensation. Here in this squashed space she draws her knees up to chest, making herself as small and invisible in her own skin as she can, enduring this stance as long as it takes until the drone of him fades, and the pull releases. Tucked there in the cramped space is where she remains until the sliver of morning cracks it's welcome under the bathroom door. She'll need to leave soon...now, if possible. Has become restless to build more walls between herself of self now...and the self she was, and more restless to put into play any of the imagined possibilities of new employment. Anywhere from here... Anywhere to tomorrow... ~~~~~~~~~~ Faoland drove through the pick-up area at terminal B of the airport. There, just as she expected, was her father's confidant, Lewis, carrying a large box under his right arm and an overnight bag in his left hand. He was dressed more casually than usual, wearing navy Dockers and a light tan polo shirt with navy trim. His skin was tanned and his black hair was coifed in a vary businesslike style. Without seeing, she knew his fingernails were well manicured and his imported Italian leather shoes were well polished. He was almost anal about his meticulousness. But this particular attention he paid to even the smallest detail was the reason he had risen so high in her father's company. Faoland pulled her black BMW over to the curb and waited for Lewis to put the package and his bag in the trunk. After he shut the lid, he walked around and opened the passenger door, slid into the leather bucket seat, and fastened his seat belt. "Where to?" Faoland asked. "Ohhhh, your place will be fine," He said dryly. "I understand you have some extra room." "Uhhhhhh Huhhhhh..." said Faoland, her voice indicating she felt imposed upon. "And just how long are you planning on staying? Did Dad take away your company card or something?" "No," Lewis said, unruffled by her sarcasm. "Your father did NOT revoke my privileges, and how long I stay depends entirely upon YOU, Miss Cawthorne." "Ok...well, maybe I should ask what my father requires of you, since you are here at his request," she spoke a little softer this time remembering that Lewis always called her Miss Cawthorne when he was doing her father's bidding. "I have been instructed by Mr. Cawthorne to deliver the package he sent to you. I am to wait until you have had time to sort through the contents, then I am to answer any questions that may arise from you viewing the contents," Lewis said matter-of-factly. "Lewis? What is in the box?" Faoland asked. "I can only speculate and that would do neither of us any good," Lewis replied curtly. After a slight pause he added, You'll just have to wait and see." Out of the corner of her eye, Faoland saw Lewis smiling. She knew he enjoyed knowing something before someone else knew. She also knew he was amused with himself, always knowing so much more than he would ever let anyone know. Annoying as it was, she knew it was just his way...it had always been his way. They sped on into the night. It would be another hour before reaching home, and then she would settle in and go through the box that her father had sent. Faoland resolved that it was going to be a long night. ~~~~~~~~~~ Heylo held the small cell phone next to her ear as she walked briskly through the corridors of the underground complex. She smiled as she passed a group of guest as they prepared to enter a room on the left...but didn't stop to talk. She was on her way to the elevator that would take her to hanger 2. She was so excited she found herself almost running, feeling like a schoolgirl inside. "Yes, I'm on my way," she said into the phone. "No, Thomas. Just wait there...I'm approaching the elevator now and will be with you momentarily." She closed the phone and pocketed it in the right side pocket of her black silk jacket as she entered the elevator and pressed the ground floor button. She brushed first one arm and then the other of the sleeves then began fastening the two buttons in front. She straightened and smoothed the matching black silk skirt and was absent mindedly playing with her pearl drop necklace as the door to the elevator opened. There stood Thomas with his notebook, phone and bouquet of roses. "Take any calls for me. I won't be able to talk to anyone during the next few minutes," she said as she mildly noted the cab driving away. Then she turned her full attention to the pilot and Vilona who had just deplaned. Heylo smiled brightly and hurried toward the two. Heylo flung her arms around Vilona and hugged her tightly. She felt so emotional...almost as if she would cry at the glorious sight of her beloved Sire. It had been so long since she had last seen her...and at this moment...she realized how deeply she had missed Vilona. Loosing her Sire had been the one driving force that had moved Heylo to relocate to Colorado. She had buried the painful loss by throwing herself into establishing the Inn. Heylo released Vilona and moved to hold Vilona's hands, drinking in the sight of her beloved Sire. She kissed first one and then the other hand...then looked into her Sire's eyes. "Greetings, my Dearest One! I am so honored that you could join me here. Welcome to Black Forest Inn!" She then reached over and took the roses from Thomas and handed them to Vilona. "I have so missed you, my Sire," pausing just a moment to glance downward, "and your desire to not wear shoes! Please allow me to escort you to the room I have prepared for you." Upon turning with her Sire's arm in hers, she glanced back at the pilot...who was staring dumbfoundedly. "Please get your attendant. Don't let her sit on the plane like you did last time. And bring along any luggage Madame Dark may have