Revelations (5 page)

Chapter Six

I stayed exactly thirty days in the hospital with Michael Daniels as my attending physician. Though the man understood more than he let on, I didn’t question him. I read what I wanted from his mind and knew what I needed in order to trust him. Daniels was a good man, and I respected him enough to allow him to draw small amounts of blood from me to run tests, the results of which he kept completely private and gave him no hint as to the additional powers I held. I did keep a close watch on him so I knew he was doing nothing out of the ordinary with my blood work. I smiled to myself when he saw the results, even though he really had no idea how to interpret them. I would never let him find out such things had he been given the chance.

Anyway, after my thirty days was up, I found myself seated on a concrete bench outside the hospital, enjoying the sunshine of a bright Ohio day, what I thought would be my last Ohio day. I was waiting for Philip to come get me. A small bag sat at my feet containing two pairs of jeans and a couple plain T-shirts given to me by the good doc so I would actually have some clothes to wear as hospital gowns are not appreciated outside of the hospital environment. Michael Daniels sat beside me, and I knew he had something to say.

It took him a full five minutes to speak. “I won’t betray you, Christiana,” he said firmly, meaning every word.

“I know you won’t,” I said back. “There’s too much at stake.” I turned my gaze to meet his. “And you know that.”

“I know,” he repeated. “But you are quite extraordinary.”

Lowering my eyes, I muttered, “Yeah.”

“I mean that in all the essence of the word,” he said. He reached over to touch the top of my right hand. “Just the very fact that you are sitting here is a miracle.”

I snorted. “Stop calling me a miracle. I’m not.”

“You’re alive,” the doc said. “That’s miracle enough for me.”

“I’m just me,” I said.

“Whatever,” Michael Daniels said, a word I’d never heard come out of his mouth.

I looked over at him. “Believe what you want on that matter,” I said.

“How’s your head?”

Ever since awakening, I’d been plagued by headaches. Pain of any kind was something I was quite unused to, being who I am. It was more of an annoyance than anything, but some of them were pretty bad. Any attempt at medication resulted in my feeling gross and oftentimes dizzy. I decided to shrug off drugs and dealt with the pain.

“It’s okay right now,” I told him in honesty. “They come and go as they please.”

“I still stand by my diagnosis—” he began, but I cut him off.

“I know, I know. There is nothing wrong with me. I know.” I heard a car approach and looked up to see Philip Morris in an old, beat up Honda whose color might have been red under a thick layer of dirt. I turned up my nose at the sight of the car.

“Okay,” Doc Daniels said. He got to his feet and offered me a hand. “You ready?”

I took his hand and rose. “Guess so,” I said. “Do I really have a choice?”

“You could stay here and be my guinea pig,” he offered, only half-serious.

“Um, no,” I said. I turned to the good doctor, who I came to respect during my stay in the hospital. I held out my hand to him and he shook it firmly. “Look, I’ve really come to like you.” I made sure my eyes locked with his so he would understand I was telling the truth. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I wish you the best of luck.”

Michael Daniels, all of twenty five years old and a brilliant physician with expertise in many fields, gave me his most brilliant smile. “The same goes for you, Christiana. I hope everything goes well for you in California. I know Philip will take good care of you.”

I smiled. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

The red, dirt encrusted Honda stopped before the two of us, and I bent to pick up my bag. Daniels and I said nothing else to one another, just exchanged knowing looks before I opened the door and hopped into the car. Philip Morris gave me a nice smile, brightening up his already handsome and ageless face.

“Ready?” he asked.

I took one last look back at the doc, knowing I’d probably never see him again then turned my attention to the road ahead. “Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.” For what, I had no real idea. I’d stopped reading Philip Morris’s mind when I got tired of breaking down his barriers. I knew he was pretty much harmless, yet I didn’t really know much else about the man. I can protect myself. I am not only an experiment, I am also highly trained in many aspects of self-defense and martial arts. I don’t employ these often, but they do come in handy. I can thank Arturo Holt and his soldiers for said training. I do remember that. I assume what I do remember is only because Holt allowed me to remember it. Combat training wasn’t too much of a threat, I guess. I’d need to remember it to actually use it.

Anyway, we drove to the airport in silence. I waited patiently while Philip returned the dirty rental car, apologizing for the filthy condition in which it was being returned. I followed obediently behind him to the airport terminal, only about a block and a half from the rental car station. I went with Philip onto the plane for my first flight ever. Philip, ever resourceful, as I would discover, obtained a fake ID for me with the name Carlie Simon, to which I had a really good laugh, on it.

On the plane, I began to develop one of what would become “my signature headaches.” I sat by the window, looking out at the half of America that would pass below me on the way to California, and I had to close the window covering as the light began to hurt my eyes. As the pressure built at my temples, I leaned my head down on my hand and shut my eyes.

Philip’s hand touched my shoulder. “You okay?”

I didn’t immediately answer. When I did, I only said, “I’m all right.”

“Sure?” he asked, leaving his hand on me.

I decided I had no reason to lie. Michael told him enough about what he knew concerning what was happening with my head. “Just a headache,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Want anything?”

“A nice glass of whiskey,” I said, using my best joking tone. Alcohol actually sounded pretty good at that moment in time though.

Philip laughed lightly. “Try and get some sleep. A few more hours and we’ll be in California. Then it’s quite a drive to the Commune.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what we call our home.”

I only nodded and tried to drift off. No matter how long I kept my eyes closed and tried to focus on something other than my head, my head only continued to pound like a timpani. Philip said nothing more to me during the rest of the plane ride, but his hand drifted away from my shoulder and rested lightly on my forearm for the rest of the flight.

