Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders, page 13
Looking at them beside each other, I was struck by the bizarre contrast between the two caregivers. Patrick’s dark, shiny skin stretched tightly over his round forehead, was smooth on his fleshed-out cheeks. Casbus’ features were boney and brittle, his white skin dry and papery over his scare-crow like frame. Patrick’s shoulders and arms were bulging with weight room muscles, which he used to subdue patients. All Casbus’ muscle was in his brain.
Casbus caught me staring at Patrick and tapped his pen on the desk, twice.
My eyes darted to his steamy glasses.
He tapped his fingers on the pill bottle’s cap, three times. Then his voice kicked in, “Rachel, these are for you. They will resolve your more recent symptoms.”
Patrick looked at me, and then glanced away.
Casbus set the bottle on the edge of the stainless-steel desk and spoke to the nurse without taking his eyes off me.
“Can you see Rachel gets home?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Unexpectedly, I needed my mother.
Standing up, I brushed my sweaty palms down my thighs. “I was hoping to … uh, see my mom?”
Casbus tightened and gave me that chameleon stare. “I don’t think, in your current state, a visit with the woman who has disabled your psyche is advisable.”
“But …” I took one step toward his desk, unable to keep the disappointment from my face.
He ignored me and started sorting his papers. “Next time, you may see her.”
Patrick held the door open and tried to catch my eye.
Sighing, I picked up the bottle of pills, turning the container in my fingers.
“Is it really this easy?” I asked.
Casbus ignored me.
“Fine!”
I grabbed my leather jacket and walked out past Patrick as if I didn’t know him, but he caught up immediately.
Huds was nowhere in sight when we turned down the long hallway, which was just as well. I was too tired to deal with the old battle axe and whatever vengeance she had in store.
As soon as we were out of sight of Casbus, Patrick looked me over with hawk eyes that never missed a beat.
“Gathering your report for my mother?” I quickened my stride.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“No small talk for you, hmmm?”
An inmate banged a metal door from the inside as we passed, and Patrick paused to speak soothingly to the ‘guest’. I stopped, waiting for him to catch up.
“How is she?” I asked, as he gripped my elbow and ushered me outside.
“She wants to see you.”
“She told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter, you heard the boss.” He took my elbow and escorted me outside.
I paused beneath the sun’s warm kiss at the top of the concrete stairs and looked out over the gardens. Mule ear daisies drooped from the weight of the cool night dew. They were the last bloomers in fall, and the bees made their way through the filtered sunlight to get to them.
I was always touched by the beauty of the Homeward gardens, but even more so, this morning. The pills Casbus had given me, gave me some hope.
“Do you think…” I turned and looked at Patrick’s jaw as he looked out over my head. “Do you think, if I ever needed to, do you think Casbus would let me live here?”
His jaw muscle tensed. He sniffed heavily, a consequence of his early years in the boxing ring.
“Patrick?”
He looked down at me as if I were an irritating, younger sister. “You can’t be caged, Rachel. It’s as simple as that.”
“Well, duh,” I tsked. “I don’t want to live in a cage!”
He raised his arm and waved at a black car parked at the far building lot. The sound of its engine starting carried easily to us in the morning quiet. The driver followed the one-way signs, taking the long way around.
“Stick to your resolution and you won’t need this place anymore,” Patrick stated.
I kept my mouth shut.
“You are sticking to your resolution?”
I avoided his seeking look as an image of Donald’s plaid jacket flashed before my eyes.
“So far.” I scuffed my boot against a piece of loose concrete.
A sense of unease invaded my newly found sense of calm. Had I been stupid enough to share any details about Donald with Casbus?
“Seriously though, I would have been better off going home with someone last night, than staying in my apartment alone.”
Patrick’s dark brows drew together over his crooked nose. “Why, what happened?”
I wanted to tell him, but he’d just tell my mother, and then she’d start praying for my soul. Instead, I kicked the loose chunk of concrete and it skittered across the road.
Patrick accepted my stubborn silence. He held out his wide hand for my coat. I gave it.
“Turn.”
I turned my back on him and slipped my arms into my jacket, while he held it up for me.
“Is this how you hold my mother’s straight jacket?” I shrugged away from his hands, pulling my coat the rest of the way up.
He clasped my upper arm and turned me back around. His big hands reached for my neck and for a second, I thought he might throttle me. But he only straightened out my collar, making sure not to touch my skin. He never touched my skin, and that rejection alone, was enough to make me want to seduce him.
“Stick to your resolution,” he encouraged, frowning at my softening body language. “Six more days.”
“Well it would help me to stay on track, if there was more than just a monetary reward.” I gave him a knowing look.
His indignant stare was a total buzz-kill, but his hand was still on my collar. I was tempted to turn my head and lick his round knuckles, just to be naughty.
“There will be a reward. A reward of the spirit, a reward much greater than of the flesh.”
“Nothing like a little Bible talk to turn a girl on.” I jammed the pills into my jacket pocket. “Seriously, you’ve been hanging around my mother too much.”
