Vincent was awakened by a sharp assault to his nostrils. He sniffed the air, cautiously at first, overwhelmed by the intense amalgam of smells. It could mean only one thing: Devin had decided to make breakfast. With great chagrin, Vincent slipped out from underneath the covers. His heart fluttered as Catherine stirred, reaching an arm out to the empty space he had just vacated.
"Is the sun up?" Catherine murmured sleepily.
"Only just," Vincent whispered.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes, shaking off the dreams of last night. Of recent years, reality had become much more appealing. As she caught the scent that had jolted Vincent's subconscious, she too grimaced and whined, "Devin cooked?"
"It would appear so."
"I'd rather eat pencil shavings."
Vincent shot her a reprimanding look. He hated to belittle any honest act of love or kindness—even Devin's cooking. However, Catherine was smiling at him, a wickedly facetious twinkle in her eyes. She shared Vincent's heart and appreciated, if not enjoyed, the gesture.
Devin was just finishing up in the kitchen when Catherine and Vincent cautiously stepped into the room. Various piles of chopped bits and pieces were scattered randomly on the counter, debris in the wake of a tidal wave. "Eggs a'la Devin," he quipped, setting down two plates.
"You're not joining us?" Vincent asked.
"No, I ate earlier." He gestured to the counters, "I'll go ahead and clean up while you two eat."
Catherine and Vincent shared a wary glance, hesitating. The plates were arranged quite beautifully with an unappealing hash that vaguely resembled omelet, hash browns, and badly burnt toast.
Devin saw their hesitation and encouraged them to, "Hurry up and eat, I have a sort of surprise waiting."
As it turned out, eating fast was the best way to approach "eggs a'la Devin". His time as a famous chef in Paris had given him a great palate for delectable recipes and skill at plating food, but had afforded little opportunity to perfect his actual cooking technique. "That's what a sous chef is for—I was the brains of the operation," he was fond of explaining.
Within minutes the food had disappeared from the plates. Devin hurriedly threw the dishes in the sink. "I just have to feed Sparks and then we'll go." He dumped a large amount of kibble into Sparks' metal dish. The lab sniffed it, but quickly ran away to be petted by Catherine.
"Huh. That's odd," Devin said running his fingers through his hair. "Usually in the morning he attacks the bowl before I've even set it down."
Vincent stared at Catherine, looking to confirm his suspicions. At first, she refused to meet his gaze, feigning interest in her nails. She turned her eyes up and looked at him innocently, but through the bond, Vincent sensed celebration over her victorious subterfuge.
"Funny thing. Guess he's just too excited to eat," Catherine commented glibly.
"Guess so," Devin dismissed. He clapped his hands together loudly. "Ready to go guys? I really want you to see this. You're gonna love it!"
Feeling his pure excitement, like a child going to deliver his first Winterfest candles, Vincent smiled. "Then, I can hardly wait."
The three stepped out into the sunlight, something Vincent did not take for granted, and walked the short distance to the large garage at the back of the yard. Fashioned from an old red barn, it was falling apart at the edges.
With a raised brow, arms braced to push the door back, Devin asked, "Ready?"
"You bet," said Catherine with a small note of impatience in her voice. She peeked at her watch, wondering what all the build-up was about.
Devin threw open the door with a flourish. His smile spanned the entire front of his face proudly as both Catherine and Vincent drew in a sharp breath. The morning sun blinded them for a moment as it was refracted by the gleaming chrome of a mammoth motorcycle.
"Oh Dev!" Catherine exclaimed breathlessly. "It's beautiful!" She casually wrapped a protective arm around Vincent's waist, as if to hold him back.
"You like it? I saw it, and I just couldn't help myself."
"But, how in the world could you afford it?" she asked.
Devin patted the black leather seat as he answered. "Got her real cheap from a state trooper buddy of mine. I had to rebuild the engine, install new brakes, and make a few other modifications. But, you know me—a couple of Harley Davidson repair manuals and I was set."
"Oh, well, that explains it," Catherine said in mock disbelief.
"Ha! You should see my friend's face now that it's all fixed up. Jealous."
"You have an amazing ability to learn new skills, Devin," said Vincent with sincerity. He wondered what would happen if he and Mouse teamed up on a project together. It would either be great or disastrous, perhaps both.
Devin mounted the bike and broke eye contact, "Yeah, well, you know me. Once a fraud always a fraud."
"Yes, but a good fraud," Catherine added. Laughter echoed off spider webs in the rafters. "It really suits you, Dev. You look like James Dean or something."
