White Rabbit Chapter 37

37.

Lady Goodyear put Delores to sleep simply by touching her face. It is a vampire trick as old as the moon. Before Delores had time to understand what had been said her eyelids closed and she was long gone. Lady Goodyear sat there and smiled watching Delores sleep. She adored young girls and fondly remembered being young herself but that was so long ago. It is true that the sorrowful part of being a vampire is watching everyone around you age and die while you linger like a bowl of plastic fruit. Agnes Goodyear was not an unscrupulous vampire from Hell. There is no Hell for her to come from (ask any Jehovah's Witness) but that is another matter entirely. She didn’t feed off her young borders or anyone that she cared for. Occasionally, she would pick up a stray, some wayward guy or girl but that wasn’t as easy or as safe as it used to be. Vampires are not impervious to HIV and it decimated the vampire population. It was created in a lab to destroy homosexuals and/or vampires. When it killed many of both, Project Bloodsucker was deemed a smashing success. When it began killing children and heterosexuals, Project Bloodsucker was still deemed a smashing success with some collateral damage.

For the most part Lady Goodyear fed off stray cats and dogs. Vampire geeks, historians, whatever they want to call themselves, who have read too many stories and seen too many movies, will say that a vampire cannot live off of animal blood. This is one of the most basic principles in their conceptulization of vampires. But it isn’t true. They’ve simply come to accept the most drastic and incredible lies of vampirism that they have absorbed through Hollywood and literary for profit exploitation. No one wants to see a movie or a read a book of kinder gentler vampires and unfortunately buying into the hysteria led to Project Bloodsucker and Operation Silver Bullet, the latter was arrest and incarceration of all werewolves. Factually, a vampire needn’t blood at all to live. They are not “undead,” they simply age much slower, and they don’t sleep in coffins or turn into bats. Lady Goodyear is quite found of her Craftmatic adjustable. They don’t sleep during the day and their skin doesn’t burn when touched by sunlight. They have no aversion to crucifixes or garlic. Lady Goodyear wears her rosary around her neck being a faithful Roman Catholic and loves fresh garlic. It doesn’t take a wood stake to the heart to kill them. They can be killed like any normal person but they will not die naturally for roughly a thousand years.

The next morning Delores couldn’t remember getting home. She didn’t even remember leaving the dance. Her sleep cleansed her of last night’s sorrows and she woke up rather optimistic that Alex would return, but curious as to how she forgot. She knew she had realized what had happened to Alex but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She was still in her black dress but her face was cleansed of the makeup and she was tucked under her covers as though put there. Whitney didn’t ask what had happened to her; she simply went on and on about her first kiss with Bruce so much so that Delores wanted to shake her. But she didn’t. She smiled and lied in bed until Rosetta knocked on the door telling Delores that she had visitors. She never had a visitor in the six months she had lived there. Delores sprang up from the bed not sure who to expect but maybe…no, she knew he wouldn’t come to the door. But maybe it was someone bringing her some information. Hopefully, not her parents, she thought, racing to the bathroom to check her face. No, her mother wouldn’t come to Boston. For some reason she hates Boston more than she hates snakes. And Rosetta did say there were visitors, plural. She knew her father wouldn’t come. So it was definitely, not them. There were no other family members near and she had no friends other than Whitney at school. Delores washed her face and put her hair up with a tie and headed down the stairs, floated down them, like some weightless thing. She was brimming with hope and optimism until she opened the door.

Two bricks in dark blue suits, black coats and black ties stood there.

“Delores Marlowe?” The more formidable looking one asked robotically.

“Yes?” she was no longer so optimistic. They didn’t exude the feeling of the bearers of good news.

“I am Agent Scalf, this is Agent Burskey,” Burskey didn’t smile or nod. Delores looked at them both, hoping. But they were automated robots. Agent Scalf withdrew from his inner coat pocket a bundle of letters in fine envelopes with red wax seals on the back bundled by a thick tan rubber band. He pushed them forward so she could plainly see them. “Did you write these thirty four letters?”

