Chapter Six
Hurricanes form somewhere off the west coast of Africa, and they swoop over to the Bahamas,
 building up strength. A lot of times they hit Florida. If they head east, they could go up 
the coast and hit the Outer Banks. After that, they usually die down and reach Virginia Beach 
as a really bad storm. Just such a storm had hit near where Tom lived and it knocked down a lot 
of power lines and traffic lights. But Tom decided to go into work that day, anyhow, instead of
 taking the day off. He felt that he could get to work with little mishap.  He came up to the 
intersection of Mercury and Aberdeen and saw that both traffic lights over the intersection were black.
 It was a busy street, and he wondered how he would cross, with no signal lights. He needed to make a 
left there. He thought of pulling over to the lane to his right and going straight across or turning
 right and then somehow of making a U turn. But just then, a truck pulled up on his right. And he knew 
it was illegal to back up. So he was stuck in making a left. So he continued to sit, watching the traffic,
 waiting for a clearing. When the traffic cleared sufficiently, he saw his chance, and made a left.
 A police car, with siren blowing, came up behind him and indicated to him to pull over. The cop came
 out, demanded to see his driver's license and registration, and informed him that he had gone through 
a red light. As the light was totally dead, Tom disputed this, and the cop said: 
"Are you resisting arrest?"
 Tom said no, and said nothing more. The cop wrote him a ticket, and informed him that he could
 pay the sixty dollars by mail. Tom thanked him and then went back to the parking lot near the 
intersection, and watched the truck that had just arrived pull down the dead traffic light and put 
up a new one. Tom called the highway people and got a letter from them, confirming that they had 
replaced the traffic signal just ten minutes after Tom had gotten his ticket. Tom did not pay his
 ticket by mail. He took a day off, a day that could have been spent helping his homeless clients,
  but instead,  it had to be used for court. He gave the judge his letter from the Highway 
Administration. The cop was there and still tried to sink him, saying that Tom could have used 
the working traffic light that hung over the right lane. (To make a left, I'm sure.)  The judge 
threw the case out.  

The Commonwealth Attorney  had a big house in Kingsmill. And one in the Outer Banks. Or was 
it Hatteras Island? When Tom first saw the sticker HI, he thought it meant Hawaii. Anyhow, 
the Commonwealth Attorney, which in other states is called the DA, is a political appointee, 
and he threw a lot of parties.  Tom got the invitation for the Halloween party at work. Heavy 
vellum parchment, deckled edge and gold lettering...the letter looked important.  He was instructed
 to show the important-looking letter to the guard at the gate, for it was a gated community. 
But even then, Tom had difficulty getting there. Just before the entrance, a cop pulled him over 
and wanted to know why one of his brake lights was out. He demanded that Tom keep his hands on 
the steering wheel, as he shone a gigantic light in his face and walked all around the vehicle,
 shinging his light on all of Tom's inspection stickers and city tags and license plates, front
 and back. Then he began to make insulting remarks to Tom, like, 
"you're in my jurisdiction now, so you'd better behave,"  but Tom said nothing. 
"What's the matter, with you?" The officer demanded. "Why aren't you saying anything? Are you drunk?"
 Tom still said nothing, and just shrugged. The officer blinded him with his flashlight again and 
said he could go, but not to come back that way again with a blown brake light. Tom showed his letter
 to the guard at the gate. The guard checked to see that his name was on the guest list and Tom
 was waved through. 
The DA's mansion was huge, and every window was lit. There was valet parking in front, but Tom
 demurred and parked his vehicle way in the back by himself. As he walked down the sidewalk to
 the front entrance of the mansion, he smoothed his trenchcoat and examined his suit for lint.
 With his new job as Probation Officer, he could now afford good clothes. His hope was that he
 could soon buy a house for himself. Not like the one he was about to enter: that would require 
a team of servants to clean. What kind of house should I get? And where?  He thought. He couldn't
 decide. Maybe a bungalow on the Beach. Naw, all that sand blowing in the windows...He was approaching
 the front. The front door was composed of two doors and there was a guy there, taking coats. 
Tom handed him his London Fog trenchcoat. Tom saw some clerks of the court and he went over to talk
 to them. None of his coworkers were there. He thought perhaps they hadn't showed, but they had not
 been invited. Ms. Black was there, however. After he socialized with the clerks, he went over to
 the buffet line. The lawyers from the Public Defender's office had been invited and they were 
all chowing down on the buffet line, throwing the mashed potatoes and turkey and stuffing onto 
their plates, thinking that they were in Heaven. A Public Defender's starting salary in Virginia
 is $38,000 a year. Public Defenders in Virginia are not in it for the money.  He ran into Stone.