Color rushed into Devin's cheeks, making the three scars stand out in contrast whiteness. He hung his head in mock embarrassment and added, "Just wait. You ain't seen nothing yet." With natural effortlessness, Devin hopped off the motorcycle and jogged over to the wall, which supported two dusty, moldered wooden shelves. An old towel covered two large heaps. Devin uncovered one and held it out to Vincent.
"What do you think of that?" he asked mischievously. Vincent turned the object over in his rough, hirsute hands, examining it. It was an oversized black helmet. He turned it over and started, sucking in a quick breath. Catherine eyed his reaction as a wary mother watches a child who has taken hold of something potentially dangerous.
With little emotion, Vincent stated the obvious, "This is a helmet." He handed it back to Devin. At the furthest reaches of her psyche, Catherine felt the slight fluttering of Vincent's true state of mind. She could only feel the strongest of his emotions. Closing her eyes in prayer, her heart warred against her mind, caught between the desire to see her husband find a place in her world and fearing for his safety should he succeed.
"Vincent, come on! This isn't just a helmet," he exclaimed, pushing the black globe back into Vincent's grasp. "This is an extra-large, full-face helmet," he paused and flicked a shade down, "with a tinted visor for keeping the sun out of your eyes." He paused for effect, letting Vincent take in his whole meaning as he witnessed the utterly concealing nature of the helmet. Catherine's heart dropped. "A man wearing this couldn't be recognized," he continued solemnly. "A man wearing this could go anywhere, anytime." Devin's voice was low and serious. "A man wearing this could see the world."
"Devin, stop it!" Catherine interjected with a half-scream. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Just dreaming a little, Cathy. That's all." His voice was saturated with defensive hurt.
"If you're hinting at what I think you're hinting at..." she trailed off in her anger. Her fists clinched. "You could put him in serious danger." Vincent stared in silence at the helmet in his hands, deep in thought.
"It's the same danger he faces anytime he takes one step out of the tunnels, whether it's the park at night, driving up here, or even sitting on your balcony. Are you the only one allowed to let Vincent put himself at risk? That choice belongs to him!" The truth stung as Catherine remembered the dozens of times she had been rescued by Vincent and urging him to flee the scene before the authorities arrived.
"He doesn't even know how to drive."
"I know that! This lady," he patted the bike, "is strong enough to haul the two of us. He just has to hang on."
"Oh yeah? What if you break down? Or wreck? What if he gets hurt? Or you get hurt? What happens if you get pulled over or caught? What if—"
"Catherine," Vincent interrupted, commanding her silence.
"What?" she groaned.
"I want this." His blue eyes were firmly resolute. She locked his gaze and felt his hopeful determination as it called softly through the mists of their connection. Vincent wanted so few things in life, and there were even fewer occasions to indulge him. However, this was an opportunity she hesitated to accept.
"Really?" she asked in a lame attempt to convince him otherwise. He nodded his response. Catherine threw up her hands in defeat and attempted to push down the foreboding that lurched in her throat. With as much positive energy she could muster, which was regrettably very little, she consented. "Okay." She kissed Vincent's cheek. "Be safe." Devin clapped his hands in glee and wrapped Catherine in a firm embrace. She added, "But if anything goes wrong, I'm telling Father it was all your idea."
"You won't regret this, I promise. I'm going to take good care of him. Thank you, Cathy!" he cheered. "It's your turn next, you know."
"Pass!" called Catherine over her shoulder as she hurriedly walked back to the house. Another moment and she would have been unable to prevent from unleashing all her misgivings.
The two men exchanged a look, the kind only seen in a "No girls allowed" clubhouse. "Well, try it on!" Devin urged. "Haven't got all day."
Vincent struggled awkwardly to push the helmet onto his head. It was tight and pulled on his hair, but it fit. "How's it feel?" Devin asked hopefully.
"As if the world is pressing in around me from all sides."
"Just wait till you get on the road. It's not as bad once you're riding. Trust me," Devin spoke with a confidence gained only from experience, "It's better in the wind. But, there's one more thing."
"And what is that?" Vincent removed the helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. The complete allure of that movement was lost on Devin, but somewhere in the cabin Catherine felt a little warmer.
"You gotta toss the Tunnel clothes. A man in a helmet is mysterious. A man in a hooded cape is…" he chose his words carefully, "conspicuous. See how these work." Devin uncovered the second bundle and heaved it at Vincent. He caught the clothes but nearly dropped the helmet. Setting it down gently, he looked for a place to change.
