From: rauser@fraser.sfu.ca (Richard John Rauser)
Subject: Isabella III: My Last Stand  (REPOST)
Organization: Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada
Date: Mon, 6 Apr 1992 02:08:00 GMT

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From: rauser@sfu.ca (Richard John Rauser)
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To: rauser@sfu.ca
Subject: Isabella III: My Last Stand
Status: RO


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>From: rauser@fraser.sfu.ca (Richard John Rauser)
>Subject: Isabella III: My Last Stand
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>Organization: Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada
>Date: Tue, 24 Mar 1992 08:40:36 GMT






                      Isabella III

                     My Last Stand



by Rick J. Rauser
(c) 1992 WNI


this is a work of fiction. all persons (with possible exception of the
narrator) are imaginary.




"No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood"
                           -Shakespeare


"I'm not afraid of dying. I just don't want to be there when it happens."
                            -Woody Allen


"Here I go again on my own
Going down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone"
                              -Whitesnake   





    "Is he alive?"
    "Barely."
    "Keep his head up."
    "Watch it!"
    "Okay, it's coming."
    "He's shivering. Get the blanket. Get the-"
    "I got it, here." 
    "Ambulance is coming."
    "Hang in there, buddy."
    These voices through a thick fog.

    My head was pounding and I was cold and groggy. With horrible effort
I opened my eyes and the world was white around me. My first thought was that
I was in heaven. But then I thought that since I had killed myself shouldn't
I be in hell? Then I saw the nurse and realized I was still alive. It was
disappointing.
     She smiled. She was ugly compared to Isabella, beautiful by normal
standards. "How are you feeling?"
     "I just tried to kill myself and blew it. How do you think?" I said
wearily.
     She touched my arm gently. "Get some rest. You'll feel better later."

     I slept like Job. Visions kept passing before my eyes and darting in
and out and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me and
it wasn't just God...it was her. I had killed her, killed her dead, I kept
telling myself. But the feeling didn't fade and then the images started to
slow down and become clearer and steadier. I was in a vast desert, as far
as the eye could see sands lay wistful and barren, the horizon teasing me
in all directions. 
     It was hot and dry and I pulled my shirt off, sweating horribly. And
I knew SHE was there, somewhere. I started walking.
     A cold wind behind me rushed across my back and I turned and saw her
standing there wearing a silver garmet that was like a one-piece bathing
suit, showing lots of thigh and tight against her heavy breasts. She was
so gorgeous, so beautiful, so perfect. There was no other word for it.
Her bright red lips twisted into a smile and her dazzling auburn hair fell
perfectly around her smooth, lovely shoulders.
     "Am I dead?" I asked.
     "Not yet," she said.
     "Where am I?" I asked, not really caring. Part of me just wanted to 
stand there and look at her and do whatever she wanted. But another side
of me kept fighting and resisting, hating her.
     "You're in the hospital, fast asleep," she said with a smile. "I was
worried about you." There was genuine concern in her sparkling green eyes.
     "I'll bet." I looked around at nothing in particular then back to 
her. "I killed you."
     She laughed, and the sound was beautiful, child-like, floating across
the dry air between us and dancing in my ears. I wanted to say something
else to make her laugh but I couldn't think of anything. "You can't kill
a vampire. You've been reading too much Bram Stoker. Or maybe The Lost
Boys, is that the one you liked?"
     I took a step towards her, feeling like a lawyer arguing a case of
metaphysics before God himself. "You shriveled up and died," I said angrily.
"I SAW it."
     "And then you tried to drown yourself to be with me," she said softly,
the smile leaving her face. She reached out a hand and gently touched my
cheek and I let her, loving the feel of her cool fingers as they traced
gentle circles on my skin. I shivered in spite of myself. 
    She smiled. "You like it when I touch you."
    "No."
    "Don't lie."
    "I'm not."
    She moved her fingers up to my hair and gently ran them through it. 
"If you don't want me to touch you, then push my hand away."
     "Get lost," I whispered, feeling exhausted. I wanted nothing more than
to give in to her, to lie down on the hot sand and pull that silver bathing
suit off of her and...
     I shook my head and slapped her arm away. She pulled back, a hurt
expression on her face. "What are you doing to me?" I asked, feeling 
betrayed. I still don't know why I felt betrayed, but I did.
     "I love you," she said gently. I saw a tear in her eye which ran down
her beautiful face in a steady stream. "I love you because you wanted to
join me in death. But don't do that. Join me in life, in the here and now."
     I turned my back to her and clenched tight fists, pressing them against
my forehead, closing my eyes tight. "I just want to wake up," I said. ,
I felt her touch my shoulder from behind, apprehensively. "You don't have to be alone anymore,"
she said. "I'll be with you forever. I won't disappoint you, or hurt you,
or leave you frustrated or scared. Every desire you have I'll fulfill. I'll
do anything for you. Don't you see? You don't have to suffer like you are
now! All you have to do is take my hand."
      "I saw you kill someone on the subway," I said, struggling to find
the memory of her brutality and hold on to it.
      "Yes, I did," she said. "And you wished you could do the same."
      I spun around, angry at her, perhaps because she spoke the truth.
"I did NOT wish that," I spat. "You're a brutal, savage killer. No matter
how beautiful you are, that's the truth."
      "You don't have to kill anyone you don't want to," she said, as if
trying to convince me to come to summer camp on the assurance that I 
wouldn't have to do any activities that didn't appeal to me.
      "I don't want to kill ANYONE," I said, almost shouting in my anger
and frustration. Why did she have to be a killer? Why a vampire? Why did I
have to have such convictions against killing? Why couldn't I just join her?
The punk she threw through the window was just a drug dealing scum. What
difference would it make if I tore a few throats like HIS out?
      "Yes you do," she whispered.
      I fell down in the sand and pressed my hands against my face.
      "Do you want me to leave?" she asked.
      "Yes," I said in a whisper. I started crying.
      "I'll be back," she said.
      I fell back in the sand.
      She was gone.
      For now.

