Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “I’m sure it’ll take more than age to get you to retire!”

  “You got me there, sir,” Sy replied good-naturedly.

  “If you’ll follow me,” Reginald stated as he disappeared in the bowels of Weatherly.

  Sy took a step back and called to his men, “I’m gonna go in and figure out what we need. Start unpacking the truck and leave the materials on the step for now. Come on! We’re movers, so let’s move!” He jogged, quickly catching up to Reginald, “Sorry, sir. Sometimes you gotta crack the whip. Make sure everybody minds their p’s and q’s.”

  “Quite right, Sy. Quite right.”

  Reginald led the way downstairs with Sy close behind.

  As soon as Sy issued his order, Herb sprinted into action. He’d been thrilled that Sy was heading the team. It was his first chance to work with him and prove his worth, but that was before his back started giving him problems. He’d been up all night, but didn’t dare call in sick – not so close to his final review. And what could he have used as an excuse? He couldn’t very well tell them the truth about having a trick back. It would end all hope of being a Blanding’s mover. He knew the flare-up was his fault. He’d aggravated the pre-existing condition by putting on weight and not using his lifting belt. If he followed the guidelines and got in shape, he could make things work out. He just needed to get through this day.

  He hopped in the back of the van and saw Henry ready to pick-up some of the smaller crates. Herb had to be fast. He made his move.

  “Here, I’ll take the smaller stuff. You can get the packing material.”

  “Right ya, are, Herbie,” Henry acquiesced. He was a follower and preferred someone else making the decisions.

  Herb watched Henry take an armful of materials from the truck. As soon as he left the van, Herb quickly set the minimal load back down. The pain emanating up his spine forced him to relinquish his hold. His back was killing him, but he couldn’t let anyone know. Most especially Sy. The fellows had told him he’d been nosing around and asking questions ever since he was hired. Herb suspected Sy’s reservations were based on something Moshie Brecker had said. Sy had frequented the pub and Herb had seen them sitting together. Herb couldn’t come up with another reason as to why Sy disliked him so much, and it did seem that Sy had it out for him.

  The job at Brecker’s pub had been a mistake. What Sy and Moshie hadn’t known is that Herb had taken it as a second job. In the early evenings he worked at the pub, but from there he went directly to working as a night watchman. The job at the pub was Herb’s way of making ends meet. His wife had been in the last weeks of her pregnancy – a pregnancy that was costing him a pretty penny. On top of that, she’d gone and gotten sick. Her illness added an extra financial burden that couldn’t be met with one job. Meeting expenses had never been easy, but because of the special circumstances, last year had been hell. Absolute hell, but they had gotten through it. She was fine now and they had a beautiful, healthy baby daughter to show for all their efforts. Little Molly had been well worth all their trouble. By keeping his priorities straight, things had worked out just fine, but not for long. A few months ago, the night watchman position had fallen through and he’d found himself jobless. With the new member in the family, he couldn’t remain that way for long. The job opening at Blanding’s had seemed ideal, but then during the second interview, Frank Blanding had mentioned what Sy had said. Instead of lying, Herbert had been honest about falling asleep. He told him everything. The two jobs, the taking care of his bedridden, pregnant wife, and watching his two kids in the daytime. He had been sleep deprived, but had no choice but to adhere to the brutal schedule for economic reasons. Mr. Blanding had been very kind and understood his predicament. He even asked about the baby and Herbert enthusiastically told him that his wife, Cassie, had been overjoyed since she’d finally gotten the daughter she’d been wishing for.

  Herb had been thrilled that he made it through the interview and that he was being given this opportunity. Blanding’s had a reputation for paying their workers top dollar. More than that, the job was secure. The only way openings came about was through retirement and not through employee job hopping. When Mr. Blanding had shaken his hand and told him to start on Monday, Herbert knew that he had some past mistakes to amend. He had three short months to prove that Mr. Blanding had done the right thing in believing his story and putting his faith in him. He had returned the favor by having a spotless record, and he was going to make sure to keep it that way.

  The wooden casings were still on the floor. His mates would be back soon to take another load. He needed to hurry. He tightened his belt and bent over wincing. By sheer strength of will he picked up a few crates. He ran from the truck and set them down, galloping back to get more. By the time Sy came back, the team had almost all of the entire truck unloaded. Herb noted with great satisfaction that Sy looked pleased.

  “Herb, why don’t you take what you can carry and follow me. I’ll show you what needs to be done.”

  Herb was shocked that Sy had singled him out for a very unofficial supervisory position. It meant he was impressing him – or being put on the spot to show what he could do. Sore back or no sore back, Herb was intent on proving himself to Sy Feldman. He’s show him that the bad impression was all based on a set of unavoidable circumstances and not because Herb was lacking in drive.

  “Right, ya are, sir.”

  Herb bent over feeling the disc slip even further out of place. He grabbed what he normally would and more. He wasn’t going to let his stinkin’ back get in the way of snagging this quality job. It would put him and his burgeoning family on Easy Street.

