Chapter 4: Poker With Comic Heroes, A Richard Dees Exclusive

Dwight laid back against his pillow and breathed carefully. Several years? He didn't know exactly how long Ceridwen had in mind to keep him under this kind of torture, but when a woman said 'several' it had been his experience that it meant more than ten. Once, his mother had asked him kindly to do a few things for her while he was downtown visiting friends. The 'few things' was a list of fifteen tasks, most of them horribly embarrassing for a young man. He frowned. He really wasn't a heartless killer or a bad person, but he had come to a state of enlightenment during his years massing victims. While he was obviously incapable of being a normal human being, he was definitely an important part of the food chain and society itself. He was needed where he went. He had killed only criminals, abusers, tyrants, and people who were going to die even had he not torn into the major veins in their bodies. He had come to see this as a sort of 'enlightenment' as Ceridwen referred to it. He had always called such things epiffanies in his lifetime. Still, he had reached a state of understanding with his condition that no one else, especially Ceridwen could understand. Ceridwen had been infected with lycanthropy at such a young age and had then been immediately treated for it. How could someone that had yet to truly suffer from the effects of their disease preach to him about his options as a vampire? He frowned. Ceridwen was useful for information, but her pedantic and inexperienced nature was beginning to wear heavily on him. He wanted to climb back into Lenore, take to the skies, and not land until he smelled a deserving victim. It was clear to Ceridwen that she would need quite a bit of time to remind Dwight that it wasn't his place to tell people whether or not they deserved to live, no matter what they had done.

Dwight decided it best to shut out his current condition to keep from becoming nauseated again. Ceridwen had to be sleeping right now, he could visit her and still have the power to really bother her in dreams. He closed his eyes and allowed the gentle embrace of a satisfying slumber to wrap its appendages fully about him. He sighed and felt around in his mind to try and establish the nearest connection. He had yet to find himself in one of Jeremiah's dreams, which very well could have happened if Ceridwen had been experiencing insomnia while her brother was sound asleep at the same time as the aging vampire. Dwight retched at the thought of intruding into a sensual fantasy of the young man. While Dwight was not one to make judgements about people's private lives at first seeing them, he had gathered from everything he knew about Jeremiah that nothing in his mind would be what he considered normal. He saw a large, oak door in front of him. The door seemed solid enough, so the connection must have been quite strong. He frowned a little. This was not like anything he had experienced with Ceridwen's 'dream school' before. In fact, the reason behind the two of them always appearing as though they were back in their first year of senior school was beyond his understanding. Still, there was no knowing what lay behind any door unless one opened it in the world of dreams. He reached down for the large handle and turned it slowly. Dwight nearly passed out with sheer confusion at what he saw next.

The room was something he seemed to recognize from his youth. His father had allowed him along with him to this kind of occasion after he had turned sixteen. The room was paneled with oak halfway up the walls and was covered in hunter-green wall paper to the cieling. From the cieling hung a large chandelier that was dimly lit. Several smaller light fixtures around the room were also dimly lit. The room was about the size of Ceridwen's study/library that she had established. Rather than have one of the large rooms that were meant for human usage, she had chosen a tiny servant's room and the large book closet. This was no library, it was a poker parlor. He stared in shock at the rest of the contents of the room. In the centre of the room was a group of individuals that Dwight recognized from his late night activities in the retail stores at small airports and convenient stores nearby the airfield if that was the only place to go for a meal.

Yes, each individual (save for one), had been plastered all over comic books from the time he had been a young vampire up until now. He stared in bewilderment at the heroes he recognized as Superman, Spiderman, Captain America, and Batman (who Dwight felt would have been better if he had been named 'vampire man' since they essentially did the same thing save for having an alter ego). The men were each sitting with either a cigar in mouth or in hand. Superman had a large pitcher of beer next to him. Spiderman had an empty glass next to him and would make a comment to his neighbor every now and then that it would be 'super' for him to just top off the glass to which Superman would make a crack about 'your friendly, neighborhood AA group. Captain America had a basket of large flowers on the floor and kept arguing in a high-squeaky voice that flowers were currency in early American settlements and Batman simply sat snickering and looking over the cards in his hand at the other players with wicked anticipation. At the head of the hexagonal table was a very pleased looking Richard Dees in traditional 'poker dealer' get up complete with green visor. Dwight felt almost ill at seeing a scantily clad Catwoman and nearly innappropriate Wonderwoman on either side of him. Both were stroking his almost bald head, giggling and making small talk as he continued to play at cards with the rest of the men.

"What in the name of every living...?" was all that managed to sputter out of Dwight's mouth. Everyone turned to him. Richard dropped the cigar he was holding, staring at him in silence. "Dees, is this your dream?"

