William tensed, and his hands pulled my shoulders back from his embrace. His face radiated with pain. “Stop it. Right now. I won’t allow you to say these things. They’re not true. You are worth more than my life ten times over, and you cannot—you must not—ever hurt yourself.”
His hands moved to the sides of my face, willing my eyes to meet his. “I will never be at peace knowing you would hurt yourself if something happened to me. Please, you must promise me right now.” His pleading eyes tore at my resolve, and under any other request he made of me, I would have given him whatever he wanted; but I couldn’t now.
I wouldn’t agree to this, especially since I couldn’t be sure I would keep my word. I would follow him, whatever destiny was his to find. The moment he entered my life, our destinies became fused, and he couldn’t change that now.
“I can’t make you that promise.” My words sounded strong, like an impenetrable fortress.
“But, Bryn—”
“No . . .” I reached for his face, trying to soothe the hard lines that had formed. “You know where I stand on this, and you’ve made your own stance pretty clear as well.” I grinned, hoping to lighten his burdened face. “We can talk about this again . . . later. You have my word.”
The next thing I knew, he had my face between his hands and his lips on mine. It happened so fast, I could’ve believed I’d imagined it, except I could still taste that sweet flavor only his lips could leave behind. That, and the burning desire in his eyes, also confirmed it.
“Alright, later then . . . but Bryn”—he looked hard into my eyes—“I won’t forget.”
I nodded my head in acknowledgment, but there’d been no need for his words. I knew he was not finished with this topic.
“What did John want?” I asked, eager to change the topic from near death experiences and future encounters. I got up from the high-backed chair and strolled to a chaise in the corner of the library.
From William’s troubled expression, I doubted if my hopes for lighter conversation would be realized. “There’s a bit of a problem down at OSU.”
“A problem?” I plopped down on the chaise, tucking one leg beneath me. I reached for the throw pillow in the corner and hugged it to my chest, needing something to squeeze as we breached yet another topic of significance.
“Your friend Paul has formed a search party to find you. They’re running searches, hotlines, flyers . . . the whole bit. He’s stirred up a media circus down in Corvallis.” He talked to the ground while he shuffled over to where I sat. The start of a rain shower could be heard overhead, tinkling against the stained-glass ceiling, sounding like an imperfect melody played against oil drums.
“Everyone thinks I’ve gone missing . . .” I stated, not yet considering the ramifications I’d left behind in my Mortal world. Of course no one could, or would know the truth.
“No.” He exhaled with force while seating himself on the edge of the chaise. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
“Everyone thinks I’m dead?” I echoed, gripping the pillow tighter to me.
“Yes, the Immortal way is not an easy one,” he said solemnly. He rested his head into one of his hands. “By law, when an Immortal is created, a Mortal death must be staged to lesson the likelihood for these kinds of events taking place.” He reached into his pant’s pocket and withdrew a folded scrap of newspaper. He rustled open the quarter-folded article and handed it to me.
“When a Mortal just disappears—goes missing—those left behind are forever left with uncertainty, and a hope that their loved one will one day be recovered. There have been problems with this in the past . . .” He trailed off, while I read the headline.
OSU Basketball Captain and Teammates Non-believers in Bryn Dawson’s Drowning. Below the headline was a black and white photo of Paul standing in front of our dorm, looking ever so Paul—hands in his pockets, and wearing a smile that could bedazzle the light off a firefly.
“I should have told you before you had to find out this way,” he said, sounding somber. “A couple of John’s men swore to eyewitness accounts that you drowned that night . . . though your body was never recovered, of course. The general populace has accepted that you died. That is, except for Paul. Who is in fact correct.”
Below the photo, was a quote from Paul: Bryn Dawson’s still alive. I’m certain of that, and I’m going to find her.
I shook my head. I didn’t deserve such faithful, compassionate people in my life. I refolded the article, not wanting to read the ugly details, and handed it back to William. His expression was collected, but his eyes searched over my face with care.
“Why did John think this was so important he needed to interrupt—” I stopped mid-way through my question, the red-light flashing in my head.
“He thinks this is all your fault . . . creating me, and because of that, now Paul is threatening to find me and potentially uncover what’s really happened?”
His eyes gazed up where the oil-drum symphony had increased its tempo with the downpour. “That’s correct. He expects me to take care of the problem—to clean up my mess.”
“Expects you to take care of it?”—another flashing light—“Oooooh.” I jumped up, dropping the pillow to the floor. “He wants you to . . .to . . . ” I couldn’t say the word, so I substituted. “Hurt him?”
My eyes grew wild, until they settled enough to focus on his, and my worries of William doing anything to Paul abated; but I was sure someone in John’s entourage would do what William would not.
