by Atha, DL
To my left, cotton curtains waved lightly in the breeze of the ceiling fan. Beneath me, the sheets felt too smooth, too comfortable. I squeezed my quilt between my fingers. I was warm, and my belly grumbled for food and not blood.
It was darker in the living room; the windows in the adjoining kitchen faced west, and I didn’t bother to turn the lights on as I had sought out the gloom. My head ached and numbly I chewed a pop tart to quell the growls of my stomach.
Feeling disjointed, I swallowed the odd-tasting food, washing it down with a partially full glass of water that I must have left sitting on the table from a forgotten day. Yesterday. It felt lifetimes away.
I left the warmth of the house, choosing the chill of the back deck over the comfort of the house. Trained by fear for Joel, I scanned the most distant reaches of the yard but saw nothing that looked out of the ordinary. Tonight, there were few places to hide with the moon so bright that not even the shadows were dark.
I slipped into a large deckchair and sucked in the pungent smell of the spruce trees mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. A light breeze rippled the limbs of the evergreens, the long strings of lichens trailing in the wind. To the north, the howl of a dog split the quiet night, but it was distant, and I was unconcerned that it meant anything was amiss.
The world was alive with activity around me. A large male bald eagle landed near the top of a tall cedar. It was nearing sunrise, and the bird prepared to begin its daily hunt. To my right, a bat careened wildly at the edge of the yard. But I knew better, it knew its way around even more than the eagle.
Everything moved too fast after the quietness of the grave. Only the mountains, with their ancient majesty, felt right. Unchanging and unmoved, they stood as a backdrop to the ever dying and renewing world around them. I felt more connected to Adrik watching them, and lulled by their steadfastness, I drifted towards sleep.
Somewhere between sleep and awake, I sighed with relief and not without a little contentment when I felt the caress of Adrik’s presence in my mind. It made me feel safe and comfortable. How illogical since Adrik was bloodthirsty and condemned.
But he had been my confidant. He knew my darkest secrets. He did not judge me for wanting Joel dead, and he understood the desire for revenge all too well.
“Yes, you are safe with me,” Adrik’s voice whispered into my sleep-dulled subconscious. But I knew better.
“No. You’re a killer but…” I started to say but paused as I realized I was unwilling to put the rest of my thought into words.
“And so are you,” he finished for me. “You have wished him dead many, many times. It is the same thing, Tamara. And exactly why you are so safe with me. I could spill your blood in the blink of an eye, but I could never judge you, never condemn you for what you crave to do to him. Is that not the greatest comfort of all, to be free of the reproach and disapproval of everyone?”
I felt some of the tension drain away. How refreshing to not have to pretend that I had any humanity left where Joel was concerned. Adrik would never stand in judgment of me.
“Joel deserves death and so much more,” I responded.
“Of course he does,” his voice was seductive and sweet as he spoke of murder. “Release me, and I will rip him limb from limb. I give you my word.”
I believed him. Why shouldn’t I? Adrik was a killer, but I had seen his soul and he was no liar.
“And who else would die?” I asked. “How much more blood would it take to fill you?”
“Does it matter?” he countered.
“Of course it matters.” Disgust filled my mouth with a bitter taste. “I only want to kill Joel. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“Then you are not ready.” He paused for not even the breadth of a second. “But you will be. You are so close.”
“What about you?” I asked, changing the subject. “Is there any good thing that can be done for you? I mean real help?”
“Re-communication to the Church is my only option, and the archimandrite who performed the act is long dead.”
His despondency and the finality of what awaited him rang through the bond like a death knell.
“Surely any priest could reverse the excommunication and bring you back to the Church.”
“I am afraid it is more complicated than that. The lineage of the archimandrite is the most important, and it is only that lineage that can help me. But it would not matter, Tamara, if the man stood before me today. I have no remorse for my wrongs. I would do them again.”
“Do you think of her?” I asked, speaking of Irena.
“Only every other thought,” he answered back.
“I want to help you, Adrik,” I murmured, realizing that the inkiness of the night was beginning to fade into a hazy gray. How powerful would the bond be at daylight? There was still so much to say.
“Tamara, I too feel the power of the sun. Despite its presence, the bond will still be strong because of the amount of blood you have consumed. Strong enough that you can feel me but not likely understand my thoughts and words. You must understand that I, at times, have no control over my mumblings. In one sentence, I will beg you to come to me, make promises that I can never keep, and in the next warn you away. You must understand this. I freely accepted the consequences when I cheated death that night. I have no regrets. And no illusions. I am a killer. Never trust my promises of safety. When I was well fed, I had control. I chose my prey, but after this long, I am like the poised snake. My prey will choose me.
“When I first felt you,” he continued on, “I thought back to the doctor and the theft of my blood, and I hoped you would drink every vial he had taken. Then I could drag you, forcibly, to my grave, and I would be free. That you were a woman was obvious from your first drink, and I thought to make you culpable for Irena’s sins because of your womanhood. But after wandering through the brokenness that lives in you, I know you are as much the victim as I. And now I find, I do not want to hurt you. But make no mistake, I would. I already have.”
“You haven’t hurt me, Adrik.” But it was a lie.
