Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
The Hissing Door - Draft In Progress
The blacktop is new, she thought, not having noticed if it had been re-done the last time they were there. We're here. Grandmother's house. Sure, it was Grandfather's house, too. Or, at least he lived there, but everyone knew that she called the shots.
The property held such promise at first glance, as a place where lots of fun could be had. The serene drive down the lane was misleading, however. The experience of visiting there -- the reality of life on the lake with those people -- made Jan on edge just thinking about it.
As they continued down the blacktop past the tennis court and cherry trees, she felt her stomach tighten. In the distance she could see the dirty lake lapping on the beach. She imagined flecks of rotten foliage washed ashore. Once settled, they would always insist she go down to the beach, but she hated it. It smelled like dead things, and the water, always a murky grey, was uninviting. It's waves seemed angry, no matter what the weather. Five minutes on the beach and she was ready to be anywhere but there. Most children love visiting their grandma, but Jan dreaded the very thought of it, the thought of her. The mere mention of going there caused her to experience a physical reaction, much like the one you get at the top of a roller coaster, in that split second between rising and falling, between thrill and panic, when the cart you're in starts down the hill before you do and your stomach is left behind.
No one talked much about Grandmother in the day-to-day, except when it was time to schedule an obligatory visit. They certainly weren't scheduled for fun, And she couldn't imagine living there. And yet, her poor cousin had to. She couldn't decide if he seemed to like it or not. It was an odd family arrangement. Grandmother at one end of the house; Grandpa at the other. And His mother in the basement. He always seemed upbeat upon their arrival, but then he would retreat, even hide, it seemed, until it was time to tell them goodbye.
Her Mom and Dad were silent as they pulled up at the top of the circle drive. Grandfather was tending the roses but he didn't stop his work, even though he hadn't seen them in a while. He didn't even look up to wave at them. But no one else seemed to notice, or at least they didn't seem to mind. Mom said, "I wonder what we'll have for dinner." An insincere question, since she knew the answer. We were no doubt having lamb. We always had lamb. We hated lamb, and Grandmother knew it.
"Hello, Father!" Dad called down to him and waved.
"Stuey." He returned a brief acknowledgment with a nod of his head.
In single file they made their way up the brick steps. Iron railings surrounded the porch. Even the entry was cold and uninviting. Her Mom and Dad exchanged a reciprocal glance that was at the same time one of dread and reassurance.
Her father opened the door for them as they stepped inside. The door made its usual hissing sound as it closed behind them. Dad said it was poor hydraulics, but Janny had convinced herself the house was evil, and this was its way of greeting them.
The property held such promise at first glance, as a place where lots of fun could be had. The serene drive down the lane was misleading, however. The experience of visiting there -- the reality of life on the lake with those people -- made Jan on edge just thinking about it.
As they continued down the blacktop past the tennis court and cherry trees, she felt her stomach tighten. In the distance she could see the dirty lake lapping on the beach. She imagined flecks of rotten foliage washed ashore. Once settled, they would always insist she go down to the beach, but she hated it. It smelled like dead things, and the water, always a murky grey, was uninviting. It's waves seemed angry, no matter what the weather. Five minutes on the beach and she was ready to be anywhere but there. Most children love visiting their grandma, but Jan dreaded the very thought of it, the thought of her. The mere mention of going there caused her to experience a physical reaction, much like the one you get at the top of a roller coaster, in that split second between rising and falling, between thrill and panic, when the cart you're in starts down the hill before you do and your stomach is left behind.
No one talked much about Grandmother in the day-to-day, except when it was time to schedule an obligatory visit. They certainly weren't scheduled for fun, And she couldn't imagine living there. And yet, her poor cousin had to. She couldn't decide if he seemed to like it or not. It was an odd family arrangement. Grandmother at one end of the house; Grandpa at the other. And His mother in the basement. He always seemed upbeat upon their arrival, but then he would retreat, even hide, it seemed, until it was time to tell them goodbye.
Her Mom and Dad were silent as they pulled up at the top of the circle drive. Grandfather was tending the roses but he didn't stop his work, even though he hadn't seen them in a while. He didn't even look up to wave at them. But no one else seemed to notice, or at least they didn't seem to mind. Mom said, "I wonder what we'll have for dinner." An insincere question, since she knew the answer. We were no doubt having lamb. We always had lamb. We hated lamb, and Grandmother knew it.
"Hello, Father!" Dad called down to him and waved.
"Stuey." He returned a brief acknowledgment with a nod of his head.
In single file they made their way up the brick steps. Iron railings surrounded the porch. Even the entry was cold and uninviting. Her Mom and Dad exchanged a reciprocal glance that was at the same time one of dread and reassurance.
Her father opened the door for them as they stepped inside. The door made its usual hissing sound as it closed behind them. Dad said it was poor hydraulics, but Janny had convinced herself the house was evil, and this was its way of greeting them.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
The Painted Lady
Nessie watched from the doorway of Sam's workroom as he carefully opened its wings and pinned it to the spreading board. She loved watching him work on his collection. Before she met him she knew little to nothing about collecting butterflies, but in the few weeks since they met, she had become more and more intrigued by his fascination with them.