  “Easy now, Herb, these steps are treacherous, but so far they haven’t claimed even one of Blanding’s finest,” Sy chattered good-naturedly. Sy even slowed down to demonstrate to Herb that it was entirely appropriate to take it easy and not push. Sy was happy that Herb seemed anxious to please. He was glad he mentioned the steps for Sy wouldn’t have been surprised if Herb had tried bounding down the tilted steps and ended up killing himself. With Sy ahead of him, Herb had no choice, but to slow down.

  “Right in there,” Sy said pointing to the opened door. “You better leave that stuff you’re carrying here in the hallway. There isn’t much space to move around in there.”

  Herb dreaded setting down the sparse load. He tried bending his knees to minimize the strain placed on his back. It helped a bit, but he still felt more than a twinge of pain. He put his hand on his back and went inside.

  Once inside, Herb immediately saw what Sy had described.

  “Sir, if I might make a suggestion?”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Well, due to the limited space, I think we should have some men assigned to the bigger pieces, and one or two to the smaller ones. This way the bigger pieces can be carried out into the hallway and packed up nice and neat out there. It’ll leave room in here to move around and get the small pieces tended to.”

  Sy gave Herb a quick appraisal. He covered his mouth with his finger. He had been about to give instructions for Herb to do just that. Maybe he had been wrong about him.

  “Sounds like a great idea, Herb. Just one thing though.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “You see these numbers here,” Sy said walking over the Victorian panels and tugging at the tag that was affixed to them.

  “Yes, sir …”

  “These numbers need to stay where they are. Don’t you or nobody else be pulling or dropping them off or Blanding will be dropping you off, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Another thing is the numbers on the items, must appear on the outside packing crate. That means you’ll have to keep track of all these item numbers – especially for the smaller pieces. You know that they’ll be going into larger shipping crates and if there’s five of them in there, then there’d better be the five numbers on the outside. It’s for inventory purposes and to make sure the collection stays together.
There are 53 numbers and I’ve written that number down right here on my pad. I’ll be checking numbers and there better be all 53 accounted for. If not, it means we’re going to have to open up each and every crate until there are. I don’t want that and I’m sure Blanding’s don’t. A problem like that might even delay the shipment and the Blanding’s would like that even less. You get what I’m saying, Herb, or should I go over it one more time?”

  “Not necessary, sir. It’s all recorded right up here,” Herb said pointing to forehead. “We’ll do it right the first-time. You’ll see. And I’d be glad to pass this on to the rest of the men, if you like.”

  “That’d be very helpful, Herb. Why don’t you divvy up the team while you’re at it?”

  Herb’s chest swelled out with pride. He was doing it. He was winning Sy over to his side. It was exactly what Herb had been hoping for.

  “I’d like that very much, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a team to get at!”

  “Yes, and don’t you or anyone else forget we’re here to work and not to play or …”

  Sy cut short his statement. He’d wanted to add ‘or to sleep,” but decided against it.

  Herb gave him a toothy grin that was as crooked as the stairs. There was a flash of the white cotton mover’s uniform as Herb disappeared up the steps taking them two at a time. Sy disapproved of the mad dash up the stairs as far as safety was concerned, but the enthusiasm was very welcome. You needed to put energy and drive into what you did for it to come out well. Sy turned and took the stairs at a more secure pace. He knew he’d get to the top just the same. By the time, he got midway up, the team had already started making the descent. He moved to the side and let them pass giving them an approving thumbs up iced with a smile.

  CHAPTER 6

  Herb was just about finished packing the antique bracelet. It wasn’t particularly fragile and the wooden casing should be adequate to protect it, but it was better to error on the side of caution. Herb added an extra dollop of filler to make sure it stayed suspended right where he placed it. He put on the lid.

  He bent over to close the box and felt an excruciating bolt of pain shoot up and spread throughout his body. He audibly groaned and grabbed his lower back. Luckily, the only other person in the room was Justin – one of the many workers he’d made friends with since joining Blanding’s. Sy had checked in to see how things were going – that had been about 15 minutes ago. When he saw that Justin and Herb had only 5 more items to pack, he’d seemed happy. Thank God, his back hadn’t given out with Sy in the room. He didn’t want Sy to hear him complain – even involuntarily.

  “You okay, Herbie?” Justin inquired of his older jovial friend, not taking his eyes off the small porcelain cup he was packing. Cups that size and made of that material were very vulnerable to damage. Justin was using the right amount of expertise to ensure its safety.

  “Yeah, fine. Just pricked my finger,” Herb said feeling increasing anxiety over the pain that was building and not letting up. While having a trick back wasn’t the best thing to have when you were a mover, he’d learned to accommodate it. He could even slide it back in place if given enough time. He’d survived enough afternoons of playing amateur furniture mover to know it was manageable. Those occasions arose when his wife decided to redecorate, but today was worse than he’d ever experienced. He idly wondered if the cold had anything to do with it. At this point, he was trying just to get through the day and ignore it, but it didn’t seem to be easing off. Even after the stroke of luck of Sy giving him the authority of delegating duties. It meant he was only handling items under 10 pounds, but it still required bending over to handle them.