      The sunlight streaming in through the window felt like the desert sun
in the dream and I was sweating from the heat. I pushed myself out of the
bed but found that I was too weak to stand up so I fell back down again.
I reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. The anchor was
talking about the seven corpses drained of blood found near the fairgrounds
the night before. The victims ranged in age from seven to ten years old.
      I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. "Why, Isabella?"
I said to no one in particular. "Why?"

      They didn't believe I had tried to kill myself and they just sent me
home the next day. I guess they figured that if I had really tried to kill
myself I'd be denying it. THEN they'd believe it. The brilliant minds in
modern medicine. 
      I was going to take the subway but thought better of it.
      I took the bus.
      It was a long, hot ride out to my apartment and every window was
open but it didn't do any good. I sat in the back, sweating miserably,
my body terribly itchy from sweat and my shirt sticking to my chest.
      There were about twenty people or so on the bus and I wasn't paying
any attention to anyone. 
      Someone pulled the cord and the bus pulled over to the next stop.
      Wearing a silver one piece bathing suit under a jean jacket, a woman
with a gorgeous body got off the bus, and she turned and smiled at me as
she stepped out onto the street. Isabella again.
     I jumped up and ran to the doors before the bus pulled away and jumped
down onto the street. I saw her turn into an alley.
     The alley was deserted, just piles of rotting trash and fat, diseased
rats crawling through the dirt. 
     "Where are you?" I said, kicking over a trash can in frustration. A
swarm of flies poured out into the thick heat.
     I kept walking, looking back and forth, scanning for her in vain.
In spite of the scorching summer heat, I was cold. I grabbed a splintered
plank from the ground and pulled off a sharp, jagged piece, a nice stake.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" I yelled, trying to look in every direction at once.
"You want to do this? COME ON!"
     "Up here," she called, in a coy, teasing tone.
     As if struck by lightning I jerked my gaze up and saw her about forty
feet above me, perched on the fire escape like a sleek, sexy cat. 
     "Come down here," I said, gripping my stake, my whole body trembling.
"Get down here and let me do the job right."
     She laughed. "Why don't you come up here?" she teased.
     "Why did you have to kill those kids? WHY?" I yelled, shaking with
anger and frustration.
     She shrugged. "It would be crueler to let them grow up in this sick
world," she said.
     I stared up at her then started laughing. I couldn't help it. In many
ways the entire situation was absurd. Our entire existence in many ways is
just so ABSURD. I threw away my stake. I pointed my finger up at her. "If 
you kill anyone else, I'll kill you."
     "Okay," she said with a smile. She winked at me.
     I walked out of the alley. A huge rat loped in front of me. I gave it
a hard kick in its fat, lice-ridden ribs. It didn't make me feel any better.

