| Duk, the three guys and Eliza, all were
wearing the legally required helmets, and it would be impossible to
know that Eliza was female with just a glance. She was slim, and with
her breasts flattened by the leather vest, rather boyish. It made
her less conspicuous for the ride, and the leather offered some degree
of protection. Although she'd heal, she was not fond of pain and
took the same effort to avoid it that anyone would. Plus she got
a kick out of everyone thinking she was a guy. It was one AM and they were heading south on the interstate, just barely at the legal speed limit. They held a staggered formation, so as not to be riding in one lane parallel to each other, and were making good time. The night had cooled significantly, a cold front was moving in from Canada and the jet stream had dipped. Even in the leathers, Eliza was comfortable, tonight. Duk made the hand signal for a right turn and took an almost hidden truck rest stop pull off. It was sheltered by trees and was not observable from the road. "What an ideal place to do business," she thought. Then more sardonically, "Or have business done to you." The area was deserted, not unusual, for this road. Even though it was an interstate, south bound didn't seem to get that much traffic. Duk pulled to rear, around the back of the "rest" facilities, out of sight and killed his engine. They did the same. It was a new moon and almost totally black, except for the stars and there was just enough cloud cover to make that illumination very poor. It was dark! Time passed and every five minutes or so, Duk would look at his watch. At one thirty, the sound of gear braking truck could be heard and the hiss of air brakes as the vehicle stopped. Duk, dismounted and walked where he could see. He nodded and waved to them to come to where he was. "This is our meet. We'll all go around to the other side. You'll stay there while I go meet them. Cover me, but don't overreact, ok?" They nodded. Eliza noticed the shiny aluminum case he was carrying. He walked jauntily towards the cab as the drivers door opened. That's when Eliza realized that this was going to probably go very bad, very quick. It was the smell. She knew and hated the smell. Christa called them the puppies. Humans called them werewolves. Of course, it wasn't that simple, but it was close enough. She never trusted them for they seemed to like violence for the sake of violence. They had no real blood need, as she did, but they still killed and devoured their prey. "Disgusting," was her thought. Duk was a large man, but the man who stepped out of the truck was even larger. "That it?" He nodded towards the aluminum case. "Yea." "All of it?" "Yea." "Show me." Duk grinned. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine." An irritated look crossed the man's face and Eliza could sense a shift in attitude towards hostility and violence. "Fair enough," he rasped. "Heads up guys," Eliza hissed. The driver of truck reached inside of the cab and spun around holding some sort of weapon. Eliza simply reacted on instinct. She drew her .380 and fired. The bullet slammed into the shoulder of the weapon wielding man and exploded, almost removing his arm. A normal man would have dropped like a rock, but although he lost the weapon, he remained on his feet. Eliza fired again, hitting him in the head. She knew it wouldn't kill him, but he was effectively removed as an immediate threat. They heard the back gates of the trailer being opened and they all knew this was now gong to get ugly. Duk had thrown the case towards them and hit the deck, drawing his weapon. It was a military style .45 and it had a lot of stopping power. Not as much as Eliza's exploding bullets, but enough. She hoped everyone else had high caliber weapons. If the others were like the one she'd shot, they were going to need them. "Shoot for the head." she screamed as six of them came running towards them. The sound of gun fire, the smoke, and the confusion, all contributed to a sense of unreality. She fired at the closest one and missed, fired again and got a lucky hit right between his eyes. His face vanished and blood, bone and brains splattered her leathers. A second one raked her with iron hard claws that tore the leather and did minor damage to her stomach. Her next shot took care of him. Duk was facing one and it looked like he was considering going hand to hand. "NO! Shoot him in the head," Eliza screamed at him. Her scream distracted the thing facing Duk, giving him the opportunity to do just as Eliza suggested. Eliza froze as Duk aimed right at her. The barrel of a .45 seems as big as a cave from that angle. He fired and she heard that wicked hiss as the bullet went by her ear. The grunt and warm splatter on her back, told her what had happened. "Thanks, Duk Man!" "Got your back, Eliza," he responded, taking another shot in a different direction. She spun and realized it was almost over. Two of the three were down, but struggling to their feet. They were bloody but not seriously injured. There were twitching things littering the area, but everyone was more concerned with their own skin. Worrying about the carnage they'd inflicted was not a high priority item. "The less they know, the better. Ignorance is bliss." Eliza mused. Duk was looking in the cab of the truck. He slammed the door and cursed. He went around to the back and looked in. "Anyone need a god damn mattress," he asked sardonically. "We've been