He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. "Please come. I want to teach you something." He motioned at her with his head, his face still forward looking down at his treasures. She moved toward him slowly, knowing if she bumped him or his work it could have a devastating effect on his process.
"See this one?"
"It's stunning!" Nessie marveled at its beauty, with its large black and blue wings.
"Yes, she is, isn't she." There was pride in his tone, "She...is....in....deed!" He breathed a breath of great satisfaction as he pulled his hands back to reveal the carefully written tags he had pinned to her. His hands, although puffy with age, worked with precision on his delicate subjects.
"I present to you, 'Miss Diana, the Diana Fritillary butterfly. My precious Speyeria Diana.'" He looked up at her and smiled. "She is native to fields and mountain forests in the eastern parts of the country. I found her while hiking on vacation last summer," he explained.
She noted the tag, three carefully written lines, in the tiniest little letters:
Noting her indifference on the subject, he sat up straight and slapped his hands on his knees. "What do you say, my painted lady? Are you up for an evening you'll never forget? I have something very special planned for us." There was a playful, boyish look in his eyes. "You are so beautiful, Vanessa."
She grinned from ear to ear, taking in the compliment, but corrected him on her name. "Nessie," she said firmly. Vanessa was the name her mother had used when she was in trouble. "Nessie," seemed much more affectionate.
"Oh, Vanessa, don't you know how grand your name is?" He turned slightly and waved his hand across his collection. "Why, it would be like calling this beautiful butterfly simply 'Di', and not by her formal name. But Nessie it is. If you insist."
She cleared her throat nervously. "So, dinner then? Or what do you have planned?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Not at all. Miss Vanessa, I would be honored to have your expertise in the garden. And I would be happy to show you my butterfly collection while you are there. Do you like butterflies?"
"Who doesn't like butterflies? I mean, as children, we learn to love them and catch them. They represent a sort of freedom, I suppose."
"Ah, yes. Children like to set them free, watch them fly," he said. "When I began collecting, I realized I could sustain their beauty. Did you know there are butterfly collections that date back to the 1700's? There are butterflies in those collections that are now extinct."
He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. "Please come. I want to teach you something." He motioned at her with his head, his face still forward looking down at his treasures. She moved toward him slowly, knowing if she bumped him or his work it could have a devastating effect on his process.
"See this one?"
"It's stunning!" Nessie marveled at its beauty, with its large black and blue wings.
"Yes, she is, isn't she." There was pride in his tone, "She...is....in....deed!" He breathed a breath of great satisfaction as he pulled his hands back to reveal the carefully written tags he had pinned to her. His hands, although puffy with age, worked with precision on his delicate subjects.
"I present to you, 'Miss Diana, the Diana Fritillary butterfly. My precious Speyeria Diana.'" He looked up at her and smiled. "She is native to fields and mountain forests in the eastern parts of the country. I found her while hiking on vacation last summer," he explained.
She noted the tag, three carefully written lines, in the tiniest little letters:
"Classification: family Nymphalidae,
genus speyeria,
species S. Diana"
"Did you know she loved violets? It's where she got her start. Violets host the larvae, you see, " he explained. "But there I go, boring you again."
She smiled. "I always learn something from you." But it was somewhat true. Still, she admired his passion.
Noting her indifference on the subject, he sat up straight and slapped his hands on his knees. "What do you say, my painted lady? Are you up for an evening you'll never forget? I have something very special planned for us." There was a playful, boyish look in his eyes. "You are so beautiful, Vanessa."
She grinned from ear to ear, taking in the compliment, but corrected him on her name. "Nessie," she said firmly. Vanessa was the name her mother had used when she was in trouble. "Nessie," seemed much more affectionate.
"Oh, Vanessa, don't you know how grand your name is?" He turned slightly and waved his hand across his collection. "Why, it would be like calling this beautiful butterfly simply 'Di', and not by her formal name. But Nessie it is. If you insist."
She cleared her throat nervously. "So, dinner then? Or what do you have planned?" she asked, changing the subject.
Sam was so formal. Sometimes it made her uncomfortable, but it was his charm and formality that had made her feel safe with him from that first introduction. She recalled thinking she'd never find a true gentleman, one with real manners, and then, as fate would have it, there he had stood.
He reached up and cupped her face, as if he hadn't heard her question. "Yes, so very beautiful," he whispered, with a far away look. "Like a butterfly," he thought.
He reached up and cupped her face, as if he hadn't heard her question. "Yes, so very beautiful," he whispered, with a far away look. "Like a butterfly," he thought.
Her face, lightly blushed, had a dewy glow. Her lips, slightly pouty, were dressed in soft pink gloss. But it was her wide eyes, made wider by a pale white shadow, with dark liner and long dark lashes that caught his affection. Yes, they had been the draw since day one.
She was flattered. No man had ever given her compliments like he had, and it meant a lot to her, having felt like a plain Jane growing up. She assumed he meant "painted lady" as a compliment, and she began to feel a blush coming on.
"Let's get going, I'm starving!" she said, trying to take the focus off herself.
He clicked off the light over his work, turned and reached for the small of her back, and guided her up the stairs to the kitchen where they gathered up their belongings -- keys, wallet, purse -- and headed out the door.