brought with her." ~~~~~~~~ “Please continue. What did you do then?” I hadn't invited him in. He stood there, still gazing at me. I stood motionless, a shrieking seed in my belly taking root and spreading into my capillaries. I gripped the bar of the pram so tightly my knuckles turned white. Phillipa and Constanze slept. His silence filled the room with screaming. - I've been doing a lot of thinking, he said. He was now staring at the pram. After the disaster of the first drunk, from whom it was barely possible to get anything and what eventually went down caused the twin’s eruptions of vomiting and wailing, the detox idea hit me. I got the DIY bug big time. After purchasing and arranging for the delivery of the IV equipment I went to the ironmonger's, ordering several lengths of two-by-four, six dozen nails, brackets, a large wrench and three large hooks. The kind butchers hang meat on. Also essential was a huge metal pail and some sterilizing fluid. The only hiccup had come when I asked the guy at the builder's material shop for the final items on my shopping list. Two-by-fours. U-shaped brackets. And now cuffs. - We don't stock, uh, handcuffs, he said. Professional smile. - Where do you think I could get twelve pairs of handcuffs? - Oh. Um. Well, try the sex shop. Turn right at the end of the road. Can't miss it. I entered the store, the men browsing the magazines inside grinning or blushing at the appearance of a lone female in such an establishment. I asked the guy behind the counter for twelve pairs of handcuffs. He had to pause a moment, to fully take in this request. - We have fur-lined handcuffs, rubber handcuffs, and special cuffs for women's, uh, for the smaller wrist. We also have authentic police cuffs. Nice and heavy, my personal favourite, he added. Security being the issue here rather than comfort, I carried away a bulging carrier bag with the words BIGSEXYWORLD emblazoned on both sides. On top of the words reclined a nude woman, her airbrushed head thrown back, magenta lips parted in ecstasy. The police cuffs clinked together as the bag swung with each step. My next stop was the local substance abuser's outreach centre. I walked inside the dilapidated building, took a number and sat on a narrow wooden bench along with all the users awaiting their clean needles. My clear fresh skin, the absence of need in my eyes set me apart from the addicts that sat around me. Several stared at my carrier bag. I waited, my face burning until my turn came. - Hi, said the ponytailed guy behind the counter. - Your old needles please. The thick, magnifying lenses of his spectacles and the pustular spot near the centre of his forehead made him look as if he had three indifferent eyes. - I don't have any old needles. An unexpected twist. - I'm new to Class A drugs, I added. The guy's third eye judged me. - Ok. You've been sharing. I see. When was your last test? Sensing a plausible answer was required I composed myself: - Last week. I'm free of all those nasty diseases you can get when you, you know, with someone who has, you know. I just need a needle. You know. So I can inject myself with some heroin. Like into my vein. You know. So I can get, you know, high. The ponytail shook his head. - Fine, fine, okay. Three needles. Don't share them with anyone else. Don't exchange any bodily fluids with anyone you suspect may be sharing. Actually, contact with anyone's fluids is inadvisable. - I'll try not to get any blood on me at all, I said as I popped the sharps into my handbag. No sleep at all the next day. The guest bedroom door remained closed, the sounds of nails knocking into wood, the clanking of metal, curses and the occasional sticky thudding noise followed by silence. The work continued until the day slipped into dusk and the crying began. Leaving behind my newly converted guest room, I made myself comfortable downstairs and unwrapped a fresh, clean needle. With an old silk scarf tied tightly around my bicep, my goosey hand attempted and then finally succeeded in finding a vein. I filled the syringe and squirted my blood into a plastic bottle. Then I repeated the process. And again and again until I felt dizzy and had to lie down for a spell. It'll be easier soon, I told myself as I slipped in and out of the dark. - I've been doing nothing but thinking actually, he said. His eyes still on the pram. He crossed the room to it and I may have just floated aside. - The beauty of life is the unexpected. The pleasures we take from each day are intensified by our not knowing they are going to happen. A lifetime amasses these experiences like a house of cards. There they all are, your beautiful moments, a structure, a monument to memory. There is no tragedy in death, where death is oblivion. Death is about oblivion. Who'd want to be dead, yet remembering? - This is why I have decided to try to start them early. No tragedy where there's nothing to remember, he said, picking Phillipa up, kissing her on the neck. - No pain with no full and enjoyable life curtailed. With that he kissed Constanze the same way. His lips shone in the half-light. His red delicious apple smile. - There will be a time where you will not know what to do and you may just go and do the wrong thing. Don't go to the hospital, he said. - You've been tired, haven't you? He asked. - Just think of it as someone taking them off your hands for a few hours. Then they'll be back. - Back from where? I think I asked. - It's better that it wasn't you. See you around, he said. Then he either left or was never there. When the mist lifted I stood for a moment and then went to the pram. My twins slept, arms thrown out, hands in tiny fists. Breathing regular yet shallow. Picking them up and