Transfusion of Darkness

Transfusion of Darkness

Blaine LeRoy

Copyright 2015 Blaine LeRoy

Published by Blaine LeRoy at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About Blaine LeRoy

CHAPTER 1

Sorio Donnelle, He said, that is a unique name. I have never heard anything like it before.

It's pronounced Donnally I corrected, and I prefer ‘Rio’.

It’s French right, or is it, Italian? He continued, as though he hadn’t heard me.

I’m Canadian.

Oh, Of course you are. I can see that on your application. He held up the form I filled out the previous day as if to prove he was actually reading it. I was trying to guess your ethnic background. Was the tone condescending? I couldn’t be sure; I was having trouble reading this man.

Jack Parnell was a self-made man, the president of one of the most successful recording studios on Canada’s West Coast and I was nothing more than a 19 year old kid applying for an assistant’s position. I had been trying to size him up from the moment he entered the room. He dressed casually, in black jeans, a white shirt with vertical blue stripes and navy tie. I guessed him to be mid to late forties, a large solid man about six feet tall, dark brown hair flecked with gray, and bright emerald green eyes set beneath bushy black eyebrows. If he had a beard and mutton chop sideburns he could have easily passed for the wolf-man. It wasn’t his size or the fierceness of his face that struck me however, it was the way he carried himself, as though he owned the world, or could afford it at any rate. He walked straight and tall and seemed to tower over everyone and everything.

I had been left alone, waiting in his office. Mountain Sound was located in a large, ten story, old brick building overlooking Victoria’s inner harbor and Mr. Parnell’s office was on the tenth floor, the room was surprisingly small for such an important man, 15 by 10 if that, with light oak floors and ten foot ceiling with the entire back wall, an east-facing window boasting an incredible view of the city waterfront. The north-facing wall contained a gigantic built in bookcase unit with mini bar and entertainment centre made of rich rosewood. An eight-foot Fig Tree filled the back corner of the room and the remaining walls were covered in posters and gold records. At the centre of the room, a large desk also of solid rosewood, with a huge black leather office chair behind, and two matching chairs in front for clients. I sat in the chair on the right side staring out the window at the boats in the inner harbor for nearly an hour before he entered talking as though we had been in the middle of a conversation. He didn’t sit down but instead leaned against the bookcase looking down at me with my resume and application in hand. I couldn’t tell whether it was nerves from the job interview or if he was deliberately trying to intimidate me. If he was it was working.

So which is it, French or Italian? He asked again.

Neither. I nearly snapped. I wondered if I appeared as annoyed as I was beginning to feel.

What is it then?

Assuming my best air of indignation I countered, I beg your pardon, Mr. Parnell but I fail to see the relevance of the question.

This was it, I might as well resign myself to the fact that this job was not going to happen I thought as I continued, What does my Ethnic origin have to do with my ability to answer a phone or get coffee for producers and clients?

Nothing I was just…

I am now and always have been a Canadian, born and raised, I interrupted, My father was born in Canada as was his father and his father before him. Where any of my ancestors above that may have come from is beyond me. I consider that after 100 years in this country you are Canadian, nothing more or less, just Canadian. There would be a great deal accomplished if more people had a little pride in the fact that they were Canadian and stopped trying to distinguish themselves as something more than that. This country is full of Native-Canadians, Irish-Canadians, Indo-Canadians, Asian-Canadians, and so forth and so on. If there were a few more Canadian Canadians we may actually be able to get something done instead of splitting hairs over simple matters of semantics and ethnic origins. I stopped myself suddenly very self-conscious and vividly aware of the look of amusement on his face. I rose slowly, trying to regain my composure and moved to shake his hand saying, Please pardon my outburst. I can see that this interview has completely fallen apart and I will just excuse myself and say thank you for your time and attention. Obviously I am not what you are looking for so I will not waste any more…

Sit! He barked, eyes ablaze, his face set like a statue. My heart in my throat I slowly regained my seat. He continued speaking in a flat cold tone, I decide when this interview is over and who is or is not wasting my time. I am not accustomed to being talked to in that particular tone Mr. Donnelle, but I must say that I admire someone who has the balls to use it.

