Updated August 2016
The Blue Vial
The rain stopped the exact same moment when Elena had dragged her bike into the shed behind the house and stepped out onto the street again. Verdammt! If only she had waited twenty minutes, she wouldn't have become wet down to her underwear. Even after living in England for nearly a year, she didn't yet understand British downpours and that, torrential though they might be, they usually didn't last as long as in the place she came from. It was one of the details, along with small talk and social niceties, that still puzzled her and made her an eternal foreigner. 'No use being miffed about it now', she told herself. 'Take a shower, change your clothes.'
She rummaged for the keys in her handbag and let herself into the house. Oppressive silence greeted her, as it had every day during this past week. Without Anna's cheerful presence, the place was revealed for what it was: a bloody dump.
'Get used to it', Elena reminded herself, 'it won't be getting any better.'
The pain of this realization tore at her and she shook herself. No use dwelling on it. She had to start accepting it. If Anna ever came back home, it would never be the same again. And she, Elena, had to come up with a plan sooner or later. Though 'sooner' wasn't very likely.
She began tearing off her wet clothes even while she climbed the stairs. It was a relief to get rid of the shoes since her feet were hurting. No wonder, after two solid hours of teaching a bunch of school kids without coordination the finer points of ballroom dancing.
The shower was hot und refreshing. When she stepped out of it, she felt halfway human again, quickly rubbed herself dry, wound a towel turban around her hair and went to her small box room to find a clean pair of jeans and a loose-fitting striped shirt. She liked her little refuge although it was as gloomy as all the other rooms in the house. She had made the best she could of it. Added new curtains, colourful cushions, posters of Jim Pepper, The Velvet Underground and Patti Smith, not to mention the numerous candles and lanterns that she would light as soon as dusk came on. All this distracted her from the cracks in the walls and the occasional water spot on the ceiling.
While she struggled to pull a comb through her wet and tangled hair, her eyes fell on the small desk in the corner of the room and the letter sitting there. Elena frowned. The letter from the philological faculty of her university had arrived a few days ago and she knew its content by heart.
Dear Ms. Horwath,
We are sorry having to inform you that due to your non-attendance in the past semester and the lack of assignments turned in by you, we are going to have to exmatriculate you from your chosen course of studies, should you not, within the period specified under item V.2, submit the required …
Of course, she had forgotten to get in touch with them again.
No.
She hadn't forgotten. She just hadn't been able to rake up the energy. With Anna in hospital and her own future insecure, it had been so easy to push this nuisance from her mind, even though Birmingham University had really been the reason why she had come to England, apart from desperately needing to get away. Nowadays it seemed to her that she had really come to play nurse. Or dancing teacher. Somehow things hadn't turned out at all as she had intended. However, that was the story of her life.
She decided to push the letter from her mind and walked down to the kitchen instead. After all, she was starving. While she was standing in front of the rattling fridge and tried to make up her mind between pasta and a chicken salad, there was a pointed knock on the door.
Elena frowned and wondered why whoever was out there did not use the doorbell. It was strange, but then people in this neighbourhood were strange. Not only strange, but worn-out, frustrated and ready to jump on any waggon that would enable them to get back at a nasty world. Should she open? Maybe not. But what if it was the social worker with the information on home care he had promised?
Still barefoot, Elena went into the hallway and opened the front door.
No social worker.
It was that man.
The man who hadn't signed the petition. The man to whose front door – as Leia, the neighbour girl, had informed her – no one dared walk up to because he was known for his nasty temper and it was rumoured that he kept virgins chained to the walls of his cellar. No doubt he'd be exactly the type. He looked forbidding in his black clothes, wrapped up in a long wallowing kind of overcoat. Not exactly a beauty, either. A large hooked nose dominated the pale face and his hair was in desperate need of a wash. He looked down at her with a scowl, fixing her with his cold dark eyes. In fact, they were black, the irises only a slight touch lighter than the pupils. Elena had to keep herself from staring. She had never seen anyone with completely black eyes before.
"Good day to you, Ms … Crawford?" he said with a glance towards the doorbell. His voice was low, silky even, his accent posh, but to Elena's keen ear it seemed a tiny bit laboured, as if acquired by years of practice.
"Elena Horwath", she corrected him quickly. "Mrs Crawford is my aunt."
"Ah, yes", he replied disinterestedly and it was almost a hiss. "Was I interrupting?" He looked pointedly at her bare feet.
"Not at all", she said quickly, feeling a blush spreading over her face. She took a step back. "Would you like to come in?"
Probably little Leia would have warned her that this was a bad idea. Who'd let a man like this into their house? However, Elena was intrigued. What could he possibly want from her? She hadn't exactly had the impression that he had enjoyed their conversation the last time she had raked up the courage to knock at his door.
For a brief moment he hesitated. Then, taking a quick look about himself, he gingerly stepped over the threshold. He brought with him a funny smell, musky and a touch sulphuric, not unpleasant, but peculiar. And something else came into the house with him, swishing by his legs. It was the small black-and-white cat Elena had befriended over the last few days. It looked up at Elena with bright yellow eyes, blinking, greeting her like an old buddy, and ran into the house.
