On the Far Side of Darkness Read Free Page B

chuckle, and my hand goes across the table to squeeze hers.
    There’s an odd moment, when time freezes. Both of us look at our hands clasped together. Her eyes rise at the same instant mine do and we smile the same smile.
    That sudden frisson ends and I pull my hand back. “ Pardonez moi, cher. I didn’t mean to be so forward.”
    “I liked it, Georges. I’m not offended.”
    That smile shows on both our faces again.
    Our meal goes on. It strikes me, how strange this is. This isn’t a hunt for I have not the slightest intention of feeding upon Diane. In fact, I don’t even feel like a vampire. For the first time in over century I simply feel like a man.
    We linger over coffee and brandy, at my suggestion. Diane hasn’t ever had the pleasure of the two together after dinner. She finds it a wonderful complement to her meal. Our conversation continues its meandering course and it’s a surprise to us when the waiter asks us to pay our bill for the restaurant will close soon.
    Once done that I rise and help Diane from her chair. Then I hold her jacket for her. I crook my elbow and she puts her hand in it. Together we leave the restaurant.
    “May I escort you home, cheri? ”
    “You may.” She dimples at me. “I like that you are so formally courteous, Georges, and what does chérie mean?”
    “It’s the way I was raised, cher . My family is very minor nobility in Alsace. We keep to the old ways a lot.” That’s true, if two centuries out of date. “ Cheri means ‘sweet’ or ‘dear.’ Although correctly I should be saying ‘mon cheri’ which means ‘my sweet.’ I like the simpler sound though.”
    “So do I,” she replies as she lightly squeezes my forearm.
    So we start strolling in the direction of her apartment. The night is cool, on the edge of cold, and clear. At this hour the streets are nearly empty and the silence is a type of music. It’s the type of night I’ve always loved. The lovely woman on my arm adds to that feeling.
    As we go I ask about her family. Diane is an only child, born and raised on a farm in Mississippi. “I loved the place,” she tells me, “but I also had to leave. Can’t say why. I just felt I was meant to be somewhere else.” She went to university in New York getting a B.A. in history and an M.A. in library science. She’d taken the job at the university here a decade ago and had stayed in it. “It’s not the place I’m looking for, but I feel it might be a step towards it. I can’t explain the reason for it though.”
    “Perhaps,” I note, “you’re waiting for some one rather than some place.”
    She glances up and her eyes are warm. “Could be.”
    Diane looks forward and mumbles, “Oh, shit.” Her voice is both resigned and annoyed.
    I follow her gaze to note another woman heading towards us. Taller than Diane but shorter than me she has a blocky build. Her hair is cut very close and she glowers at us. A smell of rum, cheap rum, precedes her.
    “We’re done, Wendy,” Diane announces when the sturdy woman is several steps away. “So get lost.”
    Wendy looks at me with a stare so venomous that if I weren’t already dead I’d leave the ranks of the living. “This is who you left me for? A man? And a skinny fuck at that?”
    The lady on my arm sighs. “I didn’t leave you for anybody. I just left you. I’m not property and you treated me like I was.”
    The mannish woman snarls. “You kept forcing me to put my foot down. If you’d done what you were told I wouldn’t have had to get forceful.”
    That statement slams into my mind and that dark part of me rises. You do not treat some one as sweet as Diane this way!
    “ Pardonez moi, ” I interject. “If Mademoiselle Patterson doesn’t wish to speak with you I would strongly suggest you cease talking with her.” My ire thickens the words so that they come close to a growl.
    “Piss off, Frog!” Wendy snarls. She makes a phlegmy sound and purses her mouth to spit at me.
    That glob of mucus