Flower Children [PG/PG-13]

[Panther]

Legal Disclaimer: There’s a lot I want to say on this subject, but I am going to leave all that to the end. At this point all I will say is that I have no legal claim on the Isley family or the Rappaccini family.

Note: The style of writing here is deliberately a mix of 21st century/ 20th century/ Victorian/ and Elizabethan.


Flower Children

Two graves stood side by side; two small white pillars that served as the only physical reminders that once two people had lived, loved, and died on this Earth. As if knowing their part in the whole affair all vegetation seemed to shun the area around those tombstones, leaving them surrounded by barren and infertile brown dirt.

The first, more worn one, read:

Lillian Rappaccini Isley
dearest wife/loving mother
1947 – 1970

The second, newer but still weathered, read:

Jeremy Woodrue Isley
1939 – 1992

A church bell rang out in the near distance, tolling the time as the sun set in a spectacular show of pinks and reds and oranges, as if the sky itself was burning. Somewhere not too faraway a vast ocean also appeared to blaze as the day ended.

A woman stood solemnly in front of the two graves. They came nowhere near marking the amount of pain and heartache she felt. And anger too, of course. There was another, an even more inadequate, marker she knew she should visit, but she wouldn’t let herself; not even after all this time would she risk it. The bell stopped ringing, marking ten years to the minute since she had last stepped foot in this place of buried memories.

A cold wind blew through the graveyard, whipping the ends of the black coat that she pulled around herself tightly to ward off the cold with black-gloved hands. Odd, she thought, I do not remember h– this place – being so cold, even in the winter. The wind playfully tugged at her scarlet tresses, cajoling them to come out from the neat coil beneath her wide brimmed hat. It was black, like her dress. She hated the color, but she had decided the occasion called for it, so she had reluctantly put her usual colors aside for the moment.

As she stood contemplating the graves a voice sounded behind her; an elderly, tired male voice with the accent of education. “I thought I might find you here,” the voice said. She had not heard the voice in a long time – a decade to be exact – but nevertheless she recognized it instantly.

Sarcastically she asked, “Come to pay your respects?” She paused, “Or just gloat?” she questioned acidicly without turning around. She wasn’t surprised that he was here too.

He refused to rise to the bait. “You’ve changed,” he remarked flatly, his voice bordering on disapproving. The voice belonged to a man a full generation or more older than her. He was dressed in somber colors as well, but his clothes revealed a large, rotund figure, and his face, although as serious as hers at the moment, looked as though it was not used to always being so stern.

“Ten years will do that to a person,” she replied harshly, eyes still intently regarding the tombstones. “Although lately I’ve wondered if I’ve changed at all. So much has happened, and yet so much has remained the same.” She sounded sad. They stood in the graveyard in silence for several minutes, neither moving.

Suddenly she asked harshly, “Why have you really come?”

“Two reasons,” he said promptly without any denials or protests. “The first, I want to return this to the rightful owner.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small music box. He wound it up.

At the sound of the first notes tinkering out the woman whirled around. Her eyes were very wide as she stared at the toy in his hand. He extended his arm toward her further, slowly, as if not to startle her.

She moved forward cautiously and took it from him slowly and carefully. “I thought it burned along with everything else!” she exclaimed in surprise. The old fashioned melody played on brightly in the chilly air, completely out of place in the dismal graveyard. The simple tune had words to it, which she began to sing quite softly to herself as a look of remembering crossed her face:

“Down, down, underground…”


Ten years earlier:


“Down, down, underground,
where the earthworms can be found,
Doth spring to life the tiny seed,
and so its roots begin to feed.”

The young woman sang to herself as she carefully tended a plot of soil. She sang as if merely to create a pleasant background noise, something to fill up the quiet greenhouse where only the sound of things growing could be heard. The greenhouse garden was large, rambling, and as crowded as a rainforest. There were several other greenhouses for plants requiring certain climates and temperatures, but a large mass of the vegetation was in the main garden. It was her home and she had rarely been away from it throughout her life. She worked, tranquil, and oh so blissfully ignorant of the changes that were about to descend onto her life.

[The_NewCatwoman]

Hey, I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed this fine display of writing. I've never read a fan fic about this particular character, and it took a minute for my brain to register who you were talking about. **Also, I didn't mention her name just incase that wasn't meant to be shared yet.** Happy writing!

[Daughterof_Evil]

Miss Panther! I was just thinking how nice it would be to read another of your stories when this beautifully executed piece showed up. Fine work, of course, that kind is not uncommon for you. And pallate-teasing, I must admit.

I can't wait for more!!

[Livewire]

Wow, Panther.!! What a great way to begin! You're very talented. This is my first time reading any of your stories and you've made a tremendous first impression.

[witness]

Another story by Panther! I too will keep my mouth shut on who I think the girl is, but you've done some heavy hinting that almost anyone can guess. From my point of view, this looks like a new origin story for this character. If it is, I will enjoy reading it.