As they settled in the car and buckled up, he paused briefly and smiled at her. "Music, my dear?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but reached for the knob and turned it. There was a moment of silence and then...."At laaaast, my love has come a-long.... My lonely days are over... And life is like a song..."
She was flattered. No man had ever given her compliments like he had, and it meant a lot to her, having felt like a plain Jane growing up. She assumed he meant "painted lady" as a compliment, and she began to feel a blush coming on.
"Let's get going, I'm starving!" she said, trying to take the focus off herself.
He clicked off the light over his work, turned and reached for the small of her back, and guided her up the stairs to the kitchen where they gathered up their belongings -- keys, wallet, purse -- and headed out the door.
As they settled in the car and buckled up, he paused briefly and smiled at her. "Music, my dear?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but reached for the knob and turned it. There was a moment of silence and then...."At laaaast, my love has come a-long.... My lonely days are over... And life is like a song..."
"Ahhhh, my favorite CD," he said.
Etta James. She marveled at how that old standard never really got old. As they wound their way on the two-lane, her mind wandered to the day they met.
*********
"A pretty painted lady!" She looked up from stocking the plants, and saw him extending his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself." She was not accustomed to such formalities at the nursery where she worked, or anywhere for that matter.
"I'm Samil, but you can call me Sam."
"Hello, Sam. I'm Vanessa, but they call me Nessie." She wiped her hands on her apron and extended her hand. "What can I help you with today?" She smiled nervously, taken aback by his saucy introduction. Still, she was intrigued by his charm.
"I am looking for plants that will attract butterflies," he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmmm. Let me see. Come this way." She led him to the section of brightly colored flowers. And under the display were canisters of seeds. She sorted through them until she found one that said that said, "Butterfly Mix."
"I guess I should have asked. Do you want to start from seed, or with something that is already started for you?"
"Which is better, in your opinion?"
"It depends on what you like, and how much time you want to invest in cultivation. And of course, seeds are much cheaper. But they do take longer." She couldn't get a read on what he might prefer.
"My dear, I think I shall get both kinds. That way I'm sure to attract a wide variety, don't you think?"
"Sounds like it can't fail!" she nodded her head in agreement, then led him to the blooming starters and helped him select the healthiest plants -- two boxes with eighteen each and a canister of seeds that could simply be sprinkled and left to grow without much tending.
"Oh, I almost forgot! You'll need some fertilizer."
"Fertilizer? I suppose I do. I'm afraid I'm not very good at this science of gardening... my passion is butterflies, not so much gardening. You see, I'm a collector."
"Do you have someone to help you? Where do you live? " She winced at her questions and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business, really. I was just thinking if you needed some consultation I could swing by on my way home from work and show you how to get started. I didn't mean to be so forward."
Etta James. She marveled at how that old standard never really got old. As they wound their way on the two-lane, her mind wandered to the day they met.
*********
"A pretty painted lady!" She looked up from stocking the plants, and saw him extending his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself." She was not accustomed to such formalities at the nursery where she worked, or anywhere for that matter.
"I'm Samil, but you can call me Sam."
"Hello, Sam. I'm Vanessa, but they call me Nessie." She wiped her hands on her apron and extended her hand. "What can I help you with today?" She smiled nervously, taken aback by his saucy introduction. Still, she was intrigued by his charm.
"I am looking for plants that will attract butterflies," he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmmm. Let me see. Come this way." She led him to the section of brightly colored flowers. And under the display were canisters of seeds. She sorted through them until she found one that said that said, "Butterfly Mix."
"I guess I should have asked. Do you want to start from seed, or with something that is already started for you?"
"Which is better, in your opinion?"
"It depends on what you like, and how much time you want to invest in cultivation. And of course, seeds are much cheaper. But they do take longer." She couldn't get a read on what he might prefer.
"My dear, I think I shall get both kinds. That way I'm sure to attract a wide variety, don't you think?"
"Sounds like it can't fail!" she nodded her head in agreement, then led him to the blooming starters and helped him select the healthiest plants -- two boxes with eighteen each and a canister of seeds that could simply be sprinkled and left to grow without much tending.
"Oh, I almost forgot! You'll need some fertilizer."
"Fertilizer? I suppose I do. I'm afraid I'm not very good at this science of gardening... my passion is butterflies, not so much gardening. You see, I'm a collector."
"Do you have someone to help you? Where do you live? " She winced at her questions and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business, really. I was just thinking if you needed some consultation I could swing by on my way home from work and show you how to get started. I didn't mean to be so forward."
"Not at all. Miss Vanessa, I would be honored to have your expertise in the garden. And I would be happy to show you my butterfly collection while you are there. Do you like butterflies?"
"Who doesn't like butterflies? I mean, as children, we learn to love them and catch them. They represent a sort of freedom, I suppose."
"Ah, yes. Children like to set them free, watch them fly," he said. "When I began collecting, I realized I could sustain their beauty. Did you know there are butterfly collections that date back to the 1700's? There are butterflies in those collections that are now extinct."