“Haven’t I? You are now eternally connected to me. My every thought, my every suffering will be yours to share. I will haunt you night and day. When the sun rises and my body falls slack, my mind will cry all the more, and when the sun sets, I will seek refuge from my own thoughts and will seek you out. I am laid bare to weakness. The Bible says man cannot serve two masters, for he will love the one and hate the other. My master is hunger, and I do not fool myself by thinking otherwise. I will hurt you further if given the chance. Be careful that you do not present the opportunity.”
What he said was undeniable. We’d been as one, and he was not just hungry, he was hunger. I had felt it myself, understood its power, and I had no intention of unleashing it on my home town.
“Adrik, what did you mean when you said I wasn’t ready for revenge but I would be?” I asked.
“Rage burns in you, Tamara. You have your own hungers, and eventually they must be sated.”
It was the last intelligible words we exchanged. The earliest rays of the sun erupted over the top of the mountain range in a golden glow that chased any lingering darkness away.
The sky remained clear as the sun climbed the horizon, without the usual thick cloud cover that typically dominated the sky over Sitka. The sunny disposition of the morning left him wordless and weakened, but I could feel him still, battering against the back of my mind.
I knew he suffered, remembering from the dream how the sun, even on cloudless days, caused his bones to ache. I remembered his need to stretch when not even the tips of his fingers would flex.
The taste of the loneliness gagged me as I felt it wash across him. The desperation of being trapped beneath the earth made me shudder as I remembered the feel of the bugs on his skin and his water-filled lungs. I could taste the bitter burn of hunger in the back of his throat and feel the parchment that was his throat.
Distantly and only in the barest of whi
spers, he spoke, but I couldn’t understand him. I struggled with the harried, frenzied voice, but in the end, it was like the constant buzzing of insect wings, and it left me feeling anxious.
It was miserable. Not only the sensations that I experienced through the bond but also knowing Adrik was trapped in such a hellish existence. I wanted to help him. He was, in a bizarre way, a friend and confidant, and part of me loved him so how could I leave him in this state and do nothing? And yet how could I help him?
I’ve always considered myself weak. The counselors at the shelter had worked to convince me I was stronger than I gave myself credit for. They were wrong. I could not stand the barrage of his thoughts in my mind.
Adrik had said it was comforting to have someone to share his thoughts with, and yet now, while he lay tormented, I decided to desert him. I could not listen to his mind anymore.
I spent the next hour praying, and while my lips whispered words to the Lord, my mind was safe from Adrik. But I can only pray for so long it turns out before I get distracted. My mind would wander, and Adrik’s consciousness would vine its way back into my thoughts, and I would find myself awash in utter despair.
I dug through Mom’s small collection of jewelry and between the hundreds of handmade bracelets and earrings, I found a small crucifix on a leather cord. I tugged it over my head but found little relief. Adrik’s frenzied voice still reverberated in my mind. I needed something stronger to overcome the bond.
The hallowed ground of the cemetery would give me the greatest relief I decided, so I called Peter, asking if he could meet me there again. Perhaps if anyone could think of a way to help Adrik, Peter could.
Chapter 15
The road into town clung to the coast for most of the drive. Fog had rolled in from the sea and lay in fat heavy patches in the roadway. In the distance, I could see the next system of clouds working its way in. The sun was being inched away by the clouds, and Adrik’s voice was getting stronger.
In reality, the drive was short but seemed longer with Adrik’s constant barrage of my mind. It was with a great sigh of relief that I stepped across the threshold of the hallowed ground of the cemetery, all traces of the blood bond evaporating as I did. I breathed out the anxiety that had been with me all morning.
I found Peter sitting on the small bench that framed Mom’s grave. Deep in thought, his fingertips rested on his temples and his eyes were closed. The brown of his raincoat camouflaged into the brown trunks of the evergreen trees that mingled amongst the gravestones and his feet were buried in the spongy moss that crept across the cemetery floor.
“Only a true friend would meet me in a cemetery two days in a row,” I murmured as I set down beside him, hoping I didn’t startle him.
He smiled as he turned to look at me. Locks of his blond hair lifted in the breeze and his eyes, a deep green, twinkled as they had as a teenager. It took me back fifteen years when he’d stolen a kiss. I wondered if he remembered that moment.
“Only a true friend would trust me with their secrets in a cemetery,” he responded. “But I’m beginning to wonder if you have a love of the morbid.”
“I feel a certain peace in this place that’s hard to explain. My family’s here I suppose,” I explained as I leaned forward to remove a wilted flower from amongst a bundle of lilies that rested atop Mom’s grave. The bouquet hadn’t been here yesterday evening when I drove away. Strange, I thought, that someone would bring flowers so late yesterday or so early today.
“Your family’s not here, Tam. They’re in a better place.”
“Of course I know that, but I still feel connected to them here. Maybe it was all the visits as a family to Dad’s grave or the times I escaped here as a kid. I also spent quite a few hours here with you, or have you forgotten?” I gave him a nudge with my shoulder, hoping to jar some memories lose.
He smiled but didn’t answer. “So, what’s brought us here today?” He gestured to the damp greenery around us.