  Herb picked up a pair of candlesticks, noting their numbers on his pad and checking off the number above it. He wondered how much longer it was going to take before his fingers turned blue. He was probably exaggerating the temperature in his mind, but it felt to him as if he were literally freezing to death. He bent down to write the number of the bracelet on the outside of the box.

  “Careful as you go, guv’nor,” Justin said, “Be right back. Coffee goes right through me.”

  Justin always brought a thermos of coffee with him on the job. Herb didn’t drink the stuff, but maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be in the precarious position he was. Today he would have relished downing hot liquid at regular intervals. It undoubtedly would have counteracted this feeling of frostbite in his extremities.

  “Don’t be too long. I get so lonely without your company,” Herb said pursing his lips and making a soft kissing noise.

  Justin gave a little chuckle and exited, leaving the door ajar. Herb bent down and wrote 22 on the wooden box. He tried to stand up and when he did, he felt his back go out completely. He dropped to his knees in agony. He had no choice now. He had to try to get the misplaced disc back in place. He couldn’t do anything this way and would be sent home. He thanked his lucky stars that it happened now. With Justin gone, it might be just the time to try to remedy the situation. Justin was a friend, but Herb couldn’t chance revealing his condition. One word, one whisper, and he’d be out the Blanding’s door and up the creek without a paddle.

  He crawled on his knees towards the door and pushed it shut. He rolled over on his stomach and raised himself up on his left arm in a yogic cobra position – hips on the floor and torso raised. With his right hand he pressed down on his lumbar region. It hurt like hell, but he held the position. He very slowly and carefully twisted his torso to the right and left. He raised himself up a little higher and really pushed down. He moved to his right and felt something snap. Just as suddenly his pain disappeared. He rolled over on his back triumphant that his self-healing had worked. He’d be fine now. He just needed to keep his belt on and really bend his knees when lifting so he didn’t set it off again.

  He rolled over on his back and moved a bit from side to side, enjoying how good it felt to be free of the pain that had burdened him for the entire day. He relaxed smiling up at the ceiling.

  “Herbert …”

  Funny, he thought he heard his name called. He lay, not moving, wondering where it came from. It didn’t seem like it came from out in the hall, but it must have since he was alone in the room. The perplexing thing was that it seemed to come from behind that stone wall on the other side of the …

  “Her-bert …”

  Herb snapped his head and stared at the wall. The lights flickered a moment before they went out. Herb lay in total darkness – left to wonder where the deep, raspy voice originated. He felt the cold floor beneath him wondering how the temperature could have dropped. It had been freezing, but now? It was unbearably cold. His teeth began chattering. He felt frightened and stupid about being scared. There were people less than two feet away if only he could get up, and open the door, and …

  “Her-bert … Her-bert. I want you to come here, Her-bert. Now, Her-bert …” the voice hissed in a drawn out whisper.

  The voice sounded old – ancient. It was the voice of a terminally ill patient, or a person weakened to the point of incapacity. Why was he was hearing it? Where the hell was it coming from? He was alone. Utterly and completely alone.

  The lights came on for a moment, and just as quickly shut off. He lay on the cold ground, surrounded by complete darkness. As if things were bad enough. He wondered if the problem extended into the hallway. He didn’t hear any of the men grumbling. Usually they would if external causes prevented them from doing their work. Their silence confirmed that the lights had decided to go crazy only in the room he was working in. Damn it! He shrugged it off. Being isolated had partially worked out. It had kept his secret safe and that was the main thing. He was sorry he didn’t bring his tools from home. He was quite the handyman and bet he could have had the wiring fixed in no time.

  Slowly he rose to his feet as the lights flickered and disappeared. All he had to do was feel for the door handle and turn it. He shuffled in the direction of the door. Suddenly, the lights sprang to life – sputtering and allowin
g him brief packets of sight. His eyes spotted the candles that Reginald had brought down. They were right where he left them – on the ledge.

  He took one long, white taper by its base – holding it in his shaking hands. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the cigarette lighter his wife had given to him for his birthday. He didn’t smoke and they didn’t have a fireplace, but she had given it to him anyway – just in case. He flipped back the top and used his thumb to summon up a flame. He lit it just in time – the lights went off again. He held his only source of illumination – the burning taper.

  He grabbed a holder from the ledge and considered going into the hallway, but why? There was still work that needed doing and now he had the light to do it. He made his way to the table taking care that the flame didn’t go out. He looked down at the table and saw a pair of cobalt candlesticks were next to be packed. His hand touched the tag and saw the number 23. He placed the base down and put the candle in its center when …

  “Herbert … let me out. Now!”