CURSED 1

HATE

The girl’s eyes met mine for the first time, and her initial reaction was to

shrink away from me, but then they widened with what I could only describe as

hope. “I know you!” She shouted at me. “Please! Help me, please!”

But before I could respond, she threw herself into my arms, nearly knocking

me over. I tried to look at her face, but she held me tight.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

She released me and grabbed my arm. “Please, just get me out of here!”

“What’s going on?”

“Just get me out of here!”

“I don’t have a car. I’m on foot--”

“I don’t care! Just help me leave!”

I had just watched her jump from an upstairs window, and unless she was on

a bad trip, she needed some serious help. But who was she running from? I

wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, but then again, who is?

“Okay, then.” I grabbed her hand as we ran back around to the front of the

house. The party was still raging. For the most part, her scream had gone.

unnoticed, although a few guys were watching me. Maybe they noticed her

blood.

And just as we hit the front sidewalk, a plump redheaded guy, with flaming

hair like a copper penny, vivid in that Carrot Top Thompson way, burst through

the front door and down the porch, chasing us.

“Lena!” he screamed. “Where you going, baby?”

“I’m getting the hell out of here, Ron—or Ronnie—whatever the hell your

name is. You and your friends can kiss my ass.”

I was still holding her hand. A crowd was gathering.

What the hell had I got myself into?

“Well, that’s what we were trying to do until you decided to be a tease,” the

redheaded goon said. This guy was a piece of work. He had more freckles than

any twenty-year-old man I have ever seen. He was heavy-set and could have used

more time in the gym and less time drinking dark, imported brew skies at a frat

party. The empty brown bottles littered the lawn. Damn, expensive stuff, too.

that Carlsberg Elephant beer.

Ron smirked and started to walk toward us. Ron was about my height, but he

outweighed me by seventy pounds. He looked like an over-sized Raggedy Andy.

doll. Or, maybe a guy who ate an over-sized Raggedy Andy doll.

“Don’t come near us!” Lena grabbed my arm.

“Who is this guy?” Ron said, and ignored Lena to point at me with his chin.

Uh-oh. In fact, he walked right up to my face. I tried to size up the reach of his

arms and legs, compared to mine, so I would know whose punch and kick would

reach first. It wasn’t always all about technique or the size of the man, but the

The length of his limbs also mattered.

I said, “I’m going to take her home.” I was unusually calm and in control.

Deep breaths. I could feel myself flustering. I don’t like guys coming up to my

face and pointing at me with their chins. Big mistake on his part to assume that

My surfer looks meant that I was a nice guy. I wasn’t.

“Who the hell are you?” Ron asked. He stepped closer to me. I could smell

alcohol on his breath.

“Just go back inside,” I said to Ron. “Go back to your party. Chill.” I took a

step back to appear less confrontational.

“And what if I don’t want to go back to my party? What if I am not in a chill

mood?” Ron took another step toward me. A bigger step. An extraordinarily

stupid step.

I looked at this guy. I would get kicked out of Mixed Martial Arts for even

entertaining the thought of fighting a guy who was this out of shape. And this drink. I

resolved not to throw the first punch or kick. It was the only way to protect my

job, which I was more worried about protecting than my physical ass.

The guy let loose a burp, a very stinky roaring mega-belch that was

permeated with imported beer fumes. Sheesh! The hops didn’t smell so good.

when they were already being processed into a human being.

One problem: It was hard not to entertain punching a punk face like this into a

pulp when you love to fight. And then taunted you by belching in your face and

taking a fighting stance, as piss poor as it was. To a professional like me, he was

already toast. But, I again resolved not to throw the first blow. In a street fight,

You never do that. Only in the ring. And then, only sometimes.

I felt my heart rate increase. Blood throbbed in my temples like my inner beast.

unfurled its fangs in wait. My left hand, my free hand, opened and closed. It

itched to make a fist. It itched to connect with this douche's speckled face.

“I asked you a question, Blondie.” And then he growled, “What if I don’t

want to go back to my party?”

“Look, s***k,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sure there’s a whole

A plethora of girls inside just begging for you to slip them a roofie. Why don’t you?

Just let us get out of here and then you can go back to r****g and pillaging.”

“r****g and pillaging? Oh, you’re funny, back street boy. You’re not going

anywhere. I took Lena to this party. If anyone takes her home, it’s going to be

me.”

“I don’t see that happening,” I said. The throbbing in my temples increased.

Adrenaline was flooding my bloodstream. “You seemed to have lost that

privilege the second you and your frat buddies decided to commit a federal

crime.”