"Oh yeah," Devin added frankly, "Boxers or briefs?" He tossed another, smaller, bundle towards Vincent. Devin's lips curved upwards in a wicked grin.
Vincent tossed the bundle back, "Neither."
Inside, Catherine decided to change out of her sweater into something with short sleeves.
Devin caught the bundle deftly. "Gross." He shook his head.
Vincent headed to a dark corner while Devin turned his back and pretended to tune up the motorcycle. He was pleasantly surprised at both the quality and fit of the clothes Devin had provided. In the tunnels, all his clothes had to be specially made to accommodate his broad stature. His size was hard to find during scavenging trips. He relished the soft cotton of the white t-shirt that hugged his torso. The heavy black denim pants were basic, with the exception of a small, thick chain hanging from his left hip. But, it was the jacket that Vincent loved. It was loose at the waist, setting off the close-fitted cut of the pants. The metal buttons fastened just to the right of the center of his chest. There were several accenting straps and buckles. He felt confident, powerful, sexy even.
Catherine, unable to concentrate, went to get a glass of water and completely abandoned her book.
Devin heard a change in Vincent's footstep. Generally soft and agile, they were now heavy and certain. He smiled before turning around to admire his brother. "Like it?" he asked, knowing the answer already.
"Like it? I've never had anything as nice! It's as if they were made for me. Where did you find them?"
Devin beamed with pride, "Didn't I ever tell you about the six months I spent in Milan as a tailor? I made a suit for Burt Reynolds once."
Although Vincent had no idea who exactly Burt Reynolds was, he clapped Devin on the back and sighed. "A man with your gifts would truly be a blessing Below."
"Aw shucks, V," Devin cried with mock humility, "I'm a blessing wherever I go." Devin hefted the helmet to Vincent and suited up himself. "You ready to do this?"
Despite the rooted sense of apprehension that was growing stronger, Vincent nodded with confidence. Letting his weight settle onto the frame of the bike, Vincent was alarmed at how it sank several inches under the additional burden. Father's voice rang out loud in his head, warning him of all the risks he was about to take. As if Devin could read his thoughts he answered, "Don't worry," he fired up the obscenely loud motor, "Once we're on the road you won't hear a thing but the engine!" He had to yell now.
"Hold on!" shouted Devin over the roar. He sped off with a jerk for which Vincent was unprepared. Had his reflexes not kicked in, he would have fallen off the back. Thankfully, his legs and arms automatically caught hold of anything solid, which happened to include Devin's waist. He felt Devin's sides shaking and knew he had done it purposefully. Glad to be on the untraveled back roads, Vincent realized how ridiculous they must look. The larger of the two men sat in the submissive back seat. For the first time in his life, Vincent was embarrassed, not ashamed, embarrassed. Fear, loathing, and disgust were all reactions he was used to experiencing from strangers. The mocking scorn of public humiliation was something altogether new.
At first, Vincent's acute senses were nearly overwhelmed. The foliage and smells flew by so fast that they melded into one singularly identifying piney aroma. And the wind! It was like being on top of the skyscrapers back in New York. He wanted desperately to remove the helmet and feel the wind pull every hair straight backwards, but even on these back roads the risk was too great, Devin said.
Within minutes the road had morphed from Devin's private drive into a mountain highway that wound its way around the crest. The first turn was nearly disastrous. "You've got to lean into the curve!" Devin screamed. As it turned out, this was easy enough for Vincent to master. A phenomenal sense of balance was just another one of his physical distinctions. Contentment and joy welled within his spirit as his eyes watched the shadows of the trees on the road flicker like the flame of a candle.
On the road ahead was a large minivan, fully loaded with camping supplies. Vincent's body tensed as Devin increased their speed to pass them. It was only a moment and then it was over. A young boy was looking out the window of the back seat. As the vehicles rode parallel, their eyes locked, despite the tinted visor covering Vincent's face. He braced himself, habitually he realized, for the panic that usually flooded the heart of every stranger who chanced to glimpse him in the dark. Instead, he felt admiration, like a blip on radar, as the boy's eyes grew wide. The boy smiled and waved. Vincent waved a gloved hand back, which only made the boy nod in approval. Behind a mask, Vincent felt the power to be anybody, even himself. It was the stuff of Shakespeare.
Devin took an unexpected turn. About a mile off the main road, he slowed the bike and stepped in front of a rundown metal building at the end of a long field. Devin stepped in and out of the building, checking to make sure they were alone. His face was all light and excitement.