[Panther]

Catwoman, D of E, Livewire, and Witness – all of your remarks are extremely flattering. I’m glad to have impressed a newcomer with my writing, which is gratifying since is means I’m not just riding on my laurels (or however the saying goes). Thank you all for the compliments!

About the name of main character - the name she goes by these days does not come up until much later in the story. I’m not mentioning it, but I’ll leave it up to you, the readers, discretion, if you wish to use that name in feedback.

(And Livewire….not to toot my own horn or anything but if you scroll down to earlier posts a page or two back you can read something I wrote last fall called ‘Trick or Treat…. ok, ok, I’m tooting my own horn. Sheesh. So sue me )


the story continues:


A young man got out of a cab, and after paying the driver he surveyed his destination. The house was situated in the far outskirts of the town of Padua and surround by large grounds, both of lawn and forest. It looked to be an old edifice, three stories high, which looked not unworthy to have been the lodging of an elite of the city. It had been built in the style of the late Italian Renaissance; in fact it reminded the youth of a scene from an old film version of ‘Dante’s Inferno’.

He reached the door and rang the doorbell, which could be heard chiming and echoing inside the house. The man was about six feet tall, give or take an inch. His hair was dark brown, and his young, guileless face was smooth and pleasant looking. He was clearly of an athletic build, visible even in his worn out clearly Salvation Army clothes.

After a few minutes an old, stout woman answered the door. She was very aged and looked either Portuguese or Spanish, with a worn face that looked as though it had been carved out of wood. Her white hair was done up in a neat bun. She looked like a house cleaner.

“Good evening ma’am,” said the young man politely, “I am looking for Dr. Isley. He’s expecting me. I’m – Doctor Zack Saule.” He remembered to add the title at the last second, still unused to the sound, so new was it to him.

She curved her thin lips into a smile – briefly and politely. “He mentioned your coming. The good doctor is in his garden,” she replied with a heavy Italian accent. She gestured behind her; “Follow me please Signor.”

As they walked down the hallway he noted the richness of the décor. “This is Dr. Isley’s private garden?” he inquired.

The woman turned and, being a short woman, looked up to reply, “The garden is cultivated by the own hands of Signor Doctor Jeremy Isley himself, the worthy botanist whose work is known as far as Naples.”

“He has deservedly gained an international reputation,” remarked Dr. Saul.

The old woman went on, “He distils these plants into medicines that are as potent as a charm. Often times you may see the Signor Doctor at work, and perchance the Signora his daughter, too, gathering the strange flowers that grow in the garden.”

“Indeed,” said the youth neutrally as they traveled down a long hallway, fighting a swell of nervousness in his stomach as it hit him full blast that he was about to become the protégée of one of the top botanists in the country.

They reached a heavy pair of mahogany doors, covered with intricate wooden carvings resembling a screen made of poisonous looking vines and exotic flowers, vegetation that almost seemed to leer at the viewer of the artwork.

The housekeeper took out a heavy and ornate silver key from an apron pocket, which she used to unlock the doors, but did not open them. “Through here, Signor,” said the woman and turned away, clearly not intending to escort him.

He expressed his thanks, which she responded to with an automatic sounding ‘’saints’ protect you’. He opened the door, rolling his eyes at superstitious countryfolk. However, the old woman was quickly forgotten as he stepped inside and saw the garden.

He was amazed by the opulence spread out before him, which was saying a lot, considering how many gardens he had seen already in his life as a student of botany. From its appearance, it could have been a very old overgrown botanic garden, or it might have once served as the pleasure-place of an opulent family.

The evening sun fell upon an impressive garden filled with a large variety of plants, all which seemed to have been cultivated with exceeding care. As he stepped in he felt as if the atmospheric pressure had changed and the scents of every flower in the garden pressed against his skin.

The size of the garden was very large, despite the fact it was restricted to the inside of a house. It was not, in the true Italian style, open to the heavens, but the vast entity of it was confined – if that was the right word! – under a vaulted glass dome three stories up.

Almost the entire garden was bathed in a deep golden orange light, except for some of the edges, which were lost in deep black shadows, the lack of definite perimeters making the sprawling and overflowing garden look even bigger.

There was the ruin of a marble fountain in the very center, sculptured with rare art, but so woefully shattered that it was impossible to trace the original design from the chaos of remaining fragments.

The water, however, continued to gush and sparkle into the sunbeams as cheerfully as ever. A little gurgling sound ascended to the young man's ears, like the song of an immortal spirit, that sung its song unceasingly, and without heeding the changes around it.

All about the pool into which the water subsided grew various plants, all which seemed to require a plentiful supply of moisture for the nourishment of gigantic leaves, and, in some instances, flowers gorgeously magnificent.

