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“If
you were in love with a vampire and he offered you eternal
life what would your answer be?” The words where spoken so
softly I wasn’t sure I had even really heard them.
I
shifted my position and looked up at his face, there was a
smile on his lips as he gazed back at me. I lifted one
eyebrow, sucking in my bottom lip, a nervous gesture that I
had never quite gotten rid of. “What sort of question is
that?”
“A
legitimate question?”
I
tried to read his face but his countenance was enigmatic as
usual.
“Hypothetically speaking?” I folded my elbows onto his chest
and leaned my chin on my arms.
“Hypothetically, if you so wish.” His low voice was tinged
with humour.
I
gazed at him, trying to discern something in his look. His
eyes were half shut as his head lay on the pillow, his wavy
brown hair with its honey highlights, that shimmered like
gold thread, spread out over the white linen luscious like
animal fur. His skin always seemed darker against the
sheets, a tawny brown as though he spent his life lazing
under a Caribbean sun. His right hand was languidly stroking
my spine, the fingers circling my lower back, occasionally
drifting down to caress my bottom. He had very sensitive
fingers; my body tingled wherever he touched it.
I
closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again
and saying. “Is this some sort of psychological game?”
“Why
do you say that?” He asked.
“Well
the answer would demonstrate a particular type of profile.”
“In
what way?”
“A
Vampire is a predatory creature, it feeds off humans. Not
everyone would be comfortable becoming such a creature; it
would take a special type of personality I would think.
Someone who was capable of being a natural predator, someone
that could kill.”
“Surely that definition would apply to all humans.” He
laughed. “Most humans eat what was once alive, they just
choose to not do the actual killing themselves. Someone else
does that for them. Although in the past one was much closer
to one’s source of food and actually participated in the
hacking off of a sirloin steak, knew what part of the
anatomy it came from.” He teased his hand down to my
buttocks and squeezed one cheek. The tingling intensified
into something stronger. “Mm juicy piece of rump here.” He
grinned at me; his eyes wide open now, the dark indigo blue
of a fathomless sea. “All humans are potential killers, the
bloodlust stirs just below the surface. Many psychological
studies have proven that, even as history has, we are
drowning in the blood of our past misdeeds.”
“Still it’s a big step going from supermarket shelves to
tracking down someone that you would then kill.” I said
defensively.
“Why
do you think that vampires kill their prey? Humans can lose
a lot of blood before they die. Otherwise there would be no
blood banks.” He looked at me amused.
I
shifted my position and glanced down at my arms, my skin was
pale like creamy pearls, lying against his body I felt like
I was made of marble, white, translucent, smooth against his
skin that was like sun-warmed sand. Sometimes I would almost
feel myself dissolving into his skin, pushing aside the
surface particles and dissipating into him, becoming one
with him. I found the sensation disturbing even as I found
it somehow pleasurable.
“And
never seeing the sun again. That would be hard.” I whispered
almost more to myself than to him.
“Like
you spend so much time in the sun.” His other hand had
risen from the pillow and was stroking my face. I smiled
and felt his fingers caress my lips, his other hand zinged
up my spine and curved around my neck, he pulled me closer
so I was leaning over his face, my eyes staring straight
into his, his mouth so close that I was breathing his
breath. His teeth were very white. I kissed him, his warm
lips and tongue wrapping over mine, his hands stoking my
body, he rolled me over and began licking my breasts, his
tongue looping around my nipples like a plane circling,
rolling down and down in ever diminishing circles until it
landed in a place that made me forget about blood and
vampires for a long while.
When
we had finished and I was lying in his arms, half asleep and
glistening with sweat, our bodies slippery like glass on
glass, I fell back in time to almost four weeks ago when we
met.
I was
leaving church, the late night Easter Sunday mass, it was
almost midnight and the temperature had dropped to near
freezing. I had attended the morning service with my husband
and children but something had drawn me back for a second
time. I was certainly not religious, particularly not after
what had happened to me, yet the sermon on Christ’s
resurrection and our own redemption on the day of judgement
had somehow enthralled me. Even as I whispered to myself
that it was all lies, part of me wanted to believe, wanted
to have some hope, wanted to understand why. I sat for a
long while as all the others left and only the priest and a
couple of older nuns remained, praying and tidying up.