He jerked on my collar, forcing me to look at him. “You have to trust! Trust your Momma. Trust yourself.”
The words sounded vaguely familiar.
“Did my mother tell you to say that?” The black car pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. I ignored it. “Cause you and I both know she’s crazy, right?”
He looked past me and made a hand signal to the driver.
“Trust, Rachel.”
“Who do you trust, Patrick?”
He took my elbow and walked me down to the car. Opening the door, he waited until I got in before carefully shutting it.
I rolled down the window, “You want me to follow this celibacy bullshit, but you won’t even tell me why? Seven days can be a long time. You can build an earth in seven days, you know.”
“You listen to your Momma. I’ll listen to my grand-daddy Ebba, and we’ll come out the other side.”
Ebba… I was sure this was the name on the cassette tape. It wasn’t a name you’d likely hear twice. It was time to get some answers.
I scrambled out of the other side of the car, and turned to face Patrick over the roof.
“You tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to start screaming.”
The look on Patrick’s face told me I’d hit the nail on the head. Patrick didn’t want Casbus coming down on him. His face clouded in anger.
Then he gave in. He slapped his big hand down onto the roof of the cab, and the driver pulled away from us. Now there was nothing but air and a few feet of asphalt between us.
With a quick look over his shoulder to make sure we were unobserved, he took my elbow and marched me in the direction of the cut fence.
“Tell me about this Ebba,” I pressed, jogging a few steps to keep up to his long stride.
We rounded a bend, which placed the rhododendron bushes between us and the building. Finally, Patrick slowed his walk.
“Ebba,” he said, then paused to think. “Our families were connected a long time ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“My ancestor… his name was Ebba, worked for one of your ancestors.”
“No shit.”
I shivered and wished we could walk on the other side of the lane where the sun was touching the grass.
“So, you and my mother were playing what… ‘guess my genealogy’ and our family trees intersected or something?”
He clutched my arm in his, placing a finger to his lips. Ahead of us, a beautiful blue bird was splashing in a birdbath. The concrete bowl was blackened inside by algae that had been touched by the frost, but the base was beautiful. It was covered in orange lichen that had grown up the sides. The bird bathed in the cold, brackish water, flapping its wings and splashing up drops that soared like crystal bubbles in the morning sun.
In a low whisper, Patrick continued. “Over 350 years ago, our families worked together to solve a problem. Only it was never solved.”
I let out a snort of disbelief. “Three hundred and fifty years ago?”
He eyed the bird, not seeming to care whether I believed him or not.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” I put my hand on my hip. “What was the problem they were trying to solve?”
“You.”
A chill ran down my back. Before I could think of an answer, Patrick made a grunting noise, then bolted past the birdfeeder and disappeared behind the honeysuckle.
My exclamation of surprise was interrupted by Huds’ bark behind me. “What are you still doing on the grounds?”
I spun to face her. “I was just…”
The cab pulled up behind her, the bumper almost touching the back of her calves before she moved to the side.
“Just waiting for my ride!” I grinned and waved, then jumped into the car’s back seat.
The grin hung on my face like drying plaster, while the car pulled away from the old battle axe. I turned in the seat to look out the back window, worried about Patrick.
Huds was staring into the bushes Patrick had run through.
THE VIRGINIA WILDS: THE POWHATAN ALIBI
~
WHEN SCARLETT FIRST STARTED TO feed, she selected only those in the colony who would not be found, or missed, settlers at the outskirts of the slow creeping civilization, men who had no family or neighbours, and trappers who were nomads. These were the first victims providing the sustenance Scarlett needed to prepare for the miraculous spark of life, William Cain her husband, would place in her belly.
Scarlett left her victim’s body scraps for the wild creatures to consume. Evidence was gulped by the black bear, ripped and shredded by the coyote, and pecked to pieces by the crows. Shred by sinewy shred, the She’s heinous deeds were cleaned from the bone and ingested into the North American food chain.
When those unfortunate enough to be hunted by the She did not show up to buy their pounds of sugar and flour at the fort’s mercantile, when they did not arrive in port to trade pelts with the merchant ships on schedule, the good people of Jamestown pointed their suspicious thoughts to the only “other” they knew, and wondered aloud if the Powhatan Indians were breaking their treaty for peace.
The colonists’ misguided blame was fortunate for Scarlett, who usually could only feed for a limited number of years in one place before people became aware of the demon among them. That was the trouble with intelligent prey. They would only stand to be prey for so long, before they became the predator.
This switch of roles had happened many times in the past, but Scarlett had survived for centuries because she had thought long term. How could she not? She was an entity who could roam for eternity on the earth that she shared with a population of beings whose lives were like short seasons next to her longevity. She was immortal, unless they caught her, a fate which had befallen many of her species over the centuries.
Scarlett mourned the memory of the thousands of her kind who had been burned and decapitated and spiked with stakes carved for death. After so many slaughters, the few who had escaped persecution had each come up with their own strategy to outwit their food source. Some had even learned to bend time, to forever exist in a period before enlightenment, before gunpowder, and organized government.