I exhaled in relief, until that moment unaware I had been holding my breath. As the smile broke across his face his entire stature seemed to change with him. He no longer seemed the menacing Wolf-man, but more resembled a large gentle Teddy Bear. I appreciate someone with a brain of their own, who isn’t afraid to voice an opinion and I am especially impressed when that someone is as young as yourself. Moving toward his seat while he spoke, he suddenly stopped, leaned over and looked me directly in the eye, his face sober as a judge, This business is full of sycophants and yes men with their noses so far up my ass I’d break their necks if I stopped suddenly.

I was overcome by the hilarity of the statement. When I finally regained myself, I was completely at ease and slipped into easy conversation with my new boss and mentor.

***~~~***

After ten years the memory of that day is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. It seems fitting I should remember my first step toward independence today as I take another grand step. It has been nearly two years since I have seen the light of day. Nearly two years since I watched the sunlight glitter on the water of the Bay of Fundy and stared in awe at the massive caves carved out of red sandstone in St. Martins. This has been my favorite place since moving to the East Coast in the fall of 1998. The Bay is one of Mother Nature’s most incredible miracles. Due to its’ unique shape, the tides are the highest in the world getting up to nearly fifty feet in some areas. All along the Fundy coast the landscape changes drastically between high and low tide. There are areas called tidal bores where the water rushes in so fast it can’t be outrun on horseback, and there are islands that spend equal time as peninsulas. I have been fascinated by my explorations of the coast but no place has had the same effect on me as the caves. The power of the tides has carved the land into large sandstone cliffs that jut out into the bay like long jagged fingers; their tree covered tops towering nearly 100 feet straight up over the water. Midway on the front facing cliff, the first of the caves seems as though it has been taken out of the cliff with a super-sized ice cream scoop. Its gaping mouth nearly sixty feet in diameter is filled with water during high tide. The remaining caves, on the back facing side of the cliffs, are completely invisible and inaccessible until the water recedes into the lowest tide of the day. It is during low tide, that the entire finger becomes dry land and the tourist’s swarm to explore inside the facing cave and venture around the point to the sandy beach in back, where three more large caves wait to greet them. One must be very careful to pay close attention to the tide though, as the swim back around would be very treacherous among the large seaweed covered boulders surrounding the point. Being Mid-December, the bushes seem nothing more than snow covered sticks and the only green visible is from the pine trees along the top of the cliff. I tighten the coat around her body a little more as the cold wind cuts across the beach and direct her back toward the car in the parking lot at the top of the beach. New Brunswick winter is breath taking in its beauty but it is cold; I had forgotten what cold actually feels like along with so many other things human. Until today I hadn’t thought to miss the bitter chill of winter, the glare of the setting sun on the water or even the shortness of breath caused from physical exertion. It’s amazing how divorced from humanity one can become in less than two years.

I found Laura strolling by my house early this morning on her way to her car. She was terribly distracted by troubled thoughts of her mother, which could have contributed to my possession of her. I had only meant to look around but I felt myself in control of her body as if it were my own, so I directed her to the car and started the journey from Gondola point out along the highway to St. Martins. I fully expected to lose control as we moved further from my actual location but I managed to hold on for the entire journey to the caves. From what I gathered of her thoughts, the problem with her mother was a small one, definitely not something that would cause so much distraction in most. Laura was successful, very successful from what I could tell, she had always been goal oriented and had built a career as an executive in the oil business. She answered to no one short of the president of the company and had accomplished more in her short tenure than any others previously in her position. She was thirty-six, single, owned her own home and made a very decent living yet I could sense a prevailing feeling of failure underlying her thoughts.

Another gust of cold wind brought me back to the beach. I turned and started to direct her body back toward the car parked a few feet away from the stairs to the patio of the Caves view restaurant. Even on a cold December day tourist sat around the little tables waiting for the tide to go out. Mother Nature must be a truly talented sculptress to bring so many out on a day like this. She was definitely a patient one. It must’ve taken hundreds of years to carve these cliffs and scoop the sand out of the caves grain by grain.

Carefully picking our way across the rock- covered beach to the car I turned my attention back into Laura’s mind. Her mother was somehow the root of this feeling of failure, a strictly old -fashioned woman believing that the place of women was at home raising a family. I failed to see how this old debate could possibly cause such a feeling of failure in this confident independent woman. There was no recent argument in her memory and I could find no raising of voices or even any casual conversation about Laura’s marital status. How curious she would be feeling like a small child, guilty about disappointing her mommy for no apparent reason.