Finally I departed. I walked down the steps and into the
deserted street. I crossed over and there he was leaning
against a lamppost.
He
smiled at me. I stopped. It had been so long since anyone
had acknowledged my presence that I responded spontaneously,
like an alley cat responds to the kind touch of an anonymous
stranger by purring and leaning into the hand that strokes
it.
“Hello.” He said and his voice had a low resonant quality to
it that made me think of wooden sailing ships with decks of
polished burnished timbers, of gleaming copper instruments,
of billowing sales held taut by miles of rigging. I could
practically smell the ocean, feel the salty air, and taste
the brine.
I
stared at him, his eyes such a dark blue like a winter
evening sky about to turn into night, his olive skin, his
lips that curved into a smile that made me think of fallen
angels. He was dressed in a coat that hung to his knees and
he had black polished boots on under his trousers. He looked
as though he had travelled from somewhere far away.
“My
name is Atticus.” He passed me over a card.
I
stared at the card; it felt like Egyptian parchment, the
paleness of ivory and his name Atticus D’Alton hovered in
the middle like the frozen flight of a midnight raven
silhouetted against a dawn sky.
“And
yours?” His tone was playful.
“Lilith.” I murmured.
“An
appropriate name indeed,” he nodded, “for one such as you.
The wild wanton first wife of Adam. Independent and defiant,
not to mention stunningly beautiful. You are aptly named.
She of the night.” He reached for my hand, took it and
kissed it, his lips so hot against my cold skin I felt like
he had seared me with a brand.
“Shall we have a drink?” he suggested, “it is cold and you
feel like you need warming up.” He held on to my hand still.
I nodded and he took me to a bar nearby, a place that was
dimly lit with opulent velvet furnishings. It was almost
empty and he escorted me to a booth that looked over the
deserted street. He ordered a Bloody Mary and asked me what
I wanted. I had only managed to glance at the martini list.
“ A
silver bullet.” I whispered.
He
laughed, it was the first time I had heard his laugh. It
resonated through me like I was made of crystal, a harmonic
wave that rolled into me and over me, realigning my cells
and spinning my emotions into some sort of whirlpool. I
wanted to tear my clothes off and dance naked in the
moonlight. I wanted to rip his clothes off and feel his
flesh against mine. Some laughter has that effect on you.
He
nodded to the waiter. “As the lady desires.”
I
looked out into the street there was a shimmering quality to
the light probably because the full Easter moon hung at
zenith and coated the earth in silver shades. I noticed that
the lamppost that he had been leaning against was now dark,
surely the light had been working before, I could recall
seeing his face so clearly, if the light had been broken his
face would’ve been in shadow. I turned to see him watching
me. We didn’t say anything until the waiter returned with
our drinks.
“To
us.” He said. “To the future.”
It
was then that I knew that I would spend the night with him
and not just one night but also almost every night since. Of
course not the entire night, after all I had to be home
before dawn. What would the neighbours think? I had been in
denial for so long I even believed my own lies.
I
refocused my eyes and turned my head to look up at his face,
his eyes were shut and his breathing languid.
“What
about sex?” I murmured into his chest, “Vampires don’t have
sex.”
He
laughed.
“You
shouldn’t believe everything you read. Why wouldn’t they
have sex? Nearly all creatures do. After all it’s so very
pleasurable why wouldn’t they indulge? Nothing beats an
orgasm on a cold night.”
“Why
would something as powerful as a Vampire even ask the
question? Surely he would just take what he wanted?” I
looked up into Atticus’s face; he brushed some strands of
hair away from my cheek, black hair like spilt ink flowed to
my shoulders. My childhood name had been Snow White. I had
always found the concept of a lingering limbo-like death in
a glass coffin strangely appealing.
“Lilith,” he whispered staring into my eyes. “A gentleman
would always ask, would always give his love a choice.
Otherwise it would be akin to rape. Worse than rape, far
worse. After all rape is usually confined to a short space
of time. But to take one’s soul by force and consign someone
to an eternity against their will would be a sin of the
highest order.”
“So
Vampires have a moral code?” I tried to make light of his
comments.
He
looked at me and kissed me lightly, gently. “Most probably,
just as not all humans have ethics.”
He
leaned to one side and turned a switch, the wafting ethereal
sounds of Debussy gently filled the room, the piano notes
rippling through the air covering our bodies like a
transparent blanket woven with tears and sadness. I fell
asleep in his arms waking a few hours later to his whisper.
