3.27 The abyss
I sighed. “I wanted to go to law school, but that didn’t pan out. I don’t know if I still want to do that now. I should know what I want at my age, but I don’t. I guess, the truth is that I just need more time. I need to grow up a bit.” Timothy walked towards me, his face serene, his eyes soft and gentle. “I will put you through law school if you want. You know that. Anything you want.” I turned away. “I don’t want your money. I want to be independent. I want to . . .” “Yes. To be a modern woman. I understand,” he added tenderly. I’d been about to walk into the bathroom. I needed a shower. No bubbles and soaking, just a plain shower so I could get the dust of the day out of my hair. But I stopped, freezing in place. I was remembering the story he’d told me, how he’d been so alone, the only one of his kind. Even his childhood friend, Andrew, wasn’t a pooka. And then Timothy had been forced to adapt to centuries and centuries of social change, to constant moving about to prevent the discovery of his identity. Few close friends. No relationships. He was really an amazing human being to have survived all that, except he wasn’t. Not a human being. Not exactly. But distrust of his alienness . . . or fear of being swept into the whirlwind that was Timothy. . . that wasn’t what was stopping me. It was leaving my grandmother’s apartment, quitting my job, and never seeing my friends again. No, he hadn’t said that I couldn’t do those things. He hadn’t required me to do anything, actually. He’d just said that he accepted my decisions and was waiting with patience . . . “Ok,” I said, turning around. “But can I still keep my job and live in my apartment, see my friends, and get a cat?” “Anything and everything,” he stated, giving me a full-faced and very genuine smile. I nodded and continued into the bathroom to shower. I half expected Timothy to join me, but he didn’t. Instead, when I stepped out of the bathroom, grabbed my clothes, and retreated back inside, he continued to sit on the couch staring into space. Had I broken him? Was he regretting the whole idea now? My shower had been quick. Dressed, I stepped out. My hair was wet, but I’d wrapped it up in a towel. I was wearing another of the new sweatshirts Timothy had bought me. This one said, Join the Herd. Underneath that was an etched panda shirt. Timothy had truly spoiled me, buying all the things he’d thought might please me. “I am happy that I have made you smile with the purchases I made for you, but I think we need to back up a bit,” he said with gravel in his voice and a stern look on his extremely handsome face. Here it came. Timothy was probably already wiggling out of his proposal. No surprise there. A gorgeous, rich guy wants to marry a plain legal secretary. Okay, so I had some fancy title, but what did it mean? Mr. Peters was right. I was just a simple secretary, a glorified one, perhaps, but ordinary.
3.26 The Abyss of WonderLand
I closed my eyes and thought about the day we’d just had, about, well, a lot of things, all of them connected to Timothy. I looked up, smiled, and said “Yes.” Timothy let out a yell, picked me up, and swung me around in the air. “I bless Jack Peters, then. He has swayed you to my side. He . . .” “No,” I said, stopping him with my finger over his mouth. “It wasn’t the golf guy. It was you.” “Leave us,” Timothy said, without a glance at the guards because his eyes were searching mine. The two guys turned about, almost military style, then paused. “What about dinner?” Bob asked. “Are we going down to the restaurant?” “Room service,” Timothy barked at him. Timothy followed them to the door, locked it, and turned to concentrate more fully on me. “Do you really mean you’re going to marry me, my darling?” I swallowed hard, but I didn’t avoid his gaze. Marriage. That was so final. So, well — for old people. For people who wanted to settle down and have children. Timothy chuckled. “I read that thought, my darling. I am old, and I do want to settle down. If children follow, I would welcome one or many.” I sighed again, disengaged from his arms and walked over to stick my nose in the midst of the yellow roses. I inhaled and savored the scent. I took a moment to think about what I wanted to say and to examine my pseudo promise. Breathing in the aroma of the room, the elegance all around me, the luxury of chocolate covered strawberries, I wondered if I were allowing that to influence me, but then I recalled my conversations with Timothy, the adventures we’d shared, his tenderness on the airplane, and the sweet intimate moments of our nights . . . I calmed myself and drew in a couple more deep breaths. “When you were my age, Timothy, when you were twenty-two, would you have been ready to settle down?” I asked, half challenging him and half curious. He gave me that devastating smile of his. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head and searching my face for understanding, “Yes, if I were with the right woman.” He walked over to the fancy couch, ran his hand over its arm rest, and turned to view me. “I had to wait a long time for you, Penelope. Forgive me if I try to rush you before you’re ready. I understand that you’re just starting out, exploring the world and your abilities. But, I promise that you can do that with me. I vow to support every one of your wishes.” I guess he realized that I was feeling pressured again. He sat down on the couch and asked, “What is it you want from life, Penelope, before being ready to pledge your heart to me?”
