Privideniya - Chapter 26

Sometime during the night, the rain had frozen on the ground, and covered the Jeep in a thick cocoon of ice. The windows on the east side were stained pink and indigo, and hovering above the rearview mirror, the rising sun. A ball of red light, small and hard like a fist; wavering and obscured as though glimpsed through a plate of stained glass.

Raiden could see all this from where he lay.

He hadn't moved much since he had awakened, only enough to follow the slow progress of the sunrise over ice-encrusted windowpanes.

One edge of the blanket was clutched tightly at his throat, making the fabric buckle like oceanic waves. A sea, beneath which slumbered ancient and terrible beasts. He would wake them, if he stirred too much.

And then there'd be hell to pay.

Because his head was nestled neatly beneath Vamp's chin, curtained by long black hair. His ear against Vamp's chest, so he could hear the steady tidal rush of his breath, feel contraction and release of iron-hard muscles.

His dreams last night had been filled with things he would never speak of. Things he wasn't brave enough to recall, in the harsh light of morning.

Raiden felt as though he knew Vamp's body well by now. The curve of muscle, the contour of pale skin, the sharp angles of his face, radiating out from surreal blue eyes.

No one looked like that. Not in real life.

And as he laid there, his head on Vamp's chest, listening to the steady comfort of his breathing, Raiden tried to decide how much of this man was the real thing.

His body was too chiseled to be a military man's. He had spent long hours in the gym, shaping and toning, molding his chest and his arms to the shape he wanted. Though Vamp was not old, he wasn't young anymore, either, and the tightness at his temples suggested a facelift somewhere along the line.

Plucked eyebrows, expensive hair product, designer clothes and real leather. Soap that smelled like sandalwood and sex pheromones.

Raiden couldn't help but wonder who he was trying to impress.

Because he must have always been beautiful, even as a child. He could have been, without any effort at all, another handsome aging hipster with an apartment in The Village. A model, or an actor, or a barhopper in Soho with a new notch in his bedpost every night.

But none of that had been good enough; he'd had to transcend it all.

Lately, Raiden had been trying to practice self-reflection. Living with consoling lies had gotten him in trouble before, and so he had begun to teach himself to have a more critical eye.

He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Vamp's attention.

His cool flirting, his pet names. Everything he did so easily, while Raiden still blushed and stammered at the sight of uncovered skin.

He'd have to be blind not to notice Vamp. He'd have to be soulless not to appreciate him.

Vamp was a monster, of course. Psychotic and delusional and god only knew what else. But he was also indisputably and irrevocably worth all the trouble.

The sun had climbed another half-inch in the window, and its orange rays slanted across Vamp's face. He muttered like a child, and hiked the blanket up to cover his face.

Raiden would have let him sleep – he was in no hurry to go anywhere – if that motion had not dragged the covers up past Raiden's calf. The cold stung his bare foot, and he yelped, jerking his leg back beneath the blanket.

By the time he turned back, Vamp's eyes were already open, unclouded by sleep.

"What time is it?"

Raiden shrugged, looking away. He hovered awkwardly, somewhere between leaning back against Vamp's body and pulling away entirely.

"Morning…" he said quietly. "What're we going to do?"

Vamp slithered out from under the covers, and crawled over the center console into the front seat.

"Adrian!" Raiden cried, shielding his eyes.

Vamp may have had his share of charms, but no one looked good from that angle.

"Glad to see you slept well."

Vamp took the car keys from the visor above the driver's seat, slid them into the ignition. The engine coughed weakly, but didn't turn over.

"Well?" Raiden said.

Vamp shrugged. "It's fucked. We'll have to walk. You said there was a town, right?"

"Yeah. It's two miles. Maybe three. Will we be able to get a mechanic?"

"We'll be able to get a tow, I think. It's better than staying here. Hand me my clothes, would you? My bag is down by your foot."

Raiden blushed again. He must have been nearing his quota on that.

They dressed in the tight, awkward confines of the Jeep. Vamp in the front seat, kicking his legs over the center console as he pulled his jeans on. Raiden in the back, on his knees and hunched at the shoulders so he could put on a faded Henley shirt.

They left the Jeep behind just as the last scraps of sunrise faded from the sky.

Side-by-side, without a word to each other, they hiked up the snow-caked highway to the top of the hill.