screwed!" ~~~~~~~ Since that night, she'd not ridden with the gang. The quick violence, they easy death, all of if held a magnetic fascination for her, but she didn't want to attract the attention of any real trouble. The "puppies" were real trouble that she recoiled from and wanted to avoid at all costs. There had been a lot of quick changes in her life, lately, and she realized that she was not adjusting well. The money had been good, and so had some of the other things, but time was passing for her and she didn't seem to be really going anywhere with her life. If it was a life. "Am I really alive," she wondered. She missed Serophia, she missed Sofye, she missed Toby, she missed so many she'd known and loved, but were no longer in her life. "I'm still young. I'm just pushing 45 and my life is so screwed up." She angrily wiped the tear from her cheek that had leaked out. The night was hot dark and steamy and the tear blended with the dampness of the night. "Life sucks!" She stopped and looked around her. She'd not really been paying attention and wasn't exactly sure where she was in town. Ah, there was the town hall and there was the library. The library was a very well done building in a gothic style. The style fit her mood, tonight, and the style was one she'd always favored in general. The ponderous ornamentation and overbearing attitude somehow reassured her of it's intent. It was solemn, as befitted a place of study and knowledge. There was an inherent beauty and a solid presence that was comforting. She stopped and stared at the library, feeling an almost homesick pang. A library is where it all started so long, so long, ago. "I've got to get back on track with my life," she thought. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the library and apply for a job. Something sane, sensible and safe!" She turned and headed back "home." "Home." She mused at the meaning of the word. "Home." Perspiration soaked her t-shirt and made her feel slippery and uncomfortable. "Home: where you shower after a walk in hot humid weather. Home: Where you pay rent to sleep. Home: where you can turn the air conditioner on high and no on complains." The shower had been truly refreshing, but the apartment was hotter than she liked. The A/C had been off and the heat had become uncomfortably high, but the little window unit was working valiantly to bring the temperature to a reasonable level. She sat, naked, in front of the computer screen, idly reading the yahoo news and sipping a shot of Pernod with an ice cube in it. "Damn!" She scrolled back and sure enough, there was truck stop. The photos have been edited so the carnage was not truly visible to the tender sensibilities of the public, but it was clear that mass murder had been the order of the day. It was being reported as a drug deal gone back, which was close enough. Any closer and they'd be getting uncomfortably close. Yes, it was certainly time to get her life back onto some sensible track. A life sentence can be really hard when you just may live "forever." August Her shift started at three PM and she worked to midnight, with an hour break. Every evening there was an influx of students from the local college, but that didn't last too long. Most of the work was clerical, restocking the shelves, maintain order and even light cleaning, though there was a twice a week maintenance visit. She was living almost like a "normal" person, now. She'd do the bar scene on the week end, but during the week, she wasn't drinking at all. Getting to work at three PM was the most difficult part of the day. The August sun was intense and it was hot. She'd finally had to invent a sensitivity to sunlight problem due medication. Only the medication part was false, but the story allowed her to cover up and wear appropriate protective clothing to get to work. She did not drive the hog to work. She'd actually purchased an old beat up Volkswagen and drove that to and from work. The economy car and it's age contributed to her current nondescript appearance. Her mode of dress was library proper as was her normal demeanor. She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes before the college crew came in, sort of like locusts descending on a wheat field. The quick rush in, the noise, the confusion and then the departure. A stack of books to be checked in and shelved and the questions on where was Aristotle and could she please tell them where to find some obscure data. She usually could, and when she couldn't, her computer search skills would come to the rescue. For a flesh rending carnivore, she really did have the soul of a librarian. She took a final sip of the ginger tea and put the cup out of sight. She liked the unbroken expanse of polished wood just before all the activity. She really liked her job. For the first time, in a long time, she was feeling satisfied with her life. She felt no driving urge to be other than what she was, and that was a good librarian, contributing her part to a system that was functional. Eliza slid the last book onto the shelf. Someone had been reading Plato. She hoped they like him more than she had. She looked at the large clock on the wall. It was a little past midnight, already. It August and this many students were taking summer classes. She wondered what it would be like when the new semester started. She'd have to ask about that. It could be crazy in here. She closed the heavy door and turned and gazed out over the darkened town. The