No Strings by Roy Dorman

Howard Blackwood III (not his real name) walked slowly down 5th Avenue after having been to the opera. The night was pleasant and he decided to take the city bus home, rather than a cab. One could meet so many interesting people on buses and subway cars. Howard enjoyed meeting new people.

He knew he’d have to transfer to get to the stop near his home, but Howard was comfortable being out on the streets late at night. He walked a bit more and then stopped at a bus stop with a bench.

He had only been seated for a few minutes when he looked up to see a young woman running down the street in his direction. She appeared to be terrified and looked over her shoulder every few steps to see how close her pursuer might be.

When she reached Howard’s bench, she plopped down next to him and tried to catch her breath. Within seconds, a scruffy young man came running up. The young woman cringed instinctively, and still without looking at him, scooted a little closer to Howard.

“Let’s go, Candace,” said the young man.

Another young man, this one heavier than the first, now arrived at the scene.

“Who’s the old dude, Rick?” he said, holding his stomach and wheezing.

“Don’t know. Just got here.”

Coming from the opera, Howard was dressed in formal black-tie, complete with an expensive dark overcoat and top hat. His shoes probably cost more than the clothing of these three combined. He was definitely the odd one in this cast of characters.

“I say we pop ’em both,” said the heavier one. He pulled a pistol from inside his jacket and leveled it at Howard.

Just then the bus pulled up. The two men exchanged glances and took off running in the direction they had come from.

“Can I give you a lift?” said Howard with a smile. “Not to worry, I’ll buy. And no strings.”

Candace got on the bus with Howard and he paid for both of them. Howard sat next to the window to leave the aisle seat for Candace, but she sat on the aisle seat across from him. Temporarily free from those other two, her concern was now centered on Howard.

“You could stay at my abode if it would make you feel safer,” said Howard. “I have an extra room and it would be no trouble. And no strings.”

Candace smiled a very thin smile and gently shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll be okay.”

When the bus came to the stop where he would have to transfer, Howard said, “I live in a small bungalow down the alley behind 114 W 133rd Street. If you change your mind, that is.”

Candace just smiled. Howard got off and went to the bench to wait for his next bus.

#

It was near dawn and Howard was ready to get some rest. The night had been interesting. Not entirely satisfying, but interesting.

There was a knock on the door. Opening it, Howard saw Candace standing there, just getting ready to knock again.

“I changed my mind, if that’s okay. I’d like to stay here for a while. For safety.”

“Of course, come in,” said Howard. “I was just getting ready to turn in. I like the night, so I usually sleep during the day. I don’t have a television or a computer, but I do have a large library. And there’s food in the cupboards in the kitchen. Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll check on you later this afternoon.”

Candace nodded when Howard had finished. He went into a room off the living room and shut the door.

He awoke to the sound of whispering. Without opening the door, he walked through it and into the living room. His apparition caused Candace and the two ne’er–do-wells from the bus stop to gape at him in disbelief. The heavy one once again pulled his pistol and shot Howard twice in the chest. Howard merely smiled at the three of them. The shooter put the pistol to his partner’s head and pulled the trigger. He then put the barrel of the gun into his own mouth and again pulled the trigger.

Candace screamed hysterically for a bit and then made for the front door. When her struggles to open it were unsuccessful, she began to scream again.

“Stop!” said Howard firmly, and Candace stopped mid-scream.

“Why are you not…dead?” stammered Candace.

“Maybe I am. There’s a very fine line between—”

“But he shot you. Twice. I saw it. You should be dead.”

“Another philosophical argument. Many have argued that I should be dead— ”

Candace decided she was in way over her head and sighed. Letting those two scumbags know where Howard lived had been a mistake. She looked at them lying dead on the floor and wondered why she wasn’t with them. She decided not to ask that question.

When she looked at Howard again she saw he had changed. He was again wearing his tuxedo. His eyes were a bright red. When he smiled at her she saw that his canine teeth were now longer than his other teeth. Much longer.

“There were no strings before, but unfortunately, there are now. And I’m afraid, dear Candace, you must learn about those strings.”

#

A year later, almost to the day, with the weather being inclement, Candace opted for a cab.

“It’s been a long night,” said the cabbie after they had driven a few blocks. “Ya mind if I stop at that 24/7 and get some sodas and cigarettes? I’ll shut the meter off but leave the cab runnin’.”

“It’s a bit out of the ordinary, but, yes, by all means,” answered Candace.

“Get ya anything?”

“No thank you; I’m fine.”

Candace watched the cabbie walk into the store and her eyes followed him through the store’s plate glass windows as he went to the cooler for soda and then back to the register for cigarettes.

She glanced at the dashboard and saw the cabbie’s identification information. The photo on the registration was not of the cabbie.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” said Candace with a smile. “I wonder what we have here.”

When she looked up again, she saw the cashier had his hands in the air and the cabbie who might not be a cabbie was holding a pistol. The cashier put money from the register into a bag and the cabbie headed for the exit. Candace watched as the cashier reached under the counter and pulled out his own gun. As the cabbie opened the door to leave, the cashier wildly fired two shots, missing with the first, but hitting the cabbie in the upper shoulder with the second. The cabbie turned and shot the cashier once in the forehead, killing him instantly.