Thirty four? Delores didn’t know she had written so many. She looked at them and her heart morphed into the Titanic. If they had them that meant Alex didn’t. She thought about what to say briefly but didn’t know what she should answer. She always heard to ask for a lawyer if you ever think you are in trouble with authorities but that didn’t seem like the liberated thing to do so she thought, piss on it, and said, “Yeah. I wrote them. And…?”

The two agents looked at each other. The demure pussycat that answered the door so sweetly was proving to be a hellcat with claws. They prided themselves on knowing 95% about a person by one look. Profiling. The other 5% is usually settled within ten minutes. But she threw them for a loop. She looked at them impatiently, boiling inside. How fucking dare they open her letters! Not only were they insolently trampling upon Alex De Wolfe’s and whoever else’s civil rights, but they were now stepping on hers. She didn’t have to take it. They thought because she was a teenage girl she would be easy. Fuck them, she thought. Fuck them! “We would like for you to come with us.”

“I bet you fucking would! Get the hell out of here…perverts! I am not going anywhere!” She started to shut the door but Burskey proved himself to be worth something to the scenario more than a witness by shoving his large meat-hook into the doorway preventing it from coming close to closing. Delores heard Lady Goodyear from behind.

“Delores, do you need help?” Standing there in the doorway Delores began to piece it together. She knew Lady Goodyear had told her smoothing or other about Alex last night but she wasn’t quite sure what. But the fact that Lady Goodyear knew of Alex was bad news. She stood there puzzled between the two agents and an inquisitive Lady Goodyear. “Why do they call her Lady anyway?” She thought to herself. Is that some kind of title bestowed upon her by the Queen. Fuck the Queen! Taxation without representation… Her mind was going bananas. She thought about Washington crossing the Delaware. Aaron Burr. Sam Adams. The Delaware is a dirty river. Her mind was revolting and getting violent.

“No, Agnes!” She barked. “Just some goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses trying to sell me God on the doorstep.”

 Agent Scalf looked pissed. Lady Goodyear approached. “I suggest you come with us to settle the matter,” he insisted.

“What matter?” Lady Goodyear interrupted appearing in the doorway aside Delores.

“Are you her mother?” Agent Scalf asked directly.

“No, I am her guardian here in Boston. Who are you?”

Badges flashed. No shields, just identification.

“CIA, ma’am. We have a few questions to ask Ms. Marlowe at our office.”

“Do you have an arrest warrant?” Lady Goodyear replied.

Agent Scalf paused. “We were hoping for her cooperation.”

“Is she being charged with anything?”

“No, ma’am. Again, we were hoping for her cooperation.”

“Come back with warrants. She will cooperate then.”

“We don’t need warrants. We were being nice.”

“So was I.” Agnes countered. She shut the door quickly before Brick #2 could react in time to stop it again.

Outside: “I thought I told you to keep the door open?”

“I tried!” Burskey bellowed.

Agent Scalf scowled at Burskey. 

“So what now? Are we going to take her?”

 “Burskey, I don’t what I did to get stuck with you.” Agent Scalf adjusted his overcoat, put on his Ray Bans though it was gloomy and gray and turned and walked away briskly. Burskey followed.

Inside: “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lady Goodyear replied. She smiled and walked away. Delores stood there at the door confused. She looked through the window panels beside the door and watched the two frustrated agents get into a Black Lincoln. They appeared to be arguing. Rather, one appeared to be getting a tongue lashing from the other. Then they both made phone calls. Five minutes later they drove away. Delores was piecing together sawed off limbs and parts in her mind until it formed a person, a clear person. That person told her that Lady Goodyear knew what had happened to Alex. She hurried to Lady Goodyear who was walking outside to go to the large garage that sat behind the house at the other end of a long beautiful brick walkway that Delores had never walked down before. There was never a need to go back there; the car was always pulled up front by Thomas, who lived in a nice guest house above the garage. Lady Goodyear knew she was being followed but she didn’t stop. She walked in and left the door open for Delores.