 Stone collared him. "The boss wants you upstairs, like, now." He pointed to a large staircase.
 Tom wondered why, but only nodded to Stone who remained at the buffet line. Tom went up the stairs.
 It was much quieter up there than the ground floor. 
"I'm Tom Bartek," he said to a  butler in black who met him at the top and escorted him down a hallway.
 The second floor was more elegantly decorated, too. The wallpaper was iridescent blue. Vases 
that Tom thought might be Ming were on marble columns. The paintings on the walls had a Roccoco
 feel-like from the 1600's and 1700's. The butler brought Tom into a room with a long table and
 around it were seated very well dressed men and women.  Francois was seated at the head of the table.
 "Oh, so the Chief of Police found you," said Francois. "Well, I'm glad you could join us. I hope you
 don't mind that we have already begun."
 Tom saw that there was an empty chair. The butler led him to it and pulled the chair out for him.
 Tom sat, and saw a placard with his name in gold on it on the table. He took a white linen napkin 
that had been folded into the shape of a swan and put it in his lap.  Tom never saw so many plates,
 glasses, forks and spoons in one place before. He not only had a regular fork and a salad fork, but 
also a shrimp/snail fork, a lemon wedge fork and a dessert fork. The other guests were eating a first
 course of orange sherbet. The waiter brought him his sherbert and Tom snuck a glance at the others 
to see what spoon to pick up first. Tom didn't know it, but the other diners were the big wigs of 
the area- judges, asemblymen, CEO's, etc. Tom wondered what he had done to rate such a shindig.
 The plates looked funny. They didn't look like corelle from Kmart. Tom picked up the one
 with the iced buttercurls on it and tired to see the bottom. There was some chinese lettering on it. 
"Tom has noticed the tableware!" Announced the DA.
 The table guests chuckled. 
"In ancient China," Francois began, the parents would collect the finest clay and set it aside for
 their children to tend. As the children grew up, they were careful to moisten the clay every so
 often, so that the harsh clay particles would absorb water and become finer and finer over the years.
 They would hand this clay over to their own children to tend. Over the centuries, when the clay became
 fine enough, it would be made into dishes and fired into porcelain. The Dutch traders knew of this fine
 china and bought it and put it on their ships to sail home. Sometimes the ships would run into strong
 storms at sea and sink. This particular batch of china met with such a fate. It has been laying on 
the ocean floor for over 300 years. Recently the wreck was discovered by divers and brought to the 
surface where it was auctioned off to the highest bidder." 
Tom gulped. "And we're eating off of it?" He asked. 
The diners laughed. 
The whole meal seemed to take hours. Course after course was brought out. Dishes were put down in 
front of Tom, then taken away. Goblets and glasses were filled with water, white wine, red wine,
then taken away. Tom's supply of forks, knives and spoons was steadily dwindling. The waiter asked 
Tom what he wanted for dessert: Creme Brulee, Bananas Foster or Tiramisu. Tom said that he wanted the
  first one. When it arrived, Tom saw that someone had poured alcohol on it and set it on fire. 
"You should eat it quickly, before the alcohol burns away!" said one diner. Tom waited until the
 thing burned itself out. The fire had caramelized the top and it was quite tasty. After dinner,
 the menfolk retired to the library for brandy and cigars. The ladies went into the powder 
room to primp and gossip. The DA put his arm around Tom and began to talk to him in a fatherly way.
 "So- how is work going?"
 Tom said that other than the office politics, he liked it. The DA wanted to know what office politics
 Tom was talking about. 
"We have our own problems in my office," he nodded. "But enough shop talk. Come, let me show you
 my wine cellar. Perhaps there are some bottles you'd like to take back with you to your apartment."
 Tom shrugged. Tom didn't want to antagonize the DA. He was a very powerful man in the county, 
more powerful than any judge. If you're in court, and the judge and jury are about to pronounce you guilty,
 and the DA stands up and announces that he is dropping all charges, guess what the judge has to do? 
 The DA escorted Tom down a back staircase that went directly from the second floor to the basement.
 You see this sort of construction in older buildings, and Fire Marshalls have hizzy fits with them.
 About where the first floor was supposed to be, the wooden stairs became a landing, and then descended 
again as stone stairs. When Tom commented on it, the DA said that he had it shipped over, that it 
was Italian marble and he wasn't about to leave it behind. (So- the DA's from Italy? thought Tom, puzzled.) 