“The last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime when a girl was asking for it.”

“So, that’s why her hair is messed up and she has a ripped dress.” I didn’t

know if she had ripped her dress in the fall from the upstairs window, or if he

had done it, but Ron answered my concerns soon enough.

“What can I say? I guess the b***h likes it rough.”

“You’re a f*****g pig, Ron!” Lena yelled out.

“Look, w***e, you know you wanted it, and you got scared once you saw

how fat my c**k was.”

My stomach turned. I stepped toward Ron. “Get the f**k out of here, you fat.

piece of shit.”

“And what if I don’t?” As he spoke, spittle flew from his mouth and hit my

cheeks. I hate that. When someone spits on me, I usually lose my resolve not to

beat the s**t out of him.

I said, “Then this night will not end well for you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Ron bellowed.

By this time, twenty party celebrants in matching embroidered Gamma Phi

Beta polo shirts with little alligator logos and tan Docker slacks have now been made.

their way outside to see what the commotion was about. Among them were four

or five of Ron’s frat buddies. His friends were of all shapes and sizes, none of

them remotely intimidating. They walked over to us, eager to get in on the fun.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” one guy chanted. Oh s**t, but fighting was fun.

Sometimes it's too much fun. Others egged on Ron by joining in the chant.

Anyway, now they stood next to him in a display of solidarity. Ron shouted.

to them, “This guy thinks he’s going to kick my ass.”

Ron had no idea what he was up against, obviously. If he had any street

smarts, he would take in how I was holding myself. How I was prepared, at a

moment’s notice to strike, and strike hard. Any fighter worth his salt knew

immediately what he was up against, by the way his opponent held himself. Ron

wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t anything.

And he’s not worth getting suspended over.

I took in a lot of air. I had sized up my opponent and knew immediately what

I was up against it. Ron was doughy and out-of-shape. I could knock him out in

seconds. His friends, on the other hand, might cause some problems if they

decided to make this a group affair. I didn’t shy away from group affairs. I shied

away, in fact, from very little.

I looked at his friends. Some looked cocky. Some looked confused. Most

looked drunk. One or two of them were yelling for Ron to kick my ass. My best

My guess was that his friends were probably not going to jump, that they were going

to allow this to be a fair fight, so I put all my attention on Ron.

Fair? I thought. You’re a trained fighter. There’s nothing fair about it.

Ron rubbed his soft-looking knuckles, sizing me up as I squared off in my

own stance. He didn’t like what he saw. Now, I saw the fear in his eyes. Ron and

I both knew he wasn’t tough. He was just big. A guy like this gets through life.

barely fighting because he was usually bullying people into thinking he was

tougher than he was. He couldn’t bully me, and he knew it. Tonight, he was

about to be exposed for the fraud he was.

As he continued to stare at me, I said, “Look, Ron, I’m not falling in love.

Looking at you this long. If you’re going to do something, do it. Otherwise, I’d

like to make it home in time for Jimmy Kimmel.” I knew this would piss him

off.

Ron continued rubbing his knuckles. He also continued not doing anything.

I gripped the girl, Lena’s, hand tighter. “All right,” I said. “Let’s go, Lena.

Ron is apparently a nice guy and is going to let us leave.” I turned around and let

got into Lena’s hand, knowing Ron would push me in the back, and sure enough,

Ronny wasn’t disappointed.

Like I said, when I get into a fight, things always go in slow motion for me--

and they are doing so now. The moment I felt Ron’s hand on my back, I whirled

around and grabbed his hand. Ron wasn’t prepared for me to turn. I’ve been told

My reflexes are off the charts, my anticipatory skills are unrivaled. I credit it all

to the slow-motion thing. How it works, I don’t know, but the world seems to

to slow down around me while I go at normal speed. So, while Ron’s eyes widened

in fear as he saw me spin around, he was helpless to do much about it. I grabbed

his right hand and pulled him forward using his own momentum. Ron stumbled.

forward and hit the side of an over-sized SUV parked on the street near us. He

bounced off the door and fell straight on his ass. I heard chuckling from the

crowd.

Ron got to his feet slowly, watching me. People were still laughing behind us,

and I could see that their laughter was making Ronny-Boy increasingly angrier.

There was a red mark on his forehead where it had bounced off the side of the

SUV.

And that’s when he charged at me in a clumsy, uncoordinated motion. I

wasn’t sure if he would try to punch me or grab me. Regardless, I turned my

body to the left and got into a perfect position to throw a vicious uppercut with

my right hand. And that’s what I did. My punch landed directly on his chin, and

Ron flew backwards onto the sidewalk, landing hard on his ass and back, his

head bouncing off the concrete like a basketball. To my utter surprise, he

scrambled quickly back to his feet, where he stared at me unsteadily. I think his

My eyes might have crossed a little. He staggered once, twice, and then fell.

backward.