We reached the car and as I started it I could feel Laura’s consciousness begin to stir. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep control for much longer, especially this far away from home. So, no time to search for answers to the puzzle of her turmoil I began to plant the suggestion that she had traveled here to get away from it all for a few moments. Judging from her emotional state I hoped she could accept her possible lapse of memory and irregular behavior as letting her mind wander and needing to get some fresh air. I had no intention of driving her crazy just so I could explore a little in the sunshine. The car was beginning to warm up and Laura was gaining more and more control, so with one last lingering glance at the beauty of my caves, I retreated leaving her slightly confused but no worse for our encounter.

***~~~***

Regaining my own consciousness, I was greeted by loud barking and the sounds of paws bounding down the stairs as my two Labrador retrievers stormed into the room announcing an intruder. In the ensuing chaos Tiff, a female black and the oldest of the pair approaching three years old, made the actual discovery that the intruder was in fact me. The barks of alarm were instantly replaced by barks of greeting as the two began their customary welcome home dance. I stood completely amazed that they had sensed my entrance when in fact my body had never left. They must also have some form of extra sensory perception that science has yet to figure out. To an observer they would appear to be barking for no reason other than to hear themselves but I knew that they could tell I had left and come back.

Elton, my yellow male, so pale as to be almost completely white, danced and jumped in a tight circle insinuating himself between myself and his older sister. Elton is the larger dog although not as filled out as Tiff, he is just barely over a year old, and becoming a perfect example of the male yellow lab. He has sad eyes that are so dark brown they appear black and the skin lining them is also dark brown giving the appearance of eyeliner and making his eyes seem larger than they are. Starting at the back of his head and running to the end of his tail he is a deep yellow color that fades quickly to white as it spreads down his body. He has two speeds, stopped and full out, as most puppies do, time is thankfully beginning to bring out some lower gears in his personality. He joined our family last December.

My partner, Shawn, found Tiff through a vet in Barrie Ontario. She was described as the suck of the litter and has spent every day of her life living up to the nickname. She is the cuddliest, most sensitive and wonderful dog I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. Her large eyes are the light brown a painter would call burnt umber, giving her an empathic and intelligent look. While Elton will occasionally slow down long enough for a little cuddle, Tiff is content to curl up next to me and spend the day in companionable silence. She is ultimately Shawn’s dog and lives completely for him but we still share a close bond. Both dogs have the typical Labrador features, they are mid sized dogs, though there are those that would say they are large, roughly 70 pounds each, short hair, otter like tails, floppy ears, highly intelligent and easy going personalities. The labs good nature makes it a perfect family pet, they are patient with children and very affectionate, their high intelligence makes them perfect work dogs and they can often be spotted as guide dogs for the disabled or narcotics and bomb detectors. Apparently their gentle nature doesn’t make them good guard dogs, but I would be hesitant to put that theory to test.

All of my reading on the subject to date indicates that Vampires and dogs don’t mix, but my dogs and I seem to get along just fine. They did not become hellhounds or menacing guardians of the undead; they are just average Labrador Retrievers. I have actually not encountered an animal in my time as a vampire that I could not endear myself too. Just another one of those mix-ups of myth and fact I guess. I do wish there were some kind of guide published to explain all the things that I have become. Less than two years ago I was just another guy, today I am a vampire unlike any I have ever read about. For starters most fictional vampires are over a hundred years old, I will be approaching my thirtieth birthday in the spring of 2001 and while I am virtually indestructible, I have no evidence yet that I am immortal. Most vampires are also independently wealthy but unfortunately I have to hold down a job to pay the bills. I work mostly from home but occasionally find myself at our little office downtown. I have read about vampires reading minds but never possessing a person outright. Over time I have developed many mental powers I have yet to find in fiction. Originally I could only hear the immediate thoughts of those close by, this was not a skill I developed, I seemed to have inherited it immediately upon transformation. The true skill came in learning to turn it off. As time progressed I began to reach deeper into the thoughts of people and actually see memories and images of family and friends although I could always do it with my victims. Then I was able to look out, through the eyes of those nearby and finally I was able to take complete possession of an individual. The thoughts of my dogs and other animals remain closed to me, although I can talk to them telepathically and they seem to understand.