“It’s time to go.”
He
drove me home in his car that was almost too luxurious to be
called a car. It barely made a sound; riding in it was like
sitting inside a purring beast, the engine was silent except
for a low rumbling vibration. The world seemed to float by,
perhaps it was just an illusion created by the night, after
all at four in the morning the air, the atmosphere has a
bewitching quality, a calmness, a stillness not found during
the other hours of the day.
“I
can’t see you till Friday.” He said as he parked across from
my house. “I have some business to attend to.”
I
nodded. He was here in town for business, the penthouse just
a short-term home before he returned to wherever it was he
came from. He was extremely wealthy but seemed unconcerned
by money, annoyed by it almost as though it were a chore
that needed to be gotten out of the way so he could
concentrate on his passions. I couldn’t work him out.
Perhaps I hadn’t tried. I was unprepared for his next
comment.
“I’d
like your answer then.”
“Answer?” I felt confused. “I was tired, sated by our night
of lovemaking, all that physical desire fulfilled made me
just want to sleep. Then I felt the music change subtly, a
chord striking low, the keys turning darker full of portents
of doom, a B flat minor moment. I knew what question he
meant.
He
stared at me. His face looked hard as the shadows from the
trees outside wavered in the breezes shifting different
shades of darkness over the contours of his features.
“What
makes you think I’m in love with you?” I asked sharply. I
had always had a defiant streak that had gotten me into lots
of trouble at school.
He
gazed at me and said in a voice of such infinite kindness
that my heart almost cracked. “Lilith. I think it’s time you
faced the truth about your situation.” He reached for my
hand and held it. My hand felt like ice, his was so warm I
felt like I might start melting and become nothing but a
tiny pool of water that he could hold cupped in his palms.
That he could then bring to his mouth and drink. All gone.
All dissolved. I stared across the road to where my house
stood, bricks and mortar, substantial and material in a
world that suddenly seemed so very hard for me to reach. The
music shifted and changed, G flat major, Mahler I surmised.
I breathed in deeply and something also shifted inside me.
“What
do you think blood tastes like?” I said the words
delicately, innocently like a child asking an adult
something important. He smiled and his face changed, softer,
mellower, like a sunny moment before the storm crashes.
“Like
warm red wine but saltier.” He laughed and leaned over and
kissed me goodnight.
The
house was quiet and dark; I wandered the familiar rooms
ending up in the lounge room, where there was a hint of fire
in the air, the room still holding the vestiges of last
nights heating. I leaned into the fireplace and gazed at the
framed photographs, family portraits, enlarged spontaneous
moments captured and held on paper, encircled by wood or
metal frames. I noticed that they were all from five years
ago; there were no new ones at all. I also noted that there
was a definite layer of dust over all of them, my husband
had never been good with cleaning, obvious the cleaner he
employed was not that conscientious either. How quickly
things begin to deteriorate when left, atrophy the state the
universe naturally inclines towards. I lay on the couch and
thought about all that had happened, recently since meeting
Atticus and maybe more importantly over the past five years
since my accident.
I
thought of the girls, five years older now, Bethany was
almost sixteen, reasonably stable for a girl of her age,
studious the majority of the time, occasionally rebellious,
she had a new boyfriend that seemed to bring out the
sensitive side in her. Gabriella had turned thirteen last
month, a big year starting high school, new friends, new
emotions, and new hormones creating unforseen turbulence.
She had thrown herself into her piano practice more
vigorously this year I had noticed, perhaps it had a calming
effect on her, something familiar and habitual, a place she
could go and immerse herself that was safe and secure in a
world that wasn’t. Five years had passed so quickly.
Children are very resilient, they cope with almost anything,
in the beginning the distress had been palpable, I had
almost been able to smell it, taste it. It hung over the
house like a distress call, bitter and sweet entwined
together like a honey covered sour lolly, the type you spit
out once the sugary coating has dissolved leaving only the
residue in your mouth that lingers longer than you would
wish.