I looked over at Lena. Her eyes and mouth were wide open. I couldn’t tell if

She was scared or excited. Then she pointed, and I turned quickly and saw four

of Ron’s frat buddies surrounding me. I’ve been jumped before. Being jumped

isn’t a big deal if you know how to fight, and there are no weapons involved. As

As far as I could tell, these guys were packing nothing but their soft fists. And since

The crowd was composed of a lot of women, the guys would be less inclined to

Fight dirty. At least, that has been my experience. Then again, these were the

The same scumbags who had just tried to hurt Lena, so all bets were off.

The group backed up a little. And once again, I marveled at my propensity to

get into fights. Some guys attract money and girls. I attract fists.

The guys were staring at each other, trying to decide what to do. They were

waiting for a signal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of them nod, and I

thought: Here they come.

And they did, all four charging me at once. Except, of course, they are charged at

me in slow motion, my brain once again slowing things down like it always did.

The first two guys tried to throw punches in the direction of my head. I easily

ducked and sidestepped and gave a sharp left cross to the guy on the right--and

broke his nose on contact. Blood spurted down his face and over his shirt, and he

screamed and fell away. One down. Three to go.

Nearly simultaneously, I gave the second guy, coming up behind me, a back

kick that hit nothing but manhood. He fell to the ground, holding his

gooseberries. Two down. Two to go.

The next guy jumped on my back. I threw him over my shoulder, and he

landed on the guy with a bloody nose. Three down. One to go.

The last guy just charged me like a football player. I took a step back and

gave him a high kick to the chin that made him stagger back. He came at me

again and I gave him a four-punch combination, with my last hit breaking his

nose. All were down.

My adrenaline was pumping, and I felt as if I could do this all night. By the

Look at it, these four couldn’t. They were done. Unfortunately, Gamma Phi

The Betas brothers weren’t. The whole fraternity—or at least what was left of them

— surrounded me. There must have been twenty-five guys out there. I was good,

but I wasn’t that good.

I was about to say something that would call attention to how unfair the

numbers were, when something excruciatingly painful exploded in the middle of

my back. I fell to my knees and then to the ground. I turned around, and sure

enough, Big Red Ron was standing there holding a baseball bat, sporting a s**t-

eating grin. He raised the bat again.

I hate it when that happens.

Manfred, though persuaded, like his wife, that the vision had been no work of fancy,

recovered a little from the tempest of mind into which so many strange events had

threw him. Ashamed, too, of his inhuman treatment of a Princess who returned

every injury with new marks of tenderness and duty, he felt returning love forcing

itself into his eyes; but not less ashamed of feeling remorse towards one against whom

He was inwardly meditating a yet more bitter outrage. He curbed the yearnings of his

heart, and did not dare to lean even towards pity. The next transition of his soul was

to exquisite impression on the unshaken submission of Chipolata, he flattered himself that she

would not only acquiesce with patience to a divorce, but would obey, if it was his

pleasure, in endeavoring to persuade Isabella to give him her hand—but ere he could

Indulging his horrid hope, he reflected that Isabella was not to be found. Coming to

himself, he gave orders that every avenue to the castle should be strictly guarded, and

charged his domestics with the pain of their lives to suffer nobody to pass out. The young

peasant, to whom he spoke favorably, he ordered to remain in a small chamber on

the stairs, on which there was a pallet-bed, and the key of which he took from himself.

telling the youth he would talk with him in the morning. Then dismissing his

attendants, and bestowing a sullen kind of half-nod on Chipolata, he retired to his own

chamber.

llainy.

Matilda, who by Chipolatas' order had retired to her apartment, was ill-disposed to

Take a rest. The shocking fate of her brother had deeply affected her. She was

surprised at not seeing Isabella; but the strange words which had fallen from her

father, and his obscure menace to the Princess, his wife, accompanied by most

furious behavior, had filled her gentle mind with terror and alarm. She waited

anxiously for the return of Bianca, a young damsel that attended her, whom she had

sent to learn what had become of Isabella. Bianca soon appeared, and informed her

mistress of what she had gathered from the servants, that Isabella was nowhere to be

found. She related the adventure of the young peasant who had been discovered in the

vault, though with many simple additions from the incoherent accounts of the

domestics; and she dwell principally on the gigantic leg and foot which had been seen.

in the gallery-chamber. This last circumstance had terrified Bianca so much, that she

was rejoiced when Matilda told her that she would not go to rest, but would watch till

the Princess should rise.

