Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part III

      I frowned at my grandfather saying, "Hey, my hair isn't that long.

   "No, but it looks like the last time it was cut someone took a weed-whacker to it," he grunted and gestured at the seat. "So which of you mop-tops is going to be first?"

     "Mop-Top?" Darlene repeated, scrunching up her face in such a way it was clear she didn't know whether to be amused or confused.

     Luckily Cheryl came to her rescue, "That was a popular way of describing men with long hair back in the 60's. I think it started when the Beatles came here to the United States for the first time." Here she paused and studied me for a moment and then added, "You just need to look at your father to get a good idea of how long their hair was back then."

     My offspring gave me an appraising stare and then shook her head. "They considered that long? Looks more he's losing some..."

     "That'll do," I cut in giving her a look that once upon a time would strike terror into her heart. Now all it did was earn me a mischievous grin. Sigh... they grow up fast and much harder to intimidate these days. 

     Meanwhile, Nathan had hopped into the barber's chair, much to my grandfather's satisfaction. Especially when Nathan started asking him about the NY Mets.

     "That bunch of bums!" granddad snarled, while tying the styling cape around Nathan's neck, "Don't get me started. And why are you bringing them up? This isn't baseball season."

     "My point exactly," Nathan replied cheerfully, "If they play during the off season they might actually find someone they can beat. Maybe a girl's softball team for instance."

     Darlene immediately jumped in saying, "You've got to be kidding. We'd mop the floor with those losers, any day of the year."

     "You tell 'im," granddad smiled and turned back to Nathan, "She gets that from my side of the family."

     "And mine!" added my grandmother pointedly. Then she turned to Cheryl and said in a stage-whisper, "He'll never admit it, but he always loved the fact that I wouldn't put up with his nonsense."

     "Like hell," granddad shot back, "I married you because no one else was willing to try to straighten you out so you'd behave more like a lady."  

     "And how did that work out for you?" Nathan asked innocently.

     Granddad glared at him for a second then murmured something about, "Gimme time. I'm still working on it." 

     I was about to comment how he'd already been working on her for almost 70 years, when I noticed my son Joe picking up an old photo album off the table. "Be careful with that," I told him, "That contains some priceless pictures in it."

     Naturally he gave me a skeptical look. "Dad, you say that about all the albums at home and it's just filled with pictures of us when we growing up."

     Looking up into the mirror, granddad saw which book Joe was holding and said, "Memories of family will be more precious than you'll ever know one day. But that's not what's in that book. Those are photos, most of them signed, by some of my favorite customers from over the years. Go ahead and take a peek, you might recognize one or two faces."

     Obligingly, my son did as he was told and immediately his eyes widened at the first image he came across. "Cary Grant!" he cried.

         

     "You're kidding?" his sister gasped and went over to see for herself. 

     Meanwhile, Granddad got to work on Nathan and was saying, "Really nice fella. Great head of hair. Loved working on it and passing the time with him. How old was he when you first brought him to my shop?"

      Nathan had to think for a moment. "Let's see, he was still pretty new in the vaudeville circuit when I met him. I'd say he was just eighteen at the time."

     "That's what I thought," Granddad nodded, "Always stopped in for a shave or a haircut whenever he came to town too." 

     Meanwhile Darlene had turned the next page in the album and started frowning. "Who's the funny-looking guy with the big nose? Was he famous too?"

      "Let me see," Nana told her and went to take a peek. After a moment she smiled, "Oh, that's Jimmy."

     "Which one, Stewart or the other one?" asked Granddad looking up from his work.

      Nana shook her head at him, "Did Jimmy Stewart ever have a big nose?"

     Suddenly, Nathan leapt out of the chair and swung around. His nose had grown considerably as he started talking fast in a raspy, jolly voice. "Who's got a big nose? Madam I'll have you know this schnozzola has given me the world's most memorable profile. It even got me into Guiness just last year."

