“Would you like a tour, or perhaps something to drink?” he asked, sounding like he was stalling, but there’d been enough stalling—I needed answers.
“No, thanks,” I answered, plopping down on one of the lounge chairs decorating the expansive deck area.
I heard a sigh breathed with such force, my eyes were torn from the star where I was making my wish, to the person who was the reason for the wish.
He was standing in the cabin doorway, his hands raised and grasping the door frame, with head bowed and eyes closed. “I’ve got so much to apologize for, Bryn. I can’t even imagine where I should begin.”
My mission of staying calm and focused flew off with the breeze. I rose from the chair and walked to where he stood looking anguished.
“What in the world could you have to apologize for?” I asked, wishing he’d open his eyes to look into mine so he could view their disbelief. “You’ve saved me from death . . . or severe bodily harm, not once, but twice now. I’m the one that should be apologizing for inconveniencing you and putting you in danger.” My voice grew more frantic over each syllable.
His eyes snapped open, and his head tilted up until they met mine; they were smoldering with conviction. “Inconveniencing me?” he repeated, sounding disgusted. “Is that what you think saving your life feels like to me?”
This time it was my eyes that couldn’t meet his, so they withdrew to the gleaming, blonde-colored teak below.
His hand wouldn’t allow their escape. He lifted my chin upwards until my eyes had no choice but to meet his. “I would have happily exchanged my life for yours on any one of those occasions. As I would again.”
I nearly trembled from the fierceness in his voice, and why his ardency should have left me silenced, I had to ask, “Why then? Why have you risked so much for me over and again?” Perhaps he was a martyr, or perhaps a saint, but neither of these were the answer I wanted—the one I hoped for.
His face contorted, and his words came out sounding as if they’d been tied up to the back of a truck and sped down a gravel road. “Don’t you know why?”
I did; he was a good man, an honorable man, and despite trying to remove his presence from my life, he couldn’t turn his back on me when my life needing saving yet again. Suddenly, the act of balancing the hundreds of spinning plates I had been all day, became too much, and they all came crashing down at once.
“Please, William, I need to know. What’s going on?” I whispered.
He half smiled, but it wasn’t the least bit convincing. “You’re not going to answer my question, are you?” he asked, but only waited a few heartbeats before recomposing himself. He released his hands over the doorframe and turned to depart into the cabin.
I followed after him, and up a set of stairs that led to the roof of the houseboat where the steering wheel and control panel (that looked too simple and inadequate to control a boat of this size) were located.
He breezed to the control column and flipped a few switches and checked a few gauges. He did this with the familiarity of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. I stood back, a careful observer on the expansive rooftop adorned with overstuffed outdoor furniture and an open fire pit. I heard the engine come to life, and lights exploded all in and around the boat.
William took a seat behind the wheel that looked no different than that of a car’s, and turned to me. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me in the co-captain’s chair?” he motioned towards the seat beside him.
I smiled. “Take her out to sea, Captain.” I took a seat beside him, happy for the momentary break in the serious stuff, but I knew it couldn’t last.
His face lined and his body tensed, as if preparing to be hit by the weight of a semi. “Before I explain everything, may I ask what conclusions you’ve arrived at to explain all of this?” he began, his eyes narrowed towards the luminous lake in front of us.
There’d been many explanations rolling around in my mind since I woke up hours ago, but none of which seemed likely, or unworthy of laughter if I verbalized them. He turned his eyes from the lake to me, and unleashed the hypnotic qualities they possessed, forcing my answers into the air of a spring evening. “I’ve got a few,” I started, staring back at him as I mustered up my confidence. “Maybe I’m dead and this is some kind of afterlife . . .” This seemed the most likely and least absurd, so I’d started with this one.
William nodded, looking thoughtful, but returned his eyes to the lake. “What else?”
I exhaled, hoping it would diminish my nervousness in admitting to him my crazy thoughts. “Maybe I’m in a coma and this is some kind of never-ending dream created in my unconscious state . . . or, maybe I’ve had a complete break with reality and created this all to keep my mind from going off the deep end,” I paused, biting my lip before I could speak my final theory—the craziest of all. “Abducted by aliens?” I confessed, sneaking a sideways glance at him to see his reaction.
Another half smile formed—one that was shameful decorating his face when I knew what it was capable of—and then he turned back to me. “All good, logical theories,” he said, a faint glimmer sparking in his eyes. “But not correct.”
I felt semi-relieved knowing I was wrong, but only until a new unease presented itself when I thought of other explanations. “What is the correct answer then?’ I asked, feeling my water works twisting to the on position. “Because something very big has happened to me.”