Even
my husband Mark had eventually pulled himself together,
showing some remarkable attributes that I would not have
suspected that he had. It’s amazing what people are capable
of when they have to deal with situations. Atticus’s comment
hung in my mind like a kite snagged on a tree branch,
hovering reluctantly, tugging at what restrained it, wanting
to pull free and continue on its journey. Lies, deception,
when had I succumbed to them? Perhaps in the beginning when
I was half crazy with grief and fear. But then I let them
cover me like some coat that I refused to take off whatever
the temperature might be. In the beginning I could fool
myself in believing that there was a reason that I needed to
be here, that they needed me that they couldn’t live without
me. In the beginning my presence probably did soothe them
especially the girls. I would hold them as they slept, wipe
the tears from their eyes, kiss them tenderly the way all
mothers do, keep the monsters of the dark away. Now I wasn’t
so sure that I had any justification to continue hanging on,
often feeling so invisible that my absence would barely
register a comment, a tiny breeze that was barely
discernable.
I
spent the next two days soaking in their faces, their
beings, the physical world they inhabited, sucking it in,
the colours, the textures, the smells. Saturating myself
with it, immersing my soul so that their imprint would
always remain strong, forever bound inside me. Preparing
myself to leave. He was right I needed to face my situation
and accept it as it truly was. It was finally time to go.
Yet fear held me paralysed, strung tightly like a cello
string about to break and ruin the entire musical piece,
strung on a web that stretched to eternity and eternity
seemed so vast and endless. I had created a world that was
comfortable, lonely and isolated but also familiar and safe.
I
heard the crunch of his tyres as he parked the car; everyone
was sleeping although I suspected Gabriella had snuck her
iPod earphones on as soon as the bedroom door had closed.
Much like I had hidden my radio under the pillow when I was
her age so as to listen to some obscure pirate radio station
that only broadcasted at midnight, waking in the morning to
the weird buzz of static and batteries so depleted they
would need to be thrown in the bin. I whispered goodbye, I
didn’t have the physical strength left to open the front
door, heavy wooden entrance that it was, I merely wafted my
way out via one of the windows.
He
stood leaning against the bonnet, the curved contours of the
dark Jaguar looked like a metallic extension of his persona,
the passenger side door was open. He searched my face as I
approached. “Ready?” He asked.
I
nodded and stepped into his world. He drove to the end of
the road and turned left instead of the usual right. I
looked at him.
“We’re going to the beach.” He answered my unspoken
question, in a tone that made the statement not seem as
ludicrous as it was. Of course, I thought, where else would
we be going on a night like this? I leaned back and listened
to Debussy, the piano and the violins creating a tranquil
space. It was only when I heard the harp playing that I
began to weep silently. Finally I had cried all my tears
away, there was nothing left, I felt empty and much, much
lighter, as light as air.
“How
long have you known?” I asked.
“I’ve
always known I have been searching for you, tracking you
down. It has taken a while.” He glanced at me. “When you
became what you are you flared up, a brilliant white light,
like a beacon, a lighthouse. For a moment there was a new
star in the sky. And then you faded down, becoming an echo,
a throbbing beat like a pulsar, that’s how I tracked you,
circling around in tighter and tighter circles, following
your pulse. Eventually to you.”
I was
silent as I let his words sink into me.
“Why?” I finally asked. He smiled as he drove, his eyes on
the road.
“Because I’m looking for a companion. Someone with your
intense life force might be more than suitable to join me on
my journey. Might be exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Have
there been other companions?” My voice was wary.
“Three.” The car had stopped at a red light. He looked over
and smiled.
“Where are they now?”
“I
didn’t eat them if that’s what you’re thinking. My last lady
and I parted more than amicably. We had been together for a
very long time; we chose to follow separate routes. We still
talk. The internet is a wonderful communication device.” The
car started moving. I stared out the window, we seemed to
have left the city, and the road was winding through
bushland.
“The
other two, well let us say Eternity is a difficult concept,
to live it requires a certain type of mental suppleness. You
presume that the blood aspect is the most difficult detail
to accept but really it’s just a matter of hunger. When you
get hungry enough you’ll eat anything. Food is food whatever
the receptacle. But forever is almost inescapable; it
stretches the mind to its limit and then takes you over into
the beyond. Some find it too intense and they choose death.”
“What
makes you think I could deal with it?” I asked my heart was
beating at twice its usual rate. Then I wondered if I still
had a heart.
He
laughed his laugh that made me want to dance. “My sweet one.
