| "Chapter 8" |
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The hiss of double flanked doors snap her head up from where it had been lolling against her chest, or at least that's what the disagreeing strain of the back of her neck tells her. Christ she's fallen asleep! On a subway! Dumbly glances at the passing of fabric and colored hems, elbows adorned with purses and laptop carriers, pockets of jackets and swaths of blouse, as people file first off the tranport, then scramble to replace the spaces provided in those absences. Gods, what time is it, and more importantly, where in the tunnelled bowels of the city is she? Cranes her sight out the dirty window as the subway begins it's rapid gain of speed to shuttle those to where they want to be, but where does she want to be? Does catch the illuminated glow of the station sign "Jefferson" assurring herself that she's not yet slept through her stop. After a time, she's exited both the metallic monster and it's cradle of florescent lights. Passing guitar stringing beggars tucked within station corners, and stuffy appearing men cursing into cellphones, to greet the night air with a fresh gulping breath. Being down there is like moving in a womb as an adult. The air might be fresh but the neighborhood has seen better days. Stepping over syrofoam cups that blow along her path, she looks up to the night sky to gauge whether the heaviness in the air is imminently going to open up and spill it's wet heaven atop her. A sliver of a cresent moon is passed behind the roll of cloudcover, and distantly she plucks forth a memory to entertain her thoughs for the short trip to the room she's rented. She was born on a night gracing the harvest moon, large and red cast as she was told, 22 years previously. Although she wonders to the significance of the date or the time of year, doubts it was any of the two, more than it was a solid belief in fate and superstition. They seemed to think it was a grand deal, so much so in fact that the price for her possessions were always higher than the others. Perhaps it saved her from a life of further degredation or wallowing in the slop that ran in the streets, that date. But somehow doubts her circumstance has been any different to those that she grew up with, -the little time that was granted to her to be a child anyway-. But that was 22 years ago, and the date of it approaches in the next month or so, except this time the date will be hers to hold, and hers alone. Cradles that notion close to her, warming her within from the drab her walk had chilled into her clothing. Her room is housed in a little apartment building sequestered cozily between a dry cleaning business run by yelling japanese women, and a succulent little russian bakery boasting the most heavenly morning smells. It's small and cramped, and the flowers gracing the walkway wilted and bent, suffocated by the lack of sunlight and attention. But ooooooooh man, it has a bed, and thats all and more she could have hoped for in acquiring it. Fumbles night chilled fingers into her pockets to acquire her keys, when a lilted male voice, liquid in it's tone and languid to it's punctutions enquires if she needs assistance... "Can I help you with anything miss? This isn't the best of places to be walking around alone, you know..." He leans a shoulder in a seemingly casual pose against the brick face of the wall. Well out of arms reach of her person, so it doesn't appear amiss should anyone else happenstance a walk by. Hand paused halfway in it's path to connect key to doorlock, as she risks a glance halfway over a shoulder to place the person with the voice. He's illuminated by the glow of the dry cleaning sign, spreading it's irridescence over the empty street, and too late she realizes her own features would be exposed. He's dressed casually, a blazer casually placed over lapelled shirt and trendy jeans. But her practiced eye recognizes the fine weave of the fabric, and the quality of shine from his shoes. Like he's tried too hard to appear casual, yet unable to give up the comfort of expensive threadcount. he slips a well manicured hand neatly into the pocket of a lapel, but his eyes narrow to her....just the scantest of moments... For a second she sees what he sees. A slender lythe of a woman, easy prey, walking home alone. Likely no possessions worth a damn adorning her abode. Chances are nobody of significance that will miss her when she's gone. Crazy riot of curled hair falling about her shoulders nearly wider than her hips span. And when she turns to the sound of his speech, widened grey eyes, light as the drift of raincloud, contrasting starkly against the delicacy of her features, raised to him with a knowledge he didn't expect. Countless times she's been lectured how unseemingly her looks are, how ungainly her gait is, how un-wanton she can appear. But it's in the glean of her light eyes to his piercing green that the recognition sparks. For she, recognizes him for what he is, and he knows she knows. It's in that brief passing of kindred soul to kindred soul that she makes her move while he's still hushed in the surprise of it, and his next blink is greeted by the slam of a door putting distance between them. Pressing her spine to the back of the door...nay...nearly rooting herself into the grain, she holds in a trepidous breath as his shoes scuffle once on the damp pavement, scuffle twice. She imagines him peering at the doorway with malice, but in all actuality he probably scoffs with indignation and moves on to easier meals. When this happens, and all the noise that surounds her is the rapid stuccato of her heart hammering in her ear, she pushes off from her solid stance and bolts up the stairs to