“It has,” he replied, nodding. I couldn’t look at him because I didn’t want him to see the traitor tears forming in my eyes, but I could tell he was watching me carefully. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I answered slowly, wishing I could be irritated with the gorgeous man beside me, confusing me with his disjointed questions and answers.
“But, different. Right?”
“Yes,” I answered, mentally tabulating all the ways I felt different.
“How so?” he asked immediately, not letting the air settle between my answers.
“Stronger . . . and . . .”
“Yes—” he encouraged.
“More attuned to everything around me . . .”
“Good, Bryn—what else?” He rested his hand over one of mine, sending the electricity flashing through me, reminding me of the most impressive change.
“There’s something . . . new flowing through me.” My eyes squeezed closed with the concentration I was giving the topic, searching for the right way to explain this foreign phenomenon.
“Yes.” He breathed, sounding relieved. “You’ve changed explicitly.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning my hand up in his so I could curl my fingers between his, not caring about the pain it would cause me later. I needed to touch him now in the midst of all the confusion, and he seemed willing to meet this need at present.
He pressed a black knob at the top of the panel, and I heard something screech to life. “This is a good spot,” he announced, as the anchor continued its downward spiral to the bottom of the lake.
He glided up from his chair, as seamless as an elevator in motion. “Why don’t we go back down to the lower deck and I’ll explain further. There’s a nicer view down there.”
I looked up at the stars spread like a private showing just for the two of us and the sprawling lake below, and couldn’t imagine how the lower deck could offer a better view, but didn’t disagree. The best view would be wherever he was.
He kept my hand in his, and led me down to the lower deck. “Will you do me a favor?” he asked, pulling me to the edge of the deck.
There was no favor he could ask of me that I would not give. “Of course.”
“Take a look.” He kneeled down on the deck, encouraging me down with him.
I shot him a confused look, but I kneeled beside him, keeping his gaze as I leaned over the flat glassiness of the lake.
I shrieked the moment I saw my reflection.
My eyes . . . but they didn’t look like mine anymore. The familiar grayish-blue was gone and a color—identical to William’s—had replaced the original hue. My body started trembling, making the reflection difficult to view. “What happened . . . they’re not mine . . .” My voice was shaking too.
He wrapped one arm around my trembling shoulders, and leaned into me. His magic, yet again, served to soothe the emotions running amuck.
“They’re still your eyes. They’re just a different color now . . . they’re like mine,” he said, holding me tightly.
“They are?” I whispered with a shaky voice, trying to find the calm I needed from looking into his anxious eyes.
“Yes. Believe me, I would know if they weren’t. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve dreamed—” He stopped abruptly, and his face twisted before he turned it away from me.
With my body still locked to his, the shaking ceased, and I took a more introspective look at the foreign eyes staring back at me in the illumed water. They were still my eyes; wide-set and ringed with lower lashes longer than my uppers. They were just a very different color; a lovely color . . . his color. Contrite as it was, I was thrilled in this tiny characteristic that tied us together; despite whatever happened to have changed them so.
I leaned back from the edge of the deck, confident the eyes in my head were still the same, and sounded calm when I turned to him and asked, “What’s happened to me?”
He sighed. “There are two kinds of beings that inhabit this world,” he began slowly, looking like the weight of a million lives rested on his wide shoulders. “We are all born into it as Mortals—fragile, subject to aging, ailments, and death—but there are some along their Mortal journey whom are wholly and eternally changed . . .”—his eyes closed as he inhaled, looking as if preparing to unleash some horrible secret—“and they become . . . Immortal.”
I felt the color leave my face, and the night sky above his head spun like a top, creating white circles from the spinning stars.
“That is why I was told I could not be with you,” he said, opening his eyes into mine. “Because you were Mortal and I was . . . not,” he finished, sounding as if he’d just admitted the worst of sins.
“Were?” I emphasized, not missing his use of the past tense in my Mortality.
He nodded. “Yes, Bryn. You’ve crossed into the realm of those who live forever. You’ve entered the realm of Immortality.”
I let his words enter me, and simmer with their implications. I wanted to be terrified, outraged, and upset. I wanted to feel the kind of disbelief one should feel when being told something as outlandish as this all was. I wanted to scream and hit and kick my way back to the place wherever reality had abandoned me . . . but none of these reactions came.
I was as calm and at peace as a dormant volcano. There was lava—red hot and explosive—flowing within me, but it wouldn’t explode. It kept me warm, alive, and at rest. I’d known from the first moment my eyes fell upon him that he was different—categorically different from anyone I’d ever come in contact with, and after spending the time I did with him, and all of the mysteries accompanying him . . .