The Bonded (6 page)

After nine exits, I let out a humph, or the beginnings of a half-attempted laugh and ask, “When we return, am I going to find Cassius wearing a loin cloth, sacrificing females to some kind of blood-goat god?”

The dam of reserved laughter gives way and we both enjoy a moment or two of abandon. After the joke’s fuel burns completely, she says, “We have never believed in gods or a god; therefore, religion has no purpose for our kind. We saw the fragile humans seek protection from supernatural beings when sticks broke under the footsteps of predators in the blackest of nights. We witnessed them begging God that the devil’s plague would not harm their family, and we watched as religion formalized to systems through thousands of years. We have never had the need for protection because
we
were the predators carelessly snapping twigs while on a hunt. We are immune to the ill effects of bacteria and germs. We watch as humans devote their precious time to religion and we wonder if that time and money would be better spent on the practical matters of their short lives. Your new life will be in direct conflict with whatever faith you cling to.”

“It never really stuck with me. My parents were devoutly religious, participating in every church activity from Wednesday to Sunday and they certainly practiced what they preached, but I never understood how to reconcile it all. I could blame it on the amassing evidence of science. I could blame it on the ethical contradictions found in all religious holy books, and I could say that myths are an ancient way of understanding the world. I could say many things, but the honest truth is that I never felt the need for a god. So, when I left my parents at sixteen, I never went back. They loved me and they were gentle, caring parents, but I know they were burdened by worry when they died.”

She waits several breaths and gently asks, “I don’t want to pry, but when did they move on?”

“I was twenty-two and already somewhat of a vagabond, travelling the world in search of… something that I could never articulate. I returned home that winter to find the house empty with a For Sale sign posted in the front yard. I did a newspaper search for their names, discovering that their bodies had been found in the local landfill, the victims of a robbery. Their necks were broken with no other signs of trauma. I was young, but had already seen the world for what is was, and although I grieved, I understood. I understood that most people in this world are normal, content with chasing the lottery and raising children, but there are killers and they require victims.” I take a moment to muster courage and force down those old wounds. “I was adopted and they loved me as their own, never saying otherwise, but as time passed there were too many dissimilarities to ignore the truth.” I pause once more, deciding to let the single tear run its jagged course down my cheek unfettered. “Of course, the lawyers eventually found me and I was given what little they had left. Some money, their furniture and what not, and an old piece of paper with a hand scratched word. ‘Vinculum.’”

Her head gives a quick half nod while her eyes dart back and forth, accessing old archived data. I hear a faint sigh and decide this isn’t the time for reflection, so I ask, “Have you heard of that?”

I can tell her nature is to hold information until needed, but she relents. “It is a Latin word meaning, ‘The Bonded.’”

“How do you know that?”

“I am very old, Adriel, and speak many languages.”

In a moment of frustration, I decide to lay down my cards. “You wanna tell me how you knew my name?”

A long recess in silence. “You are not ready to hear this story, even if it does involve you. I know it is hard to trust me, but I need you to listen carefully. Trust is not something freely given in my world. It is something earned.”

“Your story involves me and possibly a link to my past. It isn’t yours to keep.” I feel her sorrow and remorse, but her will strengthens.

“You don’t understand. Our kind can be ruthless. We have the ability to sense lies and hear understated exaggerations. If questions are asked, they will know that you are hiding something. We have ways, horrible ways, to extract information when it serves a purpose.” As she says it, I know by the nearly imperceptible twitch on her soft lips that she experienced this pain firsthand. I decide to leave this matter unresolved and she gives me a look of gratefulness.

She slowly drags her right hand over the seat and console to touch mine, and she says, “There are things I need to…” As soon as our hands touch, the ache returns with fire. I feel myself becoming uncontained. As if outer-body experiences are based on truth, except my body is disappearing and joining hers. I am so frightened of losing myself that I knee jerk back with frantic response and nearly scream. The little car careens back and forth until Percy regains her composure. I turn to her and see the sweat formed on her brow.