He became quite animated as he continued. "It's more than a hobby for me. It's an act of preservation, a duty you might say." He continued, "The butterfly is an amazing creature of nature, starting out as larvae, progressing to a lowly caterpillar that hides from the world for a period of time while it is transformed into a beautiful, winged thing. It's so terribly sad that butterflies have such short lifespans. And that's why I enjoy preserving them...to give them an everlasting tribute to their remarkable elegance."
She listened intently. She had never met someone with such a passion for anything.
"How long have you been collecting?" she asked.
"For as long as I can remember," he said. "Well, at least since I was a boy. My parents traveled the world as missionaries, you see. It was hard to make long-standing friendships, so I became friends with nature; I quickly realized butterflies were in all parts of the world, and it just seemed natural to collect them as souvenirs. I educated myself on how to preserve them, and that's how my collection started. With one delicate beauty, then another, and so on."
Nessie looked back at the register and noticed a growing line. He noticed, too.
"Oh, my dear, I'm keeping you from your work." He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a little pad of paper and began writing. "This is my address. I hope to see you after work. You are right. I could use some help."
She took the paper and folded it with care, and placed it in her pocket. "I will be there. You can count on it. Shortly after seven."
******
He was quite a few years her senior, but she had decided it didn't really matter. He seemed to adore her, and she had never been treated so much like a lady. He still hadn't even kissed her. In a world filled with handsy men, he was a rarity. But she was now longing for that kiss. Maybe it would happen tonight. She hoped.
Sam reached over and turned off the music.
"Do you know what tonight is, Vanessa?"
"Um. Help me out, Sam. I'm not sure."
"It is our four week anniversary... of the day we met, the day our mutual affections were first noted. Did you realize that?"
"I hadn't really given it much thought," she confessed. "Has it really been a month already?"
"Well, I consider it an honor to be with such a beautiful creature, and I intend to preserve this special night for us."
"And how do you intend to do that, kind sir?" she said playfully.
"It's a surprise. A big surprise. One you would have never expected."
She hoped it involved at least a first kiss.
Sam began slowing the vehicle as he approached the little side road that was off to the right. "I think it's time I introduce you to the ones in my life who have been most important to me." he explained.
"I thought we were headed to the restaurant." She was confused at the change in plans. And she was still hungry.
"Patience, Vanessa. We're having drinks to kick off the celebration," he explained. "And then we'll see where it leads us."
The road began to narrow and eventually turned into a gravel road with grass growing up the middle.
"Where are we going?" asked Vanessa.
"To meet those who have been important to me." His voice had become soft, almost a whisper, like he was talking to himself.
Just up the road they came to a old metal arbor, with iron letters that read "Cemetery."
As they drove through it she asked, "This cemetery... is your family is here?" But there was no response.
She listened intently. She had never met someone with such a passion for anything.
"How long have you been collecting?" she asked.
"For as long as I can remember," he said. "Well, at least since I was a boy. My parents traveled the world as missionaries, you see. It was hard to make long-standing friendships, so I became friends with nature; I quickly realized butterflies were in all parts of the world, and it just seemed natural to collect them as souvenirs. I educated myself on how to preserve them, and that's how my collection started. With one delicate beauty, then another, and so on."
Nessie looked back at the register and noticed a growing line. He noticed, too.
"Oh, my dear, I'm keeping you from your work." He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a little pad of paper and began writing. "This is my address. I hope to see you after work. You are right. I could use some help."
She took the paper and folded it with care, and placed it in her pocket. "I will be there. You can count on it. Shortly after seven."
******
He was quite a few years her senior, but she had decided it didn't really matter. He seemed to adore her, and she had never been treated so much like a lady. He still hadn't even kissed her. In a world filled with handsy men, he was a rarity. But she was now longing for that kiss. Maybe it would happen tonight. She hoped.
Sam reached over and turned off the music.
"Do you know what tonight is, Vanessa?"
"Um. Help me out, Sam. I'm not sure."
"It is our four week anniversary... of the day we met, the day our mutual affections were first noted. Did you realize that?"
"I hadn't really given it much thought," she confessed. "Has it really been a month already?"
"Well, I consider it an honor to be with such a beautiful creature, and I intend to preserve this special night for us."
"And how do you intend to do that, kind sir?" she said playfully.
"It's a surprise. A big surprise. One you would have never expected."
She hoped it involved at least a first kiss.
Sam began slowing the vehicle as he approached the little side road that was off to the right. "I think it's time I introduce you to the ones in my life who have been most important to me." he explained.
"I thought we were headed to the restaurant." She was confused at the change in plans. And she was still hungry.
"Patience, Vanessa. We're having drinks to kick off the celebration," he explained. "And then we'll see where it leads us."
The road began to narrow and eventually turned into a gravel road with grass growing up the middle.
"Where are we going?" asked Vanessa.
"To meet those who have been important to me." His voice had become soft, almost a whisper, like he was talking to himself.
Just up the road they came to a old metal arbor, with iron letters that read "Cemetery."
As they drove through it she asked, "This cemetery... is your family is here?" But there was no response.
"Sam. Sam?"
He didn't answer, but continued to drive slowly past a patchwork of old tombstones, worn with age, names and dates barely visible. As he rounded a little hill, she noted a section of new tombstones at the periphery of the cemetery. When the car stopped, they were in front of them.