At the bottom of the stairs was a black metal grill. It was very ornate, with leaves and grapes and birds.
 Tom could look through this grill and see a small dark room beyond. He saw that it had a gate in the center. 
"What's this?" Tom asked.
"The family chapel." Francois pushed open the gate and the two entered. Tom looked about. Everything was black.
The small room had no chairs and just one large altar made of black marble. Over the altar hung a big cross
 which was upside down. 
"What happened to your cross?"
"One of the guy-wires broke. 
"Oh." Tom was expecting Francois to say that the room hadn't been used in years and so was serving as
 a wine cellar, or something. Tom heard a scuffing sound and saw the two cops come down the stairs 
and enter the room. They were smiling idiotically and Tom thought Brady was drunk. Tom then happened 
to look at Francois and saw that he looked troubled. Tom thought: I don't think Francois likes these guys.
  Stone turned and shut the gate and then locked it with a very large key. Tom thought: This guy 
can't relax for one second. 
"How goes the party upstairs?" Asked Francois. 
"They're all gone," said Brady. One guy we had to call a taxi for. Representative Curtis. He's a wino.
 Can't hold his licquor. Over all, I thought it was a successful party." 
"We ran out of dimsung after only an hour," replied Francois. 
"Yeah, well, we told the caterer what we needed and he blew it," replied Brady. 
"The church will be by tomorrow to pick up the flowers," said Stone. 
"You donate flowers to a church?" asked Tom
"Yeah," replied Stone, "For their sunday services. Makes the boss look good." He smiled at Francois. 
"So, are you going to let him in on it or what?" Asked Brady impatiently. "I gotta go pee." 
Francois sighed. Ever the picture of class and savoir faire, he thought sarcastically. 
Tom smiled. "Let me in on what?"
"Our initiation rite," said Stone. 
Tom looked puzzled. He knew there were a lot out there.  For instance, Navy Chiefs have to swallow
 goldfish. Masons had mock deaths. He had a dim view of rites and frat hazing. Except y'know,
 Boy Scout rituals.  
"What's this?" He asked. "Am I going to join some sort of fraternity or good ol' boy club?"
"You could say that," said Brady. 
"Does it involve drinking?"
The three vampires laughed. Tom had meant the typical frat ritual of chugalugging a bottle of beer all at once. 
"Now, don't hurt him," said Francois to the big burly cops. 
"Don't worry, Boss, we won't bruise him- much," said Brady.
"Can I ask what this initation is for and what it entails?" asked Tom. 
Brady smiled and Tom saw his teeth. 
"The boss wants to make you one of us," he said.
Tom thought it impolite to mention Brady's shiny grill  but he thought: that quack dentist has
 really made the rounds. He ought to have his license yanked. 
"What-  I appreciate your interest in having me join your country club, or whatever, but I must
 politely decline at this time." 
"What?" said Stone. 
"We're going to change you into a vampire, you dummy," said Brady. 
These two are just a pair of drunken idiots, thought Tom. He looked over to Francois to see what
 he thought. But Francois just looked serious and troubled. What is going on! Tom thought. He began
 to head for the gate and the way out. But Stone grabbed Tom's left arm. 
"Are you going to go peaceably or fight us?"
"Well, I'm going to fight you," said Tom. "My job description may say I have to perform
 'other duties as assigned', but this is just going too far." 
 Brady just laughed.
 Tom looked over his shoulder at him.
"This is not funny." Tom pointed to his left arm being restrained by Stone. "This already counts
 as Assault and Battery. The definition of battery, as you are well are, Chief, is 
'univited offensive touching'." 
"I'll give you 'univited offensive touching,'" said Brady, and he grabbed Toms' other arm. 
Tom scowled and looked at Francois.
 "Make these idiots stop. I don't want to join your Dick Tracy fan club and get the little decoder ring." 
Tom looked at Stone and saw that he had the same kind of dentures, and he began to wonder. 
He looked back at Brady.
"What are you staring at!" declared Brady. 
"Why aren't you fighting more," declared Stone. 
"Is that what you expect when you illegal detain someone- that they will resist arrest? 
I know the law," said Tom.
Stone let go. "What's the matter with this boy? He just keeps talking. This is no fun." 
"He sounds like a lawyer," growled Brady. 
Francois now looked amused. 
"I forgot to tell you- Tom here is a pacifist. He doesn't believe in fighting anyone."