“What’s happening to us, Percy?” I demand.

“I don’t know… exactly.”

Outraged, I say, “What do you mean
exactly
?” I fill the last word with anger to guarantee she understands my position.

Yet she calmly says, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything. Please give me a little more time to sort this out. When I do, I’ll withhold nothing from you. Feel the truth in my words.”

I close my heavy eyes and shut off the outside world until all I can hear is my heart thumping blood in a soothing rhythm. Then, an unfamiliar beat begins to echo mine, but the timing is off by a fourth. I control the depleting adrenaline and let it flow out of my heart and absorb into my legs and arms where it disappears. My heart changes tempo and we are both on the same song in the same band. I can sense the continuity in her words; they are true. Feeling satisfied, I start my trek into the other world and allow the light to reenter as my surroundings take on a more tranquil ambience. I return a nod and settle back into review.

I recall the computer-engineered art back in the ‘90s that was blasted with resolute pixels and thousands of colors. It seemed as though it was nothing more than a splat of color-saturated wallpaper. Even when I focused with an unruffled concentration, the images hid, camouflaged in the myriad of shaded blues, reds, and yellows. I actually had to unfocus for a period of time before the picture revealed its surreptitious art. Airplanes, gardens, and other dull subjects were the substandard coveted prize. Sometimes it’s better to take a step back, rub my eyes, and look through different lenses. I’m hoping that this new piece of art that has me focused conceals a prize that is much more intriguing.

It’s a short drive from the young mountains of Frederick County to the jaded neighborhoods in Baltimore. Driving through the stillborn streets at the glacial hour of 11 p.m. on a Tuesday evening isn’t exactly a party. Even the prostitutes scurried indoors from the numbing cold and vacant corners. Yet, if one knows where the clubs are, the pulsating beat of electronica or rap swells with reverberating bass lines as twenty-somethings who haven’t joined the real-world experiment with new forms of debauchery. I was never into the club scene. Give me a rustic bar sparsely attended with soft background music that leaves me alone with my thoughts or at least the right volume for conversation. Tonight, Percy was pushing my social boundaries.

We park in a deserted parking garage just across from Philipp’s and cross the walkway that hovers above Light Street. A winter breeze chills a small group of drunken girls cradling the edge of the lightly frozen Inner Harbor running from one bar to the next. I welcome the bitter cold with burning skin. My metabolism is nearly twice as hopped up and my temperature must be 105 degrees.

Flashing images of that unresolved conversation in the car rise like mist in my mind. It’s an old injury on a cold day. I snatch this moment of tender isolation to break the silence as we casually stroll through the crescent harbor. “I need more, Percy. My entire life has been one endless series of moves, running from one location to another in an inane effort to find someone, anyone like me. I may not require people around me often, but I still need companionship. Do you have any idea how lonely I am? Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful for the philosophical discussion earlier, but what are we and why was I left alone?”

Percy’s gaze falls heavily to the ground as her hand gently messages her strained neck to purchase several seconds for consideration. Like a door’s latch barrel bolt sliding into place and snapping to lock, our eyes meet. She says with a hint of sadness, “This is a slippery slope, Adriel. I understand your heart, and I know you need details to survive, but there are others who will be affected if you are discovered to possess information that you shouldn’t have. I can reveal what you need to know, but not what you desire. I feel your pain and hurt with you, but you must be satisfied with that for now.”

I swallow another lump of old despair, disgusted at my blatant vulnerability, and reply with a steel whisper. “I have no choice.”

Her stare tenderly relents as the mood shifts from red to a shallow blue. “
I
am a vampire; at least, that’s what we now call ourselves. There was never an official name as far as I know. We have always taken what the humans call us and claim that as our namesake. I have to save the history lessons for Cassius, but I can tell you we feed on the blood of humans."

"Well, I kinda figured that." Snow begins its feathered descent, whisking here and there at the wind's mercy.