There was one shrub in particular, set in a marble vase in the midst of the pool, that bore a profusion of purple blossoms, each of which had the luster and richness of a gem; and the whole together made a show so resplendent that it seemed enough to illuminate the garden, even had there been no sunshine.

Against the wall across and to the left of Zack was another fountain where leaping stone dolphins spurted water into a half moon pool that grew a profusion of lily pads and lilies of fantastic shades – unless Zack’s eyes were deceived by the setting sun’s light, which he rather suspected they were since of course lilies did not come in those sorts of colors and patterns.

One section of the garden had been clearly marked of as a vegetable garden, and in it vegetables grew to truly obscene sizes. Throughout the garden every portion of the soil was peopled with plants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore tokens of assiduous care; fostered by the scientific mind for their individual virtues. Some were placed in urns, rich with old carving, and others in common garden-pots; some crept serpent-like along the ground, or climbed on high, using whatever means of ascent was offered them, wrapping around window frames and doorways.

One plant had wreathed itself round a statue of Hercules, which was now quite veiled and shrouded in a drapery of hanging foliage, so happily arranged that it might have served a sculptor for a study. The scene was wild, but the young botanist suspected there was some sort of method behind this madness. In fact, the garden reminded him strongly of the pictures of “ordered chaos,” as the Fibonacci sequence was sometimes called that he had seen in his math textbooks.

As he observed all this he heard a rustling behind a screen of leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in the garden. His figure soon emerged into view, and showed itself to be that of no common laborer, but a tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly looking man, wearing a white laboratory smock.

He was beyond the middle term of life, with gray hair that had just a few defiant streaks of red left in it and a face singularly marked with intellect and cultivation, but which could never, even in his more youthful days, have expressed much warmth of heart.

Zack Saule meant to call out or in some way announce or make known his presence, but the manner of the gardener fascinated him into absolute stillness.

Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientific gardener examined every shrub which grew in his path; it seemed as if he was looking into their inner most nature, making observations in regard to their creative essence, and discovering why one leaf grew in this shape, and another in that, and wherefore such and such flowers differed among themselves in hue and perfume.

So this is the Dr. Isley, thought Zack Saule, awed at finally being in the presence of one of the most brilliant botanists alive. The esteemed doctor had a small notebook in which he occasionally scribbled observations while gazing intently at certain plants.

Nevertheless, in spite of the deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach to intimacy between himself and these vegetable existences. On the contrary, he avoided their actual touch, or the direct inhaling of their odors, with a caution that left Dr. Saule feeling slightly apprehensive.

The young man's imagination took hold of him, and left him feeling strangely frightened to see this air of insecurity in a person cultivating a garden, that most simple and innocent of activities; for the man's demeanor was that of one walking among malignant influences, such as savage beasts, or deadly snakes, or evil spirits, which, should he allow them one moment of license, would wreak upon him some terrible fatality.

The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves or pruning the too luxuriant growth of the shrubs, defended his hands with a pair of thick gloves. Nor were these his only armor. When, in his walk through the garden, he came to the magnificent plant that hung its purple gems beside the marble fountain, he placed a surgical mask over his mouth and nostrils, as if all this beauty did but conceal a deadlier malice.

But finding his task still too dangerous, he drew back, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the infirm voice of a person affected with inward disease: “Pamela! Pamela!”

“I’m in here, dad! What is it?” cried a rich and youthful voice from an upper window on the side opposite Dr. Saule; a voice as rich as a tropical sunset, and which made Zack Saule, though he knew not why, think of deep hues of purple or crimson, and of perfumes heavily delectable. “Are you in the garden?” the voice asked inquiringly.

“Yes, Pamela,” answered the gardener, “I need your assistance out here.”

Soon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the figure of a young girl, arrayed, unlike her father, with a richness of taste as splendid as many of the flowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom so deep and vivid that one more shade would have been too much.

She looked redundant with life, health, and energy; all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were, and girdled tensely, in their luxuriance, by a touch-me-not aura even as her outfit managed to show off all the perfect lines and curves of her body.

Her skin was the perfect hue of health and beautifully sun kissed while her hair fell downward in a waterfall of reds like a shower of rose petals. It was as if here were another flower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautiful as they – more beautiful than the richest of them, in truth – but still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask. A rare flower that both enticed and warned away at the same time. As Pamela came down the garden-path, it was observable that she handled and inhaled the odor of several of the plants, which her father had most sedulously avoided.

“Here, Pamela,” said the latter, “see how many needful tasks are required by our chief treasure. And, in my condition, I may not approach it so closely as circumstances demand. Henceforth, I fear, this plant must be consigned to your sole charge.”

“And gladly will I undertake it,” cried again the rich tones of the young lady, as she bent towards the magnificent plant, and opened her arms as if to embrace it. “Yes, my sister, my splendor, it shall be Pamela’s task to nurse and serve you; and you shall reward me with your kisses and perfumed breath – my true breath of life!”