It looked fairly deserted, and at Devin's signal, Vincent removed his helmet. He took a moment to take in his surroundings, from the blooming honeysuckle to the sound of a brook not too far off.
"Well, what did you think?" he asked.
Vincent's eyes closed as he searched for words to express the inexpressible. "I hear the wind among the trees, I see the branches downward bent, and over me unrolls on high, the splendid scenery of the sky."
"Poetry, huh? I knew you'd love it." He fought to keep his more sensitive emotions in check, but the delight was unhidden. "What was that anyway? Emerson?"
"Longfellow, actually. You're getting rusty."
"Come here, I've got something else I want to show you," said Devin, motioning for Vincent to follow him into the building.
Devin's steps were unsure and awkward as he made his way through the darkness with a flashlight; however, Vincent's cat-like eyes had already adjusted to the dim light and he followed easily. The lingering scent of gasoline lightly perfumed the air. He could make out several large forms covered by canvas tarps and evenly spaced throughout the building. The manner in which they were draped made it difficult for Vincent to guess what was underneath, but they were nearly twice as large as the van they had driven upstate yesterday. "What is this place?" he asked, curious.
Devin answered vaguely, searching for something in the shadows, "A friend of mine owns it. He lets me store stuff here. Ah, there it is! So, V, you really had a good time?" Vincent affirmed his pleasure with a simple nod of the head.
"Well, then, let's take it to the next level, what do you say?" Devin yanked the tarp off one of the frames to reveal an even more impressive bike than the original. It was all black leather and chrome. The handlebars reached out to embrace the rider, while the engine components snaked around each other in unfathomable convoluted splendor below the seat. Both wide and tall, it was built for a man of Vincent's stature.
"You mean?" he trailed off.
"Vincent, did you really think I was going to make you ride piggy-back all weekend? I've got a reputation to keep here."
Removing his gloves, he lightly ran his fingers over the machine, caressing the metallic skeleton. What had started as a feeble spark of curiosity had been fanned into a steady, lasting, white-hot flame. Could Devin possibly understand the ways in which the world had opened itself today? In his minds' eye, Vincent saw a paved road unraveling before him infinitely.
Devin went to great lengths the rest of the morning instructing Vincent on basic traffic laws, the use of mirrors, and operation of the machine. It had been over 10 years since Vincent had been able to call himself a student. However, Devin was as eager a teacher as Vincent was a pupil. Fairly matched, the classroom portion of their studies passed quite pleasantly.
At noon, they took a break for lunch, if it could really be called that. Devin, in his excitement, had completely forgotten to make preparations for lunch. So, they sat in the shade with cans of soda, crackers, and other vending machine fare. Vincent took a moment to check on Catherine, whose mind was fully occupied, focused, a little perplexed even, but not anxious. With a sigh, he realized she was working. He would have preferred her to be relaxing on their mini-vacation. She was relentless when she got behind a cause, even lost ones as he had once been. He was thankful for this part of her personality. And, it was just as well, because Vincent wasn't sure how much longer they would be away from the cabin.
They rolled the bikes outside onto a long, straight, strip of pavement. Vincent thought it was an oddly placed road, because it was in the middle of a field and didn't seem to lead anywhere in particular. However odd, it was perfectly suited for driving lessons.
Over the course of a few more hours Vincent made numerous attempts at starting, stopping, and switching gears. Devin marveled at how quickly Vincent mastered controlling the vehicle, "It took me nearly a week to get the hang of it!"
"It comes so easily. I'm not sure if this machine was built for me or I for it. Science was never my best subject, but the physics seem to have been preprogrammed into my being—a new creation of man and steel."
There had once been a time when a comment of this nature would have made anyone in the tunnels wince. Some things were just not brought up in polite conversation around Vincent, namely the issue of his humanity. But, now, much to his delight, Devin's only reaction was to smile and nod. There was no longer any question.
"Know what you mean. For once." It was true. The experiences of their lives were lines that danced and twisted around each other, but rarely intersected. And, while their brotherly love conquered much, it rarely produced common ground on which they could stand together.
"So, you think you're ready?"
"For what?"
"Solo ride on the open road. I'll be right behind you, in case anything goes wrong. Oh, and before I forget." He showed Vincent how to open and close the tinted visor with one hand, "When the traffic is light you should be able to keep this up. That way you won't miss a thing. When you pass a car, just flip it down and no one will be able to tell you from Adam."
Vincent could only smile and shake his head in appreciative disbelief. As they started the engines and sped off on the road, Vincent's hands vibrated with the pulsation of life, adventure, and freedom.