by Tim Forder
Chapter Three
Going, Going, Gone
Meanwhile in Louisiana...
Sitting behind her plush desk within her luxurious office with a diffident French feel to it, her current endeavors in business accounting were rudely interrupted by the often hot-blooded Hank crashing into the room. He was her driver and her only employee (not including his temporary replacement while Hank was out sick).
“Hank, you’re looking much better, but what’s with the gold chain and cross? Your latest attack of Swamp Fever give you religion?”
“You could say that, demon bitch.”
Confused by his rude mood, and using her heightened vampire senses, she could quickly evaluate that her single employee was not under any mental confusion brought on from any medical fever—his body temperature was around normal. It was quite obvious that his anger was very real. She could sense it from his elevated heartbeat. He smelled temptingly of fear, and it was truly making her hungry. Making an effort to keep her calm, she asked, “Hank, I don’t know what crawled up your butt hole, but I strongly suggest you calm down.”
In a voice still reeking of anger, Hank replied, “Remember when you stole me from Jo-Jo, to be your driver? Remember how I said it was ‘fate’ that you chose me?”
“Yes, but...”
Deliberately interrupting his lady boss, a first ever...
Rosy couldn’t help the distracting thought, He really does have a head of steam on.
Taking no notice of his boss’s momentary distracted thoughts, he went on, “When I was just a tadpole living with my parents, and while I was very sick with the swamp fever, someone...or something visited my parent’s bed-n-breakfast back in the bayou. Up in my room, in the loft of the house, I could not see this new visitor, but I could hear its distinctive voice, a very horrifying voice that could only come from a creature of hell. I also heard, and to this day can still hear, that demon kill both of my parents. That demon or vampire, afterward, bled both my parents dry, then left me still alive.”
Hank continued, with fevered hatred, “Last week when the swamp fever took me again, I heard that demonic voice, yet again—
your voice, your true voice.” He removed a wooden stake from behind his back, where she knew he usually carried a pistol, for protection. With a stake displayed in his hand, her only employee continued, “It was fate that brought us together, and fate has brought me to the very monster that killed my parents, to the monster who bled my parents dry, to the monster I gave an oath to kill someday. If I should fail this night, I have sent off a message to my kin, telling them that you are my parent’s killer. If I should fail this night, they will come after you to grant my parents their due rest.”
With the memory of how she used to visit the bayou from time-to-time for the thrill of the hunt and the crimson meal, she decided she had heard enough. With blinding speed, truly supernatural, she hurdled over her desk (sending her forgotten accounting paperwork flying in all directions), and planted herself in front of her soon-to-be ex-employee.
Hank suddenly felt a vise grip clamp on his throat and another on his wrist. The grip on his wrist crushed bones, causing searing pain, and he dropped the weapon to the floor, where itrolled harmlessly away from the fray, as if it did not want to be around to see what horror would follow. Hank’s shocked mind tried to process, through the pain, the fanged revulsion in his eyesight. This fanged creature of disgust still had some disturbing resemblance to what had been his most lovely boss.
Unable to move his head due to the vise grip on his neck, Hank’s bulging eyes moved to his hand, which no longer held a weapon. When his boss released her grip on his crushed wrist, his eyes bulged even more at the sight and the pain of his limp hand falling forward. He would have screamed at either the sight or the pain of the involuntary movement, but the scream was still being choked off by the vise-like grip still around his neck. The grip was so tight that his shocked mind had not yet registered the lack of life preserving air, like he was going to live long enough to worry about a lack of air.
A demonic voice ordered, “Hank,” in a command voice that was not to be ignored. Hank turned his gaze back to the demonic version of his once beautiful boss. She (it?) continued, “Hank, crosses only affect vampires with a guilty conscience; I have no such weaknesses. I’d have you for dinner, but I don’t want to take a chance at receiving your swamp fever. It really is a shame you had to lose your head. But, wait, you haven’t totally lost your head.” With a laugh Hank hadn’t heard since the feverish night his parents were both killed, Rosy brought her other hand up to Hank’s neck. She unscrewed his head until it popped off like a bottle cork releasing a spray of blood, like crimson champagne bubbly, a bubbly she would have gladly sunk her demonic lips over, but even a demon does not want to battle with swamp fever.
Changing back to her mortal appearance, she laughed again at her little jokeas she tossed her ex-employee away, just as if his limp hundred-something pound body was nothing but an oversized rag doll. Hank’s version of champagne had made quite a mess of the rich office interior, but that really was no concern for Rosy. Rosy Báthory was busy giving real consideration to her ex-employee’s unintended warning of the possibilities of additional foes [“kin”]. It’s time to move on. Lady, it’s not like you have not performed this dance before.
When her headless, expired driver crashed backward into a wall, only to slide to the floor, his forgotten head rolled away. She was already making plans to gather up her liquid assets, her package of new identities (including new names). She was going to have to get her clothes together and decide how she was going to travel and to where?
