Crimson

Chapter Fifteen

Awaking startled, Isabella confusingly blinked rapidly. Unaware of her surroundings, her eyes darted everywhere. The lingering smell of her dinner hung in the air. Shifting on her pillow, to her back, she brought both hands to her face as she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. Blinking repeatedly, she struggled to understand what shook her so.

The pounding in her chest caused her attention to shift to her tense muscles. Her body tightened, while her hands ached. Slowly, she forced her body to relax. Starting at her feet, she moved them around twisting her ankle slowly while wiggling her toes. Sighing deeply, she tensed and released her hands to relieve the ache within them. Finally relaxing, she felt a gnawing feeling of separation linger still. Turning to her alarm clock, she saw the red figures illuminate the dark.

2:30 AM.

"Son of a bitch!" She said audibly.

Much louder than intending to, the apartment held traces of the outburst as she nervously blushed in embarrassment. Now wide-awake, feeling too energized to attempt to reenter sleep, clumsily Isabella shuffled to her living room where a single chair adorned the center of the room while a bookshelf hugged the wall.

Unable to part with her library, she had many opportunities to sell her books for some quick food money. Her collection, filled with masterpieces of her time, contained old tomes and newer works.

A younger, more stable, Isabella scoured antique shops and bargain bins carefully seeking to preserve the history of literary works. From the ancient world's literary works, the Bhagavad Gita, the Bible, the epic of Gilgamesh, and the writers of Epictetus, and Homer's masterpieces, she sat many moments transporting herself to the ancient world.

Finding newer works, carried away to far away worlds, to those stories which moved throughout time on earth, she moved with historical fiction to tales of ancient blood drinkers and great stories of woe.

Warmly, she caressed the binding of her collection. Passing by the works of Ken Follet, Anne Rice's first three books of the Vampire Chronicles, and lastly, the five-part Samuel Series.

Grabbing her favorite, she carefully opened the book. Bringing it to her face slowly, she inhaled deeply. The scent of old parchment flooded her nostrils. Refusing to move to the digital age of books, she found comfort in the tangible nuances each book held.

Sitting on her only chair, preparing to return to the beginnings of this tale. Carefully reading each word, distracting her of the disconnection Isabella felt inside of her, the absence of some ambiguous presence.

The sun broke the quiet of the night as the birds and neighbors began moving about. Causing an increased ruckus, she appeared unphased as the sun continued to crest higher. Moving deep within the storyline, everything vanished. The morning hunger, her thirst, the burning in her eyes crashed upon her as her concentration imploded upon itself when a high-pitched bell sounded mere feet from her. Ringing three times before she understood what transpired, as she lifted herself to pick up the receiver of her phone.

"Hello?" Her voice croaked. Unused and unlubricated after so many hours of being awake.

"Hey, Ma. Are you ok?" A deep voice sounded on the other side of the phone.

Coughing to clear her throat, she replied, "Celestino? Yes. I'm fine. How are you son?"

"Just calling you back ya know. Son duties and all. What are you up to today? How have you been? We haven't chatted in so long."

"Where do I start? I have a new job. I like it there. The people are nice." Isabella replied.

"Oh? What happened to your other job? I thought you loved it there." Celestino inquired.