You have already chosen eternity. You started the journey
when you refused to be dead. You are already one of us. Your
life force is very strong but it cannot continue
indefinitely. You are already dimming. You must be aware of
that.” He looked at me held my eyes, there was a buzzing in
my ears, I didn’t want to hear this even though I needed to.
He
continued. “Once your loved ones go, their memories also
disappear, there becomes less and less for you to hold on
to. In eighty years you will have faded to almost
transparency. You will have become in reality what you are,
a ghost so insubstantial that only the most psychically
aware will sense your presence. You will be like a shadow
print of what you were.”
I
knew he spoke the truth, already I was too weak to move
inanimate objects, doors, chairs, windows even, it was much
easier to just slide through them, a slightly eerie feeling
but I was already getting used to it. Even my beloved piano
was silent, my fingers unable to press the keys, no matter
how hard I tried. I stared at him.
“I’m
offering you a chance to retain your physicality, your
vitalness, to live as if you were really alive, a chance to
lead a fuller life than the one you have chosen.” His voice
was very gentle, so gentle that I wanted to close my eyes
and accept everything.
“There is a price to pay though?” I took a deep breath.
“We
are almost here.” He said as the car slowed and he eased it
into a small gravel car park, cutting the engine so the
rumbling vibration slowly stilled. Ahead were the dunes and
glittering like a black jewel was the sea. The full moon
hung in the sky just above the horizon as though it had
risen from the depths like an enormous pearl emerging from
its oceanic shell.
“Come.” He said as he reached over to the back seat and
grabbed a small bag and left the car. He opened my door and
held my hand as I joined him on the gravel. He took off his
jacket and hung it around my shoulders. It radiated his body
heat into my bones making me feel almost warm. He took my
hand and we walked along the dunes and down to the shore. I
felt like I was in a dream.
I sat
on the sand near the water’s edge, it still held some warmth
from the day’s solar rays, I could feel it discharging into
my bones, my legs, my buttocks, my feet. The night was cold.
Atticus sat beside me; he had unbuttoned his shirt and taken
his shoes and socks off. His hair glimmered in the
moonlight.
“How
old are you?” I asked.
“I’ve
forgotten,” he said softly, “I was born on the coast of a
country that doesn’t exist anymore, that has no name that
has passed into myth. I was recruited to be a soldier there
was a war, and I was full of anger. I overflowed with anger.
I had lost everything, my wife, my three children, my home,
even my village, all burnt and pillaged by barbarians. I was
recruited because I was mad with hate. I accepted without
thinking that I would survive more than a few years; I
became part of a dark war between two dark lords. I vented
my rage for two centuries; I did things that were
abominable, heinous, deeds, which I have regretted ever
since. It wasn’t called the Dark Ages for nothing.
Eventually a truce was proclaimed and the few of us that
were left dissipated. And I learnt to live again. I have
mellowed considerably since those days.”
I dug
my hands into the sand, feeling the warmer surface grains
mix with the cooler interior ones, felt them sliding through
my fingers. He leaned towards me and lifted my chin so I was
looking at his face; his dark eyes stared into mine. He
brushed my hair away with the fingers of his other hand. He
kissed me, a long hard sensual kiss that made my body sing a
harmony of joy and desire, a C major symphony transcending
upwards. It left me breathless.
“Tell
me some details.” I knew the question was vague but I seemed
to have lost my ability to coordinate my thoughts. He
smiled; his teeth were straight, normal looking. Where were
the fangs?
“For
a start forget everything you have ever read, heard, seen
about Vampires, most of it is incorrect, although there are
glimmers of truth among the falsehoods. Most of my victims
would not even think they were victims. Seduction is a far
more reliable technique than fear. Most only remember a
night where the sex was dazzling and their tiredness
adequately explained. Others remember a vivid dream,
possibly erotic, certainly not disturbing and a lethargy
that stays with them for a few days. A handful may have some
inkling of what has transpired, deep down in their
subconscious but most are happily ignorant.”
He
stroked my face very gently as he talked.