Chapter Seven

When we landed, I was still nursing my aching head, but the pain had diminished enough for me to be sociable. Philip and I both brought only carry-ons, so we were able to head right for the car. To my great relief, Philip had not left a dirty red Honda in the lot. Instead, he led me to an old, light blue Volkswagen Beetle. He opened the passenger side door for me, I got in then he joined me in the car.

“We have a long way to go,” he said. “Landing here in Burbank was just a detour. And the cheapest flight I could get. Not that I’m stingy, but I like to save a buck or two where I can.”

I smiled at him as he started the car. “Where are we going?”

“The desert,” he said simply.

“Okay,” I said.

“How’s the head?”

“Better,” I told him. I leaned back against the seat.

“Might want to put your window down,” Philip said. “This thing has no air conditioning.”

I did as I was told, rolling down my window with the old crank system. The air in the city, one of which I was familiar with, was ripe with exhaust fumes but I didn’t care. As we drove along multiple freeways, I admired the scenery and spoke on occasion about places I’d been in Los Angeles. (Just to clarify, in case anyone was wondering, yes I was born in Los Angeles; my mother moved up to LA from SD when she found out she was pregnant.) When we hit the 134 freeway, I could see the LA city skyline in the distance jutting up to the sky like pillars of light as the sun reflected off glass, and my heart jumped up into my throat. Memories filled my head and I kept my mouth shut on those matters. Philip though had more to say. Though he didn’t speak until we passed Fontana and hit the open road of the 15 heading into the desert.

His first words to me at this point were, “I promised the others I’d tell you a bit about each of them.” He glanced at me quickly. “Just so you wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I doubt much could surprise me,” I said, putting my window up a bit so better to hear him over the wind.

“We’ll see,” Philip said. “Well, I guess I’ll go alphabetically.” He paused, running names through his mind. I decided not to pry and attempt to get ahead of him, so I just let him speak. “We’ll start with Alendra. Fitting I guess since she’s just about the oddest of all of us. I found her in the desert, a hundred miles from any real civilization. She was naked, sunburned, and suffering from amnesia. She still has no idea where she came from or how she got there. I couldn’t just leave her out there in the desert, so I took her back to the Commune with me.

“She did know one thing about herself,” Philip continued. “Alendra is what you call a lycanthrope. She’s been with us for six months now.”

The word lycanthrope hit a cord with me but I said nothing.

“She can turn herself into a wolf,” he continued, “by morphing her body at will. She took the name since she doesn’t know her real one.”

“So she’s a werewolf,” I said.

“You can call her that. She prefers the term lycanthrope.”

I smiled but said nothing else on the subject.

“Then there’s Cadence. Cadence, unlike Alendra, knows where she comes from. She has precognitive dreams, though most of them don’t come true, but the ones that do are sometimes frighteningly accurate. She was tortured during her time as an experiment and released when scientists discovered that only two percent of her dreams come true. She’s deathly afraid of the dark. She’s about twenty-two and has been at the Commune for three years. I think you’ll like her.

“Humbolt and Hermione are the twins. Their features as bovine, including horns. They are both geniuses in their own right and have an affinity towards genetics. While being experiments themselves, they like to conduct their own on each other. They’re interesting. Very intelligent. We believe they are about thirty, and they have been at the Commune for nearly ten years. They were brought to me through a friend who shall remain nameless after they were liberated from a lab by an extremist group who thought they were liberating monkeys.” Philip paused to laugh. “Boy, were those guys surprised.”

Then he continued. “Jonas escaped from a lab in Nevada when he was five. He’s been at the Commune the longest. He was found wandering the Nevada desert outside of Jean by a group of young kids, who beat him to a pulp and left him to die. Luckily enough, I’d heard about his existence through rumors and had people looking for him. A friend found him before authorities could. Jonas has scaled skin over his entire body. His DNA is mixed with reptilian DNA. He’s cold-blooded and exceptionally strong. He’s a character.

“Peter and Patty are our only couple. He’s eighteen; she’s thirty-three. Patty is the only experiment living with us who has family. She’s the product of released and escaped experiments so she’s never been in a lab. She’s telekinetic. Pete can contact the dead.”

“A medium?” I said, which was something I’d never heard of before. I mean, I’ve heard of such things before, but only in fiction.

“Yes” Philip confirmed. “Pete can contact the dead. He breaks the barrier between the world of the living and the dead and makes contact. Problem is he has no control over who comes through or when. Whatever spirit is strongest is who speaks to him. Sometimes he’s a little psychotic if too many come at him at once, but he’s a good kid. Patty keeps him grounded. He’s been with us for four years. Patty’s been around for almost the same amount of time. She goes home to visit aunts, her only living relatives, every now and then, but she enjoys living with us.

“Last but certainly not least is Starch. He’s a firestarter.”

I couldn’t help repeat the word. “Firestarter?”

“Yes,” Philip said. “He can control the temperature of his body and light himself on fire. His skin does not burn. Nor does his hair. Now, nobody has seen him do it because he refuses to. His normal body temperature is one hundred and seven degrees. That, in itself, is odd enough. His mother died when he was young, and he lived on the streets of New York for years before he was brought to my attention. Studies and tests revealed the abnormalities in his body. But since he won’t show his talents, there is no proof. I believe him, as does the rest of the Commune members, especially after what the tests have shown.”

“Hhm,” I muttered, thinking to myself.

“And then there’s me,” he said.

That’s what I’d been waiting for.

“According to mythology, you would categorize me among vampires.”

Again, I felt the need to repeat his word. “Vampire?”

“Yes,” he said again. “The obscene need for blood as sustenance, and the teeth kinda give it away.”