"Who's the kid?" Superman asked.

"Looks like Harry Potter's loser friend Nigel," Batman snickered.

"Come on, guys. You wanted spontaneous? Here it is. Take a seat, my man," Richard said. "Bets down, hands down. Who wins?"

"I fold," Captain America said sadly.

"You can't fold once you've made your bet, wierdo," Richard corrected. He watched as Dwight moved to the side of the table, unsure of where the best place to stand would be since Richard seemed to have all angles occupied. He frowned. Richard produced a hand with seven 'ace of spades' cards. All the men groaned and the two women began to clap triumphantly for the aging writer as he gathered up the pile of bills and expensive cigars in the centre of the table. Richard nodded towards Captain America who rolled his eyes and tossed two enormous pink chrysanthemums to Richard, grumbling to himself. "What's your name, son?"

"You know my name, Dees," Dwight said firmly. Every face at the table froze to a stone message of terror. Richard gulped a little and put everything he was holding down. The two women stopped moving entirely and watched Richard's reaction. "I didn't think I had established this kind of connection with you."

"I thought you had to keep track of all that as part of your little curse deal, Dracula," Spiderman retorted.

Dwight glared at the fictitious hero with hatred. Above anything, he loathed being referred to by the name of that stupid myth that Ceridwen swore was a vital part of Romania's history. He walked angrily over to the archniman and (without changing fully to vampiric form) extended one claw. He growled as he poked the illusion at the shoulder, causing a loud 'pop' and the figure to disappear instantly. Dwight smiled. It felt good to eradicate someone that made him angry. He looked towards Richard and noticed the look of sheer horror on his face. Dwight smiled more brightly. This was wonderful. He walked around to each of the three other guests and did the same, each with the same result except for Superman who deflated into a small puddle with a bizarre scowl. Dwight turned towards Richard. The writer sat frozen as Dwight dispatched both fictional heroines wordlessly.

"Is this seat taken?" Dwight asked sarcastically. Richard said nothing as the young form of his greatest antagonist sat down near him at the table. Dwight picked up all of the cards and shuffled them expertly, then dealt. "Surprised to see me?"

"Yeah. How are you... ?" Richard muttered.

"That connection that allowed me to give you that memory and take it away. I had no idea that you were next in line for this. The only other two that I am connected to like this are Jeremiah and Ceridwen," Dwight explained.

"Oh yeah? Where are they?" Richard asked a little louder. Dwight motioned for Richard to take the hand of cards and play. Richard hesitantly took all of the cards in hand and cleared his throat.

"Not asleep, apparently." Dwight looked almost irritated at that.

"You and the little girl get into an argument or something?" Richard laughed. Dwight growled and stared harshly at him.

"I think simply staying with her to gather information will be harder than I initially thought," Dwight admitted sadly.

"You actually told her that you have no intention of fully reforming?" Richard asked raising a confused brow. Dwight had a good thing going if he could work it properly. Ceridwen would take care of him and defend him from any harm (which now seemed to be a reality for him after his sire had attacked) while all he had to do was whatever was asked of him on the surface. Richard found it less oppressive than either rehab or prison. Dwight frowned.

"Not exactly, but I think she suspects it," Dwight said sighing.

"She's a woman. That uterus holds fifty percent of the world's empirical data and is a psychic monitor," Richard said with a shrug. "You'd better get used to her knowing about stuff you're thinking before you even think it."

"It's just that, for all the knowledge she has, there's very little experience or time-tested reason behind it," Dwight replied. Richard laughed. Dwight glared at him. "What?"

"You talking about reason. You're a vampire, Dwight. Reason isn't exactly what's gotten you what you need to survive," Richard chuckled. "I mean, experience might have, but not cognitive thinking.

"Empirical? Cognitive? They must be using bigger words in those trash novels you read," Dwight muttered. He looked directly into Richard's eyes. "I spared your life, Dees. Every minute you live is by my mercy. You are, after all, the reason that I am in this prison. I fully intend to confront you about that when I am freed, physically." Dwight emphasized the word physically with a primal growl and the lift of his brow.

Richard shook his head. "You going to kill me this time?"

"No," Dwight said softly, realizing that Richard was probably the only person on earth that understood Dwight's personality and could give him sound advice. That alone was enough to depress the vampire into drinking like Superman. He sighed and looked over at Richard between a mix of anger and sadness that no one had seen from him in years, perhaps not even Ceridwen.