3.25 The Abyss of WonderLand
Three stops, and we piled out. The red carpet smelled like it had been freshly shampooed, a little like wet dog. I guess hotels had no choice but to constantly clean and paint. Fortunately, they hadn’t touched the inside of our room. It still smelled like our bouquet of roses. There was a new platter of goodies on the table: chocolate dipped strawberries, slices of pineapple on toothpicks, cherries, and red grapes, plus another big bowl of delicious apples. Traveling with Timothy was like having an Aladdin’s lamp. Imagine something wonderful, and there it suddenly was. Timothy was watching me notice everything, his eyes crinkled with good humor again. “You are a joy, my darling. I love how you see the world, your enthusiasm, the freshness of each discovery. You make life new.” Of course, I ran to embrace him for those kind words and then, although we probably smelled of zoo animals, we began kissing and stroking with abandon. I think it would have progressed nicely if a knock hadn’t sounded at the door. “Yes?” Timothy responded, his voice thick with irritation as he glanced at the door. “Boss, we have a problem,” Terry said. Romance went out the window. Terry and Bob walked inside the room and sat down in the two guest chairs. Bob was eyeing the apples. I offered him one. “What’s the problem?” Timothy barked at them. “Bob walked downstairs to do a little surveillance and found that Peters has called the papers to announce a breaking story. He claims he has a lead in his investigative report of the supernatural.” “You mean that old photo he showed us?” I said. “That’s hardly going to interest a crack team of reporters. They’ll laugh in his face.” “I hope so,” Terry said. “No one may even show up, but I thought you should know.” Timothy nodded. “There may be some stupid rag that’s interested in his kind of yellow journalism, but no one is going to get excited about vampires who eat scrambled eggs.” “Is it time to disappear again?” I asked. Timothy shook his head. “He can’t touch us, darling. This is all fluff. It will blow away. Only he’s becoming irritating. We may have to hand him over to . . .” He glanced down at me, then walked closer, so he could drape his arms around me. “And if I had told you that we had to disappear, Penelope, would you have been willing to join me?”
3.24 The Abyss of WonderLand
“That was a marvelous day,” I said, and Bob nodded his head. He started to say something else, but Terry nudged him into silence. Since Bob wasn’t speaking, I continued. “You’re the absolute best, Timothy. I loved every minute of our tour and the restaurant, and the adorable cap and my sweatshirt. Thank you, thank you!” We’d climbed into the car by that time and were heading back to the hotel, sitting on truly comfortable leather seats that, I guess like all limos, smelled of high quality saddlery. Timothy handed me a bottled water and told the guys to help themselves. There were cookies on a platter for us inside the limo. Terry made a pig of himself, eating four of them. I hoped we didn’t crumb up the vehicle too badly. Sighing loudly after eating a scrumptious chocolate chip with walnut cookie, I added, “I have to admit, though, poor San Francisco. I feel like a traitor for saying this, but San Diego is the absolute best zoo I’ve ever been to.” Bob, even with Terry nudging him to be quiet, agreed. “Yeah, I really liked that big polar bear. He was a good fisherman, I mean, fisher bear.” I guess we were all punchy tired by then. Every one of us broke out in laughter, even though the comment wasn’t really that funny. Our hotel wasn’t far. We were soon climbing out of the limo and entering the huge reception area, only to see the golfing guy sitting on one of the couches. The tiresome, Mr. Peters had been waiting for us. Timothy’s face got all dark cumulonimbus cloud, and I could tell a big storm was about to hit. It reminded me of the way Timothy had looked when I first met him: somber, moody and rude. I jerked Timothy’s arm. “He can’t do anything to irritate us further. We just have to walk by him, paying no attention, right?” Timothy let out a big sigh, moved forward, and ignoring the mad hatter golf maniac, strode us forward toward the elevator. “Just a minute,” Mr. Peters called out. “I need to speak with you.” He yelled that clear across the reception room. All eyes in the large reception area pinpointed on him, then swept over our group as if we’d been partly the cause of their broken peace. The four of us kept walking as if we hadn’t heard Mr. Peters. It was the right thing to do. By the time the vampire hunter leapt up and started running toward the elevator, we’d already entered and were heading up to our rooms. I was surprised when Timothy pressed our actual floor, but then he pressed four other numbers, as well, two above and two below ours. That seemed overkill to me. Mr. Peters didn’t have a key to our rooms. He couldn’t invade when we were safely tucked in place.