putting them in their cots felt like a kind of interment. It happened at while I was sleeping. Cold skin. Blueish tinges on their lips. Silence in the room apart from the Pingu the Penguin clock, the ticking moving time ever on while in fact it had actually ended. I took his advice and did nothing. When nightfall came I went into their room. Their little duvets they had slept under were as I had left them, pulled up to cover their faces. I went to Constanze's crib and pulled back the cover. Her eyes were open, gazing up at me. Then both babies started to howl. They puked the milk I tried to give them right back up again and then tried to crawl up towards my neck. Toward any vein. The futility of attempting to bite me with no teeth caused them so much frustration. They cried while I figured out what I was going to have to do. In death, the paperboy outlived his usefulness quickly, even though heating the congealed blood helped with its viscosity; it wasn't the same as the fresh stuff. So I moved on to the drunks. Nobody seemed to miss them, but getting them, stunned with Xanax-spiked booze, into the guest room has been something of a trial, as I am a rather petite woman with a sensitive nose. Once I have them on the floor, I drag them into a seated position below the two beams nailed into the wall. Hauling one side of the body up, I handcuff the wrist to the bracket and then repeat the process with the other side. Then the same with the ankles. There they slump, dangling painfully by the wrists despite my attempts to get them to stand up straight. Maybe I should have bought the padded cuffs. Then their mouths are taped shut. Tubes attached. Terrified, staring eyes. The needles entering their skin, draining away their blood. If all goes as planned, they'll be a constant source of nutrition for my little ones. I won't have to kill any more teenagers. Right now, as one of them lies cradled in my arms, sucking at the sloshing red liquid-filled bottle, I contemplate the future. And there's knocking at my door. How long can I keep this up? The knocking again. Louder. If it is the police I could get it over with. They'd commit me and do heaven knows what with the twins. If not, I could carry on as I am and hope I never get caught. But maybe it's him. If he comes, my nights could be first for my sweet ones because love is forever and they will always need me, always always always, then maybe there'll be something left for me. Knock knock knock. Maybe it's because of the bonfire I had in the garden after the first drunk failed me. The burning rubber tires to cover the stench. On a nature documentary on TV I saw mother penguins regurgitating fish for their chicks. I don't know what it's going to be like and I'm scared. I wish I could talk to someone. More knocking. I cannot move. I will his presence here anyway, but nothing happens. The knocking continues. All the lights are off, the curtains closed. I put Constanze down and go to the window. I part the curtains a fraction. Sooner or later, I'll find him. Like he found me. Like the vanishing point found me, standing still. Then love will really exist as a stative verb, love without end, without change. Without meaning.” Her story had ended. She sat looking out a non-existing window. There was no urging that would force her to continue. She merely waited to be allowed to attend her darlings. Their mewling for attention could be heard three doors down. The doctor reported that the children were indeed dependant on a diet consisting entirely of blood. All other nutrition were forcibly expelled from their bodies. Their disappearance was a mystery to all involved. Our mother and her infants were reported missing this morning. No explanation has been offered for how they escaped or where they could be going. A pool of blood was found in the mother’s room. Her doctor has not returned our call for an interview at this time. We will report further when more details are uncovered. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “This is Vilona Dark. I am calling in response to your application as my travel companion. Would it be possible for you to fly to Colorado this week? I will arrange a flight for you and lodging. I am offering all travel expenses paid and a handsome personal spending account to total $500 a week. I would like to put this on a trial basis. If our first trip is a success and you are comfortable with the details then I will grant you a more lucrative spending account. If upon meeting you do not wish to take this opportunity, I will fly you back home with no ill feelings and no harm done.” Vilona nodded in agreement to the soothing voice on the other end of the line, then added, “ I do want to make you aware that I have had other applicants answer to this ad as well. You will not be alone in meeting with me. So please bring your resume, references, and some vacation clothes. I wish you to enjoy your stay. If you are not the chosen applicant, at least you can relax and spend some time in the beautiful Colorado Fall air. Wonderful, I’ll email you the flight schedule.” Placing the phone down on the bedside table, Vilona looked across her room to the starry evening sky that welcomed her. She picked up the phone once again and quickly received a cheery reception on the other end of the line. “Heylo, there will be another joining me. To make it 3 in total. May I ask for use of the jet for this one as well? I can make arrangements for a commercial flight if it is not available.” She knew she would be expected to join the others soon, but she had something that would not wait… Out the window she slipped. Her bare feet never touching the ground.
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