Chapter Ten: A Paler Lie Still
A man carrying a black umbrella in eighty degree weather seemed strange. People would gawk at him and whisper amongst themselves. However, the strangest thing was the barefooted girl dressed in a Victorian-styled nightgown. The woman-child was oblivious to the people and solely concentrated on the man beside her. The man glanced down at her with Gucci sunglasses that were pushed up his nose. He arched an eyebrow and prodded the female into submission so she would finally agree to go into a boutique.
"Ow! Quit it!" the girl growled, rubbing her bruised arms.
"You look conspicuous," Gabriel pointed out. The auburn-haired female snorted and folded her arms across her chest.
"I am not the one donning a turtleneck and coat in this weather," Rowan retorted.
"Yellow scarf too much?" he inquired innocently. The female did a glance over of a boutique closest to them and wrinkled her nose at the selection.
"These are absolutely putrid!" Rowan held up a pink, poofy dress that was smothered with cheap beads.
"Fine, fine. We will go elsewhere." The vampire shook his head and politely opened the door. They both exited "Marie's" under the shadow of the umbrella. "That one looks decent."
"Meh" would he Rowan's answer. They would go from shop to shop even JCPenny and Wal-Mart. Many miles the pair walked and finally the female stopped, then him. The female threw up her hands and cried "Alright, alright! I get it!"
"Get what?" Gabriel asked.
"We'll just go in and pick something! There! Happy?" she shrieked.
The vampire cracked a smile. "How are your feet?" he inquired.
"Uggh—blisters!" she whined.
"Alright, alright," Gabriel opened the door for her; she stepped into the store and went rummaging.
The owner of the wee shop followed Rowan around like a shadow, picking up and rehanging clothing that the auburn-haired female had thrown onto the floor. Gabriel stood near the fitting room which was no more than a small area closed off by a red, spotted curtain. He had folded his umbrella and pondered. Oh, the hapless chatter of women.
"Ah-ha!" Rowan exclaimed. "Perfecto!" The girl strutted out of the fitting room, sporting a black sleeveless turtleneck that strangely resembled a vest with a zipper and silver outlines. Her hips were snug in elegantly studded jeans from a company named "Apple Bottom." Her blistered feet were adorned with onyx ankle boots that had plenty of gel pads and other comforts inside. Crimson-tinted glasses popped out like too-bright cherry lipstick.
"Ha! Hahahaha!" the vampire bursted out laughing.
"What?" she snapped.
"Nothing," he answered innocently. "You are wearing panties, right?"
"What are 'panties'"? Rowan asked.
Gabriel had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing further. He handed a small roll of bills to the owner and left the shop with his lady. He reopened his umbrella and the pair traveled on.
"Why do you not use those plastic cards things?" she asked.
"Those are traceable," he answered. "So, are you hungry? When was the last time you have eaten?" The pair was on the outskirts of the city.
"I do not remember. I have been meaning to try an uhh—Philly cheese steak," she answered, her stomach growling.
"Extra onions?" Gabriel teased. "Hey! No pinching!"
Snickers.
The pair made a round-trip back to the plaza and spotted "Reggie's" The little restaurant had a clear window up front so customers could see the fresh cuts of beef sizzling in their juices on the grill. The cook would let the onions grill and then he would scoop the beef and onion with his flat spatula onto a roll. He would smother the roll with melted slices of Monterey Jack cheese.
"Order up," the cook would say as he pushed forward a paper bowl.
Rowan relentlessly stabbed her companion in the ribs and pointed at the window. The vampire would laugh mirthfully.
The next thing, you knew, the late 18th century lady was gobbling the roll up with quick and but dainty bites. Burp. Laughter. Smack in the hand. Ow!
"Gabriel, get a damn car or something!" she pouted.
"Your idea of a car would something zooming at a dangerous 35 mph!" he snapped.
"Cars are polluting the atmosphere! Your scientists state 'global warming'!"
"The human population has sky-rocketed in the past two hundred years."
"I have noticed. Rats crammed into a cardboard box."
"The amount of CO2 released into the atmosphere is good for the vegetations on Earth."
"What vegetation is left?"
"Good point. So the, I quote 'CO2' has nowhere to go, but up?"
"You are correct."
Snort. "People these days think it is more dangerous to have a horse's gas in the air that dirty, black exhaust fumes from automobiles."
"Petroleum or methane?" Laughter. Two voices joined in laughter. It was not free laughter. There was some tension, some sadness buried underneath. Harharhar. Hahaha. Sarcastic.
How big was this city? The answer is "big". It was even bigger than New York City. It was the perfect place to play hide-and-seek. We all live on an ant farm.