     I quickly jumped in. "You're in the Guiness Book of World Records?"
     "Nah," Nathan replied in the same voice, "Any chump can into that old waste of paper. Nah, it got me into the Guinness brewery and straight into one of their vats. And lemme tell ya, it weren't full when I fell in, but it was plenty empty when I got out. Ha-cha-cha-cha."

     My son Joe, who had been frowning as if in deep thought, suddenly spoke up. "I know that voice. That's the guy who was the narrator from the 'Frosty the Snowman' cartoon."

     "Hey, that's right," his sister agreed. "And the cartoon version of him did have a big nose just like that." 

    "Dat's right kids, and lemme tell ya. They still didn't do it justice," Nathan continued in Mr. Durante's voice. "Why just the other day I..."

     At that point, Granddad grabbed Nathan by the arm and made him sit back in the chair. Of course this didn't stop the rush of jokes coming out of his client. In fact it wasn't until he pulled out the hot towel and placed it over the comedian's face that the dialogue became more muffled, but not completely silent.

    From then on, the rest of us continued going through the album marveling at the number of famous folks who Granddad had had the pleasure of working on over the years. Nathan helped supply some visuals to the proceedings, much to everyone's amusement and delight. 

    When Granddad finished with Nathan, Joe was more than willing to sit in the chair next and get his hair cut. Not that he really needed it, but by this time he was eager to hear more of namesake's stories. In the meantime I sat back and waited my turn in the chair. It was great seeing my kids really connecting with their great-grandparents. Like Granddad said earlier, memories about family were priceless and at that moment, I was wishing I had my phone out taking pictures. But I didn't, because Nathan had already grabbed it and was shooting away. 

    I later found out, both he and Cheryl had videotaped some of the exchanges and nonsense that followed. It was a great visit, but what made me the happiest was on the way home both Darlene and Joe asked when we were going to visit again. 

     We made a lot of memories tonight and all because of a simple haircut.

     

    - The End

Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part II

            Darlene rolled her eyes at her brother and sighed, “I don’t know why he’d need a haircut. Does it really matter?” Then before he could answer, I saw her expression change. “Actually, that is a pretty good question. Dad…?

            Holding up my hands I said, “Don’t ask me, I’m just here for Nana’s cookies and hot chocolate.” I wasn’t about to admit that I’d never really thought about it myself.

            Just then Nathan, who was not three feet away, turned to my grandmother saying, “You know I could’ve sworn I’d walked in with a bunch of people, was I just imagining things? Or did I suddenly turn invisible?”

            I watched her pat his arm and say, “No, you’re just getting to that age when everyone thinks you’ve gone deaf or your mind has gone wandering and you aren’t paying attention. I get that a lot.”

           “Not from me!” I called out loudly.

           Nathan looked around, “Did you hear something?”

           “Aw it’s just this old house creaking, or my joints, one or the other,” Nana told him.

           “Must be the house,” he assured her. “I told your dad when he was building it to use hickory but as he pointed out it was more expensive and harder to get here in Connecticut.”

           Nana laughed as she led us down the hallway.

There was an old barber pole on the wall, next to the door that led downstairs.

My grandfather had been the town’s barber for over sixty-five years, before he finally ‘retired’. The shop was still in business but being run by one of my cousins who specialized in not only classic haircutting, but the more modern ‘faded’ style as well. I myself spent a lot of time in grand-dad’s shop when I was a boy and people often thought I’d follow in his footsteps. In reality, I was studying how he interacted with his customers since he always had a way with them. I learned an awful lot about putting people at ease and drawing them out from watching him, which has been a great asset to my medical practice.

I slipped past Nathan as we reached the door to offered Nana my arm which she accepted, then we all headed downstairs.

“Here we go through ‘Dr Who’s Tardis’ again,” I heard my son Joe murmuring behind me, only to be shushed by his sister saying, “Oh, shut up, I like that show.”

