“What rumors are you talking about?” Annabelle threw out before I could ask, once our professor had exited the room. “What have I missed out on?” Her stop-the-press position of her hand made me feel I was in some bad junior high flashback; where overreactions were as abundant as the air used to voice them.
Chris smiled at me, but his eyes narrowed into evil slits. “What do you know of your creation story, Bryn?” he asked, leaning towards me. The lanky Immortal seemed curiously fascinated with this topic.
“What do you mean?” My eyes narrowed as well, but out of confusion.
He shook his head in a condescending manner. “You know, the events leading up to your date with Immortal destiny? For instance . . . I was in a head-on collision one fine Friday night, where my girlfriend of two years had just become my fiancé, when the drunk driver operating a MAC truck hit us going a mere seventy miles per hour.” He spoke levelly, almost coolly, but he couldn’t hide the anguish that spread through his eyes. “I was sure I was dead, but then I saw a group of men that appeared out of nowhere—all dressed in black. I remember being pulled from the car, and some strange sensation, and then I wake up here a week later—my Mortality and fiancé gone, and being told what my new purpose is in this life of Immortality.”
Chris cleared his throat, and with it, cleared the anguish in his eyes. They refilled with the trouble that swam in them before. “Do you recognize any difference in our last moments of Mortality?”
Again, I looked at Chris in confusion . . . there were plenty of differences in our stories. I wasn’t sure which one he was asking about.
The look he graced me with, led me to believe he thought I had the mental fortitude of a four year old. “How about I give you a hint . . .”—he scratched his head, while his eyes focused on the ceiling above—“to create an Immortal, it takes at least six, strong, senior Immortals. Anything less, and they’d be risking their eternal necks.”
Several things clicked together then: John’s comments of William’s asinine stunt, John’s admission of William being comatose just as I had for a week, William’s rage at Chris’s fetching comments moments ago . . .
Chris noticed the horror building in my face. “And the light-bulb went off.” He clucked the side of his mouth, making a popping noise.
“What the hell are you talking about Chris?” Annabelle asked impatiently, tossing her hair with less fanfare than she had for our professor.
“Our golden boy of a professor immortalized Bryn . . . on his own.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened. “On his own?” she repeated softly. “But he should have died—”
“Except he didn’t. It appears he’s the most capable Giver John’s seen. Not that the good professor knew it at the time, of course.”
I clutched the leather armrests in an attempt to center myself. “He could have died?” I whispered, barely recognizing I’d said the words.
“No . . . he would have died—that’s as sure as the needless air we breathe. It was only after the fact he learned he could Immortalize someone solo, although doing so nearly killed him.”
“Geez louise, Bryn. Do you know why Master William would do that?” Annabelle asked, sliding her chair closer to mine; probably eager for another smidgen of gossip.
“That’s a very good question,” Chris sneered, eyeing me as if I were Pandora’s Box. “Any ideas?”
My terror-filled eyes fell upon the door a moment before it swung open. William reentered, and his eyes met mine. I don’t know what he saw on my face, but the anxiety already on his grew more advanced.
“Class is excused for the day. We’ll reconvene at eight tomorrow,” he said urgently, without taking his eyes from me.
Chris leapt up and glided out of the library in two heartbeats, while Annabelle fumbled around with her backpack; stalling, most likely.
“See you tomorrow, Bryn,” she called out as she flitted past me and towards the exit. “Thank you, Master William. I’ll see you in the morning.”
From her accommodating tone, I’m sure her smile was equally so, but I didn’t see it. I couldn’t take my eyes from his. I looked into those pale blue eyes, marveling at how capable of showing emotion they were, and shuddered when I thought of them lifeless.
The door swung shut with a screech, and he was a blur until he came to a stop beside me. He crouched down and wrapped the arms that were not supposed to be so close, tightly around me. His face leaned into mine, and he inhaled. “It’s alright, Bryn—everything’s alright,” he soothed, rocking my body gently against his.
I shook my head vigorously, not ready to be soothed. “Why did you do that? Why did you risk so much for me?” I asked, sounding angrier than I’d intended, but I was angry . . . almost furiously so. I wasn’t, and would never be worth the loss of this man’s life.
He looked at me with a mixture of surprise and hurt. “I thought it would be obvious,” he whispered, looking down at our intertwined hands. His eyes moved back up to mine, and the intensity flowing in them took my breath away. “Your life is infinitely more important to me than my own . . . I would have no life if you were not in it. That’s why I made the choice to do what I did.”
His face became peaceful. “Besides, there’s no need to get all worked up about it. Everything worked out better than I could have imagined. You’re here, and I’m here . . . together, and soon enough we’ll both be free of this place,” he promised, before pulling me against his chest.
“But you could have died,” I muttered over his shoulder.
“But I didn’t,” he interjected. “It appears my gift is much stronger than we ever thought.” He ran his fingers from the top of my head down the entire length of my hair, further quieting the quaking running through my body.
“I’m not worth it, you know. You are so much more than I am . . . than I ever could be.” My voice quivered, but I continued, “What do you think I would have done when I woke up and found you next to me, lying dead on the beach? Huh?” I didn’t wait for a reply to my rhetorical question. “That I just would’ve marched back to OSU and continued on with my enthralling life? No . . . I would have curled up right next to you and waited for your fate to find me. Or maybe I just would’ve let the ocean finish what it’d started with me that night. That would have made it quicker.”
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.”