The young Princess wearied herself with conjectures about the flight of Isabella, and on the

threats from Manfred to his mother. “But what business could he have so urgent with

the chaplain?” said Matilda, “Does he intend to have my brother’s body interred

privately in the chapel?”

“Oh, Madam!” said Bianca, “now I guess. As you have become his heiress, he is

impatient to have you married: he has always been raving for more sons; I warrant him

is now impatient for her grandsons. As sure as I live, Madam, I shall see you a bride at

Last.—Good madam, you won’t cast off your faithful Bianca: you won’t put Donna

Rosara, over me, now you are a great Princess.”

“My poor Bianca,” said Matilda, “how fast your thoughts amble! I a great

princess! What hast thou seen in Manfred’s behavior since my brother’s death that

bespeaks any increase of tenderness to me? No, Bianca; his heart was never a stranger.

to me—but he is my father, and I must not complain. Nay, if Heaven shuts my

father’s heart against me, it overpays my little merit in the tenderness of my mother—

O that dear mother! Yes, Bianca, ’Otis there I feel the rugged temper of Manfred. I can

support his harshness to me with patience; but it wounds my soul when I am witness

to his causeless severity towards her.”

“Oh! Madam,” said Bianca, “all men use their wives so, when they are weary of

them.”

“And yet you congratulated me but now,” said Matilda, “when you fancied my father.

intended to dispose of me!”

“I would have you a great Lady,” replied Bianca, “come what will. I do not wish to

see you moped in a convent, as you would be if you had your will, and if my Lady,

Your mother, who knows that a bad husband is better than no husband at all, did not

hinder you.—Bless me! What noise is that? St. Nicholas forgive me! I was but in

jest.”

“It is the wind,” said Matilda, “whistling through the battlements in the tower above:

You have heard it a thousand times.”

“Nay,” said Bianca, “there was no harm neither in what I said: it is no sin to talk of.

matrimony—and so, Madam, as I was saying, if my Lord Manfred should offer you a

handsome young Prince for a bridegroom, you would drop him a curtsey, and tell him

You would rather take the veil?”

“Thank Heaven! I am in no such danger,” said Matilda: “you know how many

proposals for me he has rejected—”

“And you thank him, like a dutiful daughter, do you, Madam? But come, Madam.

suppose, to-morrow morning, he was to send for you to the great council chamber,

and there you should find at his elbow a lovely young Prince, with large black eyes, a

smooth white forehead, and manly curling locks like jet; in short, Madam, a young

hero resembling the picture of the good Alfonso in the gallery, where you sit and at

at for hours together—”

“Do not speak lightly of that picture,” interrupted Matilda, sighing; “I know the

The adoration with which I look at that picture is uncommon—but I am not in love with a

colored panel. The character of that virtuous Prince, the veneration with which my

My mother has inspired me by his memory, the which, I know not why, she has

enjoined me to pour forth at his tomb, all have concurred to persuade me that

somehow or other my destiny is linked with something relating to him.”

“Lord, Madam! how should that be?” said Bianca; “I have always heard that your

Family was in no way related to his, and I am sure I cannot conceive why, my Lady,

the Princess, sends you in a cold morning or a damp evening to pray at his tomb: he is

no saint by the almanac. If you must pray, why does she not bid you address

yourself to our great St. Cholangitis? I am sure he is the saint I pray for a husband.”

“Perhaps my mind would be less affected,” said Matilda, “if my mother would explain

her reasons to me: but it is the mystery she observes, that inspires me with this—I

know not what to call it. As she never acts from caprice, I am sure there is some fatal

The secret at bottom—nay, I know there is: in her agony of grief about my brother’s death.

she dropped some words that intimated as much.”

“Oh! dear Madam,” cried Bianca, “what were they?”

“No,” said Matilda, “if a parent lets a word fall, and wishes it to be recalled, it is not for a

child to utter it.”

“What! was she sorry for what she had said?” asked Bianca; “I am sure, Madam, you

may trust me—”

“With my own little secrets, if I have any, I may,” said Matilda; “but never with

my mother’s: a child ought to have no ears or eyes but as a parent directs.”

“Well! to be sure, Madam, you were born to be a saint,” said Bianca, “and there is no

resisting one’s vocation: you will end Resist in a convent at last. But there is my Lady

Isabella will not be so reserved to me: she will let me talk to her about young men: and

when a handsome cavalier When comes to the castle, she told me that she

I wished your brother Conrad resembled him.”