"The pass must be closed," Vamp said as they crested the peak. "No one's been by this way. The snow's still white."

Raiden's foot skidded on a patch of ice, and he landed heavily in the snow.

Vamp didn't laugh, just reached down and offered his hand. "Careful. It's all frozen underneath."

---

Vamp's Romanian was hesitant and shaky as the legs of a newborn foal, but the villagers had endless reservoirs of patience. They corrected him gently, and sometimes made him repeat himself just so they could titter over his American accent.

Raiden stayed back and kept silent. Talking about this place had made Vamp angry before, and Raiden didn't want to be responsible if that happened again.

An elderly woman dressed in black pointed down the road with one hand, clinging to the elbow of Vamp's coat with the other. He listened closely, then nodded to Raiden.

"Let's go. She says we can find someone with a truck at the edge of town."

Raiden moved close, but he waited until they were alone again before speaking.

"Hey. Adrian. Are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, are you okay with this place. You seem a little distracted."

Vamp smiled at him, but it was strained. The kind of polite smile usually reserved for relatives or coworkers. "I'm fine. Don't be paranoid, Jack."

"Paranoid…?"

Raiden stopped himself. There had been something strange in Vamp's voice just then; something he was quite certain he didn't want to hear again any time soon.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Guess it was just… a bad night last night."

Immediately, he wished he hadn't said that, but Vamp didn't reply and his silence was insurmountable.

They walked together to the far corner of the village, to a small stucco cottage with a red tiled roof that bowed slightly beneath the weight of the snow. Exactly the same as every other cottage, except that this one had a truck parked in the muddy front yard, a monstrous rusty behemoth with faded Russian writing on the side. A fossil of the Soviet Era.

Raiden stopped at the front gate.

"You really think that thing is going to run?"

"Why not?" Vamp shrugged.

"It's older than you, Adrian."

"I'm not that old. Besides, the Russian military builds things to last."

He reached for the gate, but before he could unlatch it the door of the cottage swung open.

"Bună…"

He came toward them across the yard. A tall, solid man with a quick stride. His face was beginning to sink into old age and his jaw was flecked with a few days' worth of stubble, but his eyes were still sharp and clear blue.

He stopped at the gate, taking it in broad hands and leaning forward.

"Hello."

Vamp smiled, relieved. "You speak English?"

"I do. Some of it."

He laughed, and held out a hand. "My name is Radu Valenescu."

"Adrian." Vamp hesitated a moment, and then spoke very quickly. "Lazarescu."

Radu's lips curved into a smile. His teeth were crooked, but very white. "That's a good Romanian name. But your accent… that's not so good. You've been away too long."

"Almost twenty-five years. I don't remember anything…"

"But your name sounds familiar. Lazarescu… perhaps you have family in this region?"

"I don't know," Vamp said quickly. "I'm here on business."

Raiden stepped forward before Radu could question him further, thrusting his hand between them like a wedge. "I'm Jack. Our car broke down on the hill outside of town. Can you give us a tow?"

"Of course."

He glanced at Vamp inquisitively, then shrugged. "Wouldn't want to keep you gentlemen from your business."

"Of course."

Radu motioned to the truck with one hand. "Something, isn't she? Would tow a barge on dry land. Climb in, my Americans."

They piled into the cab, Radu behind the wheel, Vamp by the window, and Raiden between the two of them. The seats creaked and sent up thick clouds of black dust.

Radu cleaned some of the dirt off the inside of the windshield with his sleeve.

"Where did you get this truck?" Raiden asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Bucharest, about… ten years ago now. A Russian in a three-piece suit sold it to me cheap. Said he would only take cash. I'm just a farm boy; I don't ask questions. But I figured it would come in handy back home. Seems like every winter I have to tow a few people down from the pass. Spring, too, when the snow melts and everything turns to mud. And in the summer, there are always things that need moving…"

Radu chatted amiably the entire way back to the Jeep, pausing only for a moment at a time, when he had to navigate the truck around a particularly tight corner or over an icy patch on the highway. It was never long enough for him to realize that Vamp had fallen into a sullen, unbroken silence.

But Raiden couldn't help but notice.

He reached over, setting a hand over Vamp's. He neither reciprocated, nor pulled away.

They crested the hill, and the breaks screeched as Radu leaned on them.

"How long were you two stuck out here?"