Delores looked around as she walked inside. It was much nicer than she expected. She had never seen a garage that was so neat and well-kept. Old advertisement signs hung on the walls, some tin and some wood, and there was a fantastic porcelain carousel horse between a cherry-oak work bench that didn’t appear to see much work and the ceiling. Old hubcaps hung from the walls between the signs and paintings—oil paintings of cars and motorcycles. On a beam there was a colorful bottle cap mosaic. The ceiling was vaulted with nice wood beams. There was a black iron spiral stairwell that Delores presumed led up to Thomas’s guest house and in the spacious garage, the intent of Lady Goodyear’s visit, were handsome wood and wire cages along the walls each holding one white rabbit. There were dozens of them. The room looked so interesting that Delores had nearly forgotten what business she had with Lady Goodyear. She stood there, lifeless for a moment.

“I am guessing you didn’t come out here to polish the car.” Lady Goodyear began.

“No, I, um,” still marveling at the room, “I didn’t.”

“So,” Lady Goodyear said smiling, “Do you like our little workshop?”

“It’s fascinating...”

“Thomas does the artwork. He is quite the renaissance man.”

“I didn’t know you had rabbits...”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

Delores walked to a cage and stuck her finger in through the wires. The rabbit hopped over and sniffed her hoping for a carrot. “I’ve never believed in getting attached to pets. It is so sorrowful in the end.”

Delores got a chill. Lady Goodyear continued, “Why is it that you followed me out here?”

“Why didn’t you ask me why those men were here to see me?”

No reply. Lady Goodyear scooped some rabbit food from a large bin.

“You knew why. Didn’t you? You know!”

“Yes, Delores.”

“And last night you told me. You said that you were only trying to protect me.”

“Yes, Delores.”

“What did you do to him? Why?!”

“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t know that the government was rounding up werewolves and other supernatural things. This is new to all of us.”

“What did you do to him?” Delores asked frantically.

Lady Goodyear reached into the pocket of her long colorful dress. She always dressed so conservatively, Delores thought. She pulled out a shiny object in the shape of a small cigarette and put it between her lips. Her cheeks puffed out and she blew. Delores stood there watching her. In the backdrop there were dozens of white rabbits waiting patiently.

“I knew you brought him in somehow. I could smell him in the house. I knew he would hurt you, being that he was born long before you were born and will die long after you die. So to spare you, I did this.” She held up the shiny object.

“What is that?”

“A dog whistle. A highly powerful dog whistle. Or, I suppose, in this case I should say a wolf whistle. He was walking through the house spraying things.”

“That’s preposterous! He was in bed with me.” Delores realized she indicted herself and blushed awkwardly.

“No. You see the smell of something compelled him to be a wolf. And when he became the wolf he became the wolf. Wolves aren’t able to be tamed. He isn’t who he was when he is the wolf; it consumes them.”

“No, that’s a lie.”

“It’s true, Delores. He had peanut butter all over his face!”

Delores remembered the peanut butter jar.

“Look, Delores, I know. I know you don’t want to believe it but werewolves are no good,” she said. “They are wild animals. You cannot keep them as house pets, or as boyfriends, or husbands. The moment they get angry they will rip your throat out. When I caught him spraying on the garbage can in the kitchen I blew my whistle and it stunned him long enough for Thomas and me to cage him. Once he was put in the cage he couldn’t turn back to whoever he was before. We called animal control and they came and took him. They would have treated him as a wolf and released him into the wild where he belongs. He is more wolf than man.”

“How dare you! Without even telling me?”

“What would you have said?”

Delores didn’t reply. Her fragmented mind boiled with hostility.

“Don’t hate me, Delores. I saved you the pain of truly falling in love and having your heart broken by someone you could never love. Find a regular boy and love him. One you can grow old with and have babies with. This isn’t the life for you.”   

“How do you know? Who are you to tell me what I want? I thought you were different but you are just like them! You are like all of them!” Delores stormed out of the garage crying and confused. She ran through more snowfall back to the house. Lady Goodyear watched her and felt terribly. She agonized with Delores but felt that she had done the right thing. Then she opened a cage door and sunk her fangs into a rabbit’s neck. Blood everywhere.

She was a depressed eater.