“That’s just because you think the current one is cute,” he shot back.

Glancing over my shoulder I saw Darlene make a face, “Ew… I’ll take David Tennant over him any day of the week. I mostly like the companions, especially Amy…”

At that point Nana chimed in with, “I still prefer Tom Baker myself.”

That earned several groans from the rest of us, although deep down I had to admit she had a point. He was a master of comic timing and seriousness when it came to the role of the Doctor. I would’ve said more but we’d just reached the bottom of the stairs and my grandfather’s ‘shop’.

Even though my dad, Nathan, and I helped set the place up for him, I always found myself transported back to my childhood every time I came down here.

One wall of the room was dominated by a large mirror, with shelving covered by numerous barber implements, stood before two chairs that had come from the shop itself. There was also a small flatscreen television staring down from above the mirror. In short, there were also other chairs and tables around the room, but to all intent and purposes, the place was a mini-barber shop. This had been my grandmother’s idea after a number of former clients kept pestering her husband for haircuts because he was the only one who knew how they liked their hair done. Plus, they missed having their regular bull sessions with him.

But most of all, she knew my grandad missed keeping busy.

My grandfather was lounging in the older of the two chairs, when we came down. Getting out of one of the chair, where he'd been reading the paper, he stood up. "About time you got here Nathan, I was about to..." he began then spotted me and my family. "Oh good, lord you brought the entire crew with you. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me tonight."

TO BE CONTINUED...

*Author's Note: Sorry for the short entry. I was working on it this past weekend and had to go to get some routine lab work done (which took a couple of hours... groan). Plus family and a bad cold took more out of me.  Didn't want to leave you all with nothing, so I figured a short entry was better than nothing, especially when I'm trying to do at least at two entries a month. To be concluded in two weeks... unless the story decides it wants to be longer.

"Visiting My Family" E-Journal of Nathaniel Eoghan Steward - January 4th, 2005

 It's been two days since my last entry.  I had expected copying the letter I'd left Isabella to be hard, but not like that.  I should have known better.  Father told me in one of his letters that Isabella had kept my note on her nightstand to look at every night before she went to bed.  I had made her a promise that she had hoped I'd be able to keep, in spite of all the news that came back from the front lines.  I had always been able to keep my promises to her.  No matter what the odds were, I always found a way to fulfill them.  Which was probably why she was still clutching it in her hand that December night when... 

I'm getting ahead of myself again.  There are more letters and journal entries that must be copied and saved, but not tonight.  Something happened after I left here the other night, that I need to follow up on. 

You see, after Brian took the letter away to clean it, I left and began wandering the streets.  I don't even remember what I saw or whether or not I passed anyone as I walked.  I just had to keep moving.  At times I ran, even though there was no one chasing me.  It was foolish of course, one cannot can run from memories of guilt, pain, or loss.  Especially not when you've had a hundred and fifty years to accumulate them, and God knows how many more decades ahead to add to them.

Probably that was what my brain was telling me when I finally came to a halt.  Back when I still had a breath to catch, I'd probably have been bent over trying to do just that.  But not these days.  Instead, I simply stood there taking in my surroundings, trying to figure out where I was.  Imagine my lack of surprise when I realized I was standing in front of my old homestead.  Perhaps the old saying you can't run away from the past is more accurate than we think.

I stood there for several minutes staring up at the old manor.  Time had not been kind to it.  Probably because no one has lived in it since the 1970's, when the last of a series of relations tried inhabiting the place passed away.  After she passed on there was no one else to take over the place, so it became another forgotten edifice from a bygone era.  I could have come forward to try and claim the place, but there would be awkward questions about my lineage,  Especially since I'd had myself declared among the fallen back at Gettysburg during the Civil War.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I felt compelled to enter the old grounds.  I did not go inside the building itself, I rarely do these days.  Maybe it's seeing how time has and has not touched the interior.  Oh, the wallpaper has faded and peeled in many places.  Yet, a lot of the furnishings are still there, untouched, preserved by yellowed sheets that have accumulated layers of dust.  On the shelves sit figurines and books, untouched and forgotten.  As if waiting for someone to brush away the cobwebs and clean them off to they can be admired once again.