"Since last night," Raiden said. "The storm came up and we couldn't make it into town."

"Lucky you didn't freeze to death." Radu laughed. "It's a horrible way to go."

He swung the truck around, so the tail end was next to the Jeep's nose. He climbed out, sinking into the banked snow up to his knees.

"The tires are iced over," he said. "But I can break you out. A very nice car. Do you always travel the American way? That's what went wrong, I'm sure."

He laughed again, breathless in the cold air, as he opened the hood.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"It won't start," Raiden said. "It overheated last night."

He hovered at Radu's shoulder as he poked around under the hood, peering around his arms. Vamp stood behind them, his head lowered and his arms crossed. Raiden didn't know what the expression on his face was like; he didn't dare to look.

"I see the problem now!" Radu said. "There's a hole here. In your radiator."

"Where do we go to get it replaced?" Raiden said.

"Oh, no one around here has parts like this."

Vamp lifted his head sharply. "Can you patch it?"

"It depends on how far you have to go," Radu said with a shrug.

"To the Russian border, then another 200 miles. We have three days of travel ahead of us."

"Maybe I can," Radu said. He slammed the hood, and walked back to his truck to unwind the chains. "Maybe I can't."

He wound the chains around the bumper, and began to break the ice away from the tires with his boot.

"Around here, we can get in a lot of trouble for aiding smugglers."

"We're not…" Raiden started to say, but Vamp silenced him with a glance.

He stepped forward. "A good Christian would help those in need. 'What you do for the least of these, so do you do for me.' "

Vamp held out his hand, and Radu took it briefly. Raiden didn't need to see his palm to know that there was a bill folded into it.

"Yes," Radu said. "I can patch this hole. I can't promise it will hold all the way to the Russian border, but maybe in Kiev you can get it fixed."

His smile returned, easily.

"Right now, I need you two to go behind and push. She is stuck pretty good."

They worked the Jeep free without too much trouble, and then climbed back into the cab of Radu’s truck. Raiden set his hand over Vamp's again, because he hadn't complained the last time.

He didn't complain this time, either, and Raiden felt a strange surge of pride at that.

"You know," he said to Radu. "We're really not smugglers."

"Sure you aren't." Radu glanced at him, winked quickly. "My mistake. You're just businessmen."

"I really mean it, though…"

"It's all right," Radu said. "Kind of exciting. We don't get much excitement around here. You know, this villagers of this town, they once gave Vlad Tepes shelter from the Turks. They hid him. He was just a young man back then; that was before he started impaling people."

Radu chuckled, as though at a private joke.

"Nothing like that these days. There was the rockslide last summer. Buried two of the cows out on the Ionescu farm. Smashed them flat, it did. We were afraid it'd gotten their youngest boy, too, but it turned out he was just sleeping in the loft. Scared us to death."

"Um?" Raiden said.

"But the thing everyone in Arefu remembers the best was the explosion."

"Explosion?"

"It happened… going on thirty years back, I'd say. Most people who are old enough still remember it. I was just a little brat then, but not a day goes by that I don't thank the Lord my father was a godless heathen. It was the Catholic church. Went up in flames right during the middle of Sunday Mass. No survivors, I don't think."

"Oh…" Raiden said.

But he wasn't paying attention to Radu's story. He had stopped when Vamp pulled his hand away, and slid over to lean against the door.

---

After the Jeep had been towed, Radu advised them to rent a room for the night, and directed them to the little inn near the town center.

Vamp had lapsed again into uncomfortable silence.

"Something on your mind?" Raiden asked, and knew immediately that it hadn't sounded as casual as he would have liked.

"I was just thinking…"

"I could tell," Raiden muttered. "Must be a hell of a thought."

"Thinking… about that man."

"Radu, you mean? I think he's all right. Talks a lot, but he must get bored out here. Seeing the same people every day, the same little town all the time. I don't blame him."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Vamp sighed. "I guess I was just wondering… why I didn't end up like him. If things had turned out differently. If I hadn't come to America when I did. I don't know what I would have become, Ingénue. Not the person I am today."

"I don't know," Raiden said. "Anyone could say that, about anything. It's no use wondering. This is the way things turned out."

"But wouldn't it have been better?"

"Better?" Raiden echoed.

"You know…" Vamp began, but trailed off almost as quickly.