Some had disappeared without a trace. One such was Scarlett’s true mate, Gräfen. He was a predator like herself, only he was King. None existed higher on the food chain. Through breeding with Gräfen, Scarlett had kept her line pure. Only now, time was running out. Scarlett could not find him, and she was not willing to outwait her luck.
Scarlett had devised her own way to survive. She had become like the Cicada that spends nine-tenths of its life burrowed safely underground. After years in its larvae form, the Cicada nymph digs to the surface, sheds its husk and flies to the trees where it buzzes in the heat of summer, until it attracts a mate and continues its line. Only Scarlett didn’t burrow into the earth. She burrowed in her own young. She became a parasitic suspension within her descendants.
She hid like a shadow in the souls of her offspring, biding her time, until the descendants of her victims forgot to fear her or died. Then, Scarlett waited another two or three generations, until the tales of her heinous acts of violence and ungodly feeding became folk lore, stories to be told to the gullible to scare them in the night.
While this beautiful and deadly creature waited, her family line grew and spread its tentacle-like branches into the larger population. Her daughters bred daughters, and granddaughters, and great-granddaughters and so forth, until they too forgot the role they played in carrying evil close to their hearts.
In order to prepare for a sleep of such lengthy duration, Scarlett had to build up her energy. Just as the great Canadian grizzly bear must stand in the cold rushing waters of the Athabasca, gulping salmon, Scarlett had to cut the strays from the herd in Jamestown, filling her belly for the growing of her vessel, and the long hibernation ahead.
CHAPTER 13: ADAM’S REACH
~
Oh, these pills were good.
My muscles relaxed, and I sank a little further into the bed. I was floating around on clouds called “peaceful” and “safe”. Feeling secure, I closed my eyes, cuddled down into the blankets and tried to think of better things, like maybe these meds could buy me a normal life.
Then my thoughts drifted to delicious things, like hot Highlanders with brandy-wine hair and green eyes.
A flush warmed my cheeks as Angus’ attributes came to mind. He was different than any man I had known. Dangerous men were my regular cup of tea. Dangerous and sexy. Angus was sexy, no doubt, and his size and his foreignness unnerved me just enough to excite me. I couldn’t always tell what he was saying, or thinking, could not predict what he would do. Maybe it wasn’t just the accent, the cultural difference. Maybe it was that I wasn’t used to getting attention from a man like Angus. Men like Angus don’t generally want women like me.
His comparison of my eyes to a jar of Scottish honey “shining golden in the sun” proved Angus had only seen my good side. What would he have called my eye colour if he’d seen the terrors that bounced around in my mind? Scottish tar? Sheep shit?
Opening my eyes, I scanned the dim corners of my one-bedroom apartment. The curtain above my bed was still open, letting a shy ray of light in. I was too tired to close it.
I relived the way Angus had pulled me up onto his lap! His hands had been strong and sure, no fumbling, no hesitation. I had so wanted to slip my hands under his shirt and caress the muscles I had seen straining against the cloth.
I sighed, floated sensuously for a few more seconds, then was jarred awake with the thought that I’d probably never see Angus again. I didn’t even have his phone number, and I didn’t know his last name.
“Just as well,” I mumbled forlornly into my pillow.
I didn’t know how to make it work with a man who was confident, and handsome, and normal. I was setting my sights way too high, and I’d just end up getting hurt.
I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift off again. A juicy scenario with Angus the bull ran through my sleepy mind as I dozed in fits and starts. After a few muscle twitches jolted me awake and set my nerves on end, a nightmare sucked me down.
I was inside a rounded building, a wall of field stone curving until it touched itself, like a snake eating its own tail. Cold seeped out of the porous grout lines between the stones, creating a dampness that sucked the heat from my bare shoulders.
I stopped pacing to rub my hands up and down my arms and blew out some air to see if it would cloud in front of me.
A white mist formed.
No wonder the rough slate floor felt like ice under my bare feet. Lifting my foot, I placed it sole to shin in an effort to warm it.
The only light in the room was coming in through two small windows, at least twelve feet above the floor. And above that, the grout lines hazed out into a tube of blurred grey fading into black.
It struck me I might be in a silo. But, across the room was a fireplace, with a bed off to the side. There were no blankets, no sheets, and no toasty flames in the fireplace. The grate was clear of ash as if it had never held a fire.
A quick search proved there was no wood or paper. The wind blew down the chimney, causing the material of my light shift to flutter.
“Damn!” I cursed in frustration.
At the same time I spoke, I thought I heard someone call my name. I quickly scanned the room.
A man’s voice whispered behind me, “Mah dahlin’.”
I spun, adrenaline spiking through my veins. The room was empty.
“Will you evah be able to forgive me?”
The agonized whisper had me turning again, and this time my eyes lit on the plank-wood door imbedded in the far wall. Sweat broke out over my body, and I began to shiver, my teeth chattering with cold and fear.
I tripped on my long skirt, in my rush to escape. Just as I reached for the iron ring the door flew open, stinging my knuckles and almost knocking me backwards. Two men stood in the doorway.
