Chapter 33 Louis carefully with the skill he was famous for mixed appropriate quantities of rum, orange juice, and lemon juice. Shaking the mixture, pouring it into Collin's glasses over ice cubes, topping it with ginger ale, he made "New Orleans' Bucks" for four mortal customers. He smiled at the vampire cocktail waitress, a kicky little number in high heeled boots, a torn off her shoulder T-shirt, and a skimpy pair of shorts traveling way too high. She gave him a saucy, bad girl wink which he ignored.
Josh had met him at Bloody Mary's. It had been his first day of school. All his classes were for gifted and talented students. He was busy reading his book for English Literature, making little notes in his mind as he went along which would come in handy when he outlined his term paper.
Louis had made introductions of Josh to the vampire community. Josh fit in easily. Many in the community actually felt protective towards him, recognizing him as a child despite the fact he was a different species of vampire.
Daniel was busy out running errands. The bar was drifting into a mode of being at its most pleasant, not too full of people , not too empty, just right. Candelabrum newly bought graced the painted black wood tables. "You really like this Goth stuff?" Louis teased Poppy.
Hate it. Customers eat it up, Poppy thought, drawing beer from the tap.
Christov and Henri were happily having one of their never ending ring of conversations. Henri bought Christov's company for the evening. Not to do anything in the arena of a bed, but to make sure for certain Christov would show up for band practice after Louis' shift. Christov had been mildly offended that Henri didn't trust him to be dependable, but he took it with good grace.
Henri had discovered long ago that he could see the depressions in the earth where pirates and boot-leggers had buried their loot. His eyes would become bedazzled. He could actually witness events that took place of gangsters throwing bodies to the alligators, of merciless pirates cutting down their hostages with their cutlasses, and of stashed away money being buried beneath cypress trees. The swamp was his treasure box and kept him well stocked in vintage clothing, pearls, fine leather shoes, and laces.
He smoothed out the material of his vintage 1930's gangster's suit rumored to have been worn by Pretty Boy Floyd. Those "made men" did know how to dress, he thought, happily. The fineness of the cloth seemed to purr against his hand. He always had an appreciation for fine things. The person who just walked through the door was not a fine thing, he noticed.
A woman who was trying to hit the brakes against the rapid progress of age against her person stumbled in. Her bumptious attempts at youthfulness made her all the more unattractive. A black, Motley Crue T-shirt hung awkwardly on her sagged out chest. Jeans outlined the spindly shapelessness of her legs. Hair bleached to an impossible height of blondness traveled about her cigarette holding face.
Henri paid her barely a notice until he heard her say, 'Josh?' Then he snapped all to attention.
Looking up from his novel written by Camus, Josh made the fatal mistake of saying, "Mom?"
"It's you. It's really you. You're not dead. I've been searching for you. Traveling from state to state. Bar to bar, looking for you," his mother squealed, falling into a chair besides him. "Take off your sunglasses. So I can see how you look. The rest of you looks great," she said perplexed that a run-away would look so good. Relentless questions and declarations fell from her lips. "What are you doing here? Where did you get such nice clothes? Why did you run away? Was it because of that boy I caught you with? That was all a mistake. Kids experiment. They do stupid things. I shouldn't have been so rough. Shouldn't have hit you. You know I love you, baby boy."
"Mother," Josh said shaking his head. The word "mother" didn't fit well in his mouth. The woman before him, who raised him for fifteen years meant nothing to him It both saddened and shocked him. He once loved her. Yes, he did. Despite her verbal and physical abuse, her throwing him out of the house with her assault on him when she discovered him with his lover, he still while mortal loved her. Now she meant nothing to him at all as a mother. He could hear her earnest aggrivement in her face, hear her words, all her bundled up emontions--her relief, anger, loneliness, and love. It was all there. But, he didn't feel a thing for her. It was as if she was speaking from another world that he could look into, but never really enter again.
Almost panicked he picked up his book, standing before her in his school uniform of pressed, tan slacks, his white dress shirt, tie, and blue blazer.
"I can't go anyplace with you anymore," he said slowly, "I can't." He wished for an emotion, any emotion, anger, pity, anything, to feel anything for her. "You don't know me anymore," he said, "We're strangers."
"Is it because I caught you with your pants down? You're not a queer. Do you understand? It was my fault. Because I let that guy in the house, and he molested you. You're confused. You don't know yourself. I know you. I'm your mother."