3.23 The Abyss of WonderLand
The menu in the restaurant had a long listing of drinks, most of them alcoholic. I wanted the Kookaberry Mojito, just for the name, but since I didn’t like alcohol, I got a passion fruit iced tea. It was yummy. The guys ordered fancy beers. After our lunch, which probably cost a fortune since it was served inside the jungle with a real waterfall, we met Danny again and continued our zoo tour. My favorite place was the swamp monkey and otter habitat. The two different species were in an incredibly beautiful location with running water and tall trees, and the otters came out and played with the monkeys. The animals were like a kittens or puppies, pawing, kissing, and chasing each other around. I truthfully could have stayed there forever. It was not only great fun to watch, but completely peaceful. Danny patiently waited for us to return to the tram. When we climbed back inside, he told us that we’d hired him until five-thirty since we’d taken an hour off for lunch, but Timothy shook his head and said, “I think we’ll be done soon. There’s no sense overstaying our welcome with the zoo animals.” He took a moment to receive my nod. This zoo had all been amazing, but I agreed that we were tired. With that thought in mind, Danny drove us down Easy Street to Park Way, passing bears and koalas, headed slowly up the path where the big cats were absorbing the sunshine, then stopped at the Panda Trek. Of course, we had to get out there, but we piled back in a few minutes later. Then the lanes wove us around a herd of antelopes and finally stopped at the Polar Bear Plunge. There, the bears were swimming all around in a lake of water. The park had supplied the fluffy white guys with fish, and the polar bears were having a great time selecting their dinner. Watching them was a real treat. When we finally left the polar bears to their successful fishing, the five of us ate ice cream cones and drank coffee or sodas. Then we thanked Danny for his wonderful job at giving us inside tips and information about the animals, walked over to the Sky Fari and climbed into the bucket ride that went from West to East. It was a great way to look back at all the animals we hadn’t had time to visit, and a review of the ones we had. When we climbed out of our bucket, we were back at the front of the zoo. A short walk later we met up with our hired limo driver.
3.22 The Abyss of WonderLand
That morning, we saw giraffes, gorillas, elephants (one getting a pedicure,) penguins swimming with sharks, and hippos in the Lost Forest. Danny told us how the San Diego Zoo held a huge store of frozen genetics for over a thousand species. Its purpose was, of course, to prevent animals all over the world from dying out as some were doing in their native environments. I remembered how many people hated zoos, and I agreed about how wrong it was to separate elephants from their family, but the way the world was with people indiscriminately killing animals for sport and for animal parts, I was glad that zoos, like this one, were now driven by the needs of conservation and preservation. Danny told us that the close proximity of species in zoos also allowed scientists to research diagnostic treatments for animals in the wilds, and it allowed wild life specialists to become more informed about the animals’ dietary needs, since the decreasing areas of their homelands was also a major factor in the decline of endangered wildlife. Without the natural vegetation these animals were dependent on, fatality would be imminent. Anyway, thanks to Danny, I learned lots more things about the way places like the San Diego Zoo were helping wildlife to flourish. A couple hours into on our tour, we made a brief stop in the VIP Garden where we got zoo cookies, coffee, and an up-close giraffe visit. We followed that up with an amazing visit to the Giant Panda Habitat where we learned that pandas bleat like sheep. Danny told us these bear relatives can also roar, but we never heard them do that. One of the cubs began to squeal, though, kind of like a pigling, but a bit more frantic, like the little black and white baby was protesting something. Later, we stopped for lunch at Albert’s Restaurant which was right inside the Lost Forest Zone. The menu was short. The two guys started grumbling about the fancy foods, so Timothy ordered them exactly what I’d said I wanted: the cauliflower fried rice. The two seemed okay with that when Timothy told them they’d get steak in theirs. When the waiter came over to take our order, Timothy told our server to double the meat in each of the guards’ portions. That made Bob and Terry’s faces burst into full tooth-displaying smiles. My, they were handsome when they got rid of their growly faces.