Sam continued his silence, as if overcome by sadness. Then suddenly, as if to cheer himself, said, "What do you say we have a drink? A glass of wine? To celebrate our special occasion!"
He didn't answer, but continued to drive slowly past a patchwork of old tombstones, worn with age, names and dates barely visible. As he rounded a little hill, she noted a section of new tombstones at the periphery of the cemetery. When the car stopped, they were in front of them.
Sam continued his silence, as if overcome by sadness. Then suddenly, as if to cheer himself, said, "What do you say we have a drink? A glass of wine? To celebrate our special occasion!"
He reached in the back and retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses. "My dear, let me do the honors." He opened the glove box and fumbled until he found it.. "A-ha!" he said, waving a corkscrew in victory. "Let us open the wine!"
He popped the cork and inspected the glasses as he held them up to the setting sun. She noticed an initial etched in each glass. He handed her the glass marked "V". Let me pour this for you my dear. He began to fill her glass, and swirled it ever so gently. "A special drink for a special lady. Now take a sip."
"Thank you, Sam. You think of everything."
It really was peaceful there. As they sat in silence, she still wasn't sure why they had come, and she began to feel a little lightheaded, from being hungry, she assumed.
"Sam, this is a beautifull place. But we need to get to the restaurant soon. I'm starting to feel light headed."
"Vanessa, my dear, do you know what a Painted Lady is?" he asked.
"I assumed it was a pretty lady," she said, taking another sip. The name had always flattered her.
"Nessie. Nessie, my dear, naïve Nessie. No. No. No," His tone had changed and he seemed to be mocking her now. Puzzled, she looked at him. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke. His words were flat, but distinct, as his eyes fixed in the distance. "My parents."
"Pardon me?" She didn't understand the statement.
"They were abhorrent people."
"I thought they were missionaries, people of God," she said, taking another sip. She tasted an unfamiliar bitterness this time, and suddenly felt very nauseated.
"Do you know what "Samil" means, my dear?"
"Sam, I'm not feeling so well. I think I'm going to be sick."
"It means, 'Angel of Death.' My parents -- missionaries -- named me 'Angel of Death.' What God-fearing people taunt God like that? It's always been a mystery to me."
Nessie felt her whole body beginning to turn against itself. She couldn't help but release an unsettling moan.
He turned to her, put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Vanessa, a Painted Lady is a butterfly! A beautiful butterfly! The only truly beautiful thing on this earth. When I saw you at the nursery - your name tag: "Vanessa." Like my precious Vanessa Cardui, the Painted Lady butterfly. Your eyes, like the lovely eyespots on her wings... white spots hemmed in black... why, don't you see? You're a Painted Lady in human form!"
As she tried to pull away, he leaned in toward her and cupped her face, "Sadly, my dear, her life span is no more than four weeks." He looked in her eyes directly with a knowing pity. "Vanessa, I so enjoyed your company, our brief time together. But it's time." He paused, and lipped a count on his fingers... one...two...three...four.... "Why, it is four weeks today. Exactly."
Nessie fumbled for the handle and finally opened the door. Her heart was beating quickly, and her head was spinning as a lump rose up in her throat. The realization he had poisoned her was sinking in. She fell out of the car, but stumbled to her feet. With tears in her eyes and head reeling she made her way toward the tombstones. What she began to read sickened her, as she began to realize his chilling plan. Each of the tombstones was engraved with what appeared to be the name and species of butterflies. A familiar name caught her eye as she collapsed.
He popped the cork and inspected the glasses as he held them up to the setting sun. She noticed an initial etched in each glass. He handed her the glass marked "V". Let me pour this for you my dear. He began to fill her glass, and swirled it ever so gently. "A special drink for a special lady. Now take a sip."
"Thank you, Sam. You think of everything."
It really was peaceful there. As they sat in silence, she still wasn't sure why they had come, and she began to feel a little lightheaded, from being hungry, she assumed.
"Sam, this is a beautifull place. But we need to get to the restaurant soon. I'm starting to feel light headed."
"Vanessa, my dear, do you know what a Painted Lady is?" he asked.
"I assumed it was a pretty lady," she said, taking another sip. The name had always flattered her.
"Nessie. Nessie, my dear, naïve Nessie. No. No. No," His tone had changed and he seemed to be mocking her now. Puzzled, she looked at him. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke. His words were flat, but distinct, as his eyes fixed in the distance. "My parents."
"Pardon me?" She didn't understand the statement.
"They were abhorrent people."
"I thought they were missionaries, people of God," she said, taking another sip. She tasted an unfamiliar bitterness this time, and suddenly felt very nauseated.
"Do you know what "Samil" means, my dear?"
"Sam, I'm not feeling so well. I think I'm going to be sick."
"It means, 'Angel of Death.' My parents -- missionaries -- named me 'Angel of Death.' What God-fearing people taunt God like that? It's always been a mystery to me."
Nessie felt her whole body beginning to turn against itself. She couldn't help but release an unsettling moan.
He turned to her, put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Vanessa, a Painted Lady is a butterfly! A beautiful butterfly! The only truly beautiful thing on this earth. When I saw you at the nursery - your name tag: "Vanessa." Like my precious Vanessa Cardui, the Painted Lady butterfly. Your eyes, like the lovely eyespots on her wings... white spots hemmed in black... why, don't you see? You're a Painted Lady in human form!"
