If You Blink You Miss It

“I see you’re interested in history,” the voice brought Rhonda’s attention out of her book. Lowering it revealed a gaunt, dark headed man at the other table. He was gazing at her with a quizzical expression, while dangling a cigarette from thin fingers. “Your book,” he indicated, pointing with the cigarette and flashing an oily grin.

Rhonda smiled politely, “I’m working on my thesis.” The statement was usually a turn-off to men, so she expected him to nod and shift his interest elsewhere, but he continued regarding her thoughtfully.

“I surmised as much,” he said, after a long minute. “This is the third day in a row you’ve been here, at the same table, with a book. Though yesterday, you did have a pad of paper and a pencil for taking notes.”

Stalker, she thought. “You’ve been watching me,” Rhonda said, trying to make it sound conversational instead of accusatory. Maybe he would tell her what he thought so fascinating. Then, she’d change her behavior to be as uninteresting as possible.

“Unavoidable,” he responded, flicking the ashes from the cigarette. “I come here every morning for coffee, breakfast, and to look at the pretty girls. You’d be surprised how many college students patronize this place.”

“I see,” she muttered, wondering if he was an unqualified psycho or just slightly off.

“I’ve read that book, and while the author is very entertaining, he’s completely wrong.”

“Really,” Rhonda commented, interested in spite of her perception of the man. Closing the book, she laid it down beside her plate of half-eaten pastry and studied the man more carefully. He returned her perusal with another greasy grin. Sickly pale skin contrasted with his dark hair and eyes, giving him a sinister look. Noting the fact that, while he didn’t look young, he didn’t look old either, she asked, “How do you know?”

“I know, my dear, because I was there.”

An unqualified psycho, Rhonda decided. She tapped the book. “You were there, in the Roman Army.”

“Exactly.” She raised her eyebrows as he rose from his chair and moved to her table. He made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. “It’s true, though I don’t expect you to believe it.” Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he flicked the ashes onto the floor. “Shall I tell you of Caesar, Marc Antony, or Octavius? I knew them all.”

“That would make you well over two thousand years old,” Rhonda told him, a smile quirking up the corner of her lip. “You look pretty good for such an old man.”

He laughed, the sound scraping against her ears like someone ripping bark from a tree. “I’m much older than that, but I have aged well. I do it very slowly you know,” he winked at her. “I estimate about a year for every hundred years, though I seem to be slowing down these last couple of centuries. Perhaps some century, I won’t age at all.”

“That’s remarkable,” Rhonda commented, deciding that while he was definitely a madman, he was probably harmless. “Two hundred years of diapers must have been hard on your parents.”

“I never knew my parents,” he sighed, forlornly. “Unfortunately, my memory before five hundred is somewhat spotty, but I was considered a god then, so I don’t imagine it was too bad. There were always people to take care of me and bring me whatever I needed. I believe there were even sacrifices brought to me. Of course no one does that now.”

“No, I guess not,” Rhonda replied, wondering if he knew how ridiculous he sounded.

He shifted in his chair, crossing his spindly legs. “I lived in the temple under the constant watch of the priests. There was a lot of nonsense about my parents riding a chariot across the sky and such. By the time I turned one thousand, I was heartily sick of them. I left in the middle of the night and headed northeast over the desert. After many adventures, which we don’t have time to go into now, I arrived in Rome.”

“So, you’re saying you came from Egypt.” Rhonda was grinning, unable to hide her amusement anymore.

“I doubt it,” he paused, his attention momentarily caught by the waiter at the next table. “I gathered from some of the legends told about me, that the priests found me somewhere in the desert. I’m afraid I’ll never know my origins.” He stared off into space for a long moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “But you wish to know of Rome, and that is where some of my most interesting adventures took place.”

Rhonda’s watch began to beep and she glared at it. Just when it was getting interesting, she thought. Her companion’s chair made a high-pitched squeal as he scraped it back from the table.

“You need to be going?” he said, sounding disappointed.

“Yeah,” Rhonda confirmed. “I can’t be late to this class. The professor locks the door.”

“And so he should, my dear. Tardiness is never acceptable.” He brushed some imaginary dust from his pants and stood as Rhonda gathered her things. Holding out his hand, he smiled revealing his teeth. The canines were a bit longer than usual. “I’ve certainly enjoyed our little conversation. Perhaps we will meet up again, and I will get to tell some of my stories.”

Creepy but interesting, Rhonda thought as she placed her hand in his icy grip. “I really would love to hear them,” she assured him. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she realized the waiter was already moving in to clear their table.

Her companion released her hand. “Take care, my dear,” he muttered. It seemed to Rhonda that he moved, though it was more like a shadow passing, or a cloud blocking the sun. The waiter squeaked and then slumped over a chair, a hand pressed to his neck. Then came the sensation of movement again and the gaunt frame of her new friend was speeding away.

Thinking the waiter had tripped, Rhonda reached out to touch him. “Are you okay,” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. His head lolled to one side, his hand fell away, and he slowly slid onto the floor. Two ragged puncture marks, now obvious, stood out just below his chin. Even as she shouted for someone to call an ambulance, Rhonda knew he was dead. His skin was devoid of color and already cooling. Goosebumps broke out on her arms as chills traveled down her spine. She shot a frantic look for the strange, skinny, man who’d just seemed eccentric, but there was no sign of him. Hadn’t he said something about sacrifices? She scrubbed the hand he’d held against her jeans, backed away from the crowd gathering around the waiter, and started to scream.