Then, with all the tenderness in her manner that was so strikingly expressed in her words, she busied herself with such attentions as the plant seemed to require, and Zack felt as though he was gazing upon some sprite or wood nymph rather than a human girl.

Not until she carelessly dropped a trowel that clanged upon the brick walk did the almost soporific spell Zack had been under break. “Dr. Isley!” he called out and hurried forward. Pamela looked up with surprise and Dr. Isley looked the faintest angered at the disruption of his discourse with his daughter.

“Dr. Isley?” Zack asked again hesitantly.

“Yes, and you are-?” replied the scientist testily, straightening up to his full imposing height. His expression was one of piercing and active intellect, such that an observer might easily have overlooked the merely physical attributes, and have seen only this wonderful energy.

“Dr. Zack Saule,” Zack supplied, “the botanist who received your very generous offer. We spoke earlier on the phone...” he trailed off, unsure, wondering if he had somehow got it wrong.

“Ah, yes, Dr. Saule; I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely,” said Dr. Isley as Zack inwardly sighed in relief. The scientist unbent a little and offered a hand that the young botanist shock it eagerly.

“I feel very honored to meet you in person, sir, I’ve read all your articles and really admire your work,” he said enthusiastically.

The young botanist felt slightly nervous at the look Dr. Isley gave him, almost as if he was a new plant in the doctor’s garden being carefully scrutinized. But he dismissed the feeling as Dr. Isley replied pleasantly with a smile that only looked half forced, “Thank you, young man, it’s always a pleasure to met a fan. I see you did not waste any time taking me up on my offer of employment. Tell me, did you just arrive?”

“Yes, I only took the time to get a hotel room to leave my baggage in before coming here.” Babbling on he added nervously at Dr. Isley’s frown, “It will be a temporary arrangement, of course, before I can find something more permanent for my stay here.”

Dr. Isley waved a hand impatiently. “What does a man like yourself hope to accomplice going back and forth from the city? You obviously did not read the fine print in the contract. Room and board will be here of course, with no cost to yourself.”

As the young Dr. Saule stammered his thanks Dr. Isley noted, “A person fresh from the university has little money, and little time as well to spend on such mundane matters if he wishes to go on successfully.” He smiled indulgently, although the gesture looked as though it caused his face pain, “Don’t let the wrinkles and gray fool you, I was young once too.”

Throughout the exchange Miss Pamela Isley remained shyly silent. She appraised the young man thoughtfully with her dark green eyes and judging by her small smile appeared to approve of what she saw. She held her hands clasped behind her back, like a well-trained soldier or a shy child.

Head swimming, somehow manners made Dr. Saule protest that the day was nearly over, he had already paid for the first night, it was too late to talk of any moving, but he would be sure to return in the morning with his belongings and thanks again for this wonderful opportunity to work with such an eminent scientist so soon after his graduation with such a generous stipend attached to it and thank you so much for the accommodations.

When Zack Saule left the House of Isley he felt the oppressive exhalations of the flowers surrounding his person even after leaving their presence and that night in his hotel bed he dreamed of a rich flower and beautiful girl. Flower and maiden were different and yet the same, and fraught with some strange, murky peril in either shape.

[Daughterof_Evil]

Can I just sit here, for a second, and simply stare in awe at the wonder that is your writing?

I mean, my god! Every detail is like a shot of color directly into the eyes! You can see everything you imagine, every detail and feeling and smell. It was just incredible! I am so looking forward to the next post I think I'll just sit here and wait.

Whoops. Gotta eat lunch. I suppose sitting in front of the computer isn't the best idea, so I should go. Please submit more soon! Your writing is downright addictive.

[Panther]

Oh God such praise is making me nervous! Such expectations to fullfill and live up to! (But thank you SO much for the flattery!) Feel free to continue inflating my ego with such feedback. I was going to post part 3 tomorrow - but since it'll be my birthday I'll post now and maybe I'll take the day off and do nothing. Hope you enjoy...

[Panther]

But the morning light made yesterday’s feelings he had gathered during the sun's decline and early shadows of the night feel foolish and even made him chuckle as he thought of all the old gothic movies and the fantastic occurrences that take place in gardens bathed in sunsets and moonshine.

He gathered his baggage, checked out, hailed a taxi, and made his way back to Isley’s domain.

Senora Lisabetta, the old woman from yesterday, again met him at the door and led him to the chambers designated as his own. They went up an impressive set of stairs where Zack had to keep himself from stopping and gawking as they went past a series of colored glass windows, illustrating scenes from both legendary and biblical tales, all frames bordered with a magnificent array of glass flowers; the effect being the stairs were filled with a rainbow of light.

Lisabetta lead him to his rooms and, commending the young man to the protection of the saints, took her departure. His set of rooms were decorated with elegant furnishings, some appearing to be expensive antiques, although Zack had no eye for furniture, and also the rooms were bedecked in all the latest modern equipment one could want in a guest suite.