As she tried to pull away, he leaned in toward her and cupped her face, "Sadly, my dear, her life span is no more than four weeks." He looked in her eyes directly with a knowing pity. "Vanessa, I so enjoyed your company, our brief time together. But it's time." He paused, and lipped a count on his fingers... one...two...three...four.... "Why, it is four weeks today. Exactly."
Nessie fumbled for the handle and finally opened the door. Her heart was beating quickly, and her head was spinning as a lump rose up in her throat. The realization he had poisoned her was sinking in. She fell out of the car, but stumbled to her feet. With tears in her eyes and head reeling she made her way toward the tombstones. What she began to read sickened her, as she began to realize his chilling plan. Each of the tombstones was engraved with what appeared to be the name and species of butterflies. A familiar name caught her eye as she collapsed.
MY PRECIOUS DIANA FRITILLARY
Classification: Family Nymphalidae,
Genus Speyeria,
Species S. Diana
June 15 - August 1
MY PRECIOUS VANESSA CARDUI
Classification: Family Nymphalidae
Genus Vanessa
June 15 - August 1
Crawling on the ground, she clawed for the next tombstone, hoping to get a firm grip and to steady herself. She had to wake up from this nightmare. Unable to right herself, she lay on the ground and looking up what she read on the stone next to a freshly dug grave confirmed her impending doom as darkness closed in around her:
MY PRECIOUS VANESSA CARDUI
Classification: Family Nymphalidae
Genus Vanessa
Species Cardui (Painted Lady)
May 3 - May 31
* * * * * * * *
It was well past dark when he put the shovel in the car. He closed the trunk with a thud, and took his seat at the wheel. Again, he got in the glove box, this time for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. He breathed the chill of the air and marveled again at how fortunate he had been to inherit the family ground.
The drive home was quiet. Too quiet. He reached for the knob and turned it. There was a moment of silence and then...."At laaaast, my love has come a-long.... My lonely days are over... And life is like a song..."
The drive home was quiet. Too quiet. He reached for the knob and turned it. There was a moment of silence and then...."At laaaast, my love has come a-long.... My lonely days are over... And life is like a song..."
Once home, he seated himself at his table, clicked on the light, and pulled out the glycine envelope. With tweezers, he carefully retrieved his treasure from inside. There she was, in all her beauty. His Painted Lady butterfly. He spread her wings and placed her on the spreading board.
"My precious Vanessa." There was pride in his tone.
He pulled his hands back to reveal the tag he had pinned to her, three carefully written lines, in the tiniest little letters:
Classification: Family Nymphalidae
Genus Vanessa
Species Cardui (The Painted Lady)
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
The Perfect Spot
Tatum felt relieved she didn't have to take the next flight of stairs. She was exhausted from carrying most of the heavy things up the first flight by herself. With a final burst of effort and an audible "umph!," she scooted the last box across the threshold with her foot, and closed the door behind her. Leaning back against the door, arms crossed, she panned the room with a sense of satisfaction. She had organized the packing so the boxes and tubs could be taken to their assigned rooms, and their contents quickly made to feel at home where they belonged.
Getting her second wind, she righted herself and began a room to room check of her new home. When she had paid the landlord her deposit, he reminded her, almost as a scolding, "You have twenty-four hours to let me know if there's anything wrong with the place. If I find something wrong when you leave and you haven't told me about it, you won't be getting this back." She recalled how he waved her check at her with a look of skepticism on his face.
He had seemed a bit cranky, perhaps hardened to the process, but he had come highly recommended as the most fair and reliable landlord in town, even if he was a bit peculiar. Tatum had considered one of his rental homes, but the thought of tending a yard every weekend made her back away from that idea like a child from a snake. Apartment life with no outdoor responsibilities suited her just fine.
She began her inspection by checked the doors to be sure they shut tightly. They all seemed in good working order, latching properly and the like. She checked the carpets for stains, and the ceilings and walls for holes or other issues that might cause her to lose her deposit. She had hated paying a deposit equal to two month's rent, but she knew she would get half of it back, and having an extra cash the her pocket when she moved out would be like having a little surprise savings account, minus the interest, of course.
Over the next few hours, Tatum unpacked her belongings room by room. It was lonely unpacking things by herself, but she knew the help she had asked for was truly only for moving, not unpacking. She had said her good-byes to her former neighbors with tears and a hug, and watched them drive away, knowing in her gut their friendship would eventually be forgotten. But for now, they had all promised to keep in touch, and made plans to "get together sometime soon." She smiled a sideways smile as she remembered how many identical plans had been made and broken with others over the years. Maybe this time will be different, she thought to herself. But she knew it wouldn't.
The excitement of moving here was still fresh; She was happy Neal had stopped by to help re-assemble her bed. As payment, she offered to detail his car, but he brushed her off with a kiss on the cheek, and said, "No, sis. It's O.K. Brothers are supposed to help their sisters. Besides, you've got the beauty, and I've got the brawn, right?" He flexed his arms, bulges appearing under his tee. "You definitely got the brawn," she said with a smile, remembering when they would razz each other about who was strongest. Funny how in just a few short years her kid brother had become a man, although it was still hard to think of him that way.