"But you don’t know why. We can still eat and drink the food of humans”—I smile inwardly in memory of my scotch—“but our metabolism burns it uselessly. Blood is the only nutrition source that can be utilized and dispersed throughout our bodies for sustenance. We cannot thrive on animal blood, although it will keep us alive, barely. It’s only the blood of humans that give us true life.”

I think on that for a long moment and ask a follow-up question. "How long do we live?"

"Vampires
live for about fifteen centuries due to our advanced immune systems. Cassius celebrated birthday 1488 last year, but you should know that we do not age like humans."

"He was the strongest
and
the oldest?"

She smiles and assumes the part of teacher by approving the correct question. "Our immune system grows stronger with age, making our wounds less debilitating and recovery much quicker. Although our metabolism builds in intensity, it is eventually the cause of death. It literally burns us from the inside as our bodies succumb to the heat."

I delay for thought and murmur to myself, “So, the myths are wrong. We aren't immortal."

She stops mid-step, demanding my attention, and says, "Vamps and waers are not—that is correct. But all myths start with some form of truth. They are stories meant to explain the mystical or meaningful experiences that logic or science struggle with." Anticipating my response, she retaliates with offense, "Humans love stories of magic and sex, but none of us were made through a bite or sorcery, but were conceived and born. In fact, we are born resembling humans and remain vulnerable until our brains fully mature during our early twenties. That is when the change you experienced happens for us. We call it the Resurrectio, or in English, ‘The Awakening.’”

My thoughts are racing, but I manage to ask, “Why was it so long for me? I always felt on the verge of something palpable, but could never reach it.”

“I don’t know why it took so long for you to experience the complete change and I believe it
may be more complicated than the Resurrectio.”

“What advantage would cause one of us to remain defenseless for so long?”

“I suspect it was an evolutionary advantage. Our children blend in without fear of other humans hunting them down. One of our children would be an infant for forty years and a toddler for another fifty if they were born with our slow aging process, or a hundred other reasons and combinations of the above. The point is that no one really knows, but I tell you this: when a child is born there is a celebration and that child is protected with ferocity for twenty or so years. We have very few children, no more than four in a lifetime.” She takes a moment to escape story hour as if lost in grief, but quickly recovers. “I sense the inquisition in your heart, but I can go no further on that detail, as Cassius will want that privilege. We need to hunt because you have had the taste and need to feed." No argument there.

We pass the frozen paddleboats and I get a whiff of the Cheesecake Factory. Yummy. Those restaurants prey on the sweet-toothed and tight-belted… The world is filled with predators. The wind is nearly deafening. I tilt my head slightly to the left for a moment of silence and am rewarded by a distant echo of our four drunken party girl’s giggles rolling over the ice like mist.

We stride through streets turning from Pratt Street to Caroline, then here and there, never really with an aim or direction, eventually stopping in front of some three-story row houses that still strut their original brick with antique pride. These skillfully constructed buildings remind me that this is the city of Edgar Allen Poe. Emotionally tortured, imaginatively macabre, and mentally unstable… he should have been one of us.

Percy says, “I need you to not lose focus so easily, Adriel.” I love when she speaks my name. Oh look… shiny object. “Be attentive to your surroundings. Look with your new eyes. Listen, smell, and even feel the vibrations formed from sloppy walking. Some of us have better senses than others, as we are all not identical in our talents. Yet, don’t let that knowledge create an avenue for laziness. All senses need nurturing and use to function at a high level.”

I appreciate her lessons, but don’t enjoy feeling like a child. I think she understands the misstep and adjusts. “We need to scan the streets from above. Climbing is not a problem for our kind. Watch.” Before the word reaches my ear, she had jumps to the lip on the second-level window and crouches down with knees bent as the fresh snow kindly pillows her arrival, suffocating any sound. I feel the tension spring release from her legs as she slices through the thick air, grabbing the gutter edge with her hands, and in the continuity of momentum, swings to a resting place on the roof. She gives me a challenge, signaling me to follow.