The bedroom was an inner room on the second floor with windows that overlooked the splendid courtyard garden, including a French door style window that led to a tiny stone balcony overlooking, and partly surrounded by, so incased in vines it was, the green expanse.

He looked out and was surprised, and a little ashamed, to find how real and matter-of-fact an affair it all proved to be, in the first rays of the sun, which gilded the dewdrops that hung upon leaf and blossom, and, while giving a brighter beauty to each rare flower, brought everything within the limits of ordinary experience.

Neither the sickly and thought-worn Doctor Jeremy Isley, nor his brilliant daughter, were now visible; so that Zack Saule could not determine how much of the singularity which he attributed to both, was due to their own qualities, and how much to his wonder-working fancy. But he was inclined to take a more rational view of the whole matter.

The young man rejoiced, that, after despairing at the thought of working in a laboratory far from the field in the heart of a barren city, amongst the urban metal canyons, he now had the privilege of both working in and observing this spot of lovely and luxuriant vegetation.

As he was unpacking he glanced out one of the lattice windows to see Miss Isley enter the garden, and he observed her in full daylight.

She again came out beneath the antique sculptured portal, and came down between the rows of plants, inhaling their various perfumes. On again beholding Pamela, the young man was startled to perceive how much her beauty exceeded his recollection of it; so brilliant, so vivid in its character that she glowed amid the morning sunlight, and positively illuminated the more shadowy intervals of the garden path.

Her magenta hair contrasted beautifully with her emerald green eyes. Her face being now more revealed than on the former occasion, he was struck by its expression of straightforwardness and sweetness; qualities he had not yet thought of, and which made him wonder what kind of personality the doctor’s daughter had.

Nor did he fail again to observe, or imagine, an analogy between the beautiful girl and the gorgeous shrub that hung its gem-like flowers over the fountain; a resemblance which
Pamela seemed to have indulged a fantastic humor in heightening, both by the arrangement of her dress and the selection of its hues.

He tried to make a purely scientific analysis. She was petite, only 5’ 4” or 5’ 5”, and couldn’t have weighed more than 115 pounds. The morning sun only enhanced her healthful framework. She did not resemble her father overly much, but there was probably a likeness to what Jeremy Isley had once looked like, except he had probably been a much taller youth.

Zack thought back to what little was known about the doctor outside of his scientific studies. The botanist was hailed as brilliant by the entire scientific community but he was such a recluse hardly anything was know outside of what he himself had submitted to scientific journals.

Zack did know Dr. Isley’s wife had died when Pamela was just a baby. He was jerked out of his thoughts as Pamela suddenly glanced upwards in his direction. He glanced away, embarrassed, and he hastily resumed his unpacking.

Sometime later he was in the middle of arranging his botany books on a vacant bookshelf when a knock sounded on his door. He opened it, fully expecting Signora Lisabetta again with fresh sheets or some other meddling detail.

It was Miss Isley.

“Dr. Saule, welcome back,” she said politely. “My father bid me escort you to the dining room to show you where you will take your meals.”

“Truly, he doesn’t have to go to the trouble-”

“It is no trouble at all. Dr. Saule, my father wishes for you to lack nothing so as to be able to devout your time fully to the lab. I believe he is on the brink of something and this morning he wanted no one to disturb him in his laboratory. In the meantime, feel free to have breakfast with me.

“I already had breakfast at the hotel.”

“Then I’ll order Lisabetta to bring mimosas and we’ll call it brunch,” she said coquettishly, but quickly stepped back into a more reserved role, seemingly surprised at herself for being so bold.

They went down the hallway, downstairs, and around another corner. The dining room was as beautiful as all the rest of the house with balcony windows overlooking the inner garden, wooden paneling on all the walls, red tiles on the floor, and a great stone fireplace against the far wall.

Above the fireplace was an Impressionist painting of a field of flowers where a mother and child frolicked. It looked like an original Monet, but Zack’s eyes were drawn away from the furnishings and to the large mahogany dining table where a meal more than enough for two was set out.

Silverware in triplicate had been set next to china plates and crystal glasses, obscured slightly by the abundant spread. Lisabetta was in the act of setting down a dish of candied oranges as they entered.

“Lisabetta!” exclaimed Miss Isley. As she put her hands on her hips in irritation Zack noted curiously for the first time that Pamela was wearing a delicate pair of white gloves that covered her hands and wrists. They were covered with a profusion of embroidered flowers that matched her dress.

“What is all this?” she now demanded of the housekeeper, “I asked for a light meal for the two of us! Not a feast for all of Padua!”

“A thousands pardons, fair Signora,” said the old senora in a voice that did not sound very apologetic. “By all the saints I did not mean to offend, but I was given orders from your father to set this cena.”