Instead of minding the cat, Elena looked up at the man in black and gestured towards the sitting room, but he ever so slightly shook his head. Obviously he hadn't come to stay and now stood in the hallway like a statue, completely still.
"What can I do for you, Mr …"
He ignored the unspoken question. "How is your aunt?" he asked in no more than a whisper.
Elena looked at him in surprise. She hadn't thought he would care. In fact, she had convinced herself that his not signing the petition to have Anna deported by social services hadn't been kindness at all, but mere lack of interest. She noticed the grey scarf that was tightly wound around his neck. Although it had been raining on and off all day, it was June and quite warm by English standards. Was he cold? It would have explained the long sleeves and the strange cloak. She kept herself from wondering and concentrated on his question.
"She is still in hospital", she informed him. "Took another turn for the worse. I don't know when she'll be able to come home."
Unconsciously, she hung her head. Whenever it came back to her – her dearest auntie screaming at her, calling her 'bitch' and taking her for an intruder – she felt a large weight pressing her down. Her eyes got stuck at his black boots. The leather was of a kind she had never seen before, a little like crocodile skin, but black with a greenish tint. She looked up and met his gaze. His black eyes were examining her face as if he was looking for something there. For a split second, the aspect of infinite boredom changed into scrutiny.
"You visit her?" he asked quietly.
"Of course. Every day. Not that it would make any difference, she doesn't even remember who I …"
"I see", he interrupted her harshly. He didn't like to be chatted at, that much was obvious. Instead, he stuck one white hand into the pockets of his large overcoat. When it came out again, he held something in his long thin fingers. Something small and blue and made of glass. A vial.
He thrust it into Elena's hand. "Give it to her", he said and it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. "Three drops a day, every day for one week. By no means dilute it. It will coagulate and loose its effect. Do you understand?"
He looked hard at her as if she was a schoolgirl and he the strict demanding teacher. He had it down to a t. But certainly, a man like that would never become a teacher?
"What … is this?" Elena stuttered in bewilderment as she stared at the little glass flask with its bluish gleam. He might keep virgins chained in his cellar, but would he want to poison her aunt?
"Medicine", he snarled with a haughty scowl as if he had heard her thoughts. "What did you think?"
"I … I don't know …"
"Of course you don't", he said, completely unsurprised. "But I do. And I'm telling you to give your aunt three drops a day, every day for …"
"… one week", Elena chimed in. "I heard you."
"Yes, and don't …"
"… dilute it", she completed and frowned. "I'm not stupid, you know."
"If you say so", he replied with an indifferent shrug.
"Still", Elena objected and she had to force herself to do so, his manner was so authoritative that it seemed easier to just comply and say nothing, "don't I have a right to know what's in this … thing?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "I'd rather not say", he explained, "you might find it …" His voice trailed off.
"Disgusting?"
He tilted his head. "Maybe. – Anyway, there's none of your … chemicals in it. All the ingredients are natural. If it won't help her, it won't harm her, either."
Again, Elena couldn't help staring at him. What a strange man! The clothes, the demeanour, the sharp contrast of white skin and black hair, eyes and get-up, like he was from another world, why, another planet.
"Are you into alternative medicine or what?" she asked.
Now it was his turn to stare at her. For a moment, he looked affronted. Then the corners of his mouth relaxed and resignation settled in. "If you will", he sighed.
"Voodoo, too?" she asked, suddenly in the mood for a tease.
"Don't be daft", he snapped. "Just … give it to her. You'll see."
"Well", Elena looked down at the blue vial in the palm of her hand. "Thank you, Mr …"
"I must not keep you", he said quickly and receded towards the front door.
Before Elena knew it, he had turned the knob and was already out on the front step. He gave her a curt nod and turned on his heel.
"Wait!" Elena cried after him, not exactly knowing why.
He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. "Yes?"
"Um … those … those boots of yours. What are they made of?"
He looked back and forth between her and his boots, clearly irritated. "Dragon hide." The answer came like a shot, but in the next moment his expression changed as if he had just caught himself doing something untoward.
Elena let out a giggle. So he did have a sense of humour after all. "Very funny", she said good-naturedly.
"Whatever", he replied, gave another abrupt nod and proceeded towards the street. Elena watched him until he had reached his house and let himself in. He didn't look back even once, but walked purposefully, albeit with a slight twitch in his gait, his strange black overcoat flapping about his thin frame. He looked a bit like an overgrown bat.
"What a weirdo", Elena said to herself, shaking her head.
She went back into the house, finally had that chicken salad an then sat down in front of the word processor, composing a letter to the philological faculty while the little black-and-white cat installed herself on her lap, purring and quickly falling asleep. The blue vial Elena had stuck into the back pocket of her jeans. Every once in a while she took it out and examined it. And every time she did that, that man appeared in front of her mind's eye. What a funny cookie!
She wondered if she would see him again.
I hope you enjoyed this so far …
Like my OC, I am not a native English speaker and so hope that you'll bear with me in spite of my mistakes. You're welcome to point them out, though ..