One universal fact in all fiction is the effects of the sun and fire, I am sure beyond a doubt that exposure to the sun's rays will destroy me. I left the world of daylight nearly two years ago but really miss it very little. My vision is such that the night is brighter than the brightest sunny day, and my eyes adjust instantly to variations in the light level. I am unaffected by sudden bright flashes of light and deal equally well with sudden blackouts. I have never been decapitated and have no desire to experiment with the effects, but I have been staked, and a wooden stake does nothing but make a fairly painful little wound that heals quickly. I have even had the misfortune of a bullet in the chest with no deadly results. Contrary to popular superstitious belief, I can enter any building without invitation; the cross or any other religious symbol has no ill effect on me other than to remind me of my distaste for organized religion, and the mirror still reflects my face back at me.

My vampire status hasn’t altered my appearance very much. I am the textbook example of perfectly average. I am five foot eight, with medium build, weighting about 150 pounds. I have always had a pale complexion, inherited from a redhead father, so my pallor from lack of sun exposure has been nearly unnoticed by those I knew before. My hair is straight, dark brown with red highlights, parted on the side and cut short above the collar and around the ears. It is another misconception that a vampire’s hair remains the same as the day they are created, staying the same length unless it is cut in which case it grows back immediately. Mine grows normally as it did when I was human, I have to shave regularly and go to the barber every six weeks or so. The highlights that were present from the sun during my transformation have never faded though and in the few places where it was beginning to thin, the hair has regenerated. This could all be due to the fact that hair follicles are fed mainly by blood. My face is oval shaped with a slight cleft in the chin, full lips and a thin, longer than average nose. I have always considered my eyes to be my most outstanding feature; they are a bright royal blue, inherited from my mother. My transformation to vampire has affected them the most and they appear inhuman at times seeming to glitter in certain lighting conditions and to glow in others. The blue color tends to shift to a light slate gray or a very dark nearly black navy. I have very acute vision and am even capable of seeing in infrared. I usually wear reading glasses in public to distract from their dazzle.

Becoming a vampire is roughly equivalent to instant plastic surgery. Aside from my eyes, the other noticeable change in my appearance is the lack of visible lines on my skin. My skin is completely smooth to the touch maybe even too smooth, even the laugh lines on my face have been smoothed away, if it weren’t for my hair and eyes, I could probably stand perfectly still in a well lit room and pass for a marble statue. Every ounce of fat accumulated over the years was instantly melted away as well. My body consists of blood and muscle and very little else. Many of my human functions have shut down completely. I not longer excrete fluids of any kind. I feel neither heat nor cold. I can move at speeds too fast for the human eye and never experience fatigue. Likewise I can remain submerged in water for hours with no need for breath. I try to stay in the habit of breathing and blinking my eyes to maintain a somewhat normal physical appearance, I find over time that I have to practice more and more to reinforce this habit.

Another trait, common to humans and vampires, I do not possess is the need for sleep. I have no requirement for a coffin, as I have not slept at all since the day I was made. I spend my days in the basement of our home working on the computer, or exploring outside through the eyes of passersby. I am capable of doing everything from home if necessary, from banking online to full musical production. I can even hunt in the daytime on my PC. An amazing thing about the Internet community is that there are no shortage of specialty sites and chat rooms to indulge the fantasies and fetishes of any individual. Being a vampire on the Internet is as common as being a 25-year-old virgin with large breasts and a small waist in a sex chat room. Odds are one in ninety- nine that she may be telling the truth, likewise I may have met actual vampires online. Of the hundreds of claimants I have talked to, one or two must be the real macoy. There are blood-drinking clubs, clubs for people who have actually had dental surgery to produce fangs, and some clubs for the really creepy people who just seem to have a death wish. If I chose to, I could make a few easy meals of the latter. One of the greatest features of the Internet is instant communication, with the office, with friends, and with loved ones across the country or around the world, like Jack Parnell.

Jack may have been my boss and even my mentor, but I always saw him as more of a father. I wonder what he would think if I called him to say that the first day in his office I was improvising. My indignant speech about being Canadian was all off the top of my head to cover my embarrassment at not knowing my true background. I believed every word of the speech but I had never thought the concept through or ever voiced an opinion like it out loud before. Jack probably knew all along anyway, he is a very intuitive man.

***~~~***

So tell me about your family, he said after taking his seat and propping his feet on the edge of the desk. The formality of the interview over, we had now come to the getting to know you stage of our first meeting.