Zack and Pamela sat down at the table as Lisabetta exited and they proceeded to do what justice they could to the meal. There was the awkward silence of near-strangers suddenly forced to say more to each other than the usual polite phrases of greetings and departures. They both took very long draughts from their glasses of orange juice. He took a bite from a muffin; she nibbled on a piece of toast. The silence deepened.

“This is a magnificent house,” said Zack hastily to fill in the gap, grabbing at the first topic that came to mind.

She responded with relief. “My father had it built for my mother when they were newlyweds – partly with her family’s money I might add. He built it in the Italian Renaissance style to please my mother – a fanatic of that art period – and to try and to rival any house she had known back in Italy and even to put to shame the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum in Boston – the only other true Italian house you will find in the States.”

The conversation shifted to houses in general, alternate styles of architecture that allowed for the maximum amount of sunlight, the state of the orange harvest in Florida, the presidential inauguration of governor Bill Clinton, the possible future of funding for arts and science, the much better funding in Europe, current research of tulips in the Netherlands, and the latest improvements in laboratory equipment.

After the meal Pamela said, “My father will be joining us sometime tonight, probably during or after dinner. Until then you have a little time off. And then, trust me Dr. Saule, he will put you to work. Here is a key to the house,” she handed him a house key, “so you are free to come and go as you please.” She smiled enigmatically and then retreated to some inner recess of the house, leaving Zack to do as he wished.

[witness]

now, if i could write like this, i wouldn't need all those cliffhangers at the end of every chapter. your writing style is simply marvelous to behold! your attention to practically every detail is wonderful! i cannot wait to read another chapter of this story!


also, happy birthday! i do hope you enjoy it!

[Coran]

Panther... I don't know what to say except... EXCELLENT STORY! I'm enjoying this quite a lot. Your detailed descriptions and story line have me very intrigued. Please continue soon!

[SilentBob173]

"I'm out of it for a little while and everyone starts having delusions of grandeur." -Han Solo

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy.

If you want me to be perfectly honest, when you mentioned all the styles you were utilizing my initial thought was that there was no way you could sucessfully pull this off.

Prove me wrong, why don't you? You've delightfully created a style amalgamating likes of Charles Dickens, J.R.R. Tolkien, and, well, you.

You've jumped a hurdle not done very much in this or any fanfic forum. Not only have you developed an idea for a story that intrests us.... You're writing it well.

You've gone above and beyond anything I put out suring my short tenure on this board, and you should feel proud.
Cheers.
Jason S

[The Game]

Wow, I'm late getting to this story, but I just want to say I agree with everyone else, this is a great piece of writing Panther, keep it up!

[witness]

I cannot believe it! Panther, you are one lucky, lucky writer!!!! You managed to rouse SilentBob173 out of whatever he was doing! Wow!

Jason, I'm betting you'll keep reading this story. It's great to have you back! Please, please come back again! It was absolutely wonderful to see you posting your thoughts on this board again!


Woo! I'm all excited now!

[SilentBob173]

Heh, good to see you too, witness.
Cheers.
Jason S

P.S. You guys are way too good to me. I'm not not exactly the Pope. I wake up with eye boogers just like the next man.

[The Game]

I'm not exactly the Pope. I wake up with eye boogers just like the next man.

That is so gonna become my favorite quote.

[Panther]

>THUD<

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That was me falling down in utter amazement from this overwhelming amount of positive feedback. All these great comments on my writing! Thank you Witness, Coran, and thegame! I’m so glad everyone likes my story. I never imagined it would go over this well!

"I'm out of it for a little while and everyone starts having delusions of grandeur."

I’m going to take that as a compliment.

Jason, if your comments mean you back with more tales to regale us with, then I’m delighted; if you popped up just to give feedback then I’m honored. Either way, I am very, VERY flattered by your wonderful reply. (Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re not the Pope – but still…)

However, I must admit that with all these raised expectations I am VERY NERVOUS about how the rest of the story will be received. >bites fingernails<

Fingers crossed for good luck!

[Panther]

Zack set out to explore the fair city of Padua and see the sights. He bought postcards and took pictures. It wasn’t that he was into the whole tourist scene, but he wanted to have something to tell and send to his family besides genetic assays of subspecies of flowers or some other latest botanical findings. His mother and his two younger sisters enjoyed hearing about the places where he went to collect specimens, but cared little for the research itself.

In the course of the day, he paid his respects to Dr. Peter Bagley, Professor of Biology at the University of Padua, and a scientist of eminent repute, whom Zack knew only by reputation, but whom his father had known personally.

The professor was an elderly personage, about the same age as Dr. Isley, but in all other respects completely opposite; shorter and stouter than Zack with an almost constant merry twinkle in his eye, as if he had just remembered an old joke. He was apparently of a genial nature, and had habits that must be called jovial. Despite his excess weight he was very active and had an amusing habit of exaggerating many of his words with his hands.

