Chap. 15 - What About Yesterday
Published Sep 10, 2013

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Be prepared! Things happen in this chapter . . . duh duh duuhhhhhnnn!! Exclamation point!!!

Be prepared! Things happen in this chapter . . . duh duh duuhhhhhnnn!! Exclamation point!!! The week was up, and Marisa’s task was finished. And the vampires did indeed come knocking; it was time to leave: “I don’t know when I’ll be seeing you again, Theo; are goodbyes in order?” “Guideline number three thousand and eleven: never say goodbye.” He grabbed her in a fierce hug and told her ear: “I’ll be expecting you back—you’re not finished with your training.”

“Neither are you.” She shot back.

“The path of knowledge never ends, Mar-mar. Never, ever.”

And she felt a content bubble of happiness inside of her at the reality of Theo remaining in her life.
“Hey, can you tell Rosa and Brock to feel free to never come back into my life again? And, oh, Marisa—I hope you can find your prince.” “Yeah, yeah—calm down.” “But, really, though: good luck—supernatural affairs can get real messy a’ real quick. But I’m sure you won’t need any luck, anyway.” She smiled at him, and took a breath, “France, here I come.” And she walked out the door. Theo, Pumpkin Pie, dropped to the couch, and placing his face in his hands, he breathed. He looked around himself at the twice-empty house:

Once empty because his ghastly, ghostly acquaintance had moved on to better, brighter places.

And now he found himself twice alone with Marisa on the other side of that door; he took another breath in the silence—
“Meow!” Luna sprung into his lap.

Theo almost forgot—he scratched the feline behind her ears—he was never alone.
“…Wow. That sounds kinda creepy: ‘I’ll never be alone.’” Theo shook his head and grabbed the remote, “Ah! Luna, let’s see what’s on TV.” (And she never saw Theodore Glouck again!

Y’know, except when she did.)
“So. Do you two have any leads as to where we can find Oren?” “I know the address.” Rosa said.
The place was empty—worse than empty, it was vacated.

“Okay,” Marisa shook her head, “so any other ideas, anyone?”
“We can ask around; someone’s sure to have seen him.” “Wine!”

“I’m sorry?” Rosa’s face contorted in annoyance.
“Oren smelled like wine in my dream. That’s gotta mean something!” Marisa charged ahead, “Maybe he’s locked up in some winery nearby.” “What proof do we have that he’s even still taking breath.” Rosa pointed out, “Other than your determination, Brock, and Ms. Risa’s dreams.” “It was my job to protect him once, and, though, I’ve lost that job, I’m still his friend. You’re his friend too, Rosa. You owe it to him—” No! Actually, I do not. We owe each other nothing.” That’s what Oren had said, wasn’t it: she was free from all debts to him. “Then do it so he sees you as a friend, again, Rosa. I don’t know you—either of you—very well, but it’s clear you both care about Oren’s wellbeing very much— —so what do we know?” “He’s here, in France: in this city.”

“Supposedly, he’s in a place that smells of wine.”
Marisa rolled her eyes at “supposedly” but merely smiled, “There’s a winery southwest of here; we’ll check there for him.” The front door was unlocked, but the place looked closed. The two vampires moved as silently as shadows; Marisa had the courtesy to call out: “Hello? Anyone here? Hello?” “You could’ve just revealed our position!” Brock snapped. As she stepped into the main room, she observed sarcastically, “Ooo, scary register attendant.” “What do you want?” More like rude register attendant, Marisa thought.

“We’re looking for a vampyre: green eyes, black hair, pale skin. You seen him?” Brock demanded.
The woman on the other side of the counter merely blinked at him, “Uh. No.” “I’m sorry—” Marisa shouldered past Brock “—my…friend here is a few nocturnal, flying mammals short of being batty. He’s on that crazy trainmy point is: ignore him. And…would you happen to know of any… Idunknow …intricate, underground cellars that a person could get lost or, perhaps—hypothetically speaking here—become trapped in, possibly?” “Look, Miss. I just work here. …But this is a winery you just walked into. So yeah. There’s a stairway down into the cellar just in the other room.” Marisa forced herself to say, “Thanks a bunch.” "Just—when you go down there—if you run into some rando tell him that I’m locking up and leaving in an hour so you all have to be non-existent by then.” A thorough search of the cellar later . . .

“We’ve found ancient coins.”

“Some excellent wine.”