It was late afternoon. The traffic has started to pick up. The people started to slow down. Gabriel continued walking with his umbrella His pretty companion has a peculiar expression on her face. She was not entirely there. Rowan the blind, he her guide dog.
"I will meet up with you later, Gabriel," she said wistfully.
"Where are you going," he inquired, but she was gone. He scanned his surroundings 360 degrees and yet he could not catch a whiff of her scent. "Magick," he sighed.
He strolled down twenty-second street and watched the world pass him by.
"Mama! Mama! Look at the man wif the funny umbwella!" a child chirped, pointing at Gabriel. A worn-out mother shushed her son and hurried him along.
A brown Pomeranian puppy bounced ecstatically about, yanking at her leash while her owner lounged lazily reading a newspaper. Dark, violet eyes flickered to the front page of the newspapers and read the bold, mocking words "Vampire Plague! They Are Among Us!"
His steps quickened until he was half-running madly down the street, his umbrella was threatened to be ripped away from its owner's hand. Rowan! Rowan! Her name pounded in his head. Where is she? She-she is in danger! Damn it! Damn it! I cannot even keep a woman in sight! His violet eyes danced wildly and his thoughts grew more distressing. Slowly the face of Lucia faded away and was replaced by Rowan as so his heart. Even if they shared the same shade of eyes, similar faces…bodies. His thoughts drifted like a cumulus cloud.
Clusters of people were scattered about. Whispers of voices admired this, criticized that. The sign outside had read "Grand Opening of Madrona's Gala." It was a place for amateur artists to show their work. Rowan slithered about, snorting in disgust at many of the works.
Her gray eyes caught the sight of a table full of hors d'œuvre. She squealed with delight and took a nibble of everything. She headed over to a growing crowd towards one end of the building, holding a martini glass of habanero-stuffed olives. Rowan popped one of the olives into her mouth and choked at the unexpected fieriness of the pepper. She ran back to the food table, grabbed a bottle of bubbly and chugged it down to kill the heat. It worked—sort of. The red-faced, throat-scalded woman-child returned to the massive crowd and stood way in the back with the bottle of champagne. A few people threw comments at her "unlady likeness", but were silence by a flushed face and iridescent eyes with slitted pupils. With a soft humph, Rowan glided her way through the crowd and gasped at the man standing a stark white wall.
The man was about six foot three with mahogany hair that had sheen in the light and round tawny eyes that held such sadness and an empty smile. Cameras and bulbs flashed and seemed to blind the man because his eyes were slightly glazed over. A stocky man in a seersucker suit came up to the man and shook his hand vigorously.
"And now! We reveal the work of our new prodigy, Jack Bromnal," the stocky man announced.
The white sheet was pulled off of the framed painting. A roar of applaud stung her ears. It was done in gold, tan and white hues. On the canvas, the face was angled turned so that only three-fifths shown. There was a soft, gentle smile on the woman's lips, her eyes were half-closed as if she did not want to sleep and leave this world just yet. Her hands cupped the blossom of a white rose. The figure sat with her legs bent to the side and right shoulder touching the glass panel of the window. The woman in the picture vaguely resembled her. Jack, why are you here? You should have moved on, Rowan thought sadly.
As if Jack had heard her thoughts, his eyes met hers and they melted into each other. The dormant bond was reawakened and no amount of darkness would blithe the way. His expression shifted from tolerance to surprise. His mouth dropped open and his face was absolutely adorable.
The female slowly backed away, shoving the bottle of bubbly into a random someone's arms. The air around her contorted and ripped around her as she made her way out of the building and was about to shimmer away when someone grabbed her arms and whisked her around.
Tawny-honey eyes melted all resistance. Who says the past never comes back to nip you in the butt? Strong, warm hands shocked her back to the situation at hand.
"Jack? What? Why? How?—you doing here?" she squeaked. "You were supposed to move on…"
"Well, obviously, I did not," Jack said tartly. "I was shoved away for awhile..."
"What?" Her voices shrieked a few octaves. "That was not part of the—"
"Part of the—?" he asked.
"It is to be remain unsaid."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No!"
"Tell me!"
And the argument went on; it was amusing watching a ping-pong ball be paddled back and forth. Eventually, people started to notice and the new pair had to take it elsewhere. Jack trailed after Rowan like a show and wrapped his fingers around hers.
"Please…tell me, Lady Green sleeves," he pleaded.
"I—it's better that you do not know such knowledge. You will sleep better," Rowan smiled.
"Why you have to be like that?" Jack muttered.
"Be like—?" she arched an eyebrow.
"Motherly. Selfless," he answered.
"I am perfectly capable of evil," Rowan retorted.