He congratulated the young man on obtaining his doctorate in botany and kept him to a late lunch. The professor made himself very agreeable by the freedom and liveliness of his conversation, especially when warmed by a flask or two of Tuscan wine.

They chatted over a meal as the music of Roger and Hammerstein played in the background on an old record player that the professor had continually refused to update.
The tone of conversation, however, switched when Zack mentioned the name Jeremy Isley and the professor did not respond with as much cordiality as Zack would have had anticipated.

Dr. Bagley closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, stroking a graying beard thoughtfully. “Ahh, good ole Woody,” he said in an odd tone, “never do I seem to be able to free myself from that-” He opened his eyes and observed the look Zack was giving him.

“Ill would it become a teacher of the divine art of science,” said Professor Peter Bagley hastily with only light sarcasm, “to withhold due and well-considered praise of a scientist so eminently skilled as Isley. But…”

“What do you know about him?” asked Zack quickly. “Do you know him personally?”

“Has my friend Zack any disease of body or heart, that he is so inquisitive about doctors?” asked the professor with a smile as ‘Bloody Mary’ from South Pacific played in the background.

“I am working for him.” The smile dropped as Zack explained the grant and the research assistant position with Dr. Isley.

“He is a very skilled scientist, but it would be negligence on my part to permit you, Zack, the son of an ancient friend, to imbibe erroneous ideas respecting a man who might hereafter chance to hold your life and death in his hands. Don’t interrupt,” he said sternly as Zack started to say something, “that is not an overstatement. The truth is, Doctor Isley has as much science as any member of the faculty – with perhaps one single exception –” here the professor smiled briefly, “in Padua, or in the entire scientific community. But there are certain grave objections to his professional character.”

Zack looked at him in a confused manner.

Very serious, Bagley went on, “It is said of him, and I, who know the man well, can answer for its truth, that he cares infinitely more for science than for humanity. His life is one long laboratory experiment.” Zack tried to interject again at this point, but Bagley continued.

Everything,” the professor underscored the word by slapping his palm on the table, “is interesting to him only as subjects for some new research project. It would not be an extreme exaggeration to say that, if allowed, he would sacrifice human life, his own among the rest, or whatever else was dearest to him, for the sake of adding so much as a grain of understanding to the great heap of his accumulated knowledge.”

He paused somewhat dramatically. "Precaution,” concluded the professor dryly, “is a word not found in Isley’s vocabulary.”

“Perhaps,” replied Zack in a temporizing voice, mentally recalling the cold and purely intellectual aspect of Isley. “And yet, Professor, is that not a noble spirit? Wouldn’t we still be in the Dark Ages without such men capable of so… spiritual a love of science?”

“God forbid we don’t progress,” answered Professor Bagley, somewhat testily, “at least, unless we don’t take sounder views of the art of healing than those adopted by Isley. It is Isley’s theory that all medicinal virtues are comprised within the substances that we term vegetable poisons.”

Here the professor frowned, as if at a sour memory. “These he cultivates with his own hands, and is said even to have produced new varieties of poison, more horribly deleterious than Nature. However… it is undeniable that he has never succumbed to the temptations one might with such knowledge and less mischief than might be expected, with such dangerous substances. And he has produced on occasion some amazing treatments,” admitted Professor Bagley reluctantly.

“Yes, none of this is new to me, I’ve have read all articles he has written and everything of him,” said Zack but the professor ignored him and continued speaking:

“But I would dare to suggest my own opinion in private that he should receive little credit for such instances of success – they being probably the work of chance – but should be held strictly accountable for his failures, which may justly be considered his own work.”

“An awful two edged dagger position,” observed Zack dryly. “Are you sure your opinions have nothing to do with the professional warfare of long continuance between you and Doctor Isley, in which he seems to often have the upper hand?”

The doctor looked at him with a narrowed eyed frown, then laughed agreeably. “True, true, I am so biased. But trust me when I say Isley has a zeal for science that is unmatched in Padua, perhaps in all the scientific community.”

Thinking he was jumping to his provider’s defense, Zack began, “But I believe he can love something more beside his science. He has a daughter-”

“Aha!” interrupted the professor with a laugh. “So now our friend Zack's secret is out! This is indeed a matter of a disease of the heart.”

Professor Bagley pointed a thick finger at the youth with a knowing smile. “You wish to discuss the junior Isley, whom all the young men in Padua are wild about. I myself have not seen her in quite some time, not since I broke off working with Isley.”

That Bagley and Isley had worked together surprised Zack, but before he could ask for more details, the professor went on: “Her father guards her as jealousy as one of his exotic plants. He home schooled her and it is said he has instructed her deeply in his science, and that, young and beautiful as fame reports her, she is already qualified to fill a professor's chair. Perchance her father destines her for mine!”

He laughed quietly, and then paused, but Zack felt as though he had not finished yet.