There isn’t much to tell, Mr. Parnell. I replied. I never knew my parents, they died when I was young and I was raised by my Dad’s folks.

I’m sorry to hear that. Call me Jack by the way. He removed his feet from the desk and sat forward resting on his elbows, that must’ve been very hard for you.

Not really, They were killed when I was two. I don’t really have any memory of them, except for vague feelings, some old photos, and stories from my grandparents. I paused for a moment unsure of how much I should offer on the subject. Jack appeared completely absorbed by the topic. I never felt like I was abandoned or like I didn’t have parents if that is what you’re thinking, I continued, My grandparents were experienced parents and they made me feel safe and loved my entire life. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if my Mom and Dad had lived, but I have learned not to dwell on it. Some things you just can’t change so you accept them and move on.

How did they die? He asked.

They were killed in a car accident on their way home from a play. I was being watched by my grandparents at the time.

Was it a drunk driver? Jack seemed slightly disturbed by the story as though I had struck a raw nerve.

No. I answered, They were on the highway headed for home when a car from the opposite direction crossed the line and collided with them head on. They were killed instantly. The driver of the other car, a drug dealer being pursued at high speed by RCMP, survived and was eventually sent to jail.

What was the man’s name?

My grandparents never told me.

Can’t you find out? He seemed concerned suddenly.

I don't know if I want to, besides my Grandfather died of heart failure two years ago, I said, and my Grandmother is fighting a losing battle with cancer at the Royal Jubilee Hospital. She doesn’t have a lot of time left and is usually in too much pain to talk much. What time I do get to speak with her I try not to waste on trivial things.

Why are you wasting what time you have with her now, sitting here talking to me? He asked abruptly.

I need a job, I responded frankly. Bills don’t pay themselves and food doesn’t appear magically on the table because you wish it there. Unfortunately the world doesn’t stop or even slow down for grief. You steal what precious moments you can to be with the one’s you love and the rest of the time you work like a dog to keep your head above water. That is how the world works.

Well, you don’t need a job anymore. Jack said finally, pushing back his chair to gain access to his middle desk drawer from which he produced three forms.

I can fill out most of the information on these myself, He said as he leaned across the desk to place them in front of me. There are a few things you will have to fill out before you go though. I need you to put your signature at the bottom of each and fill in your banking information so your pay can be directly deposited to your account. He indicated the area for banking information on the second form. He brought my attention to the last of the three forms, this is the company policy for you to skim and sign, He continued, you will be paid the first and the fifteenth of each month with a starting salary of 2000 dollars per month, any questions?

Just one Mr. Parnell, I said, What is my job and when does it start?

The name is Jack and that was two questions, He corrected, You have in fact already started. He said, You are now my personal assistant and answer to me and only me. If anyone other than me gives you any kind of order you tell them to ‘get bent’. Now get that form finished so I can give you your first official assignment.

I was finishing the last of my signatures and thinking that this was moving a little too fast to comprehend. What would you like me to start with? I stammered

I want you to get the hell out of here and go sit with your Grandma. You will check in with me every day to update me on her condition as well as your own. I expect you to spend every second with her, with the possible exception of feeding and relieving yourself, until the end. Your assignment throughout is to have no regrets and no unsaid words, and when the end comes we will take it from there. I realized in that instance that Jack Parnell wasn’t a man, he was a god. He was everything I could ever hope to be and more. Mountain Sound was to become my new home and Jack Parnell my new family.

CHAPTER 2

I arrived at the hospital later that evening with the bag I had packed so I could settle in and not have to go home. The shades of the little room were pulled tight and the room was silent except for the constant beep of the heart monitor and the low hum of the air vents. Her bed rested in the centre of the room with a small bedside table on the right side closest to the door. There was a small little washroom directly inside the door to the left and a television high on a shelf in the back left corner facing the bed. The nurses’ station was just outside of the permanently open door and her bed curtain was pulled across to the foot of the bed to provide some privacy from the hallway. On the far side of the bed was a large recliner chair for visitors to use. I made my way quietly across the room to the chair and sat for the longest time staring at the woman in the bed before me.