"I know I'm gay. It has nothing, nothing to do with what happened to me when I was seven," Josh said slowly, ready to turn and leave. A sting of a slap caused him to stop. He touched his face in shocked bewilderment. The sharp touch of her slap echoed through out his nerves.
"That's enough. That's absolutely enough," Louis growled, walking from around the bar counter to confront her. Taking her firmly by the arm, he sat her back down.
"Josh," Louis said calmly with steel in his voice, "Please go home."
"His home is with me. Who the hell are you? You stay with your own kind mister, and leave my son the hell alone," she hissed.
"I'll see you later "Dads"," Josh said, kissing Louis' cold cheek, pausing to take one last look at the mortal who used to be his mother. He left without a word.
""Dads"? What does he mean by that?" Sally McGraw said in a voice loud enough to be a scream, "Is this some kind of joke? Where is he going? Who are you?"
"I'm Josh's friend," Louis said simply leaving it at that. "Madam your son is no longer yours." Louis could hardly keep his temper reigned in. "For years you abused him. You even called him a cock sucking queer when he was only seven years old. You threw him out of his home when he was only fifteen."
"I was drunk. I have problems. I was confused. Don't blame me for that. It wasn't my fault. I was surprised when I caught him being fondled by my boyfriend when he was little. I wasn't in my right mind. Josh is confused. He was just experimenting with his friend Brian. Now he's confused about himself. I need to take him home To make him better. You're the one hurting him now. Keeping him from a normal life. Why do the both of you wear sunglasses? Take them off. Are you afraid to face me? Are you high on dope? Do you keep him brainwashed on dope? What do you need a kid for? Can't you get it up for a man? For a woman?"
Chapter 34 Louis' hand flexed into a fist. He wanted to send it flying into her pale, watery eye. He could smell the reek of her pickled decay. Her squirming, aggravated, twisting face exasperated him to the point of wanting to her apart.
"He's no longer your son. You told him you didn't want a son such as he. Your wish was granted. Now go home," Louis said softly, his words hard as nails causing her pain, driving her anger on.
"Fuck you," she screamed, throwing Josh's left behind coke and blood into his face. "I'm taking Josh back. He's my son, not yours. I'm taking him back as soon as I find him. I have the law on my side. I'll see your ass in jail, you perverted bastard."
Louis picked up a napkin wiping the sticky syrup of the soda from off his face, making no attempt to stop her from leaving.
Christov and Henri slashed him to the bone with their hard, compassion less stares. Slowly with lean animal like grace they slid off their bar stools, and headed for the door.
No, Louis thought, You both know the rules. No killing can be done connected to a vampire bar.
Henri's carefully arranged features of a genteel gentleman twisted into an _expression_ of utter, merciless disgust. Never mind the rules, my friend, I will not have her live a minute more. She can cause trouble for the whole vampire community if allowed to go loose. Poppy?
I know absolutely nothing about nothing, Poppy thought, mixing amaretto with sweet cream.
It's Poppy's bar. He agrees with me, Henri thought coldly.
Louis be reasonable. I respect your merciful nature, but she's a danger to Josh. She can get to him during the day time while we are all sleeping, Christov thought, She'll discover what he is. Louis she has to die. How can you question it?
Henri gave a curt nod to Marie La Rose who was seated next to Ted.. She gave a short nod back. Stretching her lithe, dangerous self out of the chair, safety pins and rings pierced through her flesh, decorating her face. He red lips against the chalky whiteness of her skin grinned a hyena's smirk, thirsty with anticipation. Powerful, girlish muscles moved underneath her taunt body as she stalked towards the door.
"Non, call her off," Louis demanded. Marie La Rose stopped in her tracks, turning on Louis with a look of challenging anger. "No, Marie," Louis said gently, going to her, kissing her powdered, perfumed cheek, "I'll go."
You? Are you sure you can kill Josh's mother?" thought Henri taken aback. Surely my friend, anyone of us would be glad to do the chore for you. Pick one of us to do it for you. Or let me pick.
"I will do it," Louis said coldly in a voice too low for mortal ears in the bar to hear. "Poppy," he said politely, "May I please leave my shift a little early?"
Get outta here, Poppy thought, busying himself making mint juleps.
Silently, Louis left the tavern almost bumping into Alex.
"I hate you Louis," Alex growled, all decked out in brown leather and black denim, "Are you planning on skipping out on our practice tonight? Cause if you are I really do hate you."