     Dennis Miller was saying something about Bill Clinton but I wasn't really
paying attention. I had a stack of books on the bed beside me. Lovecraft.
Nietzsche. The Bible. Emerson. Faulknam's Guide to Horror Mythology. Anything
that might help me get a grip on what I was dealing with. But nothing seemed
to help, though I found comfort in the Bible and Lovecraft seemed to know
exactly how I felt. But everything I read about vampires was just plain
ridiculous. They only come out at night, they can't get near garlic, they
bite your neck and you're a vampire too, they...
     I shut the book called "Vampires Everywhere" in frustration and stared
angrily at Dennis, feeling sure that his cocky grin was aimed at me.
     Then she was there, sitting on my bed, wearing nothing but that hot,sexy
bathing suit. No matter how evil she may be, she's one hot, hot babe, I thought.
     "You still don't get it, do you?" she whispered.
     I sighed, not at all bothered or surprised by her appearance. "Why
don't you explain it to me?"
     "I'm yours. I'm a part of you. I'll be with you forever. You can't
kill me anymore than you can kill yourself. Don't you see?" she said,
looking so precious and sweet as she gently touched my hand. "I love you.
I belong to you. We're two parts of one whole. The Yin and the Yang."
     I smiled without humour. "I'm flattered."
     "I'm not going to give up on you," she said gently, as if talking to
a recovering alcoholic. "I'm going to keep coming back until you understand.
Until you realize how much you love me too." She smiled and then leaned towards
me and gently kissed me. It was just an instant,just a moment. But I'll never
forget it. Her powerful scents drove through me and her lips were like 
a hot, wonderful mixture of honey and sugar and a thousand exotic spices.
She was gone in a flash. But I had just tasted a paradise. I fell back down
on the bed. 
      "This woman is really turning  me on," I said quietly, my heart
pounding. 
      I saw the newspaper lying on the floor beside my bed. I picked it up
and studied it. They had photographs of the children that Isabella had
killed the night before. One of them called out to me in particular. Her
name was Misty. She was seven years old. Her hair was blond in two pigtails,her eyes a sad blue. She was dead.
     I dropped the newspaper and picked up my portable CD player. I put in
a Beethoven disc and picked up my hunting knife. 

     It was terribly cold up on the roof of the University Administration
building. It was funny how hot it was during the day, yet how cold at
night. Or maybe it was just me. I couldn't tell.
     I loved this place. I loved the university. I loved graduate work.
I loved what I did here. 
     I put in the earphones and hit play. Beethoven's beautiful, steady, 
almost divine sixth symphony embraced me, as tender and gentle as Isabella
ever could be.
     The Bible resting in my lap felt heavy. I touched it and prayed for my
soul.
     The symphony picked up slightly, growing in intensity, then falling down
to a calm, gentle river of sound, a slow stream meandering in my mind.
     With my hunting knife I started sawing at my wrists, first the right
arm, then the left. I gritted my teeth and bit my tongue as the knife cut
into my skin. Blood flowed out like water. 
     I put down the knife and lay back against the ledge, looking up at the
stars. With one bloody hand I clutched the Bible. With the other I held
the CD player. Beethoven caressed me. God understood.
     She had said we were one. Sweet Isabella, how wrong of you to be so
honest with me. How bad for you that I can read you like a book, just as you
can read me.
     I closed my eyes and laced with Beethoven's beautiful ocean of magic
and sound I heard the anguished screams of a vampire in pain.
     I smiled.






--
Richard J. Rauser      "Now is the winter of our discontent
rauser@sfu.ca            made glorious summer by this sun of York."
WNI/Wicked Parodies                           -Shakespeare





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