In her prime, Margaret Donnelle was a looker, with fire engine red hair and bright hazel eyes. We shared the same oval shape to our faces and the same long thin nose. She was a tiny little woman, no more than five foot three. A man with large hands could have probably circled her entire waist with his fingers stretched wide. Time had managed to fade her hair from red to blonde but never succeeded in fading her beauty. I had failed most of my life to recognize her as a beautiful woman, as far as I was concerned, she was my Gran and she was the strongest person on Earth. She had survived two still births, buried her only son and his young wife and taken over raising their son. When I was six years old I developed a rare form of glandular cancer and was given a life expectancy of two years. My grandmother flat out refused to accept my prognosis, and hauled me back and forth to the cancer clinic in Vancouver for treatment, all the while calling specialists all around the world to explore other alternatives. She put me on the laetrile diet while I was receiving chemotherapy and radiation treatment. For the four years it took until I went into remission she lived solely to cure me and I am sure that it was her strength that ultimately pulled me through. It was also her strength that pulled us through when my Grandfather died. Now I stood there looking at a small little wrinkled up doll of a woman, lost in a monstrosity of tubes and machines. All signs of the woman that used to reside in that frail little body all but destroyed by disease, medicine and time, there seemed no fight left. I was startled by her small voice in the darkness.

Rio? Where have you been? She asked weakly.

I was in town at a job interview Gran, I replied.

How did you do? She seemed unusually lucid with no hint of pain in her voice.

I got the job Gran. How are you feeling? Did you see the doctor today?

I think he came by, She responded, There are so many coming and going I don’t pay much attention anymore. She sighed and continued talking in a stronger voice, I feel like I always feel Rio. I feel like I am in pain and I would like to die. But that isn’t important right now. You tell me about your job.

You sound very strong tonight Gran. I said. I am working for a man named Jack Parnell. He is the owner and chief of a record company called Mountain Sound and I am his new personal assistant.

What kind of man is he? She turned her head slightly in my direction. Turn that lamp on beside you I want to see your face when I talk to you.

Okay Gran, watch your eyes, I flicked the switch and lit up our little corner of the room. He is a very nice man, I started, He is paying me well and there is a lot of room for advancement.

Good, She smiled, when do you start?

I already have Gran…

Well then, She interrupted, you’d better get home and get some sleep so you won’t be tired for your new job. I want you to do a good job and don’t worry about me, okay? She was trying to keep the smile from fading. You are such a good boy, and I’m very proud of you. You promise me you will do your very best to make that man proud of you too and I will rest well knowing you are going to be okay. The smile was still there but the pain was evident in her voice.

Gran I don’t have to leave you, I said softly. Mr. Parnell said my first assignment was to stay here and be with you. I held her hand close to my face and whispered, I am not leaving this spot. Now you get some rest. I will still be here when you wake up.

She looked up at me lovingly, Your Mr. Parnell isn’t a nice man, she smiled, He is an angel. With that she slumped back into her pillow and slept.

I awoke early the next morning. The recliner chair was not the most comfortable sleeping arrangement but it wasn’t terrible either.

Can I bring you anything? The nurse asked. She was standing over Gran changing one of the many IV bottles that kept her fed and administered medications.

I’m fine. I replied. I could use a coffee, but I’ll go get it.

No need, she picked up Gran's wrist and began timing her pulse with her small pocket watch, There’s coffee on Mrs. Donnelle’s breakfast tray. She stopped taking solid food days ago. You can have the breakfast if you don’t mind hospital food.

Thank you. I said getting up from the chair and crossing the room to the tray she indicated.

Don’t mention it. It would only go to waste otherwise. She was rolling up the sleeve of Gran’s nightdress to take her blood pressure.

How is she this morning?

Her blood pressure is normal and she seems to be sleeping well. She is in pain most of the time though. She paused to listen to her chest then looked up; Her breathing is fine.

Can you do anything for her pain? I asked.

Not really, the nurse responded. Her examination complete she was writing notes in the little chart that hung from the bottom of the bed. She refuses to take anything for the time being. She says the pain will turn her mind to mush soon enough and until then she doesn’t need any drugs to help it along. She smiled at that. She is a very strong woman, I wish there were something more I could do for her. She turned and left the room.