"Yuck!" Exclaimed Brady and let go also. 
"You mean a CO? One of those cowards who won't fight to defend America from the commies?"
"It's Arab Terrorists now, and yes," replied Francois. 
"Those Arab Terrorists are trying to destroy the American way of life!" Declared Brady. 
"You mean you would do nothing to stop them from invading us and raping our women and 
children and bombing all of our cities to the ground?" 
"It's a little known biblical saying: "Vegence is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." replied Tom.
"What a drag," replied Stone. "Are you some sort of minister?"
Tom was annoyed at this. "Why should only ministers have to obey scripture?"
"Boss, are you sure about making him one of us?" asked Brady.
Francois spoke: "The Dark Lord is very intrigued by Tom. And he is protected by no church.
 He is a fence-sitter, capable of falling either way. It is my intention of presenting him as
 a gift to the Dark Lord. "
"You're devil worshippers, then," said Tom. That explains why the cross is upside down, he nodded to himself. 
The two cops grabbed his arms again. 
"Be a good boy and get up on the altar," said Stone. 
Tom dug his heels into the stone floor and tried to twist free but these guys could bench press
 hundreds of pounds and they had preternatural strength, besides. 
"C'mon, you guys, remember your academy training. How can you do such a thing?"
"Nothing personal, it's just my religion," replied Stone. 
"Listen, I studied Constitutional law. When the founding fathers guaranteed religious freedom,
 this is not what they had in mind!" exclaimed Tom.
"I really think we're pissing up a rope here," said Brady, who still had to visit a man about a horse. 
Francois spoke. "You may be right. Let him go."
The two cops let go of Tom's arms. 
"Look at me," said Francois to Tom.  Tom looked at Francois. 
"You know," said Tom, "you still have some mustard on your chin." 
Francois laughed. Tom saw Francois' eyes begin to glow red. As the redness increased, 
Tom got sleepier. Tom's vision got foggier and then he felt his knees go weak. 
"Catch him, he's about to fall," Tom heard Francois say from far away. Tom felt supporting arms
 under his armpits holding him up and dragging him forward. The two cops put Tom on the altar 
under the upside down cross. Tom dimly realized that he was laying on a cold hard surface but he 
could barely move, being in some sort of trance. He heard from it seemed far away some chanting
 like in a religious service. He heard a lot of talk about blood and the phrase: "the blood is the life."
 From underneath the altar Francois produced three jeweled goblets. Two he passed off to the cops,
 the third one he set on the altar next to Tom. Tom heard the metallic clank of the goblet and he strove 
to turn his head in the direction of the sound, and he slowly succeeded. 
Behind Francois and the two cops Tom now saw another figure in the room. He was tall, thin, elegant,
 with flowing red robes. His hair was straight, black and glossy. His eyebrows black, his skin tanned,
 and his fixed smile was brilliantly white. It seemed to float behind the cops, above the ground. 
 Tom saw Francois lean over him, and he felt something wet on his neck and it alarmed him. He tried 
to sit up, but fell back, exhausted at the effort. 
"Relax, will ya- you'll only hurt yourself," he heard Brady say.
 Tom tried to think, but his thoughts were jumbled. Get up! Why can't I get up? Get up! Gotta get out of here!
 Again he felt the wet sensation, and then a sharp pain. Francois was biting him. Francois took three 
gulps of blood and then stopped, for he knew the other two were eager to have a share.  
He nodded and Stone brought over his goblet. Francoise slashed Tom's wrist and the blood dripped
 into Stone's goblet, filling it up. Then Brady brought over his goblet and it was filled up as well. 
The two eagerly drank. Francois then drank from Tom's wrist until it ceased to bleed. With this 
amount of blood loss, Tom became  anemic and starved for oxygen and he began gasping. Francois 
pushed up his sleeve and cut his own wrist with his teeth. He let his blood drip into his own goblet.
 He lifted up Tom's head. 
"Drink!" He commanded, and he poured the blood into Tom's open mouth. But Tom was gasping for air
 and so the blood went down his windpipe where Tom choked and coughed. Then Tom swallowed out of reflex. 
Tom felt a little better. So he drank the rest of the liquid without resisting, not really sure
what it was. Then Tom began to convulse, but not as badly as the cops had seen others do in the past.