The wildness returned.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to Paul Lowe. I convinced John that I have a surefire plan that will take care of this problem without having to end his life.”
I grimaced and continued pacing in tight circles.
“Besides, I could never hurt another person who’s only looking out for you. As much of a problem as Paul could cause us, I cannot fault him in his goal.” He arose and approached me. “I will take care of this.”
“Now, for two minutes, can I be allowed some time just to be with you? No talk of Immortals and Mortals, and life and death?” The right corner of his mouth pulled up, attacking my worries. One arm wrapped around me, and then the other, and when he drew me into his embrace, all my worries flitted towards the ceiling and crashed into the stained-glass, creating their own kind of music.
“This was the most tortured day of my life, you know,” he groaned. “I barely caught myself—on several different occasions—from leaping over the table at you whenever you’d open that lovely mouth of yours in question, or when those eyes would search with such insight.”
“Tell me about it,” I whispered against his chest. “I had to contend with the most incredible professor ever created, and sit next to a girl who acts like she’d sell her soul for two minutes alone with you.”
I felt him shake his head. “You live in such a state of delusion.” His head leaned back and his hands rested over my face, tilting it towards him. His eyes blazed into mine. “There’s never been anyone but you, Bryn . . . ever. You’ve been that one shining star in the night sky, shining brighter than the others, until that’s all you can see in the surrounding darkness.” His lips rested over mine, for the shortest moment, before they fell away. “Your light is blinding.”
Had he really just said I was the one with delusions? Had he missed the fact that he was the most perfect person in the world?
“Come on,” he encouraged, strolling back over to the table we’d spent the majority of the day at. “We’ve still got a couple hours to go over a few more things.”
A few hours later, after William had escorted me back to my room, I paced around the confines of my room. The revelations of today were more imposing in the empty room that was monochrome in its white walls, marble floor, and decorative fabrics, than they had been in the cozy walls of the library with William’s support. When he’d continued our studies, minus the other two students, he’d informed me of something I didn’t expect to take so hard. The ironic part was that I’d been adamantly against having children in my Mortal life. You know, the whole, there’s enough procreating going on already—don’t want to bring another child into this messed up world—the genetic line ends with me?
No kids.
Besides, I’d have to find someone to make them with, and since I’d viewed that as a near impossibility even weeks ago, it was easy dismissing the whole procreation thing.
But being told that my body, in all its Immortal wonder, was incapable of ever creating or carrying a child, had sent a sadness searing through me I’d not anticipated.
When William had finally reentered the library after giving me some time alone, he’d looked so apologetic, it physically pained me. Witnessing his selflessness and goodness yet again, sent me into another bout of sorrow when I made the connection that he would never have the opportunity to bring a child into existence, either.
He would never be the epitome of what every father should be to a child. Neither of us would gaze lovingly into the face of a baby that had William’s full mouth and my round eyes. This was just one of the many heavy sacrifices we made as Immortals—and there were many.
A knock at my door interrupted my train of thoughts, stopping them in their tracks. Hoping to find the person I wanted to see the most on the other side, I swung open the door; only to wish I’d never opened it when I saw the person I wanted to see the very least, before me.
“Good evening,” John greeted me, his impossible beauty somehow revolting—probably having to do with the way his lips curled at the ends when he smiled at me and the way his eyes appraised me. “I realized I’ve been remiss in not giving you a tour of the estate outside the walls of the Manor. As your classes are done for the day, I thought I’d give you a private tour now. How does that sound?”
I’d rather stuff bamboo shoots up my nails, was my gut response, but I knew the role I needed to play until William got us out of here, so I gritted my teeth through an accommodating smile. “That’d be great.”
I shut the door behind me, and took a quick glance down the long hall where William’s room was. I wanted to see him, at the same time I didn’t, because I was sure he’d freak out if he saw John and me leaving the Manor together at this late hour.
I followed him down the steps, allowing him to lead by a couple so I could compose myself for however long and whatever would be discussed during this private tour. Not that I wasn’t eager to see the remainder of the estate. From Annabelle’s descriptions today—in between the subjects we learned in Immortal High—there was a lot I had yet to see. I just wished my tour guide was somebody else—my professor would have been just fine with me.
“A little birdie told me you’re a fan of muscle cars, and while this one isn’t vintage, and pretty much redefines muscle car . . . I didn’t think you’d mind it being our means of transport tonight.” John swung open the front door, holding it open for me. His smile was crafty, but I didn’t linger long over his face when something big, shiny, and a staple in my dreams (up until William had infiltrated them, at least), purred in wait in the driveway. But this car was not meant to wait at a standstill—it was meant to go 0-100kph in 3.8 seconds.