When she had seen the cashier raise his pistol, Candace had jumped out of the back seat and into the driver’s seat. As the cabbie ran out the door, she pulled up to the entrance.

“Get in,” she said.

“Whatta ya doin'”

“I’m getting us out of here before the police arrive. Get in.”

#

“You’re home early, Candace…, Oh my, what have we here? Company?”

“I brought a gift, Master,” said Candace. “He’s young and healthy. He’s also a marginal character who won’t be missed by anyone.”

“Who’s this? What’s this “Master” crap?” said the cabbie. “And, hey, I ain’t nobody’s gift.”

Howard reached out and tightly gripped the cabbie’s wounded shoulder, causing him to wince and moan. “Oh, but you are a gift,” he said. “A little scruffy, but I’m sure you’ll clean up nicely.”

Howard then buried his fangs into the cabbie’s neck and fed. After a minute, he tossed the cabbie into a corner liked a ragdoll. “Thank you, Candace. That was thoughtful of you. You have picked up on what is expected of you very quickly. I’m very pleased.”

“Master? Were you really surprised by my bringing the gift? Or do you always know everything I do as I’m doing it.”

“Yes, I was surprised. And no, dear Candace, I don’t know your every move. I only monitor your comings and goings when I feel interested. Or bored. I am fond of surprises, so I don’t peek that often. And I have my own reasons for sharing this one other bit of information.”

“Yes, Master?”

“I can’t ‘see’ you if you choose not to be seen. File that away for future use.”

“Please excuse me, Master. I must move the stolen cab to another location so that attention is not drawn to us. I’ll return for my reward shortly.”

#

It has now been ten years since Howard had taken Candace on as his apprentice. He has taught her everything he knows of both the world and the underworld.

Candace is very appreciative of Howard’s tutelage, but she has grown restless. Howard has grown fond of New York City and is satisfied with an outing once or twice a week. Candace, however, is young, with bloodlust coursing through her and would like to sample the wares of the world. The older cities of Europe and Asia call to her.

One evening when Howard is out, she erects the mental guard she has used sparingly over the years. She searches through the contents of an old oaken lock box he has never shared with her. Among the old papers, there is an envelope, unsealed, with her name on it. Inside is a letter to her. Unsure if she will have enough time to read it, she takes the envelope, closes the lock box, and puts it back where it had been hidden in the back of Howard’s closet.

Candace decides to take the letter to a nearby deli where she won’t be interrupted. Sitting in a corner booth, she opens it.

My Candace,

If you are reading this, you are getting close to making the decision to strike out on your own. You know from my teaching that I cannot permit that.

The only way you can escape my control of you is to end my existence. I warn you that that will not be any easy task. I have over 400 years of experiences to fall back on.

If and when you are successful, I wish you well. My last piece of advice is to take great care in choosing your apprentice. He or she will someday read the letter you left for them.

Best,
Howard

Candace reread the letter and knew should would have to plan her bid for independence carefully.

#

“I see you have found your letter.” said Howard.

Candace hadn’t bothered putting the letter back into the box in the closet when she returned from the deli. She had left it out in the open on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. Knowing she may be fighting for her mortal life, she had left her mental safeguards up, hoping Howard had been honest about not being able to see through them. If he had been lying, she didn’t want anything more to do with him. If he had been telling the truth…

“I’m going to Paris, Master, to live my own Life of Darkness. It is time. I have brought an apprentice for you to interview to see if she is worthy to take my place in your life. You will find she is much like me when I was her age and you took me under your wing. I don’t want us to battle to the death. It doesn’t have to be that way. Tradition is merely tradition. Times change.”

Candace moved behind the frightened young woman she had found panhandling outside the deli. Gently, she maneuvered her closer to Howard, as if to allow him a better look and also maybe the opportunity to taste her if he chose to. From under her coat, she produced a finely sharpened wooden stake, and as the two women closed the distance between themselves and Howard, she reached out and drove the stake unerringly between two ribs and into his heart. Howard’s face registered surprise, then resignation.

“Masterfully done, Candace,” he said, and his body exploded into a cloud of fine particles that floated to the hardwood floor.

“Come, Jenna. We’re going to Paris. No need to pack anything; I’ll arrange for clothing and identification for you. Everything you need to start an exciting new life with me.”

Jenna looked down at the pile of ash-like particles on the floor. Candace had promised her twenty dollars for an hour’s “role-playing” and she was desperately trying to hold down the panic that was very close to the surface.

“Someday, I may be on the floor in front of you. Before then, I will teach you much, including how to choose a worthy apprentice who may someday be your successor. There is tradition that must be honored.”

—

Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 60 years. At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer. He has had flash fiction published recently in Black Petals, Yellow Mama, Theme of Absence, Near To the Knuckle, Bewildering Stories, Flash Fiction Press, The Story Shack, Spelk, Shotgun Honey, and a number of other online and print journals. Roy is currently the submissions editor at Yahara Prairie Lights, which puts him in the enviable position of sometimes being able to accept his own work. That site is at yaharaprairie.wordpress.com.