her rented room. Here she denies herself the urge to weep in relief, for this isn't the first she's been around them, nor doubts it'll be the last. Sets herself to the edge of the bed, comforted by the familiar give the mattress dipps to in accomodating her figure. Doubts she'll sleep well, and can be certain she'll be thinking of her past life tangled with those that walk the night, and how no matter where she steps, how far the train carries her in slumber, that they'll always be there. As promised...... Vilona collected the callapsed weeping Suzanne in her arms and gently led her to the kitchen table. She motioned for Faoland to put the phone back on the receiver, then waited for Suzanne to calm down. Between sobs she muttered, “Oh Trevie.” It was apparent something had happened to her cousin. Faoland had been preparing to leave for the evening, but Vilona nodded toward the vacant chair nearest Suzanne with the hopes that Faoland would stay for a bit longer. With clinched teeth, Faoland moved to a ladder back wooden chair at the same table where Suzanne was seated. Suzanne finally looked up into Vilona’s eyes. She was aging so fast these days. Vilona wondered if she’d made the right choice, but she promised herself she would never use Suzanne for selfish reasons. She couldn’t, she loved her as a daughter, the daughter she could never have. Suzanne’s breathing was returning to normal with only a slight catch every so often. She looked back down at her hands and inhaled deeply. Her lips trembled a bit as she began, “Trevie… Trevor’s housekeeper called. She said she could no longer work for Trevor. He has not been home for the last 8 months. She said he was searching for someone, but she didn’t know who. Then 2 months ago her paychecks stopped coming in the mail. She has waited all this time, but can’t any longer. I understand she needs to be paid for her job, but what happened to Trevor! She was crying. She doesn’t want to leave, but has to. She did report his disappearance to the police and they will be investigating…” Suzanne looked up slowly, “She told the police his last known destination was that church in Massachusetts. He went back there several times after he left here. She told them that he visited a place called Death Manor, but didn’t have a location for it. I think they are trying to find us.” Vilona looked at Faoland then back down at Suzanne. Vilona willed her hand to be warm, then gently placed it under Suzanne’s chin lifting her face upwards. Vilona spoke as a mother might, “My dear Suzanne, what would you ask of me?” “Could we pay his housekeeper what he owes? She has been so good to him. Then maybe… could we… find him?” “Lil one, he is mortal. I don’t have the connection with him that I would with kindred, but Faoland, might be able to help us.” Suzanne looked sheepishly at Faoland, then back to Vilona. “I thought she was to be your new Ghoul? That, that was the reason you no longer drink from me? How can she do this for us when you need her?” With a surprise twinkle in Vilona’s eyes she almost chuckled, “No! I have never taken from Faoland. There is NO ONE to replace you my dear. We began our journey together as a way for me to help you and you to help me. You were dying and I helped you. Now, you can live without my blood, so I have released you from this. I have other resources that do not require anyone’s sacrifices. It is no longer pleasant to feed, but I can sleep much better. The only thing I dread is that you will live only a normal time now… I will eventually lose you.” Vilona and Suzanne look toward Faoland. Suzanne reached a timid little hand toward Faoland’s on the table, “Would you help me?” She listened intently, without saying a word, to everything that Suzanne conveyed to Lady Dark, concerning the phone call about Trevor. She remained quite still, almost expressionless, except for the clinched jaw. She watched, with some interest, at how the Lady Dark treated Suzanne with such......kindness. As her mind began to consider what she was witnessing, she was abruptly pulled back to the moment when Suzanne asked for her help. At first Faoland was stunned that either of them would consider asking for her help. She didn't think they knew her well enough to ask her as a friend...but maybe...they were asking to contract her. She decided to play it by ear and see if they would offer payment or not. "If they didn't think of compensation, then maybe they were beginning to think of her as their friend?" was the thought that raced through Faoland's mind. Again, Faoland's thoughts rushed back to the moment, but this time, of her own accord, as both Lady Dark and Suzanne were waiting for an answer to Suzanne's question. She remained expressionless, and offered in her usual business-like tone, "Yes, I have some contacts in Massachusetts. I'm sure I could quietly make some inquiries." Vilona watched Faoland’s jaw tighten and the cold stare she maintained throughout Suzanne’s heart wrenching plea. Maybe she had misjudged this woman. Her initial feeling was one of trust since her beloved Heylo had sent this woman into her midst. Now she wondered if they had made a mistake. Vilona arched an eyebrow and lowered her voice to one of muted politeness, “If it is not too much trouble that is.” With that, Faoland glanced down at her watch, "Unless there is something else, I really must be going." She stood and pushed the chair toward the table, smiled slightly at Suzanne and nodded to Lady Dark. "I'll be in touch as soon as I hear something," she said as she paused after walking across the room and opening the front door. "Meanwhile, if you hear any more, please let me know, too." Then, she exited and gently closed the door behind her. |