“There are other rumors as well,” the professor went on, almost to himself rather than to Zack, “but not worth talking about, or listening to. Although,” he muttered darkly, “in my experience I have always found it to be true that the apple does not fall far from the tree.”

He glanced at Zack and went on cheerfully, “So now, Zack, drink off your glass of Lacryma, and allow an old man the pleasure of showing off the latest additions to his private Anagallis arevensis collection before you leave.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zack returned to his lodgings somewhat heated with the wine he had quaffed. On the way back it occurred to him that in opposite to all training of manners his mother had tried to drill into him in his childhood, he had forgotten to bring any sort of housewarming gift. He was passing a florist, so on impulse he purchased a bouquet of flowers for his lovely young hostess, Miss Isley.

Lisabetta met him on the threshold of the Isley house and informed him dinner would be served promptly at seven o’clock, her tone promising dire consequences if he presumed to be so rude as to be late.

He promised he would be in the dining room at the appointed time and went back to his rooms. He planned on making notations in his private notebook on his observations of Dr. Bagley’s private botanic collection, but for some reason his mind kept wandering off to other things. He drank some water from the jug and glass left in his room to try and clear his head.

Zack gazed out his balcony window.

All before his eye was once again solitude. The extraordinary flora were basking in the sunshine, and now and then nodding gently to one another in the slight breeze generated by an unseen air vent, looking as if they were bowing in acknowledgment of sympathy and kindred.

In the midst, by the shattered fountain, grew the magnificent shrub, with its purple gems clustering all over it; they glowed in the air, and gleamed back again out of the depths of the pool, which thus seemed to overflow with colored radiance from the rich reflection that was steeped in it.

From under one of the far marble entryways across from Zack’s room Miss Pamela Isley came out from under a veil of greenery and entered the garden. She wove her way through the maze of plants as easily as if traveling an empty straight road and made her way to the middle of the garden and the broken fountain that grew the extraordinary purple flowers.

Approaching the shrub, she threw open her arms, as with a passionate ardor, and drew its branches into an intimate embrace; so intimate, that her features were hidden in its leafy bosom, and her glistening ringlets all intermingled with the flowers.

And Zack, at his lofty window, rubbed his eyes, and almost doubted whether it were a girl tending her favorite flower, or one sister performing the duties of affection to another.

“Give me breath, my sister,” exclaimed Pamela as if reciting sacred poetry; “for I am faint with common air!” She breathed deeply, and then spoke in a more practical, but still loving tone, “And forgive me of relieving of one of your older blossoms, that I might examine your intricate hidden beauties more closely under microscope and in test tube.”

With these words, the beautiful daughter of Isley plucked one of the richest blossoms of the shrub. But now, unless Zack's draughts of wine had bewildered his senses, a singular incident occurred. A small orange colored reptile, of the lizard or chameleon species, chanced to be creeping along the path, just at the feet of Pamela.

It appeared to Zack - but, at the distance from which he gazed, he could scarcely have seen anything so minute - it appeared to him, however, that a drop or two of sap from the broken stem of the flower descended upon the lizard's head. For an instant, the reptile contorted itself violently, and then lay motionless in the sunshine.

Pamela observed this remarkable phenomenon, and crossed herself, furtively and sadly, but without surprise; nor did she therefore hesitate to hold on to the apparently fatal flower in her creamy hand. There it blushed, and almost glimmered with the dazzling effect of a precious stone, adding to her appearance like nothing else in the world could have supplied.

Zack, confined to the balcony, bent forward then shrank back, and felt a tremble go up his spine. He blinked and shook his head, trying to shake off a feeling of inexplicable dread.

Pamela now strayed carelessly through the garden, approaching closer to Zack's position in his leafily curtained window, gratifying the intense and painful curiosity that she excited. An impulsive movement of Zack drew her eyes to him and beheld the handsome young man gazing upon her. Scarcely knowing what he did, Zack threw down the bouquet that he had hitherto held in his hand and she caught it easily in one hand.

“Miss Isley,” he said a bit formally and boyishly, “for you! Please accept them and think of Zack Saule!”

“Oh, umm, thank you,” replied Pamela, with her rich voice that came forth as it were like a gush of music; half childish and half woman-like, but in an oddly sad and constrained tone.

“Do they not please you? I admit they are not as beautiful as you but-”

“They’re dying!” she cried out, and then burst into sobs, covered her eyes, took the bouquet and, ashamed at both having stepped aside from her maidenly reserve to respond to his greeting, and of her outburst, dashed swiftly out of the garden and back into the house.

[The Game]

In the words of Janice from Friends :

"Oh my GAWD!"

Hehe Another good edition Panther, keep the story coming. I'm sorry I thought you were a guy

[Coran]

Panther, your writing skills continue to amaze me. The fact that you are enjoying my story is sincerely amazing after I read the talent in your own. I hope you write more soon.