VROLOK

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  Simon was still watching as his she caught his eye. His heart dropped as she looked away, in his eyes his worst fear had been confirmed by her immediate glance away from him. He turned to walk away from her; he would not come back to ruin her life if she had moved on. He turned away with a heavy heart, but then Simon had to turn around again because his wife was calling his name.

  “Simon, Simon!” she called. Simon turned to face his wife. She was smiling at him and at that moment Simon was reassured. When his wife was but steps from him she threw herself into his arms. She threw herself with such a force that Simon fell backwards and they both fell to the ground. Simon and his wife lay clutching each other, both laughing, not wanting to take their eyes off the other, not wanting to even blink for fear that their happy reunion was just a dream. When Simon’s children saw their mother running from them they thought it was a game and started to chase after her. The children were only steps behind their mother and also threw themselves on top of their parents. Simon was now sure that his future life would be happy and it was; Simon lived out the rest of his days in sweet prosperity.

  Isabella had always planned to wait before her return to England. She wanted to wait partly because of Olya’s prediction and partly because she wanted to spend some time with Nicolae. She did not want to march him back to a place where only death would greet him. She and Nicolae both deserved some time and a little happiness. There was also a more sinister reason for her wait and it was the most important of all her reasons. She wanted the English to put the events behind them, to begin their lives again, to even forget what had happened, and when they had forgotten, when they were able to have a good night’s sleep with dreams free from Vampires, that was when Isabella would strike.

  She knew Van Helsing would come after her eventually and she would be ready for him, but he would take time to find her and until he did she would spend this time with Nicolae.

  So Isabella with Nicolae at her side joined the battle at Gettysburg and fought with the Army of the Potomac under General Meade. A woman in this army was not such a strange occurrence; there were many women fighting under the guise of being men.

  The battle of Gettysburg which the confederacy was winning changed its direction, as the union on the second day fought back ferociously, thereby winning the battle. This was surprising to everyone apart from Isabella and Nicolae. Isabella and Nicolae stayed with the Army of the Potomac for the duration of the war. They witnessed the New York draft riots and eventually they witnessed the surrender of the confederacy.

  After the war was over the pair travelled out west. They followed so many other veterans who had been involved in the war, whose homes had been destroyed and who had no other place to go. Isabella loved the lawlessness of the west. There were still marshals and sheriffs and courts and trials but they were not imposing and were often killers themselves. The appearance of law, as Isabella had learnt, far too often meant that law neither existed nor was enforced. The truth was that the west was far too big a place to govern and no one really wanted to tame its wildness, not yet, anyway.

  Isabella was sick of covering up her long raven hair under an army cap. She had had enough of tents and walking everywhere. She wanted to get back into her beautiful elegant dresses again; she wanted to return to her grandiose lifestyle that she had become so accustomed to having.

  Rich women and their husbands did not choose to travel out west—usually only gamblers and reprobates did. As Isabella did not want to be thought as a reprobate she decided to let people think that she was a gambler, and judging by her clothes, a very successful one.

  Isabella had spent the last years travelling through Kansas, Okalahoma and Colorado. She spent her days sleeping in her hotel room and she spent her nights looking for food and occasionally playing poker. She had acquired quite a competent amount of skill. Seeing into the minds of her fellow gamblers was quite an advantage. Isabella and Nicolae had stayed in Dodge City for almost a year when a new assistant marshal had been appointed in the city. Isabella had only had a few brief glimpses of him, but she sensed she would have trouble with him and she had no tolerance for anyone wanting to disrupt the contentment that she had achieved in her new life with Nicolae.

  Isabella was sitting in the corner of the Comique saloon with her back to the wall. She enjoyed playing poker; it appealed to her. Nicolae had learnt to deal Faro and was at another table. Isabella liked to observe the goings on of these saloons; she had never seen anything like the cow towns in any part of the world. They were dens of inequity and Isabella relished being part of them.

  A storm was starting up outside. The storms in Kansas through the summer were dry and dusty and stung the eyes of anyone who walked in them. They started without warning and could often result in a tornado. Isabella did not like tornadoes; they were too powerful for her, though she would try and control them as much as she could.

  Isabella sat in the Comique, Nicolae dealing Faro just across from her. The wind was gathering up outside and the candles were flickering in the saloon. She was trying to control the storm but as she was inside she did not really care that it got out of her control. She started to hear the footsteps of a man approaching the open entrance of the saloon. The reason this man had caught Isabella’s awareness was because every few steps were interrupted by his own coughs.

  He turned to come inside and Isabella watched him. He was quite striking, and he was obviously ill. His skin was as pale as Isabella had ever seen on a human. He had clear blue eyes that shone from across the room. His lips were blood-red like a Vampire and his hair was brown, but the Kansas sun had dusted it with blonde. He was dressed in fine clothes and had the elegant deportment of a gentleman. He looked very out of place in the saloon. Isabella with all her finery also looked out of place, so they were a perfect match. She looked him over wondering what his story was, why he was out there. He had the look of another time about him. Isabella could see him living twenty years before he did, she could see him sitting on the porch of a grand southern mansion surveying his land, not thinking about the darkness that was to come in the shape of war. He was a remnant of another world that the war had ended forever.