The portraits still hang in the gallery beneath dust cloths, their colors preserved and vibrant thanks to being spared and denied the light. Forgotten and unappreciated works of art by some of the most skilled painters of their time.

Why has no one ever gone inside and tried to steal any of the these forgotten treasures, I do not know.  Perhaps, some of the rumors of the place being haunted have a ring to truth to them?  I wouldn't put it past some of my 'nephews and nieces' to have come up with story of the place being inhabited by spirits.  They probably even played a few tricks to help reinforce the idea.  Heaven knows the number of times they've begged me to claim my old homestead and live here permanently, so I can be close to them.  Generation after generation have made this plea, and I always refuse.

Not that the idea isn't tempting.  But as I pointed out in my last entry, the longer I stay in one place, eventually tongues wag and trouble follows.  I couldn't bear the idea of the place and all the things within, being destroyed.  I know time will eventually take its final toll, which is why I helped Brian's father create the museum forty years ago.  My goal was to slowly remove the more valuable and treasured items from here and transfer them into the museum for safe-keeping.  Yet, every time I go inside the old place, I cannot bring myself to remove even a simple knick-knack.  It always feels like someone is glaring down at me with disapproval.

I did not enter the house, that night.  Instead I walked the overgrown path towards the family plot which sits a back in the trees behind the house.  There was once a little chapel as well, but that fell during the 'Night of Fire', along with my parents and our servants.  Again, another story, for another time.

The family plot is surrounded by a wrought iron fence which is only a few years old.  The original had long fell into disrepair and I'd had it replaced, with a new one that still had the old world look to it.  Oddly enough, the new gate creaked like its predecessor.  I could have had it fixed, but the sound seemed appropriate somehow.

So when I heard it groaning in the distance I new we had visitors.  Normally, it would be one of my extended family, but not at three in the morning.  Besides, I'd already caught a whiff of smoke in the air.  No, these were most likely unwelcome guests.  And as the only liv... still walking member of the household, it was up to me to greet them.

My footsteps become silent, even thought I'm walking over layers of dried leaves from autumns long past.  Not only do I make no sound, there are no imprints to mark my passing.  I'm still not sure how I manage this little trick, it just seems to happen whenever I go into stealth mode.  Even after one hundred and fifty years, there are questions I have yet to answer about my condition.

I turn the corner and see three figures entering my family's resting place.  Young would-be toughs.  I've seen countless numbers of them over the years.  The costumes may change, but the attitudes and arrogance is always the same.  I'm tempted to wait and get an idea of what kind of mischief they intend to get up to.  But I already hear the rattle of a spray paint can coming from one of their pockets, while another starts brandishing a crowbar.  The third kicks an old white stone I know so well.  It belonged to William, our butler.  It strikes me as disrespectful to see someone of African descent violating the grave of one of his own kind.

I decide to make my presence known.  "If you're not here to pay your respects, I suggest you take yourselves elsewhere and find some other form of enjoyment," I say loudly.

I won't bother repeating the profanity they shoot in my direction.  Needless to say, it was followed with threats against my person if I didn't start running.  Naturally, I did not retreat.  I merely stood my ground and repeated my request in the form of a warning this time.

The one with crowbar was the first to start walking towards me.  He was white, about sixteen, with all the swagger and arrogance of someone who'd watched way too many 'Gangsta' films.  I kind of felt sorry for him, which is probably why I didn't kick the living shit out him like I wanted.  Yes, I do curse and swear with the best of them.  However, I was also raised to be a gentleman and as such I refrain from using unnecessary violence when a simple scare can be far more effective.

