I only fleetingly notice once more the stylish and roomy ambience of my accommodation, which made a positive impression on me as soon as I arrived. It would make the perfect love nest for Noah and me, if it weren't for the other, more serious reason that brought me here. My whole life, Airas was always looking out for me. He was always there when I needed him. Now he needs me.
A quick glance at my cell phone brings a smile to my face for a moment. Noah has sent me a message on one of my apps. A little red heart with the words:
I'LL BE WITH YOU SOON
Sometime in the past few weeks I asked him to send me a message if we were apart for any length of time, and put my number into his cell phone. But since we're usually only apart for a few hours, this is the first message I've gotten from him. I choose the same heart and send it back to him.
Then I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. The sounds from the neighborhood penetrate my mind unfiltered. The noise from the street which comes into the room through the closed window mixes with the sounds inside the hotel. In the next room I hear a man speaking to his wife on the telephone and in the room above me a young woman is confessing to her friend that she harbors more than friendly feelings for her. All I want is to just switch off for a few minutes and rest. After that I will, like so many times already today, dial Airas's number and hope I don't just get his mailbox. Wilson must be awaiting my phone call too, and Noah – what wouldn't I give for him to be here now so I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine. As I drift off I have the feeling I've forgotten something important and by the time the thought comes to mind that I haven't even told Noah where in New York I am, the weight of slumber has already swathed me too tightly and carried me off.
I know I'm dreaming even as I dream. I see Phil and Airas and the pendant with the half heart on it. I see Noah and me, Wilson and Jack, and I notice how the many pictures and sequences speed up, how they rush through my mind in quicker and quicker succession like a time lapse film. So quickly that I can't consciously perceive them anymore and feel like my skull is about to explode. Stop! I want to wake up and I hear myself whimpering, but I can't find a way out of this dream.
Only when I hear a whisper, which suddenly appears and blows the images out of my head like a gentle breeze, do I calm down, but it is a soft touch which pulls me from my sleep and wakes me.
“Noah?” I look at him, confused, and try to think clearly.
“I hope you weren't expecting someone else.” He winks and I sit up. Outside the sun is already setting.
“How long was I asleep? How did you find me? I didn't even get to tell you which hotel I'm in yet.”
“I refuse to tell you until I get a kiss,” he says and pulls me to him. I feel the warmth of his body through the new clothes he's wearing and automatically melt in his arms. The irresistible scent of his skin does its bit too. How does he manage to enchant me so, time and again, with every touch?
“I'm glad you're here,” I confess only too willingly and kiss him.
“Have you heard from your brother yet?”
“No, unfortunately not. But I'll try and ring him again right now.” I reach for my cell phone and can hardly believe I've slept for four hours.
“Dial the number and give me the phone.”
“Why?”
“How do you think I located you?”
“Through the phone?” I look at him with wide eyes. “How is that possible? How do you do it?”
“No idea. It just happens. Lots of things I can simply guide with my thoughts, and some things I find out I can do when I touch objects. When I make a phone call, I simply know where the person on the other end of the line is at the time. Even if they don't answer.”
“If that's the case, the last century must have been a tremendous change for you. Technology is clearly on your side. Though you only sent me a message.”
“And I got one back from you. But to be honest, I almost always know where you are. I simply sense it.”
“You can sense where I am? Just like that?”
“Yes, usually.”
“Wow.” His confession leaves me speechless. Any stalker would be deeply jealous of him for that skill. As for me, I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I'm a little nervous about someone always knowing where I am, but on the other hand it also makes me feel safe. But no matter how I feel about it, right now all that matters is that he can find Airas, and another thought pops into my head. Could he locate Phil too? Just because I saw him dead in my dreams doesn't necessarily mean he is dead. Dreams are probably just images strung together meaninglessly, nothing more than a by-product of nightly brain activity, a neuronal storm which clears out our junk files. But if Phil is still alive, then whether he even still uses this number with his phone is questionable, since my brother dialed his number for weeks, over and over in vain. And yet a feeling inside presses me to try. For Airas. I select Phil's number from the few contacts in my list and hand Noah my phone.
“This is Phil's number. Can you tell me where he is?”
His expression betrays nothing as he puts it to his ear, listens carefully and looks at me. Finally he gives me the phone back and shakes his head.
“You can't locate him?”
“No.”
“He could have a new phone,” I murmur quietly to myself.
“You know he's dead.” Noah looks at me.
“He's dead? How do you know? Can you sense that too?” He nods. “And what makes you think I know? Do your senses tell you that as well?”
“It's written all over your face. I don't need any special abilities to realize that.”
“It's just that I saw him dead in my dream.”
“Then your dream wasn't wrong.”
“Can you see how he died, or do you know any other details?” He shakes his head again and gestures to the phone in my hand.
“Shall we see where your brother is now?”
Hesitantly, heart pounding, I dial Airas's number and hand Noah the phone. This time I have a queasy feeling in my stomach.
After only two seconds he puts it aside and gives me a slight smile.
“Get dressed. I know where he is.”