Raiden sighed. "Better for you, Adrian? Or for someone else? I know… you have some stuff in your past. We all do. Maybe I'm not as smart as you, but I learned a few things in my life. I know you shouldn't feel guilty for what happened—Adrian!"

Vamp had stopped dead in his tracks. Raiden had to spin on his heels, and backtrack a few steps.

"What the hell's gotten into you, Adrian?"

Vamp shook his head.

"I know. I think…" He turned sharply, toward the east. A grove of green coniferous trees pressed up against the backs of the cottages on that side of town. The road narrowed into a thin dirt path.

"Please, don't follow me, Ingénue."

He was gone by the time Raiden realized what had happened, and he had to run to catch up.

"Adrian! What the fuck? There's nothing over there…"

Vamp cut into the trees, his boots crunching on the snow. He slipped once, landed on one knee, but he was back up again before Raiden could catch him. He didn't bother to duck the overgrown boughs. They slapped against his face and shoulders with dull wet sounds like open-handed blows.

"You fucking asshole," Raiden gasped. "You can't just…"

Then the trees opened into a meadow, and Raiden was silent. In the center of the clearing was a small chapel. It was the only building he'd seen so far with stone walls and a tiled roof. It was white, whiter even than the snow, and the door was stained ruby red. So bright that Raiden couldn't look directly at it.

Vamp went ahead of him, a jagged black line against opalescent snow. There was a stone monument near the entrance, two arches, like a pair of tombstones grown together, with a cross jutting up from between them.

For a moment, Raiden though Vamp had slipped on the ice again, when he went down on his knees beside the tombstones.

But then his hand stretched out, and slid slowly down one of the stone faces.

"Adrian…?"

Raiden came forward slowly, close enough to see over Vamp's shoulder. He couldn't read the words in Romanian across the top of the arches, but he understood the names and dates below them. Four columns, perhaps a hundred names followed by, he supposed, birth dates.

For a moment, Raiden could only stare. Vamp's nails scraped against the stone like fingers on the inside of a coffin lid.

And then he stopped.

Raiden reached for his shoulder, but he wasn't sure which one of them needed to be steadied. Framed between Vamp's clutching hands, he could read eight names. The names he was sure Vamp, too, was reading. Over and over again.

Estera Lazarescu, 1938

Matatias Lazarescu, 1951

Julia Lazarescu, 1953

Vladimir Lazarescu, 1975

Ylena Lazarescu, 1973

Konstantin Lazarescu, 1969

Nadezhda Lazarescu, 1971

Nicolae Lazarescu, 1986

It took Raiden a minute to realize that the tearing he heard was not the wind. It was Vamp's ragged breathing.

"Don't do this," Raiden murmured. "Don't do this right now…"

But then Vamp's shoulder was no longer beneath his hand. He was on his feet again, and moving toward the church's door. That luminous red eye.

He passed the black plague column near the entrance, that spire jutting heavenward. Pointed, like an accusatory finger.

He climbed the three steps that lead to the chapel door.

Raiden stayed behind, and his eyes were drawn again to those eight names. They had been carved no deeper in the stone than any of the rest. They were no different. It was easy to lose them, easy to let them blur into insignificance.

He closed his eyes, and tried to give faces to the names. An old woman, a young man, a child: he tried to imagine them with eyes that had never known the shadow of death.

But the only face he could picture was Adrian's.

He opened his eyes again, dazzled momentarily by the brightness of sun on fresh snow.

"Hey," he called. "Hey, wait."

Vamp was already on the threshold of the chapel, but he paused there, long enough for Raiden to catch him.

It as dark inside, lit only by candles, but warm and dry. Raiden blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

"Come in," Vamp said softly. "They rebuilt this place. It looked different before."

"Are you okay?" Raiden asked.

Vamp crossed himself as he stepped inside, slow and deliberate, touching the tips of his fingers to each contact point.

"I haven't been to church in years," he said. "I'm overdue for Confession."

"I don't think you should do that…"

Vamp turned to face him, and Raiden hurried on. "I mean, do you think any priest would believe half the things you've done?"

His chest rose and fell with a silent sigh.

"Right?" Raiden asked hopefully.

But Vamp had already turned away. He cut up the aisle between the pews, the tails of his long coat brushing the benches, leaving damp streaks on the wood.

