On the Far Side of Darkness (28 page)

Her lover chuckled. “You are such a brilliant woman.”

Glancing up at the window, he discovered the horizon was beginning to lighten. “Bedtime, love.”

Diane got off his lap, stood up and extended her hand. He took it and rose himself.

“I think we should leave Toronto tomorrow night,” he told her as they walked towards the bedroom. “We’ll leave the bad memories here behind. Montreal is a few hours away and I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“I’d love Hell if you were with me,” she replied.

The bedroom door closed to end their night.

Table of Contents

My love and I are traveling through the warm, Mississippi summer night in our RV. Diane is in the driver’s seat. I could pilot our vehicle, but it’s something I learned late and I’m not good at it. She, like most modern people, learned the skill as soon as she was able and is very comfortable behind the wheel. Even in a vehicle as large as this one.

I have my feet up on the dashboard. Through the open window the odor of ripening crops, fruit in orchards and farm animals waft into the cab. There is a touch of skunk as well. Luckily the last animal is distant. With a vampire’s sense of smell their defense mechanism is even more unpleasant for us than for humans.

Our trip has been very enjoyable. It’s been entirely by land and water for people like us can’t fly. A plane taking off and landing in a single night is very difficult to schedule. I doubt passengers bursting into flame over the mid-Atlantic is something that would stay out of the news.

So Marcel set up a long, pleasant journey for us. We drove from Paris to Monaco, stopping at a house designed for our kind to sleep in along the way. After two nights in the Principality, gambling, wandering, we boarded a ship where we had an interior suite. That sailed to Majorca, Barcelona and finally to Lisbon.

We changed vessels to travel the Atlantic and it was a most enjoyable voyage. We walked  the decks at night, haunting the bars and ballroom, basking in the life crowded around us.

W
e spent a week in New York after we docked there. I’d lived in the city for many years, off and on, so I showed Diane some of it. The museums, a show on Broadway, little places tourists wouldn’t visit. She hunted on her own for the first time there, and she did very well. Her prey never knew what happened. More importantly, Diane’s meal survived.

Then we picked up our RV which was modified by one of our kind for vampiric use. All the windows can be shuttered. The interior where the bed is has walls and tightly sealed doors so we can sleep in it if need be. It also had other luxuries such as a satellite linkup for entertainment purposes and internet access. A small fridge holds blood for emergencies.

From New York we travelled to Toronto. Although not one of the world’s major cities I’ve found it a lovely place to visit. New York but cleaner and less violent.

It was unfortunate we had to leave quickly. A trio of serial killers had mistaken Diane for prey. Since they didn’t survive their foolishness we decided to move on.

Montreal was our next destination. It’s an old city, still lively but it’s not the place it used to be. We went to Quebec City next and I, as always, was delighted to see it had kept much of its soul. It was the place I first lived when I fled Europe for North America at the end of the 18th Century and the city has always held a place in my heart.

After a week there we decided there had been enough procrastination. So we headed south, visiting important Civil War battlefields along the way. Although I’d been here in America at the time I’d stayed in New York where the war never reached. I did see some of the draft riots but that was it for excitement.

Diane, being from The South, is enthralled with the war. Every battlefield we stop at she gives me a running commentary as we wander through it. It’s a change of roles for us, one I don’t mind at all. I find it refreshing to learn that I don’t know much. Diane’s knowledge, intelligence and enthusiasm fire up my passion for her. Often we interrupt our tours with happy lovemaking. She always scolds me for being a lecher, and kisses me to show she doesn’t mind at all.

Our trip has been leisurely, it’s been three weeks from Quebec City. Now we’re in Mississippi and an hour from Diane’s family. I look to find her face has a happy smile, but she is tense across the shoulders and back

I lean over to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry,
cher
,” I reassure her. “It will be fine.”

She takes her eyes off the road for a moment, smiles at me. “
Merci
.” Turning back she remarks in English, “I wish I could turn the headlights off, the glare isn’t very pleasant. I don’t need them anyway these days.”