He was about  twenty feet from me when I smile at him, put my hands in my pocket, and then and look down at the bottom of the jacket I'm wearing.  It goes all the way to the ground, similar to the style of coats back in my day.  It's a style I've always been partial to and have kept using throughout the years.  Though I make sure the cut and collar are always in keeping with whatever the 'modern day' trends are of the time.

In this case, my coat has what's called a Mandarin or Banded collar, which I leave unbuttoned as is the custom these days.

I glance up at him and smile.  This enrages him and he gets even more angry, which pleases me.  Anger can be your worst enemy sometimes.  While it may give you an adrenaline rush and maybe add a bit more to your punches, it can also make you careless.   He obviously has not noticed the movement taking place at my feet.

He soon does though.  The first dog head slips out from beneath my coat when he's just ten feet away and growls.  That catches his attention.

It throws him for a second and then he laughs, "Oh you got a dog, huh?  You think he's going to stop me from cracking your fucking skull open?  You a dead man, you here me?"

Then the second head emerges from the folds of cloth at my feet.  His blustering begins to waiver as the two hounds emerge.  Both are black with heads the size of  beachballs, with bodies to match.  I decide then to make their eyes glow red, a little something I picked up from the countless movies I've seen over the years.  It may seem trite, but the effect they have are always impressive.

As he takes his first few steps backwards, I can see his friends coming out of the gate looking worried.  There's just something about seeing something that looks like a Pitbull, but is the size of a Great Dane that is really off putting to people.

Tough guy yells as the first dog lunges for him.  He takes a step back and tries to hit it with the crowbar.  He connects and the dog's head splits in two.  For a moment he thinks he's won, then realizes that each half is now shaping and becoming whole.  Now he's dealing with an angry two-headed beast.

Unfortunately, I can smell the urine running down his legs as he screams like a girl and flees.  His buddies are already far ahead of him, chased by the second hound which had silently shot past Mr. Crowbar before he could blink.

Once I'm satisfied that they've had enough I retract my pets.  I've not moved an inch from where I'm standing, with good reason.  Thanks to the darkness, none of the trio noticed the long black lines stretching  from beneath my coat, across the ground and all the way to where the dogs should have hind quarters.  As the canine figures distort and stretch back beneath my coat, I sigh.  I could've easily shape-shifted into the form of a huge wolf, but that would start rumors.  And as you know I abhor those.

After my 'pets' are back in their proper place and I can feel my legs again, I enter the family plot and right the headstone.  I'm relieved to see that it hasn't broken, or even cracked.  I was worried, considering its the original stone and fragile.  Eventually, I'll have to replace it, but not yet.  Maybe in another few decades, but for now it's still quite legible and beautiful in a weathered sort of way.

I check on the other graves, none of them were harmed.  I got here just in time.  But the flowers have been trampled, plus there are a few looking rather wilted.  I know what needs to be done.  As sacrilegious as it sounds, I slowly walk over each grave.  As the tails of my coat pass over them, the flowers are looking strong and healthy once more.

Satisfied with my handiwork, I take a final look around.  There's no one near. I can even hear the trio still running, they're at least a mile and half away.  Good.

I knew they wouldn't be back, but I checked on things last night and stayed in the shadows until I sensed the dawn coming.  I intend to do the same tonight.  Brian is insisting on coming with me this time.  He wants to keep me company and go over some of the other letters I have to transcribe.  I think he's going to bring his laptop with him in case the mood to type strikes me.

If he offers to do it for me I'll decline.  Those letters and journal pages tell just a part of the story, only I can fill in the other sections.  No matter how hard or difficult I may find it at times, it needs to be done.

I can see it's almost nine now, I've been here for over an hour already and Brian is looking antsy.  He wants to read what I've typed, which I will let him do.  He's a good man, just like his father and grandfather and so on all the way back to his great-great-great grandfather, the first Brian Weston.  Or rather I should say Captain Weston, hero, and childhood friend.