"I hand't thought about the fact you were a kid once," Richard mused as he looked through his hand. He noticed the anger in the gaze growing to surpass the sadness. Richard set down his cards and looked firmly at Dwight. "Listen, I'll give you the advice my mom gave me before she died, God rest her soul. It wasn't something I really took to heart until our little confrontation, but now it's gospel truth to me. You only live once, Dwight. And in your case I mean it in the sense that you will only get to act in the moment once. However, you get to reflect, listen, and watch as much as you want before you have to act. Take advantage of that. Think about things as much as possible and concentrate on what you've got to work with, not what's working against you. I guarantee it's the best advice you'll ever recieve. That's not to say that you shouldn't grab life by the horns from time to time, but people with your ambition rarely need to hear positive reinforcement that spurs you on to do more. You're already doing more than most people."

"Is this you, or your subconscious talking to me?" Dwight asked in slight disgust of the man's seemingly superior maturity for the moment.

"Right now? Both, tiger. Otherwise, if you were sitting accross from me I'd be backing into a corner or something whimpy like that. You already know that though, don't you?" Richard replied with a smirk. "So you came to me as a boy for advice, something that wouldn't scare me and the gang off."

"Actually this is apparently how I appear in dreams all the time, at least when I'm conscious of them," Dwight said with a shrug. "It confuses me. I used to see images that my victims saw as I tore into them since I had their last memories stored temporarily, but I guess that's stopped now that it's been a good few months since I've killed someone."

"So this is how your mind interprets the 'inner you'?" Richard watched Dwight's face stare at him with the universal expression of 'What did you say, old man?' He sighed and reached under the table, withdrawing a box of expensive Cuban cigars out of nowhere. "I started having all these nightmares after the incident in Wilmington, so I started to do everything necessary to treat terror and insomnia at home. According to alot of the things I researched after you and I met, you appear to others in your conscious dreams as you interpret yourself. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"I appear in my dreams to everyone else as I appear to myself in the back of my mind," Dwight repeated.

"Exactly," Richard said as he took one of the long-brown cigars from the box. He looked at Dwight. "You old enough for one of these?"

"I am older than you, Dees." Dwight looked away for a moment. Did he really see himself as just a young boy to others around him? This was impossible! He was immortal and had an insurmountable strength to him, he was superior to other beings around him!

"I meant in this body, champ," Richard said as he lit the end of the cigar and breathed in deeply.

"If you call me one more of those boyish nick-names, I am going to end you in your sleep. I can do that," Dwight growled. Richard laughed a little.

"Do it," he said, waving the cigar to the side ceremoniously. Dwight looked away. "Look, you already messed up the game for tonight. This dream is on my terms so just relax, this is my happy place. This is where a man can really settle down and be himself."

"I can't even do that in my waking hours," Dwight grumbled.

"Again, you're concentrating too much on what's working against you and not what's working for you. Loosen up, live a little." Richard noticed the cards in Dwight's hands burst into flames. He chuckled. "It's a dream, Dwight, anything goes."

"Anything?" Dwight asked wickedly.

"Almost anything. I am kind of in control right now," Richard said with a wink. "You like wrestling?"

Dwight stared at him in silence for a moment with one brow cocked upward. Richard smiled and turned, pulling an invisible remote control out of nowhere and clicking it towards the wall. The wall's dual paneling suddenly disappeared, giving way to a large wrestling ring where a large, bald, Samoan man in a ballerina costume was readying to fight a midget in a red devil costume. Dwight groaned and decided it was time to leave as the announcer blasted that the match between 'Dennis the Diva' and 'the Dirt Devil' was about to commence. He stood and headed towards the door he had used to enter. Richard turned and watched him. Dwight whirled around and shook his head at the man.

"You were drinking before you fell asleep, weren't you?" Dwight said with a grimace.

"No, this is me in the raw," Richard laughed as he put the cigar back in his mouth. Dwight sighed and turned back to the door. "Remember what I said, focus on what you have working for you."

Dwight frowned and grasped the handle. He had to get out of this freak show, now. His eyes snapped open and he groaned loudly. He could hear the soft rumble of thunder in the distance and rain beginning to fall outside. This was nice. It didn't appear to have been very long since he'd fallen asleep. He tried to concentrate on something else besides the nightmare he had just waltzed into. There were some evenings where he would wake after having a profound dream and get up to write down all the details for future reference. In almost all of those cases, the dream would slip away from him like a whisp of smoke. Why couldn't this dream fade out like that? He grumbled to himself and tried to think of the near future as he settled back down to sleep. The full moon would be back soon, meaning that Ceridwen would need special attention from the others to a certain extent. He smiled. Perhaps if he feigned anxiety over her, he would have the edge he needed to slip away while everyone else was tending to her. Plans were not his specialty by any reckoning, but making a basic outline of what he needed to do was. This would be easy if he could just get all the pieces into place in the next two weeks. Two weeks and he would be free to fly as well as think clearly, that was a dream worth pursuing.