  Isabella continued watching him as he approached the bar. He signalled to the bartender to get him a drink. The bartender did so; he poured him a shot of whiskey and then went to take away the bottle. The man grabbed the bottle before he could take it and took the shot glass and bottle with him, laying a few coins for the bottle on the bar. He looked over at the Faro table and saw Nicolae dealing there. He then caught Isabella’s glance. She smiled at him and he returned her smile and tipped his hat out of courtesy.

  The man then started towards the poker table. Nicolae was watching the interaction between the pair. Isabella knew he was and she quickly broke her glance with this man and gave a reassuring glance to Nicolae. Not that she needed to, Nicolae knew she loved him and he was never jealous, a quality he had inherited from his ancestor of the same name. The man approached Isabella and asked.

  “Would you mind if I sat in that chair?” he asked, motioning to Isabella‘s seat.

  “I can’t say that I mind but that does not mean that I will give you this seat.” Isabella answered.

  “I would be eternally grateful if you did.”

  “Eternally grateful? All right, if you tell me why?” Isabella asked out of curiosity. The man pulled Isabella’s new seat out for her to sit down.

  “Gentlemen in my profession like to sit with their backs to the wall.”

  “Why?” Isabella was now slightly intrigued.

  “In these volatile times, gunfighters, and poker players such as myself, should always sit with their backs to the wall. So they can see any men who are likely to shoot them before they do. If Bill Hickok had followed this rule, the events of last month in Deadwood would never have happened.”

  “So you are not very brave,” Isabella said, mocking him slightly.

  “No. I just want to hold on to my life as long as
I can.” The man coughed again, he lifted a handkerchief to his lips and Isabella noticed a few spots of blood on the white linen cloth, she also observed the initial H was embroidered into the corner. Isabella could smell death biting at his heels but he was fighting it. He would not let go of this world until he was entirely sick of it.

  “I would never have suspected that a man in your condition would be so determined to hold on to your life.” The man was slightly insulted by this remark and Isabella could tell her words had hurt him. She tried to take it back or at least give her words another context. “What I mean to say is that a man who is in your profession is not the type to worry about getting shot in the back of the head …that is surely just an occupational hazard.” The man smiled at Isabella.

  “You didn’t mean that, but thank you for extending me the courtesy of suggesting that you did,” he said and extended out his hand to Isabella, “Tom McKey.”

  Isabella took his hand and said, “Isabella Hawthorne.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Hawthorne.”

  “Likewise.” At this moment another man came into the Comique. He approached Tom and said.

  “Tom, how are you; I heard you were feeling poorly?”

  “Nonsense, Wyatt, I am the picture of health.” He paused mid-sentence to cough again. “I never felt better.”

  Wyatt turned and walked away. He went over to the bar and started to drink shot after shot of whisky. He, unlike Tom, as Isabella was soon to find out, could not hold his liquor. After about an hour Isabella and Tom were still playing poker. But Wyatt was drunk and as a consequence, bad spirited—he seemed to be spoiling for a fight. He was watching Isabella intensely, but she chose to ignore him. She could handle him if he tried anything and would be happy to dispatch him given the opportunity. He poured out one more shot of whiskey and drank it back before coming over to stand beside Tom.

  “How is the little lady doing?” Wyatt asked Tom. Isabella was not one to tolerate being referred to as a little lady. She threw him a supercilious look. Nicolae, who was listening intently to all that was going on, decided to stop dealing Faro and watch Isabella. He loved to watch her when her temper was about to break. He went over to the bar and started to watch the events unfold. If Isabella was to snap he wanted to have a ringside seat. He sat on the stool at the bar looking over at her… watching, smiling, content to wait the few moments until she would blow her very short fuse.

  “The lady…” Tom recapitulated, “is doing very well, as I suspect the lady always does.” Tom smiled at Isabella as he tossed in his hand into the centre of the table. Isabella leaned forward to pull her winnings over to her side of the table. Isabella had been winning all night and the two other poker players were starting to get suspicious.

  Wyatt was prepared to incite their suspicions. “I think she may be cheating.”

  Tom shook his head. He was disappointed in Wyatt, who was always shooting his mouth off and causing arguments when there was no need to cause one.

  “She is not cheating, Wyatt, she is just a good poker player,” Tom said firmly.

  “I don’t know, a stint in the jailhouse overnight may bring her lucky streak to an end,” Wyatt threatened. Wyatt approached Isabella and grabbed her arm. Isabella looked at his hand and then drew her gaze to his face.

  “Remove your hand,” Isabella said firmly.

  “Why should I?”

  “I asked you to.” Isabella said her voice low and determined.

  “Do people usually do what you say?” Wyatt asked.

  “They do,” Isabella said calmly. Isabella knew Nicolae was watching her with a childish grin on his face. Tom McKey went over to the bar and stood beside Nicolae, also watching the pair.