3.21 The Abyss of WonderLand
It seemed that Timothy had been busy earlier in the morning. After finishing breakfast, we walked out to the front of the hotel, passing the stinky flowers and the huge bowl full of red apples in the lobby, and found a large black limo waiting for us. The car was shiny clean and came with a polite middle-aged driver bearing a full-toothed, gentle smile and a greeting of: “Good Morning, lady and gents.” Inside the flashy vehicle, on the seat, sat a white plastic bag that contained four baseball caps (tiger icons for Bob and Terry and two yellow giraffe caps for Timothy and me.) The sack also contained our entry tickets for the zoo plus an Overly Koalified zip up hoodie Timothy had purchased for me. We all gushed over them, even the two guys with their slightly embarrassed, uh, thanks, Boss. Then with our caps donned and my hoodie slipped on, we nicely zoo ready. The drive from the hotel to the zoo wasn’t long, and I was excited to think that we would soon be starting our 100 acre walking trek around the various zones to see the more than 12,000 animals, 4,000 of them rare and endangered species, but Timothy had other intentions. Besides ordering us each hats, he’d signed us up for a private seven hour tour, which is why we got a cute little tram to ride around in. What luxury! Our guide, who was also the cart’s driver, was Danny. He was a carrot-red head and very tall (six foot-seven?) man in his early thirties who, although his legs seemed to be the longest part of him, capably collapsed into his driver’s seat with the foldability of a transformer toy. He was also a bio-diversity scientist, he told us and said he liked to give monthly tours that allowed him to not only do PR for the zoo, but to get a good overview of the zoo animals. Once Danny found out we were interested, he was like a beaker of liquid, over-flowing with information. Every question anyone asked lit up his slightly freckled face, and his green eyes seemed to glow as he gave us details and explanations about the zoo and its animals. (Like the fact that the San Diego Zoo had the biggest colony of koalas and successfully breeds them, and that the zoo was the first of its kind, demonstrating a native and environmentally matched, open-aired, and cageless concept for each species of animal.) I’ll admit that at the beginning, it felt a little strange being scrunched up in a cart with five large males, but I soon forgot about that because Danny was so incredible. His stories and steady stream of knowledge kept us entertained and interested (even though just seeing the animals would have done that on its own, but as I said, such a tour was an additional bonus.)
3.20 The Abyss of WonderLand
With that parting thrust, Mr. Peters stood up, returned his chair to the table from which he’d taken it, and strode off without a backward glance. “Wow,” I said. “And we’ve been trying to avoid him? He’s a hair-brained idiot, but he doesn’t seem that dangerous. I mean, no stake ready to plunge. Not even any garlic, holy water, or giant Christian cross.” I was laughing, but Timothy, Terry, and Bob maintained their jaw-tightened grimaces, stiffened bodies, and tension-casting vibes. “See that he is gone,” Timothy ordered Bob, who’d pushed his plate to the side. Logical since it was completely empty. Unfortunately, from the expression on his face, I think that Bob had envisioned going back to the buffet for a second round, but the guard said nothing, stood up, and took off in the direction that Mr. Peters had headed. Terry had still been eating his way through the hash browns which had congealed into his pile of stewed tomatoes. He looked up, fork in the air. “Want me to move on him?” I set down my second half of the English muffin. Terry’s offer sounded like gangster talk to me. I turned to look at Timothy, watching the way his jaw clenched from the guard’s wording. “We keep him under surveillance,” Timothy said. Then he turned to look at Terry. “Mr. Peters is not to come near Penelope again, understood?” “Hey, I thought it was an interesting conversation,” I protested, this time not reaching out to soothe Timothy. The whole scene was making me nervous, not about a reporter gone vampire chaser, but because of my own boyfriend’s attitude and his warning to Terry, like this was a scene from some grade B mafia movie. I shook my head to clear out the cobwebs. “You know, I’m very glad I finally got to meet the errant golfer. This Van Helsing of journalists seems so much easier to stomach than some unknown bad guy. Mr. Peters wasn’t really harassing and spying on us. He was just trying to make sure I wasn’t the latest flavor of milkshake. So, sure, the guy is crazy, but I doubt he’s any danger to us — as long as we watch out for flying stakes.” Timothy sighed, shook his head, and gave me a quick smile. “More coffee?” he asked, not addressing my words at all. “I’m already floating,” I said. Timothy smiled at me with that marvelously inviting and sexy grin he had, and I practically melted against him. Perhaps he knew his effect on me because he squished me in closer, then whispered in my ear. “You handled him well, my darling, but I don’t want him near you. Please don’t engage with him again.” I shrugged in a non-committal way, knowing that I should tackle the overly protective attitude that Timothy was demonstrating, but he was drugging me with sex hormones. I simply slid deeper into his cuddle.
