Nightingales (working title)
Patrick had spent the afternoon wandering the small town of Wayne’s Trace. He’d found a decent motel and a quaint little diner to eat his dinner. To kill some more time, he’d nursed a last cup of coffee until the sun was near to setting. Perhaps he should’ve passed on the caffeine, as his nerves were pulled taught. He was pretty sure that if he looked, he’d find a fine tremor in his hands. Instead, he concentrated on the winding road that led him back to Nightingale Farms.
As he pulled into the lane, he admired the farm. The fences were obviously well mended, and the buildings he saw were also well-maintained. There were several horses in various paddocks as he made his way toward the house. Patrick once again was struck by the oddity of this innocent looking white clapboard house being the home of a vampire. The well-maintained grounds and well-kept landscaping seemed to belie the nature of its occupant. Of course, having never met a vampire before, who was he to judge?
He pulled the truck into the spot he’d occupied earlier. The place seemed deserted. Even the barn, which had been bustling with activity earlier, was quiet now. Patrick got out of the truck, unsure of where he should go. Then he saw the woman he’s spoken with standing on the wide porch surrounding the house. He moved toward her.
As he came up the steps, she smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you’d return. I didn’t even introduce myself when you were here. I’m Mia Moore.” She held out one small, seemingly delicate hand. As he grasped it, he realized how much strength she had hidden in her small, trim body.
“I’m Patrick Finnerty. It’s a pleasure.”
“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Finnerty.”
“Please, call me Patrick.” How ordinary this all was.
Mia gestured toward the furniture grouped in front of the large picture window. “So, Patrick, would you care to tell me why you’re here?”
Patrick settled in a rocking chair. He took a deep breath, listening for a moment to the sounds of the farm settling for the coming night.
“I met a woman in Florida, Jeannette. She’s a voodoo priestess. I was consulting her on a cure for my wife.” Mia’s eyes seemed to draw the truth from him. It sounded so silly, searching a cure from a voodoo priestess. Surely no rational being would do that?
Mia watched him quietly, waiting for him to continue.
“Barbara, my wife, has Alzheimer’s. I’ve taken her to the best doctors I could find. And…there’s really nothing that can be done. Well, we’ve done everything that’s available, but none of it really works. It doesn’t stop the damn disease.” He looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. He stared at them for a moment, wondering when they’d become the hands of an old man. He was….how old? Oh, God…was his memory going too? Sixty-two…you’re sixty two you old fool. God only knew, he felt much older. This endless quest had taken its toll on him.
3 comments:
Cool post, a lot going on to show the characters. Very effective scene.
thanks ann. its sort of in the middle of the story; i was going to post the beginning, but couldnt put my hands on the scene quickly enough.
dang it! you're such a tease! what happens next?????? glad you're back on the train Loo! now - what happens NEXT?
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