It had felt good to reconnect. She had welcomed his help, even though he couldn't stick around to talk. The feeling of gratefulness lingered as she fell back on the bed, exhausted. Hands behind her head, she looked corner to corner at the ceiling, and then noticed a small black mark near the center of the ceiling, no bigger than a nickel. She hadn't noticed it before. Something to make note of for the landlord, she thought.. Not giving it anymore thought, she continued to ponder the day, and eventually fell asleep without even getting under the covers.
It wasn't long before the urge to pee nagged her to wake up. She felt annoyed as she made her way to the bathroom and saw she had left every light on in the apartment. Dad would have killed me by now, leaving all these light on. She giggled at the thought of becoming an adult, as she started a proper bedtime routine that included brushing her teeth and turning out all the lights. Then she stumbled into bed and properly tucked herself in under the covers. "Curious," she thought, fixing her eyes on the mysterious pock, now barely visible in the grey. It seemed larger than before, but maybe it was just her imagination. She vowed silently to check it out further in the morning.
"Goodnight new home," she said in a whisper. With an exhalation of contentment that comes with finally being settled, she smiled and drifted off to sleep.
She had set her alarm for 8 a.m., and was surprised when she awoke ready to face the day without it. She sat up and pulled the clock to her face to verify that she was indeed up earlier than she had wanted to be. Confirmed: 6:30. Ugh. She flopped her head back down on the pillow in disappointment. And then her eyes again took note of the ceiling.
The dubious area had grown. It was three inches wide now. It didn't appear to be a hole anymore, but more like a spot, mold perhaps. Tatum slowly peeled the covers back, not taking her eyes off it. She carefully got on her knees and with a wobbliness that was almost dangerous, rose to the middle of her bed to get a bit closer. Just as she reached up to touch it, her phone rang. She clumsily plopped down and rolled off the bed to answer it.
"Oh, Neal! Yes, I'm doing fine. Yes, it's perfect! You're calling early, what's up? Breakfast? Give me twenty minutes and I'll be waiting for you outside." She hung up, and began her morning routine at a quickened pace, brushing her teeth, putting her hair in a messy bun, and dusting her make-up with a much lighter application than her work-week required. She pulled on her "Keep Calm and Coffee On" tee, a gift from the office crew on her last birthday that had just missed the mark. She wasn't a coffee drinker, and apparently they hadn't noticed.
Once outside, she realized just how much fun it was going to be, living in the same suburb as Neal . Even though she had moved back to the area several years ago, they had both been too busy with their respective careers to make time for each other. But now, each with a measure of success and the ability to enjoy what they had accomplished, they could seek out opportunities to "catch-up." And living close to him was one of the benefits of her new apartment.
After ninety minutes of sharing the week's events, Neal said he had to get back to start on his yard. Tatum smiled inside, pleased with her choice to forego one. She would much rather spend her time at home doing things she loved, not things she had to. With the unpacking nearly complete, this weekend would be devoted to getting to know the neighborhood better, scouting shops in the local strip mall, and driving around looking for places to eat that she and Neal might delight in over the next few months. Although Neal had lived in this neighborhood for over a year now, he wasn't much of an adventurer. Until now he had been perfectly content to grab coffee and a donut on his way to work and eat microwaved dinners when he got home. He would surely appreciate her efforts to find a place that would make meals a little more enjoyable, especially in the company of his big sister.
She returned home with pleasing sense of independence and accomplishment that almost brought tears to her eyes. She climbed the stairs to the landing, inserted the key, and gave it a turn. When the door opened, she smelled the familiarity of her things. Home.
"Finally, my own place." she said out loud. My own spot, she thought. And then she remembered: The spot!
She moved toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she approached. As the realization of what she was seeing hit her, she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. In the light of day, she could see the spot had doubled in size and was not black, but black with a crimson outline, and a gooey, glistening center.
It wasn't mold. It was seeping blood. Someone's blood. In disbelief, she slowly pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Her heart sank as she began to dial 911. She could only imagine what had taken place above her. In reality, Tatum knew the emergency was over. This was merely a report, and her next call would be to notify the landlord.
Getting her second wind, she righted herself and began a room to room check of her new home. When she had paid the landlord her deposit, he reminded her, almost as a scolding, "You have twenty-four hours to let me know if there's anything wrong with the place. If I find something wrong when you leave and you haven't told me about it, you won't be getting this back." She recalled how he waved her check at her with a look of skepticism on his face.
He had seemed a bit cranky, perhaps hardened to the process, but he had come highly recommended as the most fair and reliable landlord in town, even if he was a bit peculiar. Tatum had considered one of his rental homes, but the thought of tending a yard every weekend made her back away from that idea like a child from a snake. Apartment life with no outdoor responsibilities suited her just fine.
She began her inspection by checked the doors to be sure they shut tightly. They all seemed in good working order, latching properly and the like. She checked the carpets for stains, and the ceilings and walls for holes or other issues that might cause her to lose her deposit. She had hated paying a deposit equal to two month's rent, but she knew she would get half of it back, and having an extra cash the her pocket when she moved out would be like having a little surprise savings account, minus the interest, of course.