"Jack gave her the look. Her tugged her along and patted the leather seat of his black motorcycle with silver wings on both sides. He swung his leg over the front and smooshed his tresses into his helmet. With a sigh, the female followed suit, getting comfortable on the bitch seat. The man kicked the motorcycle into gear and took off, slowly shifting into second. Rowan hung on for dear life, her embrace was a bear hug that crushed his ribs that in turn poked his lungs. They zoomed through the shopping district and into the warehouse. Shortcut was what he said. They passed the burnt warehouse that was sealed off by yellow tape—the salty, wet docks and dove past the entrance to the red light district.
The pair reached the ghetto area, half a dozen shabby floors bowed and the building flashed nicotine-stained teeth with cheap jewels. Copies of the apartments dotted the streets and a liquor store flashed its gaudy, neon side. Jack squeezed the brakes and turned the bike off. He slid off his seat and scooped Rowan off by her waist.
"Hopefully they fixed the elevator," he muttered. A low hiss came from her teeth, she felt it. This suffocating aura.
"Rowan?" he asked, waiting by the open lift. She walked into the life and tasted the air for any other anomalies.
The dark-haired man pushed one of the buttons and whistled Green sleeves as the lift creaked and groaned up the floors.
"Forgiving," the woman-child said.
Sigh. "You did what you hat to do. You loved me—err him, yes?" Jack inquired.
"I still do" was her reply. Where did that topic come up? The light overhead flickered and matched those in the hallway. The gears grinded to a halt and the metal doors opened. They walked out together and headed toward 27-C. Jack's keys jingled in his pocket and even more so when they slid into the keyhole.
The apartment was neat as neat as a garage can be. Jack sped into the kitchen and started to heat up a bowl of gnocchi. Rowan politely slipped off her boots and sunk onto the couch.
"So tell me—," he prodded, carrying of potato dumplings in a white sauce.
"No amount of bribery will work. Besides I have marinara in my veins," she answered, slightly offended by the sauce.
"Fine. Just explain to my, why are we stuck in this time loop. I mean—the world has obviously on, but why haven't we?"
"Because—"she said carefully. "The story is not complete and until it's done—more and more chaos will occur. Essentially, the safety measure is trying to give us a wake-up call.
"Hmm," Jack commented thoughtfully, rolling a gnocchi around in his mouth.
"Shall I start on process of vampirism or the severing of the soul?" Rowan said flatly.
"Both weave them into a story," he said with mock awe. "A tale of blood and chocolate."
The female stole a dumpling before starting. "Vampirism is a virus that needs a living host to manifest. If a vampire drains his or her victim of their blood then the virus will die. However, they are those who are considered lucky to have survived a vampire's bite and the virus travels throughout the human system and painfully—painfully—the human system tries to combat the foreign germ and—"
"But you used a syringe on me—him—is," Jack injected.
"I used a pure strain of the virus which came at a heavy price. The virus mutates from vampire to vampire and how the vampire's fledgling's strengths will develop varies. However a pure strain holds potent possibilities on its own. Why do you think no one has been able to bring down your counterpart?"
"And the soul—"
"I'm getting there! The myth that vampires do not have souls. True to—"
"What?"
"Let me continue—the myth is true to an extent. When a person becomes a vampire, their soul is supposed to depart. For human souls cannot dwell inside a dead body. A vampire only has an impression of a soul and still retains his or her memories. Over time, the vampire body recreates a soul through actions, words, etc. that is darker and more suited to a vampire's body. Why do you think new vampires go wild, eh?" Rowan stole gnocchi.
Jack stared at the female, dumbfounded. She met his expression with an arched brow.
"In theory, you are held to this plane by an emotion—in your case, fear—mine guild, Gabriel by sadness and Lucia—well, I simply don't give a damn," she muttered.
"Gabriel?" Jack laughed. "Is that the alias he fashioned for himself? Ironic."
"So in conclusion, "she continued, "you two only share two decades of memories and then branch off from there. Two people."
"Oh" was all Jack said. The digital clock blinked ten-sixteen. He rubbed his eyes and placed the empty bowl on the coffee table
"Are you tired?" Rowan asked. He gave her a nod and rose groggily to his bedroom. "Don't forget to brush your teeth," she said quietly. The female removed her red-tinted glasses and stared tirelessly at the night sky. There was no moon to illuminate the city and no light to illuminate the darkness of the world.
Where was our Shepard? Mourn and live, we blind lams. Why was Lucia the only one allowed to move on? But, it did not matter that was she reincarnated into a new life, she was dragged into this anyways. There is an outside force at work besides the four of us.
She sighed softly and walked the length of the hallway into Jack's bedroom. She unzipped her shirt and jeans, tossing them aside. She slid under the covers and snuggled beside Jack who was already asleep.
"Angel—" she heard the sleeping man murmur.
"Trust me…I am no angel" was her reply.