“I do
not grow fangs although the method of penetration is as you
expect, it’s just my teeth don’t suddenly extend out, we are
more subtle than that. We don’t sleep in coffins, a darkened
room is sufficient, the sun can kill us but it is a
corroding slow death not instantaneous. We can survive days,
weeks even in the sun if we need although it takes its toll
on our well-being and it can be a long time before we are
fully functional again. On certain days of high energy, the
solstice, the equinox, I can suck enough extra strength from
the ether so I can watch the sunrise or sunset without any
negative effect. I don’t fly or turn into a bat, although I
have quite amazing acrobatic skills and if I choose I can be
so still, so quiet, that I become almost invisible but that
is just a skill nothing magical.”
He
smiled and began kissing my face, my neck, my décolletage,
kisses so warm I felt my skin trembling each time his mouth
caressed my skin. His arm came around my waist and
disappeared up my jumper, his hand so hot against my icy
skin, I couldn’t understand why I was suddenly so much
colder than I had been or else he was so much hotter.
He
stopped kissing me and as though he had read my thoughts
whispered. “You’ll never feel cold again. I can walk naked
through a blizzard and still feel comfortably warm. I just
choose to be discreet.”
“Are
there many of your kind?”
“More
than you think, less than you imagine. We tend to live
separately. No reunions No organised events to catch up.
Occasionally I come across an echo in someone’s blood that
tells me that another has been there. On very rare occasions
I may even meet another. We are polite but distant. Being
vampires doesn’t necessarily imply that we have anything
much in common in any meaningful way.”
We
sat together silently. I felt disturbed, uncomfortable.
Finally I realised why.
“I
have no blood. Do I even have a body?” I murmured almost to
myself although the question was aimed at Atticus. I felt a
moment of intense horror, absolute fear. What was I? A ghost
but what did that mean? My physical body was lying somewhere
under the ground slowly decomposing. How much did a body
deteriorate in five years? Would there still be flesh? Hair?
Nails? Or was I only bones? Bones not even joined together
any more, just lying neatly as the body had been placed.
Worms and bacteria sliding through and over and into me. Was
that what had happened to my body? And if my body was there
what was I residing in, what receptacle held me, held my
soul, my being, my essence? I felt myself falling lower down
into the dank earth, perhaps I was merely dreaming as I lay
rotting away, waiting for judgement day to make me whole
once more. I began to shake. I felt the sea breeze blowing
through me like I was a harp, a harp of bones, strung with
strings of light, a haunting eerie F minor tune played a
mournful dirge, oblique, furtive, secretive.
I
felt Atticus’s arms wrap around me and pull me closer; bring
me back out of the dark. He felt real, strong. I felt his
body against mine, his breath warm and gentle against my
cheek. I could feel my body, whatever it was made of, it
existed somehow. I remembered how he made love to me, night
after night, and I could feel his hands, his mouth, on my
body, his cock inside me, large and hard, how was that
possible if I didn’t have a body?
“You
have no blood but you have a body that is pure light, pure
life-force. When we feed on blood its not the blood we want,
it’s the life force swirling within that we need to sustain
us. When I change you it’s your life force that I rearrange
and alter.” He whispered.
I
felt the panic subside a little; I sank against him, feeling
frail and insubstantial.
“How
do you know it will work? Have you ever changed a ghost
before?” My fears tumbled out like hailstones falling in a
summer storm, harsh and cutting.
He
looked into my eyes. “I have no reason to think it won’t
work.”
“So
you don’t know?”
“Lilith there is always a risk. Everything has a risk. I
don’t believe that you being a ghost changes the outcome.”
I let
his words roll over me, cover me. What did I really have to
lose? After all I was already dead. “Is there pain?” I
asked.
“When
you died was their pain? When you gave birth to your
children was there pain? Whenever there is transformation
there is pain.” He kissed me gently. “I won’t lie to you
about anything, yes there is pain. It is intense, consuming
pain. But it doesn’t last for long. It passes and becomes a
memory.”
He
looked into my eyes and then took both my hands into his. He
stroked my long pale fingers with his dark ones. My thumb,
index finger, middle, ring, little finger, and each one he
gently stroked. His fingers so warm, emitting their heat
into my cold hands. He spoke very softly, tenderly and his
lips smiled with a different quality, something mischievous
lurked there at the corners of his mouth.