3.19 The Abyss of WonderLand
The black and white photo showed three men standing in a saloon with a woman dressed in a skimpy barmaid’s costume. The men wore cowboy attire, holstered guns atop black jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and, of course, dark Stetsons. I laughed. “Where did you get this? Was it one of those photography shops where you get to play dress up?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted to do one of those.” Beside me, Timothy was munching on a waffle, one with blueberry compote. My mouth watered. I picked up my muffin and took a bite. Yum. Not even the very persistent and nutty as a fruitcake Jack Peters could destroy the deliciousness of a honey-coated English muffin. However after my bite, I was back to sticky fingers. I licked my index finger, the recipient of a big honey drip. Luckily, I’d already passed the photo back, so it wasn’t contaminated by my breakfast smear. “This picture was taken in Texas in the year 1885,” Mr. Golf Jerk said. “Did you notice that one of the men was your lover, Timothy, or whatever he called himself in that century? “Okay,” I chuckled. “So someone looked like Timothy back in 1885. Do you have a picture of that cowboy drinking blood? Did Stetson Guy burn up when the sun came out?” Amused by the whole discussion, I munched on my English muffin half, sipped some coffee, and darted a look at the men. Timothy was quietly eating his breakfast, but the growling guards had stopped wolfing down their mostly empty plates. Their faces looked dark with shadows of beard stubble, which I hadn’t observed earlier. That was curious since I usually noticed things like that. I studied the two men more intensely. Both guys still seemed on edge, much more so than Timothy, although I doubted that he was as relaxed as he seemed. Tension was almost a perfume in the air. I breathed in deeply, wondering if I could actually smell such a thing. I couldn’t. My eyes moved on. Mr. Peters was more or less glaring at all of us. Obviously, he didn’t like it when people jeered at his statements, even if that someone was me, whom he’d come over to save from being Drink of the Day. Catching my eye, the man’s eyes softened a bit. “Scoff if you want, Ms. Casey, but I’m warning you. This man will bring your death. He is lethal.”
3.18 The Abyss of WonderLand
“After I speak to him, please?” I requested, hoping to find out what had made the man follow us from San Jose. Was his research that urgent that he couldn’t wait for us to return? Meanwhile, the waiter’s face paled and a spot of fear crept into his eyes. I’ve never seen a man carrying a hot pot of coffee back up so fast or speed away into the bowels of the kitchen like he did. He was probably a soccer player on his days off with legs that adroit at table weaving. “Let me understand this, Mr. Peters,” I said. “You really believe that Timothy is a vampire? Are you writing a fantasy story that makes you the Van Helsing in your tale?” Apparently, the man knew all about Dracula and the complete collection that followed concerning the dynamic vampire hunter (either from the books or the series.) Mr. Peters shook his head and an extremely brief smile flitted across his lips before he grew serious again. “My name is Jack, and yours is?” he asked, looking directly into my eyes and ignoring the three men sitting at our table. “You know who she is,” Timothy interjected, his face stern and his chin lowered like a boxing pro. “True,” the man said, still avoiding even a glance at Timothy. “Penelope Casey, age 22, secretary of sorts in . . .” Our two guards were actually growling for real. Not just fake doggy sounds, but angry wolf speech. I would have commented on that, but I needed to make sure that Timothy didn’t stand up and punch Mr. Peters. I settled my hand on Timothy’s arm and felt the instant subsiding of his tension as his muscles relaxed. “Yes, yes, anyone could have found that out. Not impressive,” Timothy broke in before I could question either Timothy or the strange Mr. Peters. No time either for a quick look in the growlers’ direction. Hadn’t anyone else heard their wolfy snarls? Actually, I was rather awed by Mr. Peter’s data, except for the secretary of sorts. I was more than a legal secretary. I was the head researcher and Mr. Sanders’ assistant, but I let that ride for the moment. I patted Timothy’s arm, calming him further. Then I turned my attention fully on the curly haired, mustached fellow who’d more or less attached himself to our group. “If you know anything about vampires, Jack Peters, you will know that vampires don’t eat real food . . . or drink coffee,” I informed him. “Vampires don’t saunter around in the daylight either, and . . . they have red eyes and cold, pale skin.” “Not this one,” the man cleared his voice, shook his head, and spoke. “I have proof this man is exactly what I said. Have you ever heard of day walkers, young lady?” Mr. Peters suddenly inserted his hand into his jacket pocket. Both guards stiffened. Bob went for his gun. Timothy simply took a bite of his scrambled eggs. Jack didn’t pull out the stake that I’d guessed he might be carrying since that was the instant method of death for vampires according to Buffy and other vampire series. Instead, what he clasped in his hand was merely an old black and white photo. He passed it to me. Timothy grabbed it from me, stared at it a moment, then apologized and handed it back to me with a sheepish expression.