The Mother Road Chapter 1
Date: 2/13/98
From: marcos1

Collinsport 1897

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The woman fell down the cliff. The cold rush of sea air chilled her, as she hit the jagged rocks. There was a moment of oblivion, a sweet sense of abeyance as the darkness of death fell upon her. The sleeper slept long, and without the breath of life. But then she awoke.

Route 66--Outside of Chicago--1933

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The hitchhiker stood beside the road. It was called 'The Mother Road' leading from Chicago to Los Angeles. The steady stream of travelers migrated west. Their hearts full of hope, but their stomachs empty. But this hitch-hiker was different. He traveled because of an empty heart. For he was God's gift to the ladies. But even as he was intoxicated by the sundry crowd of endless female faces, sweet supple breasts, and sweet succulent thighs, he was burdened with an empty soul. A full flask of whiskey in his left coat pocket, comforted him.

The old pick-up paused by the side of the road. The old man opened the truck door, allowing the hitchhiker to enter. The old man had a very red face, a balding pate with strands of white hair slightly tousled in the evening breeze. He smiled warmly. "Hello stranger," he said, keenly. "Where are you headed?"

"Anywhere and everywhere," replied the hitchhiker. "Sometimes a person reaches a point where it just doesn't matter." He had blue eyes, the color of the bright summer sky. But they were filled with a sense of great age, very woebegone, very crestfallen.

"Oh, life never gets that bad," said the old man. He reached over and shook the hitchhikers hand. "My name is Erling. And I'm happy to meet you. What's your name?"

"My name is..." the hitchhiker paused, debating if he should equivocate. But then feeling such warmth, and kindness from the old man, he decided to tell the truth. "My name is Quentin Collins."

A Government Camp In California

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The young man sat by the side of the river. He felt such great fatigue, having worked all day in the grape orchards. He rolled a cigarette between his thumb, and his forefinger, never noticing a flapping sound in the distance. For there was a creature of the night approaching him. A creature capable of dark, iniquitous conduct. A creature that had lost her soul. The young man caught a glance of a young woman, with long blonde tresses, and blue eyes that were large and beautiful. But then feeling a sharp pain on the side of his neck, he saw nothing more, ever.

In the morning, the police found the body. Like the other victims, it was drained completely of blood, rigid, a sickly hue of white.

On The Road West--On Route 66

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Erling chewed the tobacco, pausing only to spit from his truck window. "Quentin, I'm heading to California. My family is out there. It's the land of plenty. There is just so much work out there," he said, smiling. "I've got my children, and grandchildren, and my wife, already out there." He looked over at Quentin. "Are you married? Do you have children?"

"Yes...." replied Quentin. "But there is no one now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of whiskey, drinking deeply. "No one, but this. Care for a sip?"

"No, thanks," replied Erling, shaking his head. "Its just so hard to believe that a young man, as good looking as you, doesn't at least have a sweetheart?"

"There was someone once," replied Quentin. "Some one very dear to me. But she is long dead. Forever lost to me." He drank deeply from the metal flask, looking at the wounded, limping, wrecked and abandoned cars along the roadside. The road was full of the lost, and desolate. People escaping from the great dustbowl that was the state of Oklahoma. Quentin felt sympathy for them. But he knew that his plight was much worse. For there was no escape from his feelings of guilt over the death of his darling Beth.

In A Fruitcellar---In California

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Count Andreas Petofi sat guard. The sun outside was setting, and his Mistress would soon awaken. He mused about the great irony of it all. For he had escaped from the Gypsies, only to be the slave of a former house servant. He was immortal, doomed to live forever, the slave of a vampire. The slave of Beth Chavez.

To be continued---