Over the next few hours, Tatum unpacked her belongings room by room. It was lonely unpacking things by herself, but she knew the help she had asked for was truly only for moving, not unpacking. She had said her good-byes to her former neighbors with tears and a hug, and watched them drive away, knowing in her gut their friendship would eventually be forgotten. But for now, they had all promised to keep in touch, and made plans to "get together sometime soon." She smiled a sideways smile as she remembered how many identical plans had been made and broken with others over the years. Maybe this time will be different, she thought to herself. But she knew it wouldn't.
The excitement of moving here was still fresh; She was happy Neal had stopped by to help re-assemble her bed. As payment, she offered to detail his car, but he brushed her off with a kiss on the cheek, and said, "No, sis. It's O.K. Brothers are supposed to help their sisters. Besides, you've got the beauty, and I've got the brawn, right?" He flexed his arms, bulges appearing under his tee. "You definitely got the brawn," she said with a smile, remembering when they would razz each other about who was strongest. Funny how in just a few short years her kid brother had become a man, although it was still hard to think of him that way.
It had felt good to reconnect. She had welcomed his help, even though he couldn't stick around to talk. The feeling of gratefulness lingered as she fell back on the bed, exhausted. Hands behind her head, she looked corner to corner at the ceiling, and then noticed a small black mark near the center of the ceiling, no bigger than a nickel. She hadn't noticed it before. Something to make note of for the landlord, she thought.. Not giving it anymore thought, she continued to ponder the day, and eventually fell asleep without even getting under the covers.
It wasn't long before the urge to pee nagged her to wake up. She felt annoyed as she made her way to the bathroom and saw she had left every light on in the apartment. Dad would have killed me by now, leaving all these light on. She giggled at the thought of becoming an adult, as she started a proper bedtime routine that included brushing her teeth and turning out all the lights. Then she stumbled into bed and properly tucked herself in under the covers. "Curious," she thought, fixing her eyes on the mysterious pock, now barely visible in the grey. It seemed larger than before, but maybe it was just her imagination. She vowed silently to check it out further in the morning.
"Goodnight new home," she said in a whisper. With an exhalation of contentment that comes with finally being settled, she smiled and drifted off to sleep.
She had set her alarm for 8 a.m., and was surprised when she awoke ready to face the day without it. She sat up and pulled the clock to her face to verify that she was indeed up earlier than she had wanted to be. Confirmed: 6:30. Ugh. She flopped her head back down on the pillow in disappointment. And then her eyes again took note of the ceiling.
The dubious area had grown. It was three inches wide now. It didn't appear to be a hole anymore, but more like a spot, mold perhaps. Tatum slowly peeled the covers back, not taking her eyes off it. She carefully got on her knees and with a wobbliness that was almost dangerous, rose to the middle of her bed to get a bit closer. Just as she reached up to touch it, her phone rang. She clumsily plopped down and rolled off the bed to answer it.
"Oh, Neal! Yes, I'm doing fine. Yes, it's perfect! You're calling early, what's up? Breakfast? Give me twenty minutes and I'll be waiting for you outside." She hung up, and began her morning routine at a quickened pace, brushing her teeth, putting her hair in a messy bun, and dusting her make-up with a much lighter application than her work-week required. She pulled on her "Keep Calm and Coffee On" tee, a gift from the office crew on her last birthday that had just missed the mark. She wasn't a coffee drinker, and apparently they hadn't noticed.
Once outside, she realized just how much fun it was going to be, living in the same suburb as Neal . Even though she had moved back to the area several years ago, they had both been too busy with their respective careers to make time for each other. But now, each with a measure of success and the ability to enjoy what they had accomplished, they could seek out opportunities to "catch-up." And living close to him was one of the benefits of her new apartment.
After ninety minutes of sharing the week's events, Neal said he had to get back to start on his yard. Tatum smiled inside, pleased with her choice to forego one. She would much rather spend her time at home doing things she loved, not things she had to. With the unpacking nearly complete, this weekend would be devoted to getting to know the neighborhood better, scouting shops in the local strip mall, and driving around looking for places to eat that she and Neal might delight in over the next few months. Although Neal had lived in this neighborhood for over a year now, he wasn't much of an adventurer. Until now he had been perfectly content to grab coffee and a donut on his way to work and eat microwaved dinners when he got home. He would surely appreciate her efforts to find a place that would make meals a little more enjoyable, especially in the company of his big sister.
She returned home with pleasing sense of independence and accomplishment that almost brought tears to her eyes. She climbed the stairs to the landing, inserted the key, and gave it a turn. When the door opened, she smelled the familiarity of her things. Home.
"Finally, my own place." she said out loud. My own spot, she thought. And then she remembered: The spot!
She moved toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she approached. As the realization of what she was seeing hit her, she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. In the light of day, she could see the spot had doubled in size and was not black, but black with a crimson outline, and a gooey, glistening center.
It wasn't mold. It was seeping blood. Someone's blood. In disbelief, she slowly pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Her heart sank as she began to dial 911. She could only imagine what had taken place above her. In reality, Tatum knew the emergency was over. This was merely a report, and her next call would be to notify the landlord.
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