night was peaceful, but very humid. She could feel sweat pop out on her forehead. She'd gotten a ride in to work, today, and had been looking forward to the cool walk home, but it was anything but cool! She'd been in cooler saunas! She carried a tote bag in which she had her hat and trench coat that she wore in to protect her from the sun. She sat that bag down, unbuttoned her bouse and remove her bra, putting it into the bag. She looked around again, and there was not one in sight, so he slipped off her shoes and removed her pantyhose. In the air conditioned library, she'd be comfortable, but out here, in the heat and humidity with a three mile walk ahead of her, she was not dressed appropriately! She removed the high heels and slipped into worn sneakers. "I feel more like me, now," she breathed. She picked up her tote and skipped down the steps and took off with a jaunty bounce towards the corner. She hesitated, every sense alert. She was being followed! Resuming her course towards the corner, but more deliberately and cautiously, this time, she used every sense to analyze her situation. No, there was no sense of danger, but there was someone around the corner. He, yes it was clearly a he, didn't seem to be aware that she was so close, but there was some degree of intent, albeit not harmful, towards her. That's what had caught her attention, the intent directed towards her. That always activated her hyper-acute sense of self-preservation. As she approached the corner, she stopped and a male figure rounded the corner and barreled into her. She blocked and thrust with open hands and executed a minor leg sweep to clear distance between them, but her martial art skills were totally unneeded. The man, probably under six feet tall, but much taller than she, had been in possession of an arm full of books. Books that were now scattered all over the street with him sitting in the middle of a semicircular shrine of books. "Are you ok?" They said together. "Yes, I'm fine, but how about you?" They again said together. Eliza smiled and held out her hand. He took it and rose to his feet. Together they started gathering the books. "The library's closed, you know." "Yea, I know, but I use the night drop. That way, I don't have to wait." Eliza hesitated. "Patrick... Patrick.. Rickman. That's it!" She laughed. "You're Patrick Rickman!" He looked up from the kneeling position. "You know my name," he asked puzzled. Eliza laughed. "I'm the librarian who restocks all the books you put in the night drop. I've never connected your name with you." He finished picking up the last few books and straightened. "I'm not sure what to say. I feel like I should apologize or something." "That's not necessary. First of all, I kind of like it. I can work at my own pace and there's no pressure. Second: it is my job!" She laughed. "I like my job." "I've seen you there. You look sort of different out here. I'm not sure I'd have recognized you. " "Hmmmmm, I think I'm going ask you to explain that remark." Eliza took some of the books from him. "But in the meantime, lets get these in the drop for you." She began the climb up the steps towards the drop. The load of the books and the humidity took a toll on her. She could feel the sweat running down her arms and she was breathing harder than she should have been. She dropped the books into the chute and turned to face Patrick, who was just opening the other chute. She pulled the wet blouse from her body and fanned it, trying to cool off and dry it a little. His hesitation and the widening of his eyes made her realize that she was braless, wearing a very damp white blouse. She casually turned away from him, but felt her face reddening. He cleared his throat. "I guess I meant, that inside, you look like a Librarian! Out here, you just look like you." He paused. "Do you know what I mean?" She brushed the front of her blouse, wondering what to do. Her nipples were erect and tight against the damp fabric of the blouse and the blouse was not going to dry anytime soon. "Damn! I wish I hadn't taken that damn bra off." She sat on the steps, facing mostly away from him. The view was nice at this time of night. "I'm not sure I do know what you mean. Other than not half naked," she finished mentally. Patrick sat next to her and focused his gaze across the square. "I guess I mean, that inside, you are, well, THE Librarian. You are the function, you are the edifice, itself. " Eliza laughed. "Let me guess. Grad student, literature. Your superlatives are superb." Patrick smiled. "Well, I am a grad student, going for my Masters, but in psychology, not literature. I'm heading for my PhD and am developing my thesis concept." He grinned. "I've got a lot in front of me but I'm loving it." He faced her and gave her an up and down. "Honestly, I doubt my superlatives actually did you justice." Eliza blushed again. "Eyes front, junior! I was not expecting to meet anyone on my way home, and as you can damn well see, I'm not exactly dressed for public contact." "Junior," he intoned. "Come on now, you are certainly not my grandmother." "No," she shot back, "but I am old enough to be your mother." "Get outta here! I'm a grad student, not a freshman!" "And I'm 43. Ok, I'd have to have been really young, but it could happen!" They both laughed. "Yea, I guess it's possible, but believe me when I tell you that you could easily pass for half that," Patrick said. Eliza felt pleased. She'd never had any problem