Post by normal on Feb 1, 2016 14:44:01 GMT
That's where the driver said they were headed. "West Bumblefuck".
Abby knew and enjoyed the expression. He'd used it himself from time to time. To Abby, it meant New Jersey or even worse, Pennsylvania. But in this case, it was far worse.
At first, he was delighted when he heard that a new haven had been arranged for him. New York had lost its charm and he had been planning on leaving for ages. But the circumstances were strange. He had to leave immediately. And no one would tell him where exactly he was going.
His sire, Wilhelm, recommended Abby not resist and just go along with what he and the Camarilla had planned. The whole thing was for the best, he had said, his voice tinny over the phone. Abby thought it suspicious that his sire would tell him to "not resist" something that was "for the best". Abby had found that when he was told something was "for the best", it was never his best interests that were at heart at all, but rather someone else's. He was thinking of making a run for it when his sire made mention of a possible blood hunt. Wilhelm couldn't read minds. Could anyone, over the phone, besides those phony psychics advertised on tv? No, Wilhelm just knew his childe well.
Abby only needed to hear "blood hunt" once and he was off the phone and packing his anonymous looking black duffle bag full of clothes. It was after 8 and he had less than an hour before the driver would arrive. He looked around the rather large studio apartment. There wasn't anything here he couldn't do without. Would any of it be here when he came back? Would he be coming back? Besides some clothes, his smartphone and his wallet with driver's license, credit card and a bit of cash, Abby also packed his gun - a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum revolver, just like Dirty Harry.
They had sent two "escorts", both dressed in dark suits, looking like gangsters or government men. They brought him into a black limousine with tinted windows. One drove all night, southwest.
"We're not in Kansas anymore", Abby muttered to himself, looking out the window and seeing nothing , just his own pale reflection and darkness. He thought it funny to compare New York City to Kansas, when it dawned on him, they might be in Kansas after all. "God help me".
Occasionally he would ask the driver when they would reach their destination. "Are we there yet"?, like some obnoxious kid would ask his Dad during a family trip. But it was to no avail.
"We'll get you there as soon. as we can.", was all the driver would say.
As he drifted off into torpor, Abby looked out at the fading stars and silently wished for New Orleans.
Abby knew and enjoyed the expression. He'd used it himself from time to time. To Abby, it meant New Jersey or even worse, Pennsylvania. But in this case, it was far worse.
At first, he was delighted when he heard that a new haven had been arranged for him. New York had lost its charm and he had been planning on leaving for ages. But the circumstances were strange. He had to leave immediately. And no one would tell him where exactly he was going.
His sire, Wilhelm, recommended Abby not resist and just go along with what he and the Camarilla had planned. The whole thing was for the best, he had said, his voice tinny over the phone. Abby thought it suspicious that his sire would tell him to "not resist" something that was "for the best". Abby had found that when he was told something was "for the best", it was never his best interests that were at heart at all, but rather someone else's. He was thinking of making a run for it when his sire made mention of a possible blood hunt. Wilhelm couldn't read minds. Could anyone, over the phone, besides those phony psychics advertised on tv? No, Wilhelm just knew his childe well.
Abby only needed to hear "blood hunt" once and he was off the phone and packing his anonymous looking black duffle bag full of clothes. It was after 8 and he had less than an hour before the driver would arrive. He looked around the rather large studio apartment. There wasn't anything here he couldn't do without. Would any of it be here when he came back? Would he be coming back? Besides some clothes, his smartphone and his wallet with driver's license, credit card and a bit of cash, Abby also packed his gun - a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum revolver, just like Dirty Harry.
They had sent two "escorts", both dressed in dark suits, looking like gangsters or government men. They brought him into a black limousine with tinted windows. One drove all night, southwest.
"We're not in Kansas anymore", Abby muttered to himself, looking out the window and seeing nothing , just his own pale reflection and darkness. He thought it funny to compare New York City to Kansas, when it dawned on him, they might be in Kansas after all. "God help me".
Occasionally he would ask the driver when they would reach their destination. "Are we there yet"?, like some obnoxious kid would ask his Dad during a family trip. But it was to no avail.
"We'll get you there as soon. as we can.", was all the driver would say.
As he drifted off into torpor, Abby looked out at the fading stars and silently wished for New Orleans.
