She appeared much different now; dressed in a pink tube top, shiny short black vinyl skirt, thigh high fishnet stockings with a hidden garter belt, and pink, four-inch high spike heels. Her hair was permed into tight dark brown curls around plastic dangly earrings and excessive make-up. A pump action shotgun was gripped in her hands.

I stood before her in disbelief, then turned toward the couch, only to see the feeble figure of the first mother slumped down, twitching her left arm and leg as she gazed mindlessly at the floor.

I looked at the page in my hand again; it was still blank. Then I looked at the mom in the hallway walking toward me.

"Weevil," she said softly, as she quickly worked the action of the gun, jacking a shell into the chamber.

"Weeeeeeevil!" she squealed, drawing out the 'e' until it sounded like an injured pig. She walked toward me and leveled the barrel of the shotgun at my face. I blinked, disbelieving, and looked past the muzzle into what should have been her soft pale blue eyes. They were instead solid black from corner to corner.

"WEEVIL!!!" she screamed as the muzzle flashed and the gun bucked in her hands.

I bolted upright in bed and scanned the room in a panicked and sleepy stupor. The Asian woman sat in an antique wooden chair beside me and smoked. I felt weak and hot. My face was covered with sweat. "My God, is there no pardon anywhere?" I mumbled.

She stoically watched me turn my head around the room several times until I remembered where I was.

"Better now?" she asked.

I nodded. I felt nauseated.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?"

"I feel sick," I said, using barely enough breath and energy to get the syllables out. I felt short of breath and my mouth was filling with saliva, a bad sign.

"You smelled strongly of alcohol last night so I had Antonio bring in a basin in case you need to vomit. It's on the floor next to you." She spoke with a matter of fact tone that smacked of condescension.

An antique wooden nightstand stood next to the bed, in front of it on the floor was an old, white enameled metal wash basin like the kind used before the advent of indoor plumbing. I--, Vasili had seen and used these in Bulgaria. Leaning over the edge of the bed to look at where she had pointed, was enough to start me gagging on my way to throwing up three times in rapid succession.