I thought about her last remark, she had made a personal statement not a professional one. She had said … I not we. I wish there were something more… ‘I’ … could do for her. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe she was just one of those rare people who took personal responsibility for their charges. If she was she should consider changing floors. Palliative care was not the kind of ward to feel personally responsible for your patients. I wondered what kind of person it took to work in an area day in and day out surrounded by certain death. This was the ward were people come to die, no hope for improvement… just the guarantee of death. It was definitely a job for someone a great deal stronger than I will ever be, I thought. Dealing with death every day and having no power to stop it would slowly drive me insane.

I wish there were something more you could do for her to, I said to the empty space where the nurse had been.

***~~~***

I spent the morning reading a magazine and listening to the steady rise and fall of Gran’s breathing. I checked in with Jack for the first time and was reassured that he wanted me to stay put. Gran awoke early in the afternoon complaining of pains in her chest and difficulty breathing. After some adjustments to her position and a few minutes of oxygen she seemed in much better shape. Her bed was inclined so she was in a sitting position. Her spirits were high and we talked for a while about the details of my interview. I told her of my hastily improvised speech about being Canadian. She started to laugh, which changed suddenly to a choked cough. I shot up out of my chair and took her hand.

Are you alright Gran? I asked frantically

I’m fine, she gasped. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It hurts a little to laugh, she continued, But it is a good hurt. Why didn’t you just answer the man’s question instead of ranting on and on?

I could feel my face flush with embarrassment; I didn’t know the answer. I felt like a small child caught in a lie. I’ve never asked and no one’s ever told me. I didn’t think it was important.

Oh Rio, she sighed, of course it’s important. You were partly right when you said you were Canadian through and through, but you were right for the wrong reasons.

I sat back down still holding her small hand; I don’t understand what you mean.

You will. She assured me. She shifted herself a little higher in the bed and started her explanation. Well it is all a bit confusing to begin with, she said smiling, But I will start with your Grandfather. His father was French from his mother and Italian from his father. Your grandfather’s mother was English, A high born snotty woman that one was. She hated me terribly for being a loose woman because I wore pants, She giggled like a small girl. I loved driving that woman up the wall. They raised your grandfather Catholic, and she was a devout bible beater, not averse to beating your grandfather upside the head with it either. She pulled her lips tight together and wagged her nose in the air in an unflattering impersonation of her Mother in law. I think she condemned me to Satan himself when I committed the unladylike sin of getting a job. Oh, she was a character alright, I sure miss her. She paused for a moment as if recalling a dear departed friend.

Gran, I thought you said you hated her. I said

Oh, no dear, She corrected, She… hated me. I found her and her antics quite entertaining and got hours of amusement at her condemnation of me. She giggled again. Gran had always known how to see the humor in any situation. I understood now, how she had perfected the skill. Anyway… let me continue with your family tree, She said clasping her hands together, there was a twinkle in her eyes I had thought long lost. I sat back smiling, I had always thought this topic a waste of time, but Gran was genuinely enjoying her reminiscing. My father and mother were both from Scotland. I think you still have living relatives there. You probably have living relatives all over the world for that matter. They were passionate people, my parents. They seemed like high school sweethearts as long as I can remember. You could often catch them stealing a kiss on the couch or in the kitchen or anywhere else two people could kiss for that matter. They did everything passionately; they lived, loved, and even fought like their lives depended on it. That kind of love is rare, Rio, you could search your whole life and never come close. If you do find someone who makes you feel like that, you hold on tight. There is no problem so big it can’t be solved. Most people give up on their relationships today because they are too lazy to do the hard work. It is easier to walk away than it is to make things work.

The last words caught in her throat and she broke into a coughing fit ended by a sudden intake of breath and an expression of great pain.

Gran, I started, maybe this is a little too much for now. Why don’t you get some rest.

Nonsense, She said weakly. There is never too much for now. All we ever have is now Rio. There are so many things I have to tell you; important things, and I don’t have a lot of time to tell them to you. She shifted and coughed a little more. I didn’t know your mother’s parents very well, but I know that her father was Swiss. Both his parents came from there, but I’m not sure what part. I ‘m also not sure, but I think her mother was Irish. Your eyes are definitely a Swiss trait. They are identical to your mother’s and to her father’s. You have your mother’s smile too. She said, She could light up a room when she smiled. Your Mother could enter any room and mesmerize everyone inside. She was beautiful but more than that she had a spirit and sense of humor that made others want to be near her. Oh she was an adventurer too, always interested in a new challenge or adventure. She was passion personified. The world is a poorer place for her loss. She stopped again lost in thought. I could see her mourning her son and his young bride.

