Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
There is a lot of fresh produce too. Even strawberries.
The man appears again, finding me gazing at the strawberries. “We have a lot of strawberries. Our greenhouse is going a little bit crazy at the moment. But we’ll have a full house in church tomorrow. They will be gone by noon and pies will be baked by supper.”
“Hm. Sounds kinda nice.”
“Oh. The reason I left.” He points to the curtained door. “My wife is going to cook you and your girl up some breakfast.”
“Oh, no.” I put up a hand. “It’s not necessary.”
“You’re right. It’s not. But we’re going to do it anyway.” He thrusts a hand at me. “I’m Joshua. And my wife”—he once again points to the curtain over the door—“she’s Emily.”
I shake his hand. “I’m Ryet. Nice to meet you. And thanks. Really. She’s gonna love a homemade breakfast.”
He pulls his hand back and gets a look of concern. “Are you feeling OK?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You’re a bit warm. You might have a fever.”
“Oh.” I chuckle a little. “I’m sure it’s nothing. But I’ll check it when I get home.”
“If you need medicine”—he points to another part of the pantry where there is a whole stock of over-the-counter stuff stacked on corner shelves—“help yourself.”
“If I need it, I’ll come back. I don’t want to take it if I don’t need it.”
This response seems to please him immensely. “We have plenty, but I like the way you think. Now. What else do you need?”
“Oh.” I look around, trying to picture myself cooking in that gross cabin, then shake my head. “Ya know, I’m gonna skip the groceries too. I’m remodeling. Those cabins—”
He puts up a hand. “You don’t need to explain. Those cabins are… well, let’s just call them a legend.”
“Why?”
“You’re currently living in the very first brothel in Idaho.”
“Shut up.”
“Swear to God.” He points up to the ceiling.
“That’s… gross.”
“Yeah. But hey”—his face goes all optimistic again—“you’re here now. And I bet the cabins will be a breath of fresh air by the time you’re done.”
“Maybe.”
“You look like one of those men who can get shit done. Pardon my language.”
“What you’re really saying is…” We both laugh. “Seriously though. Thanks, Joshua. I appreciate it. Between you and Syrsee, I haven’t talked so much in decades.”
It comes out before I can stop it. It’s not a big slip-up. I mean, I could be pushing forty. Maybe. With some imagination.
But my human face is not pushing forty. It’s pushing thirty.
“Decades, huh?” He squints at me, adding up the years. “You must’ve been a quiet child.” Then his face softens a little. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“I just can’t see it. But anyway. Stay right here. I’ll check on the food.”
I wander the aisles, letting my mind slip back in time. I don’t remember much about my first life. But I do understand everything that has happened to the world since the time I woke up naked in a San Francisco hotel room with a vampire next to me.
Now my mind wanders to that morning. Blood. That’s all I thought about back then. I don’t know how many days, or possibly weeks, passed from the night Paul first offered me this new life to that morning when I finally came out of the blood lust enough to actualize that I was a living creature with a mind and a purpose and I was in a hotel room with no memory of how this all started. But that was my beginning.
Life was so different back in those days. The people were different—nicer, for sure. Polite to a fault. And the country was more innocent.
I’m sure there were people who knew that monsters like Paul were real. And I’m sure there were others who maybe didn’t know, but suspected that evil was lurking all around them, at all times. But for the most part, they were foolishly and blissfully unaware.
Is it better or worse that the world is filled with degenerate evil these days?
Better, I think. Because at least they have a chance to see it with their own eyes. In my day, we were all doomed because the evil was sneaky back then. It hid from the world. Ashamed, maybe.
Or maybe not. Maybe it was just following the rules of The Art of War. Playing its role as a weak and defeated thing, all the while it was growing stronger until one day, it could rise again.
Well. I sigh. It has certainly risen at this point.
“Here we go.” Joshua pushes through the curtain holding a large paper grocery bag, folded over at the top. “Eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. She didn’t know how you liked your eggs. The general guess when you don’t know is scrambled.”
“Sounds perfect.” And it does. My stomach actually grumbles. Loud enough for Joshua to hear it.
Which makes him smile, and that in turn makes me smile back. He’s just a nice man who cares about people and only wants to help them. He doesn’t see the evil, even when it’s standing right in front of him. Almost mockingly accepting his charity.