I'll probably speak more of him in my next entry, since the next letters will begin mentioning my military service.

Good night.

The Artist - August 2007 Part XI The Conclusion

As it turned out, Nathan and I returned to the studio the next evening and indeed the piece was finished. Mind you, we still had to spend most of the night allowing the kiln to cool down before we dared remove my precious art piece from within. I'm pleased to say, it came out perfectly. It was everything I wanted it to be.

"It's beautiful," Nathan told me inside our shared space.

"I wouldn't have been able to finish it without your help," I replied. "I wish I could thank you properly..."

"How do you mean?" he replied curiously. 

"You know, giving you a huge hug and all that," I told him, shrugging our shoulders.

Next thing I knew we were face to face again, inside his mind once more. We were surrounded by fleeting images of his memories again, and this time I caught a few glimpses of our working on my sculpture.

Meanwhile, Nathan opened his arms and I quickly did the same.

"Thank you... thank you so much..." I blubbed, feeling tears of actual tears running down my cheeks. Then I pulled back and looked at him and asked, "Why? Why did you do all this, sharing your body with me and all?"

"Because, you asked for my help," he said simply.

I shook my head eyeing him carefully, "No, there's more to it than that. You've let me inside you, literally, in a way you yourself said you rarely do. So why me?"

All around us the images changed and I saw myself, much younger, eyes wide and frightful. That's when I got it. "You felt guilty about me seeing what you did to those men, all those years ago," I breathed.

He nodded. "The look in your eyes whenever we met, I never understood why you looked so troubled and standoffish. I just thought I was just reminding you of what you went through. I'd had no idea you saw..."

I reached up and stroked his face. "Don't. Neither Brian nor I would be here today if you hadn't shown up and did what you did."

"I killed..."

"People who had tortured children and were going to do much worse. Plus, you were already injured and still outnumbered. They pushed you too far and you fought back the only way left to you. Not to save yourself, but to save me, Brian and all those other children. I know that now. I also know you're a good person, which is why I trusted you enough to accept your offer to help me. And I'm never going to forget it," I told him.

"Thank you," he sighed and finally smiled. We hugged again and as we separated, I guess I had a funny expression on my face, because he asked, "What is it?"

"The door between us? You said you could close it when we were done, but... would please leave it open, just a crack? Please?" I asked hopefully.

"Is that what you want?"

I nodded.

He smiled. "Always."

I hugged him again and soon after I found myself back in my body in my hospital room. No one was there, but I didn't feel alone. I could still feel Nathan, and that made it easier for me to rest.

All of this happened about two months ago, and I can still feel his presence even when he's not around. But, tonight I can see as well as feel him. Here at my exhibition, he's been making the rounds, but was close by when it came time to unveil my piece. My jaw and hands are still healing, although I can actually talk again. As for the hands, they've responded well to the surgeries and I'm even using clay as part of my therapy to build up strength in them again. But now I know for sure I'll be able to keep making works of art and beauty once more.

As you can expect, my mom burst into tears of joy when she saw it. She hugged me, carefully of course, since I'm still healing. Still it was so worth it. She could barely speak, she was so moved, but her eyes and smile spoke louder than the entire New York Philharmonic symphony blasting the 1812 overture. 

I briefly wondered if Nathan was feeling what I was experiencing, then saw the huge smile on his face across the room. Brian and his family were with them, as well as Jack's. They're part of what Nathan calls his "extended" family, and now I am too...

"And always will be..." I hear in my head. 

"Back at you," I reply through our link, and he smiles.

 

The Artist - August 2009 Part IV

I really hadn't meant for it to happen, but I couldn't help myself. 

I'd seen Nathan many times since the day he rescued me and Brian, but it always took all of my self control not to shrink away from him. I knew Brian looked up to him as a hero, so I'd always tried to hide it. To be honest, part of me thought of him as a hero too, but... the memory of his feeding off the guy was carved just too deep into my memory. And this time, all three of them had seen my reaction.