To one side of the front altar was a wooden dais, faced with chipping marble. An icon of Christ set into a niche in the wall, one hand lifted in benevolent blessing. The altar below was ringed with yellow beeswax candles and crusted in layers of old, faded wax.

Vamp knelt, crossed himself again.

"Mater dei," he said, and the rest was silent, or forgotten.

He lit one of the candles, and the smoke spiraled upward toward the ceiling.

Raiden crouched down beside him – took a knee, as they said in basic training. "Are these… Do you light them for people who are dead?"

Vamp shook his head. "They're votive candles. You light them when you come to pray."

"Can I…?" Raiden asked quietly, reaching for one of the lit candles.

"As long as you have something to pray for."

"I do," Raiden said.

He looked down, watching the few candles sputter and flicker. None of them were new. Some had burned down completely, until they had become one with the pedestal and the base of the icon.

"I just don't know how," he said.

"You'll learn," Vamp said, and he took Raiden's hand gently, tipping it down to touch the candle flame to an unlit wick.

He bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

A change came over him; a peaceful countenance, like a wave of sleep. Raiden watched for a moment, but Vamp didn't move.

He turned back, folding his hands.

Raiden had never thought about religion before, never wondered at the existence of God. If there was a Heaven, he already knew he would never see it.

He wasn't sure what he expected to happen when he closed his eyes and lowered his head so he could feel the heat of the votive candles on his face. If there was magic in the ritual, he couldn't feel it, but it couldn't hurt to say a few words for the bones of the men and women buried beneath the monument outside.

Surely, though, many people had thought the same thing over the years. It was easy to pray for the dead. But how long, he wondered, how long had it been since one of them had stopped to pray for the living?

He swayed a little on his knees, so his shoulder brushed against Vamp's, and he could feel the comforting solidness of his body.

Protect him, he thought. Protect us. Just a little longer. Just give us one more chance. Maybe next time, we'll know better.

"Amen," Vamp murmured, and Raiden jumped a little.

His eyes fluttered open. Vamp was already on his feet, already moving towards the door.

Raiden struggled up, following him out.

He walked down the center aisle, pressing his palms to the back of the pews as he passed. Flecks of color from the stained glass darted over his black hair, slid down his leather coat. He pushed through the red door, stepped out into the sunlight and the glittering white snow.

And it was there that he collapsed.

Raiden wasn't quite close enough to catch him as he went down.

He knelt beside him in the steps of the church. Vamp didn't turn to face him. His legs were tucked beneath his body, eyes straight ahead. Hair in web-like disarray around his face.

"Adrian?" Raiden said.

When he didn't reply, he reached out, setting a hand on Vamp's shoulder.

"Adrian," he said quietly. "You okay? You're kind of freaking me out. Can… Um, can you get up, maybe?"

"They're gone," Vamp whispered. The wind caught his words like brittle dead leaves, swept them away across the churchyard.

"They've been gone a long time."

Vamp shook his head. "Not… like this. I left this place so long ago. I never tried to find it. I'm a different person now then I was back then. I'm not the boy who left Bucharest for America. I remembered this place, like you remember a dream. Like Eden..."

Raiden swallowed hard. "But… they were your family, weren't they?"

"All of them. The Devil came for them that day. He came for me too. I felt his claws on my heart…"

"It wasn't," Raiden said. "It was just… an accident. A fire. A gas leak or something."

"It smelled like sulfur. There, under the earth…"

"Christ…" Raiden whispered. Vamp's voice was hollow, and it made a shiver spiral up the length of his spine.

Vamp closed his eyes.

"I need to sit here a while. I need to be with them. I died here, back then. The Devil got his teeth in me, and he ripped me apart. I need to see if any of the pieces are left."

"I'll stay with you…"

"Go on back to the hotel, Ingénue. It's all right."

"I'll stay with you."

Raiden shifted so he was seated on the top step. He drew his legs up to his chest.

Vamp reached out, brushing the back of Raiden's hand with his knuckles. "Sorry to worry you. I'll be fine, though."

"That doesn't sound like you at all."

He turned his hand, catching hold of Vamp's. "I like you better when you're being a pompous asshole."

"Fuck you, Jack."

Raiden laughed, and it sounded very loud. But he wasn't embarrassed.

He leaned against Vamp's shoulder. "Maybe next time…" he said. "Maybe next time, we'll know better. Don't you think, Adrian?"