Haven
Part Three
By Elsa Frohman
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: elsa@frohman.net
Disclaimer: Disclaimers are for wankers
Summary: Everyone deserves a little bit of respite.
Marielle takes him to the house closest to the motel. It's an
unimpressive place, one-story built of cement block with a tile
roof. Inside, the furnishings seem to be scavenged. Everything
is old, faded and frayed -- and nothing matches.
There's a small kitchen and Marielle stops there and fills three
chipped mugs from a bottle of pig's blood and warms them in
the microwave. She puts them on a tray and motions for him to
follow.
She leads him to one of the bedrooms and knocks on the door.
"Come."
He sees why they call this vampire "Richie" immediately -- the
face of a teenager, freckles, coppery red hair. The leader is
wearing jeans and a Lakers T-shirt.
But he also sees that the youthful appearance is deceptive. He
can tell that this is a very old vampire. The aura of antiquity
rolls off this one. He doesn't consider himself particularly
sensitive to this sort of thing, but here it's unmistakable.
He's intrigued. In his experience, the very old ones -- the ones
who make it past the half-millennium mark -- tend to look less
and less human. This vampire is the exception. He seems
entirely human.
"Welcome."
Richie rises and walks over, facing his visitor. He walks a circle
around him.
"You're absolutely right, my dear," he says to Marielle. "You
must learn to trust your impressions."
"How could it be? The prophecies ..."
Richie smiles. "My dear, you've forgotten the most important
prophecy I've taught you.
"And so it is written that things shall come to pass that have not
been prophesied."
He's a bit uncomfortable as Richie and Marielle discuss him as
if he is deaf and blind.
"Hello, still here," he says irritably.
Marielle hands him one of the mugs and gives another to
Richie.
"Forgive me. I'm being rude," Richie says. "Sometimes I forget
my social skills."
Richie motions him to an easy chair and sits down cross-legged
on a hassock himself.
"What do you want?" Richie asks.
He hesitates. He doesn't know, really. He decides to go with the
least involved answer.
"I want the pain to stop."
Richie gives him a long look. He taps his lips with a finger and
frowns.
"Do you know what is causing he pain?"
"This chip the friggin' government put in my head," he says, his
voice trembling.
Richie looks surprised and turns to Marielle. She senses what
her mentor wants and comes over, looking intently into his eyes
and holding her hands on either side of his head, a few inches
from his bleach-blond hair.
"There's something in there," she says at last. "Something
unnatural. Sharp edges. Little jolts of electricity."
Richie raises his eyebrows. "My, my. This is intriguing. Leave
us."
Marielle nods to Richie and leaves.
Richie sits looking at him, as if he expects something to happen.
"So, what's this all about?"
"I'm trying to decide what I should tell you. It's not an easy
question. I don't have a prophecy to rely on -- so I'm not entirely
certain about how things are supposed to turn out. Tell you too
much, and I could screw things up completely."
"Great. So this is all just a bloody waste of time."
"I hope not. I can't help you with your chip. I'm not very good at
technology. Always have Marielle program the VCR. Can't
even get that right. And Marielle is only a little better. She can
work a microwave and dial a telephone, but I wouldn't want her
around any machinery that could hurt someone.
"But, actually, I don't think the chip is the root of your problem.
It may be giving you headaches -- foreign object in your brain is
liable to do that to you. But that's sort of an Excedrin Extra
Strength sort of thing."
"If it's not the chip, what is it?"
Richie doesn't answer.
"Why don't you try asking me something else."
"What are you? I can tell you're very old. But you're not like any
old vampire I've ever run into."
"I am the road less traveled."
"You decided not to be evil."
"Not exactly. Evil -- such a vague term. I decided to stop
destroying. The universe does not give us -- vampires -- the
capacity to create. We are cut off from Brahma, the creator. So
we think of ourselves as the hand of Shiva. We forget that there
is a third path -- the way of Vishnu, the preserver. That's my
thing.
"That's why I think you're so interesting, by the way. There's a
lot of Shiva and just a bit of Vishnu in you -- and that's to be
expected. But you're the first vampire I've ever met who seemed
to have any Brahma in him. I wonder whether that chip you hate
so much unlocked it? Hard to say what's behind this.
"You've created something. That's what's messing you up right
now. Creation is incompatible with everything vampires are
conditioned to be. You can cast it out -- and you'll be
comfortable again. Or you can make it part of yourself. Who
knows what that will lead to? And I haven't a clue to which one
you're supposed to do.
"Maybe what's happened to you is an aberration -- one of those
random events that keeps the mechanism of the universe from
being entirely predictable. Or maybe this is a really significant
event -- something that is going to change everything."
"Bollocks. The fate of the universe doesn't pivot on my arse."
"Maybe, maybe not. If the beating of a butterfly wing can cause
a hurricane on the other side of the planet, who knows what you
could be responsible for."
He buries his face in his hands in despair. "Then you can't help
me."
"I can't help you make the decision, no."
"I think I'm losing my mind. I'm going to stay out and watch the
sunrise any morning now."
"I'm not surprised. Perhaps I can help you a little on that count.
You're welcome to stay here a few days if you like. Ask Rosa
for some of her herb tea. It should help with the headaches. And
Marielle can help you get some rest. I think that's your most
urgent need right now. You're exhausted. You've been fighting
this thing to the point where you're worn thinner than Charity's
chances of getting out of that block of ice."
"You watch Passions?"
"Yeah, you think Beth and Luis are going to find out about
Sheridan?"
"What if I just stay here?"
Richie sighs. "I'm afraid that's not an option. Not that we
wouldn't be tickled to have you. I think you'd fit in just fine with
our little community. But this isn't your place.
"This is the nowhere you've always heard about. I don't know
where you belong, but I'm certain it's somewhere. You're on a
journey. This is a rest stop. The road is still before you."
Marielle is waiting for him outside.
"Did he invite you to stay?"
"No."
"Pity. Oh well, Richie knows best."
"Said I could stay a couple of days."
"Good! It's always nice to have a new face around. We're all
very fond of one another, but the conversation does get worn
out after a while."
She takes him by the hand. "Let's go for a walk."
They walk out into the dessert beneath a moonless sky strewn
with glittering jewels. There's a cool breeze that carries a clean
scent of new foliage. The world is quiet except for a few insect
clicks and chirps, and the faint sound of Jerry's boom box back
at the barbecue. It's the Rolling Stones now.
I saw her today at the reception.
In her glass was a bleeding man.
She was practiced at the art of deception;
I could tell by her blood-stained hands.
And you can't always get what you want, honey.
You can't always get what you want.
You can't always get what you want,
But if you try sometime, yeah,
You just might find you get what you need!