"Non, I'll be there. Alex, if you would please excuse me," Louis said quietly, leaving Alex to fester.
Striding up to the bar counter, he threw himself between Henri and Christov. "Hey, where's Josh?" he asked, looking about the bar.
"He left. He might be back later. His mother showed up and wants him to go home with her," Henri whispered.
"Shit!" Alex whistled, "You have to be kidding. What's going to happen when his dear, old mother finds out that her little, sonny boy kills people and drinks their blood?"
"She's not gong to find out," Henri whispered, squeezing Alex's arm to quiet him down. "Louis is going to kill her."
"Louis," Alex said amazed in a now softer manner, "Does Josh know?"
"No," whispered Christov. "He's killing Josh's own mother?" Alex wondered at the concept. "That takes balls! I hate Louis, but that takes a mile length of balls. Gotta give him credit for that."
Sally McGraw stumbled into the shabbiness of her rented motel room. No one was in the room but herself, and Louis hiding in the shadows. He had picked up from her mind where she was staying, and had let himself in by forcing a loose window open. Before she could utter a prayer, or more likely a curse, he took her tired body to himself, breaking through her skin.
He never read the minds of his dying victims, never wanted to know the influence he had on their minds in the last minutes it took for them to die. If he had read her mind he would of seen a child.
A five year old child running in circles, waving his new, toy truck proudly about. He was making engine sounds with his lips. Smiling at his mother shyly for approval. His eyes seemed to plead, love me mother, please. He ran to hug her legs. "I love you, mom," he said happily, "thanks for the truck.." His hair dirty and unkept. Grass stains on his unwashed jeans.
I loved him, she thrilled to herself with excitement. I love him. I conceived him while drunk, bore him while drunk, raised him while drunk. I didn't drink as much when I carried him, my son, I did try to keep him healthy when I had him inside of me. I loved him, loved him. She tousled the hair of a bright blue eyed six year old who blew out the candles on a white frosted cake. Don't wince, don't cry, please don't cry. I hit your face didn't I? You poked your finger in the frosting, and I slapped you. I called you a name. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You made me angry. Don't play with your food. Damn it. It's rude. Don't cry. Please don't cry. I'll kiss it away. The hurt away. Listen to me, Josh, listen to me, don't cry. Only sissy boys cry, Josh, she thought, I love you Josh. Don't cry. The last thing she saw in her dying imagination was a blond three year old, riding his three wheeler tricycle down the whitest of sidewalks, away from her, waving his pudgy arm good bye.
"Josh come back here. You're going to get hurt. I know you will. Josh?" she barely whispered before she died in Louis' arms.
David , Lestat, and Rembrandt are so wrong. Living mortals do not wear a look of calm, patience, or of beautiful peacefulness. Only the dead are capable of such expressions, Louis thought, gazing into the serenity of her loving face which softened in her death to appear both wise and innocent.
Then it happened. The color sprang from her flesh, lit up as if touched by neon, moonlight, and magic. The colors all danced and cascaded into a swept up spiritual beauty that burned itself into Louis' soul. Only the eyes. There was no light any longer in her eyes. Death destroys the light in all their eyes, Louis thought sadly, closing her lids for her.
He stripped her corpse of her clothing. The colors of her naked flesh soon started to dim like a candle burning itself slowly out. Till her flesh was but ordinary flesh except for that it was cold and clammy to touch. He laid her on the bed. Splashed a left over bottle of Budweiser beer on her body. Lighting one of her cigarettes, he got it going, then he put it between her fingers, blowing on the ember to start the sheet on fire.
Soon her burning body warmed the room as he watched her flesh crackling, sizzling, and curling in on itself. He said the quickest of prayers for her. He had no hate for her, no contempt, nor even pity. He felt compassion. Compassion doesn't carry the deriding touch of pity. He hadn't considered her to be pathetic. Just human. But, she had to die. He didn't have the means to care for her deeply enough to allow her to live. Mesmerizing her to forget Josh would have been more of a sin then killing her. He understood, and respected her for that. He could not love her enough to save her from her addictions. Love spread out too thin isn't nurturing love. A parent cannot love everyone Cannot nurture the whole world. Josh's protection had to come first. The world could burn before Louis would willingly allow any harm to come to Josh. She had to die. At least she died a merciful, good death. Silently he left the room, and she was alone. Josh never thought it important to ask about her. Ever.
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