attracting men, but the unabashed admiration of a young, reasonably cultured male was still very flattering. She'd grown up feeling left out and plain. For many years, she'd fit into that mold and was almost as plain as she considered herself. Her transmogrification into whatever she was had forced a conceptual change on her. When she wanted to, she could turn it on and turn it off to create almost any effect she wanted, but simple unadulterated admiration was still a surprise and befuddlement for her. She stood. "I should be on my way home. The walk will be a little stickier than I'd anticipated, but the exercise will do me good." "You walk home. At his time of night?" "Yes. You walked here to return the books. " "Well, I'm a man." "Well, I'm not. And your point is?" They were walking slowly, bantering back and forth. A slight breeze has sprung up and dried her blouse enough to where she was no longer a poster girl for a wet t-shirt contest. "My point, I guess, is that it doesn't seem all that safe for you to do." "Why is it safer for you than it is for me?" The rumble of a large engine could be heard approaching. They both turned and saw the big bike approaching. The rider brought it to a halt, inches from where they were standing. The smell of oil and gasoline permeated the air and they could feel the heat radiating from the engine. Duk, stood, straddling the bike and dropped his goggles. "You ok, Eliza? This dude's not bothering you is he?" "It's copesetic, Duk. Just walking home from work. We're chatting about how dangerous the streets are." Duk laughed. "Damnation, Girl, guess I'd better get home where it's safe then. Stay cool, Short Quart." With roaring engine and screeching rubber, he peeled off into the night. Grinning, Eliza said, "See what you did now? You scared that fine citizen and made him afraid to be out. You should be ashamed of yourself!" Patrick's face was pale and strained. "Ah, you know him. He knows you. You're, like, friends or something? I guess. I...." He stood staring in the direction of the receding bike. The big clock on the wall was showing almost seven PM. She took her break from seven to eight. There was a normal influx after work, not a lot during the week, but enough to keep her active. By 6:30 most were out and on their way home or off to find their evening meal. The ten o'clock student rush was the fun one. She enjoyed their life, energy and enthusiasm. The world was opening before them, and while they were eager to learn, they were just as eager to seem very polished and bored with the experience. It was an exercise in "people" watching that afforded her many hours of enjoyment - not to mention the occasional hunting opportunity. She'd never killed a student, but they were vital and energetic and could spare a little energy. And she was always careful to give as good as she got. Seven PM. She waved at Susie, her intern relief, and headed out for her evening break. She felt a sense anticipation. She'd agreed to meet Patrick on her break, and it was going to be nice to have an almost normal relationship. Eliza realized that she wasn't "normal" in many respects, but sometimes the illusion of normalcy was nice. Maybe tonight..... Patrick was almost through the "Burger on the Big Bun." It was big, greasy, moderately priced, and popular. Eliza preferred her meals less throughly cooked and she did not like a lot of bread. She was having her "normal" evening snack, a glass of tomato juice with a drop of habanero and a dash of Worcestershire sauce. "Now, we both know there is no such thing as supernatural creatures. No werewolves, no ghosts, no ghouls or vampires. What we do have are psychological states that cause people to act in a manner that causes such stories and legends to develop." Patrick took a sip of his coffee. "That's sort of the direction I going, but what I really need is to be able to interview people who think that they are werewolves, vampires, or whatever, and as you can guess, that is not easy!" Eliza almost suppressed her laugh. "No, I can imagine it is quite difficult to find people who think they are werewolves and such to come in for an interview." She leaned forward. "Have you considered, that if you find someone who thinks they are a werewolf or vampire, that you many not leave such an interview intact?" Patrick took a deep breath. "Yes, I have and I've come up with not safe way to do this. I'm not so desperate as to put an ad in the paper: Werewolves and vampires, apply withing." He chuckled. "Although it is tempting. What I have done is go around to various mental institutions and try to find subjects to interview." Eliza closed her eyes and shook her head. "Any luck?" "Yes. All of it bad! All I found was totally irrational psychosis and people who could barely communicate, let alone discuss their state rationally." "I hate to ask a stupid question, but how do you expect to discuss psychosis, with a psychotic, rationally? Your basic premise is that they people are in the throes of some sort of delusion. Do you really think they can discuss it rationally?" "No. No, I don't," Patrick replied, "But I was hoping that I could get enough data to make some sort of correlations and draw some sort of conclusions, but so far, I've got nothing!" "Tell you what, Patrick, I'll do a little research on the library net. You know we have access to areas the public terminals don't have access to. Maybe I can come up with something that will help." |