“But,” I smile at her, “a vehicle without lights will draw attention.”

“I know,” Diane replies. “I’m just not fond of hiding all the time.”

“You’ll get used to it. Put your sunglasses on if the light’s that much bother.”

She does, and chuckles. “Sunglasses at night. Am I cool or what?” I grin at her for I love her sense of humor.

We fall into silence and continue enjoying the drive. The smells change, less crops, more fruit. A coyote hustles across the road at one point.

“Oh look!” exclaims Diane. “It’s
Red’s
. It’s still open!” Her voice is infused with happy memories.

The view out the front windshield shows we’re approaching a long, low building of wood construction. A large parking lot surrounds it, full of vehicles. There are as many pickup trucks as cars, an observation I don’t find surprising considering the venue. A hint of both steel and acoustic guitars drifts in the window, the odor of beer and people crowded together accompanies it. A large neon sign at the juncture of lot and road proclaims the name of the place. There’s not a lot of exterior lighting though, just single floods on each wall.

“An old haunt of yours,
cher
?” I ask.

“Yeah. I spent a lot of nights here before I went to university. It’s a fun place to hang.”

“Then let’s spend another night there,” I tell her. “You wanted to come back. This looks like a good place to start.”

A big smile forms on my love’s face, her eyes dance. “I was hoping you’d say that.” And she pilots our vehicle into the parking area as we come to the sign.

The lot is crowded. There’s only a few spots available at the back, right at the edge of a field. We exit our vehicle, lock it and proceed to the front door hand in hand.

Turning the corner, we mount the stairs and walk along the covered porch that runs the width of the building. There are a number of people out here, leaning against walls and posts, smoking, talking. I examine them closely as this is the type of place I rarely visit.

My examination of our fellow patrons discovers those traits that that are familiar to me from other rural areas. They show the wear of working in the fields. Much less so than similar people from two centuries ago, but their life of hard outdoor labour shows on their faces and hands. Their clothes are practical and relaxed.

Another attribute I associate with farm life shows as well, suspicion of outsiders. It’s not strong but it is there. However it is covered by a trait I’ve heard about the South, courtesy. As we come to each individual or group, they nod and greet us with words flavored with drawl of the region.

I have to glance at Diane when she returns them. In the years she spent away from here, and the year with me, her accent had faded. Now it’s back full force. I do love the sound of it, it suits her.

I nod back as well and reply, “
Bonsoir
.” I could easily fake an American accent of some description but I don’t want to hide while Diane’s being so open.

The reaction is mixed, but largely positive. People look surprised, smile and welcome me to America. I smile back and thank them in English.

One person though, makes a face as if someone had shoved feces in his mouth. He turns from us and hawks a large glob of phlegm into the parking lot. I tighten a bit  while Diane’s hand trembles in mine. But we shove our monsters down and enter the bar proper.

Inside, it’s fairly well lit and rather crowded. The age of the patrons covers a wide range but most are younger than Diane. There’s a fair bit of tobacco smoke in the air, something I find surprising as that habit is banned in so many other areas. There’s a dance area in the back, a small band belts out songs in the old Country and Western mode. They’re rather good and I find a finger on my free hand tapping time to the music.

Off to our left a half dozen pool tables are in use. One group of players and watchers draws my scrutiny for a moment. Something in their posture and their faces shows an unsupported arrogance. They’re all unshaven and their clothes less than clean. The people at the neighboring tables are careful to watch them and not intrude on their space.

The leader of the group is a large man, built somewhere between solid and fat. He has a florid, unpleasant face, damps spots show under the armpits of his stained T-shirt. The man who spit outside approaches him and directs his attention our way. The heavy set person shows a malignant smile as his gaze comes to rest on us.

Diane turns us in the opposite direction, towards the bar on the right wall. She squeezes my hand very hard. “Shit!” she mutters. “Why of all nights did that asshole have to be here?”

“You know him?” I inquire.