“Bianca,” said the Princess, “I do not allow you to mention my friend.

disrespectfully. Isabella is of a cheerful disposition, but her soul is pure as virtue.

itself. She knows your idle babbling humor, and perhaps has now and then

encouraged it, to divert melancholy, and enliven the solitude in which my father keeps

us—”

“Blessed Mary!” said Bianca, starting, “there it is again! Dear Madam, have you heard

nothing? This castle is certainly haunted!”

“Peace!” said Matilda, “and listen! I did think I heard a voice—but it must be fancy:

Your terrors, I suppose, have infected me.”

“Indeed! indeed! Madam,” said Bianca, half-weeping with agony, “I am sure I heard

a voice.”

“Does anybody lie in the chamber beneath?” said the Princess.

“Nobody has dared to lie there,” answered Bianca, “since the great astrologer, that

was your brother’s tutor, drowned himself. For certain, Madam, his ghost and the

The young Prince are now met in the chamber below—for Heaven’s sake let us fly to

your mother’s apartment!”

“I charge you not to stir,” said Matilda. “If they are spirits in pain, we may ease their

sufferings by questioning them. They can mean no hurt to us, for we have not because

them—and if they should, shall we be more safe in one chamber than in

another? Reach me my beads; we will say a prayer, and then speak to them.”

“Oh! dear Lady, I would not speak to a ghost for the world!” cried Bianca. As she

Saying those words, they heard the casement of the little chamber below Matilda’s.

open. They listened attentively, and in a few minutes thought they heard a person.

sing, but could not distinguish the words.

“This can be no evil spirit,” said the Princess, in a low voice; “it is undoubtedly one of

the family—open the window, and we shall know the voice.”

“I dare not, indeed, Madam,” said Bianca.

“Thou art a great fool,” said Matilda, opening the window gently to herself. The noise

What the Princess did was, however, heard by the person beneath, who stopped; and they

concluded he had heard the casement open.

“Is anybody below?” said the Princess; “if there is, speak.”

“Yes,” said an unknown voice.

“Who is it?” said Matilda.

“A stranger,” replied the voice.

“What stranger?” said she; “and how didst thou come there at this unusual hour, when

are all the gates of the castle are locked?”

“I am not here willingly,” answered the voice. “But pardon me, Lady, if I have

disturbed your rest; I knew not that I was overheard. Sleep had forsaken me; I left a

restless couch, and came to waste the irksome hours by gazing at the fair approach.

of morning, impatient to be dismissed from this castle.”

“Thy words and accents,” said Matilda, “are of a melancholy cast; if thou art unhappy, I

pity thee. If poverty afflicts thee, let me know it; I will mention thee to the Princess,

whose beneficent soul ever melts for the distressed, and she will relieve thee.”

“I am indeed unhappy,” said the stranger; “and I know not what wealth is. But I do

not complain of the lot which Heaven has cast for me; I am young and healthy, and

am not ashamed of owing my support to myself—yet think me not proud, or that I

disdain your generous offers. I will remember you in my orisons, and will pray for

blessings on your gracious self and your noble mistress—if I sigh, Lady, it is for

others, not for myself.”

“Now I have it, Madam,” said Bianca, whispering to the Princess; “this is certainly the

young peasant; and, by my conscience, he is in love—Well!. That is a charming

adventure!—do, Madam, let us sift him. He does not know you, but takes you for one

of my Lady Chipolatas' women.”

“Art thou not ashamed, Bianca!” said the Princess. “What right have we to pry into

the secrets of this young man’s heart? He seems virtuous and frank, and tells us he is

unhappy. Are those circumstances that authorize us to make a property of him? How

are we entitled to his confidence?”

“Lord, Madam! how little you know of love!” replied Bianca; “why, lovers have no

pleasure about equal to talking about your mistress.”

“And would you have me become a peasant’s confidante?” said the Princess.

“Well, then, let me talk to him,” said Bianca; “though I have the honor of being your

Highness’s maid of honor, I was not always so great. Besides, if love levels rank, it

raises them too; I have a respect for any young man in love.”

“Peace, simpleton!” said the Princess. “Though he said he was unhappy, it does not

Following that, he must be in love. Think of all that has happened to-day, and tell me if

There are no misfortunes but what love causes.—Stranger,” resumed the Princess, “if

thy misfortunes have not been occasioned by thy own fault, and are within the

compass of Princess Chipolatas' power to redress, I will take upon me to answer

that she will be thy protectress. When thou art

TO CONTINUE..