“First of all, let me reiterate once again that I’m not crazy,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Okay. Let’s make the assumption that’s true.” He was teasing me, but I could read concern in his eyes as he studied me.
“Seriously, Peter. I’m about to shock you.”
He held his hands up defensively in front of his chest. “Seriously. I’m ready.”
He wasn’t, I knew, but I forged ahead regardless.
“You remember that journal I told you about?”
He nodded his head slowly and cautiously, his eyebrows disappearing into the locks of gold that framed his forehead as if he were agreeing to meet the devil himself.
“What I didn’t tell you was that in the same trunk, I found a bottle of what looked like blood. The label, which was written in the same handwriting as the journal, said it was ‘uppyr krov.’” I paused, letting the Russian translate into his English functioning brain.
“Vampire blood?” He said questioningly. His eyes widened somewhat and I saw him swallow a little harder than normal.
I nodded my head. I couldn’t help but smile a little at his reaction. It was so Peter. “Yeah,” I said, “vampire blood.”
“That old bottle sitting on your mantle the other night. That’s what you’re talking about,” he spoke quietly.
“Yeah, now this is going to sound really strange but I drank some of it,” I continued despite his raising eyebrows.
His eyebrows cinched up even higher as he brought his hands down on his knees with a light slap as he took a deep breath. “Naturally! Of course you did. Because that makes perfect sense.”
I nodded my head yes, my face coloring in response to the look of sheer disbelief that overtook his face. “Peter, it’s real,” I whispered.
“Real? As in, it really is a bottle of blood that this surgeon collected a couple of centuries back from a suspected vampire or you think it’s actually vampire blood?” He turned to fully face me on the small bench.
“It is vampire blood, Peter. I know it is because I drank enough that it formed some sort of bond, and I can feel him, the vampire, in my mind. He’s visible in my dreams, and it’s just exactly like you said. It is exactly like all those legends you told me about. You know, how he can’t die, he can’t decompose, and he’s imprisoned forever in the grave.”
Taking a deep breath, Peter took my hand, folding it over in the warmth of his own. “Tam…”
I cut him off. “Peter, I know I sound crazy, but I’m not. This is real,” I said harshly.
“Tamara, listen to yourself!”
I jerked my hand away at the condemnation in his voice.
“You said I could talk to you about anything. Well, here I am trying to talk to you, and I don’t need any judgmental crap right now. Listen. Please.” I kept my gaze firmly leveled on his, hoping he’d see the sanity in my eyes.
Around us, the wind picked up slightly and the heavy drops of rain that had collected earlier on the tree branches showered down while I waited for him to answer. He wiped away a drop that had landed on his eyelashes before squeezing the bridge of his nose for a second. Finally, he looked at me again, his eyes moved back and forth between mine for a long while before he looked away.
“You’re right,” he nodded. “Sorry. I won’t interrupt again. Tell me,” he said politely, but I could see the worry in his eyes. It was the same look he used to give me when he’d see Joel and I together—like seeing a fly in a spider web. You know the poor fly is doomed, and when you think about how the spider is going to tear the fly apart piece by piece, you start to reach for it out of pity. But you stop because it’ll just come across another spider soon enough. I guess I’m a lot like the fly.
Peter was the salt of the earth; the kind of guy you should listen to when you didn’t know which way to go, when the decisions all seemed like muddy, blurry trails that faded off into the trees. He wouldn’t lead you astray, but listening to my gut or anyone else for that matter had never been my strong suit.
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��You said yourself yesterday that you kept an open mind. Keep one now. I did, and I’m telling you that I’ve met this vampire. Not in this world,” I gestured to the wooded area around us, “but in my dreams, and he’s as real as you and me. I understand how hard this must be to buy into, but I need your help. I need your steadiness.”
He nodded, his lips pressed firmly together but at least no longer squeezed into a blanched thin line bisecting his expression. “Fine. My mind is open. I’m not saying I believe you—at all. But if any of this is true, how can I help?”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. It had warmed up considerably and only wispy fogs of my breath dissipated on the air rather than the clouds that had hung around my head earlier in the morning.
“Thanks.” I hesitated briefly before a rush of words overtook me. “Look, you’ve always been a good friend, and I’ve never thanked you enough. I know I hurt you in the past, Peter. The way I left and didn’t even say goodbye. And then never writing or calling. It was wrong.”
Relief followed immediately; I’d been needing to say that again, even though I’d already apologized once. Sometimes it felt like I’d spend the rest of my life apologizing.
“You don’t owe me another apology, Tam. An explanation maybe, but not an apology. I hope someday to hear your reasons, but right now, I want to focus on this vampire. So ‘he’s as real as us’… keep going.”
“Okay, here goes. This journal was written by a surgeon named Klim Semenov in 1808. He gave an account of a man who was accused of rape and then excommunicated from the Church. The man committed suicide and then rose a vampire before he was staked by his best friend, Ivan. The thing is, when he was staked, this doctor bled him out and kept quite a bit of the blood. I’m not sure what happened to the rest of it, but one bottle remained in the trunk with the journal.”
“And being the logical person that you are, you chose to drink it,” he stated, exasperation underlining his words.