“Yeah. Dwayne Coltrane and ‘friends’. A finer collection of turds in the punchbowl of life you’ll never meet.” Her words are filled with loathing.

“They won’t be any trouble for people like us. Remember that, love.”

She turns her head and smiles at me. “Yeah, I keep forgetting. Thanks,
cher
.” She rises on her toes to give me a quick kiss.

We arrive at the bar and Diane nudges her way between two men. I stand a little behind letting her lead, this is her world.

The person on her right glances at her, an expression of surprise fills his face. Then he turns towards her with a wide smile. “Diane?”

My love turns to look at him, and wraps him in a hug. “Tim!” she squeals. “It’s good to see you!”

He returns the gesture. Then, with a bit of edge to his voice Tim asks, “Uh? Could you ease off? I’d like to breathe.”

Her mouth grimacing in chagrin, Diane lets him go. “Sorry,” she says, “I’ve been exercising.”

Tim draws a deep breath to flex his ribs. “Tell me what the system is,” he says, “it works.”

The woman behind Tim leans away from the bar and says, “Hands off my man, girl.” The look on her face is amused though, and the words carry the sound of an old joke.

Diane beams at her. “Patti! You two still together?”

Patti steps next to Tim and places her arm around his waist. “Yep,” she replies, “Closing on fifteen years now.” She smiles the same sort of smile I see on Diane’s face when she looks at me.

“What brings you back?” Patti goes on.

“I’ve been away too long,” explains my love. “I needed to see how things are here, and I wanted to show the person I fell in love with where I came from.”

Tim and Patti both smile broadly at that. “We’re so happy for you,” Tim tells her. The two of them look out to the crowd. “Is she here?” he goes on. “Can we meet her?”

Diane turns her head to me and reaches out. Stepping forward, I take her hand, face the other couple and say, “I’m not a she,” with a slight smile.

I believe the correct term for the looks on their faces is ‘gobsmacked’. “Huh?” is Tim’s remark. “What?” comes from Patti.

“Georges Belleveau,” I tell them, extending my free hand. “
Comment-allez vous?
”

It takes a couple of seconds before they react. Patti recovers first and takes my outstretched palm. “Pleased to meet you,” she says. Tim follows his wife’s lead. Their expressions are still befuddled.

Diane chuckles. “You aren’t half as surprised as I was. But there it is. Who knows where your heart can lead you?”

The other couple smiles for an instant. A moment later, their expression slides back to confusion with a small and growing amount of concern.

“I’m rather tired, love,” I say to my sweet lady. “Let’s find a place to sit down.” I think it would be wise for us to be away from Patti and Tim. It seems Diane has changed too much. If they think on it too long, they might start to penetrate the obfuscations with which the two of us surround ourselves. That wouldn’t be a healthy thing for them to do.

“Good idea,” she returns, “I’m beat too. All that time on the road.” She pulls a wallet from her jeans and takes money out. Leaving it on the bar, she picks up the beers she ordered and hands one to me.

Diane returns her attention at her friends and says, “We’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Tim tells her, “if you want. We’re still at the same place.”

“We’re going to my folks. We’ll stop by if we get the chance. Nice to see you two again.” She leans forward just a touch, her arms start to rise. Then she pulls back.

“Same here,” Patti says. “See you.” Her arms repeat Diane’s action. Another wave of confusion passes over their faces, which then become rather sad.

Hand in hand, my love and I wander into the crowd. After a short search we are fortunate enough to find a booth being vacated. We set ourselves down and pretend to drink from our bottles.

“I’m not happy about that,” Diane says as a grimace of sorrow flashes over her face. “Patti used to be a really good friend. Tim too. I haven’t seen them for years but I thought I knew them.” Her countenance takes on a bleak cast. “I sure didn’t expect them to react that way.”

“As you said, love, it’s been years. Also you’ve been elsewhere, learning new things, becoming the person you are. They stayed behind. You’ve grown apart, a little.” I lean closer so I can whisper. “People, both human and vampire, are often disconcerted by the way others change.”