“No ‘rando.’ And more importantly: No Oren and no clues, either.”
“What now, Detective Roberts—” Damn! I mean, what was I thinking—coming out here; it’s not like I am a detective. I don’t even know what I’m doing.” “It’s been almost fifty minutes: we should head back.” “It’s 23:15.”

“Sorry.” Marisa spat.

“Where’s the guy?”

“Couldn’t find him, sorry.”

Whatever. I’m not waiting for him.” She spun on her heel and walked toward the exit.

That makes four of us.” Rosa pointed out.
“You guys have a ride back, right?”

Marisa nodded—

—“Because I’m not going to give you a ride back to town.” “Thanks.”

“You know what?” The lady mentioned.


“There’s an abandoned winery down by the river. Since you get off on old, dark cellars, I’m sure you could find a couple there.” There was a note of condescension in her voice but Marisa didn’t care.
And this time when Marisa said “Thanks!” it was sincere. Marisa walked back over to where Rosa and Brock were in cahoots.

“We’ve decided to call it a night.”
“Yeah, maybe you could talk to him this time—in your dreams—instead of just smelling him.” Okay. A! I wasn’t smelling anyone! And B: I did ask him where he was being held but he wasn’t sure. C: I don’t appreciate your tone!” “I think our human is a little out of her depth.”

Marisa scoffed, “Ha. Shows how much you know, I’m not even hu—”

“Brock! Brock is that you?”

Brock immediately recognized the voice, and so did Rosa; he spun, “Demetrius Carter.”

Marisa blinked in surprise.

“It’s been a while, Advisor Carter.” Brock added.
The vampyre laughed, and Marisa had never heard a laugh so alive with tremendous amounts of joy and yet weighted by depthless sorrow.

“You know you can call me Demetrius, Brock.”
He bowed to the Supernatural. “I didn’t want to assume.” “Well, I’ll be a vampyre prince’s uncle! Is that Rosa? With Brock?” He stage gasped, “Together? In France? Together?” Rosa spat, “Whatever you are implying, Demetrius—” “No. I said Brock could call me Demetrius; I did not give permission to you. My nephew may have forgiven you, but I have not.”

But that wasn’t quite true: Oren hadn’t forgiven her, either—he tolerated her. Rosa shut her mouth.
At the sight of Demetrius Carter a band around Marisa’s heart loosened. And when The Good Doctor’s Eyes found her, something flickered in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Marisa found herself asking.
“Well, that’s an interesting story.” He said sarcastically. “I’m just visiting some old friends. Stopped by here to grab some wine for dinner. But I couldn’t really find anything I liked—not even in the cellar. So I went out into the field—did you know there are still some grapes on the vines—in this weather, too—I’m not getting back in there tonight, am I?” “Ah nope.” “So what are you doing in France?” “Actually, we’re here to find—” “Wait! This story should be told in a place less outside and cold, huh? You all have anyplace to stay?”

A few shakes of the head.
“Let’s go!” “Nice car.”

“It’s a rental.” Carter averred.

“You’re Oren’s uncle.”
“That I am; what of it?”

“We’re here looking for him.” Marisa replied. “—he needs our help and yours too.”
“Help Oren. Are you sure we’re talking about the same kid? He doesn’t want anyone’s help. And he doesn’t help anyone—y’know his mother is on her deathbed and he won’t even go see her? He’s off somewhere probably brooding.” A spark of anger flared inside of Marisa, “And what are you doing? Getting drunk with ‘old friends’ in France? And he’s not as heartless as you make him out to be—believe me, I know how unlikable Oren can be; part of me doesn’t even know why I’m defending him—but, I know something you don’t know.” Very gently, “Enlighten me, then.” Without and iota of doubt in her voice, Marisa said, “He didn’t refuse to return to his mother out of stubbornness or narcissism. He did it so that he could find you. Because he knew you, Demetrius Carter, would believe him when he told you about the cure and he knew you would help him go after it.” Brock added, “That’s true enough.” Well, isn’t that funny—not funny ha-ha, but—I’m here looking for a cure for my Queen as well.”

“So does that mean you're going to be late meeting your old friends?”
On the contrary.” He promised. I had originally planned for this chapter to be longer, but I am stretching out the inevitable--anyway: until next time:

Well. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

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Daizzie21Sep 13, 2013

Aww so intriguing I love your stories just caught up to it & I love it. Can't wait to read the next chapter.

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