“Think Lilith. Imagine.” His tone was assured, confident, as
though he were about to turn over the last card of a poker
hand, a pause and the final card is revealed, the ace, a
royal flush, the highest ranking hand, unbeatable. His words
dropped into my palms, the inescapable hook. “You would be
able to play your beloved piano again. Play it so much
better than you have ever played before and I know how
gifted you were. Play it sublimely. Magnificently. Imagine
all the other instruments that you could master with so much
time on your hands. Music you could compose, arias,
concertos, symphonies. Imagine what it could be like.” He
kissed each of my fingers before letting them go. I knew he
had won me over.
Atticus gazed out at the sea; there was a yearning in his
face that I had not seen before. “You cannot imagine what it
is like to be what I am. It is unexplainable. You think the
night is less complex than the day, where are the colours
but there are so many shades of blackness that exist,
nuances and tints. The darkness has tones and hues that you
cannot discern with ordinary mortal eyes. When you change
you will experience sight, sound, taste, smell in ways you
cannot begin to comprehend. All your senses are elevated,
lifted. It is extraordinary.” He took my face in his hands
and kissed me again. His kisses tended to send my body
spinning into some sort of vortex anyway, I couldn’t imagine
what it might be like if everything was heightened.
He
smiled and stood up, “I’m going for my swim now and I’ll
leave you here to decide.” I looked over at the sea, inky
black except for the foam on the breaking waves shining
white under the moon.
“There are sharks out there.” I said.
He
laughed that wonderful magical laugh of his. “I have nothing
to fear from sharks. No shark would ever attack me; it has
too much sense to attempt something like that.” He threw his
shirt off and then his trousers, he stood naked in the
moonlight like some glorious beast. A god is what he looked
like, something beyond this world, beyond human. Why hadn’t
I realised that before? He was beyond anything I had ever
encountered. It was as if tonight the veil had been lifted
and he was revealed; as he truly was immortal, divine.
He
winked at me and ran into the sea, diving into a wave and
disappearing. I looked over at the dark sea. The rhythm of
the waves changed, slightly faster the tempo became, like a
pulse rising from its normal beat when faced with excitement
or a burst of adrenalin. The cadence of the waves had risen.
The sea’s heartbeat was up. Then I heard it, so quiet it was
almost inaudible, I strained my ears and could just make it
out. The ocean was singing, a song like a whale’s call only
sweeter, the music unbearably profound, golden. Some sort of
requiem in D major, I concentrated, the key of glory, the
celestial melody. Then I realised what it was, one force of
nature meeting, acknowledging, greeting another force of
nature. The ocean was singing a welcome. Atticus’s head
broke the surface and he rose up like a porpoise breaching,
the sound rose with him, becoming higher like a heavenly
choir, holy almost. I had never heard anything as beautiful;
it made my heart ache, my soul craved to hear more. He dived
back under and the ocean hummed with joy.
The
wild card had been dealt, there was no way I could turn my
back on this. I wandered down to the shore and let the waves
lap around my feet; the water was cool but warmer than my
feet. I could feel the ocean’s sound reverberating through
my toes and up into my body. I stood there for ages just
feeling and hearing the music, I felt strands of kelp whirl
around my feet and then my ankles were caught in a grip,
strong and manly. I looked down and Atticus was lying at my
feet, sleek and wet like some seal or merman, the water
rolled around whispering love songs to him. He pulled me
down into the foaming shallows and deftly pulled my clothes
off. He made love to me as the sea bubbled and fizzed around
us, wavelets frothed and the music moved up an octave, I
detected a tone of possessiveness in the surf’s undertow.
“What’s your answer?” He murmured into my soul, his skin was
like flame, if I hadn’t been lying in the cold water I
wondered if I would have ignited like dry kindling.
“Yes.” I moaned, “yes.”
He
leaned into my neck and I almost didn’t detect the bite, a
tiny prick, a sliver of a cut, my body responded before my
mind realised. The pain began as an adagio, sweeping into me
like a glissando scale, then it rose into a crescendo, up
and up, like a wave but monstrously huge. A tsunami of pain
but scattered with something like total ecstasy as well, the
two together whirling around and up. It took me to a place I
had never envisioned, into a light that was like the sun,
destruction and obliteration together. I felt the song of
the cosmos flow through me, the universe vibrated like a
choir of infinite violins, darkness and light slithered
around me like rainbow serpents. Then far away I heard a
bell toll, mysterious and compelling, something from the
ship of an ancient mariner, it called me back, demanded my
return. As I fell within its watery embrace the ocean chimed
me home and his arms caught me as I fell. |