***
“Are you sure you want to get out here?” asks the cab driver when we stop in a fairly shady looking suburb of Brooklyn after almost an hour's drive. The street lighting is miserably lacking and he looks at us as if he has his doubts about our sanity.
“Absolutely,” says Noah.
I press a hundred dollar note into his hand. “Keep the change.”
It's a starless night and the moon has hidden behind the clouds too. I follow Noah through a backyard and up some steps to an apartment floor with four doors. He nods toward the first door and I take a deep breath before knocking hard with my fist on the cracked wood. No reaction. I'm about to try again, but Noah grabs my hand.
“Wait,” he whispers, and disappears before my eyes, only to open the door from the inside the next moment. I nod gratefully and move through a corridor toward the door which is slightly ajar several feet away. The pungent stench of blood, decay, and alcohol hits my nose and the picture presented to me when I open the door already explains some of this cocktail of smells. No trace of Airas, but empty whiskey and beer bottles lie all around the room. Pizza cartons and cardboard containers with leftover Chinese food are piled up on a coffee table. I have trouble imagining that my brother the neat freak of all people is living here, but I've also got his scent in my nose. Two further doors lead off the room, and I see drops of blood leading to one of the doors. I make my way nervously through the chaos in the room and then approach that door. The room is dark and I flick on the light switch which I find next to the door. The sight I'm confronted with in the narrow, windowless bathroom takes my breath away and makes me shrink back. The corpse of a half-dressed woman lies in the bathtub in an unnatural posture and exudes a nauseating smell. I quickly shut the door again and look at Noah, who has followed me. I want to say something, but
before I can find words I hear a sound from the other room. I creep up to the door and listen. But all I can hear is a heart, beating behind the closed door. I'm carefully pressing down on the door handle and opening the door slowly, when someone rips it open forcefully, grabs me and takes me into a violent headlock. In spite of the strange scents coming off him, I can now smell that it is my brother.
“Airas? Let me go! It's me.”
The pressure on my throat eases off instantly and I slip out of the slackened arm. Gasping, I turn around and can hardly believe my eyes. The man standing before me barely has any resemblance to my brother. His blond, naturally curly hair is long and wild, framing a face which hides behind a scruffy beard, and his blue eyes are glassy as they stare at me. Dried up blood is stuck in his beard and also on his shirt. You can even see blood stains on the large bed which takes up half the room.
“Oh God, Airas,” I blurt out and go to him, but he shrinks back and holds his hands up in front of him like a stop sign.
“God has nothing to do with it,” he says, slurring slightly. “This was all me. What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. How the hell did you even find me?” He reaches for the half-full bottle of beer on the ground and drinks it down in one swig.
“I see you also brought your Mr. Angel.” He sways slightly and I rush over to support him. This time he doesn't resist, and I help him over to the bed.
“Noah told me where to find you,” I explain and sit down beside him.
“Isn't it enough he's fucking you and sucking the life out of you? Does he have to stick his nose in where it doesn't belong too?” He fixes Noah with a hate-filled look and spits on the floor. Noah doesn't bat an eyelid and gazes at me with warmth in his eyes.
“I'll wait outside. Call out if you need me.”
He has barely spoken the words when he disappears from sight.
“What on earth happened, Airas? It's not like you to talk like that.”
“Shall I tell you a secret?” He leans over to me and his breath strokes my cheek, thick with the smell of alcohol and blood. “I think this here is exactly who I am, without a mask and without the shackles of guilt or pity. This is me. Bare naked, warts and all.”
“No, this isn't you! Stop talking like that. You're scaring me.”
“You've got to face the truth,” he points his forefinger at his face. “My true nature has asserted itself. At first when I noticed I was losing control, I tried to fight it. I thought if I distracted myself and took the job offer I could get it under control again. But I had to break off the job, because the hunger took over more and more each day, and I couldn't think of anything other than warm blood flowing direct from the source into my throat. Now I don't fight it anymore. I accept what I am.”
He stretches out and reaches for the packet of Lucky Strikes and the lighter on the bedside table, and lights a cigarette.
“You're no killer, Airas. You might be able to convince yourself of that, but not me. I know you. You're my brother.”
He takes a drag on the cigarette and inhales the smoke.
“Things change, little one. I've changed. Maybe I've just become who I always was. All I feel inside now is darkness. There's no light in me anymore. Did you see the chick in the other room? She begged me for her life, and still I ripped her throat out. And do you know what? I'm not even sorry, because what I saw in her eyes at the end, when I sucked her dry, was relief. Imagine that – relief! She could escape this place where I'm trapped.”
Ash flakes off the tip of the cigarette and falls to the ground.
“Listen up, Airas. You're drunk. Let's get out of here and go home. We can talk about all this in peace and quiet there.”
“I'll ruin your life if I come with you. Don't you get it? Leave New York. I have to deal with this alone.” There it is again, the familiar twitch in his cheek.
“You'll only ruin my life if you stay here and don't come with me. You don't have to get through this alone. I'm here for you. We're here for one another.”