Where, indeed. Ever since her encounter with that constable during a Mardi Gras a couple of years ago, the one who reminded her of fun-filled days of frolicking in ancient Rome, then the capital of the world, there was the consuming of all those hated Christians and political prisoners. This was surely a lot more fun than being cooped up in a dingy, old castle watching age steal her beauty from her. When you think about it, it’s no wonder I went a little crazy bathing and consuming all that handmaiden blood.
She returned to the idea of relocating to the current capital of the world–Washington, D.C. But before I go east, I think I will go west to spend some time enjoying the sights, sounds and blood of Vegas.
Meanwhile, in Maryland....
Testing at Johns Hopkins continued. The results showed that my peripheral vision was continuing to decline at a slow rate, but my central vision was hanging in well. Looking over my history, the research doctor added, “I see you had a sudden, overnight spurt of activity of RP development. Just a reminder, the next time that happens you could go to sleep sighted and wake up totally blind, permanently blind.”
Meanwhile my ride to church disappeared, a young man who was having marital problems to the point that his wife walked out on him. He could not take the stress of his impending divorce and had to be hospitalized, I was told, for an extended time.
I needed a new ride, so I called my sister. She had recently moved into her first apartment and it was close by. “Sure, I’d be glad to give you a ride to church, but you do realize I don’t attend Monrosa. (Well, that explains why I haven’t seen her at church lately.) I have been going to a closer church, a little church called Banner Church of Christ.”
“And what is a Church of Christ?”
“Basically it’s like a Baptist church, but a bit more liberal. They have a singles social group you will enjoy,” she ended in a playful tone.
“I’m sold.” Matching her playful tone, I continued, “So what time should I be ready to be picked up?”
“Sunday school class starts at 10 a.m. It’s nice to get there early and spend some social time before class begins. So let’s say about 9:15, OK? That will get us to church about a half-hour before class starts, plenty of time to socialize.”
Before the class started, Erica introduced me to some of the members of the class and the church singles program, b
oth male and female. My first impression was that of a real fun and friendly group. The class started with announcements including, “Just a reminder. After services there is a get-together at Taco Taco.”
After class, I asked Erica, “So what is Taco Taco?”
“It’s a new Mex-restaurant that is fancier than a fast food place, but not too expensive. I hear it’s really nice. Don’t worry. I’ll drive you there; just meet me back at the car after the service. I did not think to mention it, but I will not be sitting with you during the service.”
“Oh’, already ashamed to be seen with your big brother?” I joked.
“That and I’ll be sitting up with the choir, singing,” she answered playfully.
The service was impressive. The choir was inspiringly good for a small church singing group. Reverend Bob was very moving with his sermon on how little sins can slip you in to a life of greater sins.
After the service, I was a bit delayed getting back to Erica’s car as I was extremely welcomed by many of the church-goers. It did not take long to see this was a very friendly church group. Erica was waiting for me, very understanding of my delay.
At Taco Taco we got separated and I found myself at a table of near total strangers, I say “near” as I had met and talked earlier with Jasmine and Tom. There were three others at our table whom I had not met, including a lovely little thing that was sitting right across from me. I quickly got to know this Dolly Parton double as Diana.
When things started coming to an end, my sister appeared from nowhere. “So you ready to leave?” I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, when Diana answered for me, “I’ll be glad to give Jack a ride home.” I couldn’t have said that better myself.
After everyone had left, the waiters and waitresses got busy cleaning up around us, so we got the hint and left. On leaving Taco Taco, Diana asked, “So where do you live?”
When I told her, she grinned and said, “I should be able to find that. My apartment is in the very next development.” We grinned at the realization that we were practically next-door neighbors. When we were in front of my apartment, an awkward silence developed with my having the problem of getting out the next question. Diana was the one who broke the silence. “Shall I pick you up for church next week?”
“That will be great! I’ll be looking forward to that.” Then I remembered that when I became a full programmer, per corporate policy business cards were made for me with my name, title and home and office number printed on them. I got one out of my wallet and gave it to her. Taking the card from me, she very prettily asked, “Thank you. Do you have a second one?”
Reaching back into my wallet, I replied, “Yes, sure.” I handed her another card. She dug into her purse, found a pen and wrote her name and number on the back of the second card and gave it back, “So call me.”
I did, and the following Friday we went on our first date; to the movies, where we saw Summer Rental, a comedy with John Candy.
On one of our dates, we went to Six Flags amusement park, which back then was very new and not as fancy as today. In fact, just two years before it first opened, it had been a failing wild animal drive-through preserve.
While there, I saw this very tall water slide that looked like a lot of fun. “Diana, let’s check this out.”
“But the line looks so long,” Diana commented.
“The line appears to be moving quickly. Let’s get in line. It looks like a lot of fun.” So we did.
About halfway up this very long, very high stairway to the top, I heard a guy behind me say, “This line is so long. It’s taking too long to get to the top.”
The guy right behind me answered, “Don’t worry. It’s about this time the cowardly chicken shits start losing their nerve and start walking back down the stairs, making the line shorter and the wait shorter as well.”
As if on cue, Diana, who was in the stairway line ahead of me and had not heard them, turned to me and announced, “I’m sorry, Jack, but this is just getting too high for me. I’m going to walk back down.”
