27-04-2019, 03:50 PM
So Night Follows Day Pt. 28
"I started as an altar boy, workin' at the church.
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research,
which led me to a cash box labeled Children's Fund.
I'd leave the change and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund.
I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store,
laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score.
I loaded up their furniture and took it to Spokane,
and auctioned off every last Naugahyde divan."
-Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"
Helen Parker pulled herself up onto the roof of the sleeper car, feeling the wind howling in her face, until she stood atop the train. In the light of the full moon, she saw him. Or rather, a steadily-blurring version of the man who was making his way along the roof of the car, about half its length away.
"Dr. Girard!" Helen shouted to the man in French, just before the steam whistle on the Orient Express blew, clutching the stiletto in her hand. "You failed to give me twenty-four hours' notice before cancelling our appointment! I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you for the full session!"
"That sound means that we are approaching the Simplon Tunnel, Miss Parker!" The man shouted back, laughing as he produced a long knife of his own. "As a doctor, I would not recommend fighting me in your condition!"
"Here's my second opinion, Doctor! I'll have that antidote now!" Helena said, fighting the poison coursing through her veins.
"Over your dead body, Helena!" He cackled as they sprinted toward each other.
The effort was too much, her heart was already pumping, and the poison was working too quickly. The last of her strength faded, and Helen became aware that she'd dropped to her knees. She saw the insane former man-of-medicine bearing down upon her, ready to kill.
As the train's whistle blew a second time, Helen heard a sound over it; that of a revolver shot, and Dr. Girard dropped dead a few feet in front of her, the stoppered glass vial rolling out of his watch pocket, onto the roof of the train. She reached out for it, but it was rolling faster than her dulled reflexes could reach. As the train entered its final turn before the oncoming tunnel, it rolled toward the edge of the car.
A man's gloved hand shot out and grabbed the vial at the last possible moment, before it tumbled off the roof and into oblivion. Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, a silver-haired vision, though dashing at any age, looking roguishly handsome in his emerald green tuxedo; held a smoking revolver in his other hand. He dropped to his knees and set down the gun, cradling her in his arms.
"Helena, my love." He said to her, breathlessly, as he held onto her with one powerful arm while bringing the vial up to his mouth to open with his teeth. "You must drink this, darling. You must live!"
"No, Vincenzo!" She said to the man she'd only known a couple of wonderful, exciting months, but to whom her heart already belonged. "YOU are the one who must take the antidote! There's only enough for one of us, and I am nobody," She began to lightly cough. "Just an ordinary girl from Anchorage, Alaska, my love! The people of San Finzione will ALWAYS need you! MARIA needs you! Do it for HER, Vincenzo!"
He looked at her with grim determination.
"I will do this on one condition, Helena." He said to her. "That if I swallow this antidote and save my own life, purely for the good of The People, and for Maria; you MUST promise me that you WILL fight off the poison! That you will LIVE! That you will marry me and be my Contessa!"
"Oh, yes, Vincenzo!" Helena called out, the words seeming to give her a new surge of strength by themselves. "Yes, my love, I will! And of course, I'll marry you! But hurry and drink!"
With a tear in his eye, Vincenzo imbibed the blue fluid. As he felt his own strength returning, he saw color returning to the cheeks of his beloved bride-to-be. He pulled an enormous diamond engagement ring from his pocket and put it on Helena's finger. She felt his love revitalizing her and smiled as she pulled him down to her and the train steamed into the tunnel.
* * *
"I started as an altar boy, workin' at the church.
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research,
which led me to a cash box labeled Children's Fund.
I'd leave the change and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund.
I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store,
laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score.
I loaded up their furniture and took it to Spokane,
and auctioned off every last Naugahyde divan."
-Warren Zevon, "Mr. Bad Example"
Helen Parker pulled herself up onto the roof of the sleeper car, feeling the wind howling in her face, until she stood atop the train. In the light of the full moon, she saw him. Or rather, a steadily-blurring version of the man who was making his way along the roof of the car, about half its length away.
"Dr. Girard!" Helen shouted to the man in French, just before the steam whistle on the Orient Express blew, clutching the stiletto in her hand. "You failed to give me twenty-four hours' notice before cancelling our appointment! I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you for the full session!"
"That sound means that we are approaching the Simplon Tunnel, Miss Parker!" The man shouted back, laughing as he produced a long knife of his own. "As a doctor, I would not recommend fighting me in your condition!"
"Here's my second opinion, Doctor! I'll have that antidote now!" Helena said, fighting the poison coursing through her veins.
"Over your dead body, Helena!" He cackled as they sprinted toward each other.
The effort was too much, her heart was already pumping, and the poison was working too quickly. The last of her strength faded, and Helen became aware that she'd dropped to her knees. She saw the insane former man-of-medicine bearing down upon her, ready to kill.
As the train's whistle blew a second time, Helen heard a sound over it; that of a revolver shot, and Dr. Girard dropped dead a few feet in front of her, the stoppered glass vial rolling out of his watch pocket, onto the roof of the train. She reached out for it, but it was rolling faster than her dulled reflexes could reach. As the train entered its final turn before the oncoming tunnel, it rolled toward the edge of the car.
A man's gloved hand shot out and grabbed the vial at the last possible moment, before it tumbled off the roof and into oblivion. Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, a silver-haired vision, though dashing at any age, looking roguishly handsome in his emerald green tuxedo; held a smoking revolver in his other hand. He dropped to his knees and set down the gun, cradling her in his arms.
"Helena, my love." He said to her, breathlessly, as he held onto her with one powerful arm while bringing the vial up to his mouth to open with his teeth. "You must drink this, darling. You must live!"
"No, Vincenzo!" She said to the man she'd only known a couple of wonderful, exciting months, but to whom her heart already belonged. "YOU are the one who must take the antidote! There's only enough for one of us, and I am nobody," She began to lightly cough. "Just an ordinary girl from Anchorage, Alaska, my love! The people of San Finzione will ALWAYS need you! MARIA needs you! Do it for HER, Vincenzo!"
He looked at her with grim determination.
"I will do this on one condition, Helena." He said to her. "That if I swallow this antidote and save my own life, purely for the good of The People, and for Maria; you MUST promise me that you WILL fight off the poison! That you will LIVE! That you will marry me and be my Contessa!"
"Oh, yes, Vincenzo!" Helena called out, the words seeming to give her a new surge of strength by themselves. "Yes, my love, I will! And of course, I'll marry you! But hurry and drink!"
With a tear in his eye, Vincenzo imbibed the blue fluid. As he felt his own strength returning, he saw color returning to the cheeks of his beloved bride-to-be. He pulled an enormous diamond engagement ring from his pocket and put it on Helena's finger. She felt his love revitalizing her and smiled as she pulled him down to her and the train steamed into the tunnel.
* * *
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