 Then Tom spiritually died, and he felt himself falling. When Tom opened his eyes, it looked like he
 was in a museum. There were glass cases containing military uniforms. Some were red with lots of 
gold braid on the shoulders. Old paintings were on the walls. Sculptures on pedestals. But the door
 frames to the museum were crooked- not plumb. It was really a sloppy carpentry job. The place was 
pretty empty. Tom noticed a little boy there and he went up to him. Tom asked the little boy what 
he was doing there and the little boy said that he had molested his baby sister, and then killed 
himself out of remorse. Then the little boy went up to a pedestal and took a glass plate off of it
 that was on display and ran off with it. 
"Listen, bring that back," said Tom. 
The child obviously had self-control issues. 
Tom went down an incline to a lower level. More poor construction and now litter, too. Wires on
 the ground, cables, steel beams- had something blown up or was something under construction? 
He came a across a lady with a cut finger. 
"Here, let me get a bandaid for you," said Tom. "Where do they keep the bandaids around here?" 
She disappeared. Tom looked at the mess at his feet. 
"Is anyone doing anything about all this wiring?" Tom wanted to know. "It's a trip hazard! Who's in charge?" 
Tom looked over to see the tall thin red figure again, this time flanked by two gremlin-looking escorts.
 One of the gremlins came over. 
"Are you in charge?"
"Yes," he replied. 
"I saw a lady a moment ago with a cut finger. Where do you keep the medical supplies?"
"We don't have any medical supplies here," the thing growled. 
Tom looked over at a group of people sitting among the rubble, laughing and goofing off. 
"You know, all this mess is a trip hazard. Are those people over there supposed to be doing something?"
A man from the group called out: "You mean, like work?"
The group all laughed. Boy, do they ever have attitudes! Tom thought. 
"Is everybody here like this?" 
"No," smiled the gremlin in the dark suit. "They're worse on the lower levels."
"Lower levels?"
"But I wouldn't go down there if I were you," he laughed. 
Tom looked about. "You know, if y'all could pick up around here, the place could be half-way decent.
 When do those guys get off their break?"
"What are you- some sort of Do-Gooder?"
"Well, I-"
"I think you had better leave," said the Gremlin. 
"I'm not leaving until somebody helps me pick up this mess. Or do I have to do it all myself!" 
Tom reached down and picked up a wire that had snarled around one of his feet. "Where's the dumpster?"
The Gremlin merely smiled. 
Someone from the group yelled: "We'll dump all over you, boy!" They got up and started to pursue 
Tom to whale on him. 
"Whoa!" Tom saw the incline up and up it he ran. The group didn't follow. Maybe they couldn't.
 Tom ran up to the museum level, examined its tacky shag rug. He saw a small door of old beaten gold.
 Tom pushed on this door with no door knob and it swung open. Sure enough, this was the way out.
Tom awoke in a large bed in Francois' master suite. The curtains on a nearby window were pulled back
 and Tom could see that the sun was setting. Tom was still in his suit, laying ontop of the covers.
 There was a dark figure seated on a chair in a far corner and Tom could make out that it was Francois. 
"What happened? Did I pass out?" asked Tom. "I don't remember drinking that much."
"What do you remember?" 
"Well, I had this nightmare that you and Tweedledum and Tweedledee- uh- well anyway, we were in 
your basement and I got killed."
"Really!" 
"Then, in my dream I went to Hell. Then I got chased out of Hell."
"Why?" 
"Because, evidently, I was ruining everyone's fun. In my dream, the people in Hell were there because
 they preferred to be there."
"Of course."
"And they're doing the same thing that they did when they were living." 
"Of course. "
Francois got up. "Are you thirsty?" He pointed to a carafe on ice beside Tom's bed. 
It was time for Tom to become more like a vampire. 
"It's a non-alcoholic Bloody Mary. Perfect for hangovers." 
Tom drank all of it as Francois looked on and smiled. It wasn't all tomato juice.
"What time is it?" 
Francois pulled out a pocket watch and flipped it open. "Seven ten pm." 
Tom felt a sensation on his neck and put his hand over where the Baron had bitten him.
"My neck- " he began.
"Oh, during the party, you and a lady got a little frisky and she gave you a hickie, I believe 
they call it," he lied.
"I got frisky?"
"Well, you didn't dance with a lampshade on your head, but you and she did get a little close 
on the dance floor."
Tom looked embarassed. He stood up to go.
"Oh, someone from the party left a pair of sunglasses behind- they're in the top drawer. Why
 don't you take them? You might need them. If you don't, I'll just have to throw them out."
Tom opened the top drawer and fished out the sunglasses. "Mmm. Stylish. Sure you can't use them?"
"No, no, you take them."
Tom put them in his inside coat pocket.