“Just get out. I can't go back. I've made up my mind.” He takes another drag on the half-smoked cigarette and drops it into the beer bottle, where it extinguishes with a hiss in the remains of the beer.
“I'm not going without you. You haven't made up your mind. If you really had become the killer you're trying to pretend you are, you wouldn't have to get drunk. You drink to somehow make your condition bearable. And it doesn't matter what you say – I can see the light in you! It's there and it will fill you up again if you just fight the darkness.”
For a moment Airas looks me dead in the eye and his expression scares me to the core, because the lights in the windows to his soul seem to have gone out. Almost as if there's no-one home. Then a slight glimmer brings a touch of life back into his eyes and I see the tears falling from them.
I cautiously lay my arms around him and stroke his wild locks.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper in his ear. “You'll see, everything will be okay.”
29
Amkaya
Eyes closed, Airas lets his fingers glide over the black and white keys, and I listen to the clear notes he draws out of the instrument. 'Tristesse – Chopin' is written at the top of the sheet music which he laid in the piano rack earlier and then didn't spare another glance. I watch the interplay between the black and white keys with fascination, and wonder whether it behaves similarly to the interaction between light and darkness. How much darkness does the light need to be recognized as such, but not be consumed by it? And how much light does the darkness need to feel its own existence? Are light and darkness symbiotically connected to one another? There it is again – the ambivalence of good and evil. Perhaps evil is the inevitable shadow of good, changing size along with the position of the sun.
On the outside, my brother is back to his old self, worlds away from the unkempt condition I found him in two weeks ago. But inside, and this I feel every day, he is carrying out a fierce battle with himself.
Almost as if he wants to underline my thoughts, he begins playing a new piece. One I recognize immediately, because he has played Chopin's Revolutionary Etude very often in the past few days. His hands fairly fly over the keys now. Powerful and almost melodramatic, his body moves along with the rousing dance of his fingers, which spark a fireworks of timbres.
In the first few days after our return I didn't leave my brother's side for a minute. The craving for fresh blood nearly drove him mad and I did everything possible to keep him from giving in to it. He had withdrawal symptoms, similar to those of a drug-addicted junkie. Restless spells alternated with depressive phases during which he lay there, apathetic and sometimes motionless, staring off into space. Then I would usually sit or lie down with him and read to him, like our father always used to read to us. It wasn't only calming for him, but for me too. Together, we watched the first few seasons of Sherlock and Doctor Who again, which are two of his favorite TV series.
When he got restless, he would beg me to let him go out and even got aggressive toward me, but he stayed, even one time when desperation drove him to bang his head repeatedly against the wall and I held him tight in my arms until he calmed down again.
Preserved blood products disgusted him, and it cost him enormous willpower to drink them. At first his stomach would throw it all back up after only a few sips, but from the third day on he was able to keep it down.
Now you would hardly know just looking at him what bad shape he was in two weeks ago, yet I sense he's still far from being the old Airas and I'm not sure if he ever will be again. I keep wondering what made him lose it like that. What exactly was the trigger that made him lose the self-control he had maintained almost his entire life long? Was it the pain from losing both Cassie and Phil in such a short space of time? I wouldn't be surprised. Cassie's death alone changed me.
My glance falls on the packed bags at the other end of the room. He announced to me yesterday that he needs to get out of these four walls and is g
oing to drive to one of his favorite places. Alone. To La Jolla Bay in San Diego. It's a very pretty spot and I like it too, but my brother has always been particularly taken with this place.
“Don't keep looking at my luggage with that expression on your face.” Airas has stopped playing and looks at me with a furrowed brow.
He must have seen the fear on my face, because he immediately adds that he will take Wilson along to put my mind at rest. That can't really put my mind at rest though, especially since Wilson knew about Airas's problems for weeks and didn't tell me.
“Don't you think it's too early to be going away? Don't you want to wait a bit longer, until you've. . . I mean, until you're feeling better?”
“I'm fine, little one, and Wilson will keep you posted about anything of importance. I promise. Believe me, you don't need to worry about me anymore. I've got a hold of myself, and I'm really very grateful for all that you've done for me in the past few weeks.”
“Then let me go with you.”
He stands, comes over to me and takes me in his arms a moment. Then he steps back, only to put both hands on my shoulders and look at me.
“No. You've been with me almost permanently for the past few weeks and all you've done is take care of me. You even sat with me every goddamned night and watched over me. It's time now that I start looking out for myself and you can start thinking of yourself again.”
“But I'm happy to do it and. . .”
“I know,” he interrupts. “But it isn't right. Your Mr. Angel, it's true I. . .”
“Can't you simply call him by his name? For me?”
“Okay, you know I have my reservations about Noah, but of course I haven't failed to notice how much he has changed you. The way you look at him and how you described your road trip together. I still can't believe you got married in Vegas.” His gaze seeks out the ring on my finger. “But you know, Kaya, I can't ever remember having seen you so happy before. And I want it to stay that way. So I'm going alone. With Wilson. Just for a few days.”
The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance Page 20