  “Are you that woman’s husband?” Tom McKey asked.

  “I am,” Nicolae answered.

  “Do you not think you should intercede?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nicolae patted Tom on the back and answered. “Watch for yourself—she can handle herself.”

  “You are sure?” Tom asked trying to ensure that it was the right decision to leave the pair alone. He knew how hot-tempered Wyatt could be. His mouth was always getting him into trouble and he feared he might lash out at Isabella. “I mean to say I know Wyatt, he has a hot temper and he may do something rash, he could hit her.” Nicolae laughed. He poured Tom a glass of whisky and turned back towards the scene.

  “Let him try…” Nicolae said. “Let him try.”

  “You are not acting very concerned for your wife’s safety.”

  “No…I can’t say that I am.” Nicolae turned and poured himself and Tom another drink. Tom was looking at this man with amazement. He was displaying no concern for his wife; he looked as if he wanted Wyatt to hit her.

  “Are you unhappy in your marriage, sir?” Tom asked.

  “No, I am very happy with my wife?”

  “You don’t act like it.”

  “Tom, is that your name?” Nicolae asked.

  “It is.”

  “Tom, I would be more concerned for your friend. If he does not remove his grip from my wife’s arm very soon, she may kill him.” Tom looked at Nicolae astonished. “If he is lucky she may just break a few bones, but knowing my wife, she’ll probably kill him.” Tom was still standing dumbstruck: he looked over at Isabella’s face, and there was a feral look upon it. He looked back towards Nicolae, who nodded with a smug look now upon his face. It was the look of a proud husband.

  Tom now realised that Isabella was in no danger and actually feared for Wyatt. He went back to the poker table. “Wyatt, perhaps you should leave the lady alone.”

  “Tom, don’t tell me you are afraid of a woman.”

  “Something tells me, we both should be afraid of this one.” Wyatt tightened his grip on Isabella’s wrist. Isabella joined the conversation.

  “Let go of my arm,” Isabella said again firmly.

  “No, you are coming with me.” Wyatt was now being obstinate. He was now determined to arrest Isabella.

  “Remove your hand from me, sir,” Isabella commanded again.

  “Or you’ll what?” Wyatt asked. Isabella leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

  “I will break your trigger finger; you’ll never be able to work as a marshal again.” Tom was getting very anxious about the situation again, but this time his concern was directed at Wyatt.

  “Wyatt, leave it, what will it prove to overpower a woman? It won’t do your reputation any good,” Tom said.

  Wyatt, sensing there was no good way out of this situation but still determined not to be upstaged by a woman, did not relinquish his grip.

  Isabella had had more than enough. She grabbed Wyatt’s hand, removing it from her arm, and bent it back towards his upper arm. Wyatt was in terrible pain; he couldn’t believe the vise-like grip this woman now had on him. He tried to pull back but now it was Isabella who would not relinquish her grip. He then tried to back away from Isabella but she would not let him.

  Tom tried to intercede on Wyatt’s behalf. Isabella looked around at the crowd that was in the saloon; they were all watching her. She did not want to leave this town just yet and such a public murder would ensure that she had to leave. So Isabella let Tom intercede on Wyatt’s behalf.

  “You will have to forgive Wyatt, Mrs. Hawthorne…” Tom began. “He is not used to dealing with a woman of quality.”

  Isabella let go and Wyatt fell to the floor clutching his hand. Isabella got up to leave. Nicolae quickly finished his drink to accompany Isabella back to their rooms. When Nicolae was at the door he leaned down to Wyatt and helped him up. As he did so he whispered in his ear.

  “Your friend saved your life tonight, Wyatt.” Wyatt pushed Nicolae away from him. Nicolae started to laugh and said, “Don’t ever underestimate a woman, especially that woman.” Nicolae left with a smug grin on his face. Wyatt was a man who continually told stories about his exploits and who normally exaggerated his part in these exploits. This was a story
he never told a soul.

  Isabella and Nicolae stayed away from the Comique for a few weeks; it was the saloon which mostly the law makers and gamblers would inhabit. Nicolae, always the voice of reason, convinced Isabella to stay away.

  “If you kill him, we will have to leave here.” Isabella said nothing. “I know you like it here.”

  “All right.” Isabella was exasperated because she knew he was right.

  “Just wait until you can look at him without wanting to kill him.”

  Isabella smiled and said, “That may take a long time.”

  Nicolae laughed. “I know it may.”

  Isabella and Nicolae had stayed away from the Comique, but Isabella was itching to go back; she missed it. No other saloon in Dodge had the same atmosphere and the sense of imminent danger just bubbling under the surface; it was an exciting place to be.

  After a few weeks had passed, Isabella had almost convinced herself and Nicolae that she could control her temper. When they walked into the Comique that evening it had not changed. Tom McKey was there but this time he had a woman with him. He was acting totally uninterested in her but she was sticking to him with a sense of urgency. It was as if she was convinced that if she turned her back on him she would lose him. Isabella went over to the table and asked to join the game. Tom McKey’s lady friend was the first to respond.