Brian and Jack looked puzzled, but Nathan clearly knew. But the expression on his face wasn't one of anger or annoyance, it was one of pity. Without a word, he pulled the curtains shut around us and looked down at me with sad eyes. 

"You saw," he said in a quiet voice, "I'm so sorry."

Brian stared from him to me with a look of confusion on his face. "Saw what?" he asked finally.

Naturally I couldn't answer, but Nathan could. Although his voice was heavy with regret as he did so.

"The same thing you did," he told Brian. "The time the two of you were abducted by that sex trafficking bunch, and..." 

"You came for us," my childhood friend finished nodding his head. I could see the memory was still fresh in his memory. A faraway haunted look crept into his eyes. Then he turned to me and said, "But, I thought I kept you from seeing anything. I was holding you to my chest."

He had, but even with his arms covering my head I'd been able to see through the crack between them, and wished I hadn't ever since. 

"I wasn't exactly quiet," Nathan said, breaking the moment, "And of course you saw what happened, Brian. I suspect your guard might have dropped enough for her to get an eyeful. Am I right?" 

That question was directed at me and I nodded.

At that point, Jack came forward and pulled out his stethoscope. "I'd like you to listen to something," he told me and held out the ear pieces at me.

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I nodded and allowed him to gently place them in my ears. Then he turned to Nathan who he instructed to open his shirt. 

"Hey... when did this place become Chippendale's?" Nathan protested, but opened his shirt anyway. Then he leaned forward asJack placed the other end of the stethoscope on his chest. "Woo... that is cold. Do you keep that thing in a freezer or something?" 

"Shhh... let her listen," Jack replied while I did as he instructed.

The sound of a healthy beating heart came loud and clear through the instrument. 

"An undead creature, wouldn't have a heartbeat like that would it?" Jack asked me.

I wasn't really sure. After all, a stake through the heart killed vampires didn't it? So I merely shrugged.

Undaunted, Jack moved the diaphragm of the stethoscope to the other side of Nathan's chest. "Hear anything?"

I listened, but I just heard breathing this time.

"Nathan, would you move your heart to where I'm positioned?"

I don't know who looked more puzzled, me or the man I was still trying to figure out. But after a moment, he nodded.

After a few seconds later, I heard the pulsing heart just as loud as before. But even more importantly, I actually heard its approach just before it... got into position. Torn between horror and amazement I just stared at the two men. 

Still I was afraid and Jack knew it. He asked Nathan to leave and wait in the hallway, which he did.

After he left Jack turned back to me and smiled. "I know you think he's a vampire. That's why I asked him to leave. That way you can be sure that he hasn't hypnotized you into believing what Brian and i are about to tell you. In a way, your suspicion is partly correct. But I want to ask you, could such an undead creature physically move the location of its heart?"

I thought about all the movies and stories I'd read. If vampires could do such a thing, killing them would be much harder, nearly impossible. Finally, I shook my head.

Jack smiled reassuringly. "But what about a man who never died, but wound up sharing his body with a life-form which requires him to take in blood as part of his nutritional requirements?"

That made me raise my eyebrows as I found my thinking in terms of science fiction instead of horror stories.

As I did so, Brian chimed in saying, "The life-form also allows him to alter his shape and even move and change his organs around."

What followed was the most amazing story I'd ever heard in my life. I won't go into details here, because I know others in Nathan's 'Extended Family' have already shared it more than once. And they, and their descendants will be the only ones to read this, so I don't need to go into things further. Besides, I'm here to share my experience.

After Brian and Jack finished telling me all about Nathan and some of the things he could do, I simply lay there for a few moments taking it all in. If just half of what they had told me was true, then he might be able to help me once more.

"Should I ask Nathan to come back in?" asked Jack after a few moment. 

I nodded ever so carefully. My heart beating with anticipation.

TO BE CONTINUED...