“Would you like me to go back down the stairs with you?” I asked, being the gentleman.
“No, you go on up, and I will be waiting for you at the bottom.”
Just then I heard the guy behind me say, “See, a real chicken-shit heading down the stairs.”
I turned to the guy and, emphasizing each word, said, “That real chicken shit is my date. You will apologize very quickly and very sincerely.” Glancing over the stairway railing, about ten to twenty feet down, I added, “Or you may arrive down the stairs a lot faster than my lady will.”
He got the message and really did sound as if his apology was sincere. When Diana started walking back down the stairs, I gave her lots of room and so did the guys. In fact everyone was giving Diana a lot of room as she walked back down, just as if she were Princess Diana, after all she was my princess. How did I know about everyone moving out of her way, all the way down the stairs? In her red one-piece bathing suit she was quite the hot view, all the way down the stairs.
I enjoyed the slide down and at the bottom, before I even got out of the water, I was lovingly attacked by my Princess Diana.
Six months later we spent Christmas with her mother and sister in Ohio. Our plans were to get there by train. I ordered tickets for the both of us. I made a point of giving the ticket person on the phone both of our single names for the tickets. I even made the lady repeat it back. So of course, the tickets came for “Mr. & Mrs. Jack Poisner.” On the train I joked, “Well, as the train has pronounced us ‘man and wife’ shall we consummate our marriage?” [Planes have their “One Mile Club” for those who have sex on planes; what do trains have?]
Diana just smiled at the joke, a proper lady like response to such a suggestive joke.
Diana grew up in one of those small towns where everyone knew everyone, so she introduced me to lots of friends. At one point, we were crossing the street within a crosswalk when something strange happened. There was nothing around us; the closest homes were a block away and there was nothing but fields around us. As we crossed the street I heard a car slow to a stop at least a half a block away. Strange.
Pointing the car out to Diana, I asked, “What is he doing?”
“Being courteous,” she answered.
To my genuine surprise I answered, “Man, I am not used to that.”
It was a lovely visit. Her mother could not have been more charming and great to be around. I felt strange sleeping nights in her bed, but she swore she spent more nights sleeping on the couch than she did in her own bed anyway. Diana slept in her old bed in a room she grew up sharing with her sister, Chris.
Two months later, I gave her a computer printout that was a poem that asked her to marry me and have my children. Computer printouts outside a computer complex were rare. I thought she would be impressed with the uncommonness of it. Eagerly waiting for an answer she simply said, “It does not rhyme well.”
About a month later, on my birthday she gave me a birthday card that had inked in very large print, “YES” inside.
Six months later we were married. One of my fondest memories of our wedding day, I did not even learn about until years later. We had agreed not to shove wedding cake into each other’s face, so when I went to feed Diana her piece of cake I took careful aim for her mouth. I succeeded in this performance only because as the cake was about to go up her nose, she quickly went up on her toes so the cake made it to her mouth.
After we married, she moved into my apartment. Eventually, with two incomes, we started looking for a house we could afford. When we started to look around, Diana said, “Jack, you know the bad shape my mother’s house is in—it’s falling apart around her. Then she has to take care of my sister, Chris, with her birth-related disability. Mom’s only job is a part-time job that’s a four hour round-trip. Lately, she’s been having some health problems of her own. Do you think we could find a house big enough that my mother and sister could move in with us?” I assum
ed as Diana was the oldest of six, she felt the most responsible for her mother and sister.
The health problem was news to me. She seemed healthy during our visit. With concern, I asked, “What is this health problem? I don’t recall her having any problem, other than her bad back, when we were visiting with her during Christmas.”
“It started shortly after Christmas. I don’t know all the details as she is reluctant to talk about it. What do you think, about my mother and sister moving in with us?”
After giving it some thought and seeing no problems, I said, “I think your mother is something special, like her daughter. Your sister and I sure hit it off when I visited for Christmas. If we can find a place big enough and affordable, I see no problem in having them move in with us.”
We did find a place big enough. Our future home had two bedrooms on the ground floor, one bigger than the other. When we viewed the house, the bigger room was being used as an office. I could easily see using the room as a bedroom, as this “office” came with its own closet. With two more large bedrooms upstairs, that gave us enough bedrooms for mother-in-law and sister-in-law on the ground floor, and upstairs, one for Diana and me and one room for a child. We figured if we had two children, one boy and one girl, the girl could share a room with her live-in Auntie.
Her mother, Elaine, and sister, Chris, were indeed no problem at all. All newlyweds have their adjustment period. While we never fought, we did have our arguments, some more heated than others. It always impressed me that Diana’s mother refused to get in the middle of our marital conflicts. I did quickly learn that I had to watch my tone anywhere near Chris; if I raised my voice she would run off and bury herself in her room—something to do with her upbringing with her father. You’ll never hear any mother-in-law jokes from me. Unfortunately it turned out my mother-in-law was even sicker than any of us knew, and a little over a year after she moved in with us, we were back in Ohio giving this fine lady her final rest.