Gran I don’t see how this makes me more Canadian. You just told me I am a combination of; Italian, French, English, Scottish, Irish and Swiss. I had actually lost interest in the topic and was now more interested in hearing about my parents. I had never asked much about them because it seemed to cause my grandparents such pain to remember them, but now I felt like I needed to know more.

The answer is really simple if you examine it closely, She replied. Canada is a great country built by people from all over the world, from all different races and religions, different creeds and colors. What makes Canada wonderful is the blending of all those different cultures and the freedom to be proud of who you are and where you come from. It is like that in the United States also, but in the rest of the world things are not always so. There are places where people are still discriminated against based on the color of their skin, or where wars are fought over difference of religious opinion, but that doesn’t happen here. There are some problems mind you, but they aren’t impossible to solve.

So what you are saying, I interrupted, is that I am more Canadian because I am a mixture of all those different backgrounds and beliefs, just like Canada.

See, she grinned up at me. It is easy if you think about it.

The nurse poked her head around the curtain. Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but it is time for Mrs. Donnelle’s medication. She said politely.

You aren’t interrupting Jane. I would prefer if you called me Maggy though, Mrs. Donnelle makes me feel so old. Gran laughed as she said this. I could see now why the nurse had made the personal comment earlier. Gran had endeared herself to this woman in typical Maggy Donnelle fashion. By the end of the examination she would probably have received advise on everything from the necessity of fresh garlic in a healthy diet, to the secret of a good marriage. I excused myself and went out for some fresh air. By the time I returned Gran was sound asleep so I flicked through the television channels for something to watch.

***~~~***

In the next two days Gran recalled stories of my father when he was a boy and told me the tale of how he met my mother; she talked of my grandfather and of her childhood, and every anecdote she could recall of her mother in law.

They never would have lasted, she said casually. She was telling me about my parents wedding.

What do you mean? I asked incredulously. You said yourself they were the cutest little couple and they loved each other completely.

Oh they were, She shifted a little in the bed; she was having more difficulty each day getting comfortable. The pain was increasing more and more as the days wore on. They were darling together and they were so happy in love, but your Dad was like his father. You remember how your Grandpa used to come home, have dinner, watch the news and maybe spend some time in his workshop?

Yes. I said. I was smiling at the vision of my grandpa in his dirty work clothes sitting in his recliner chair. He used to smoke cigars; not the big rolled ones but the little wine tipped ones from the package. I used to try and sneak them so I could suck the wine from the tips.

Well your father would have been content with a life like that. Work hard every day and come home to a comfortable house, it’s a good way to live, but your Mother wouldn’t have remained very happy over time. She needed new challenges and adventures, she needed to see the world and meet new people. They would have been happy for a time but eventually those differences in their very natures would have pulled them apart no matter how much love was there, or how much work they put into it. She looked sad at the thought, then she turned to me very seriously, took my hand and said, So you see Rio. The universe had a plan when they died. They will always be together and their love will always be perfect.

There was a loud coughing sound behind the curtain to announce the visitor waiting there.

Hello… Who’s there? Gran inquired politely.

Jack Parnell appeared at the foot of the bed. I hope this isn’t a bad time. He said clearing his throat.

I stood up to greet him. No Mr. Parnell, we were just reminiscing over old times. What can I do for you? Do you need me to return to the office? I didn’t really want to leave, but he had been so generous to let me stay here for so long to begin with, if he needed me to go I would do so without hesitation.

No, no Rio. He said motioning for me to sit back down. I don’t mean to intrude on your private time. I just took some time off to come and meet your Grandmother. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds.

I was stunned. The charity of this man seemed limitless.

Nonsense, Gran declared, You are a most welcome guest Mr. Parnell.

Please call me Jack, He interrupted, I have asked Rio to use my first name but it hasn’t sunk in yet I guess. He and Gran both laughed a little. The laughter had caused Gran more pain than she was prepared for.

Well that is my fault, She said quickly to disguise her discomfort, I taught the boy to be respectful of those in authority. He will learn in time, he is a very smart boy. She teased. Jack laughed again in response.

I am glad to provide you both with such amusement, I said indignantly, crossing my arms over my chest and thrusting my chin in the air. This brought laughter from everyone