The Last Knight

Chapter 20

Samuel

When I returned to my apartment after the meeting, I instantly knew something was amiss. Marcy’s car was parked here, meaning she left work early. Opting not to tell me could only mean one thing. My mind wandered back to anything that I could have said to make her suspicious of me. I knew I wouldn”t be able to pull off the secrecy forever but with each passing day, the truth seemed harder and harder to reveal.

A deep pit formed in my stomach as the elevator climbed the floors. My anxiety and fear rose along with the elevator, leaving me a bundle of exposed emotions once I reached my apartment. As I opened the door, Marcy’s lavender and honey scent filled my mind like a drug, releasing some of the tension in my body. Here, the walls held memories—the laughter, the whispered promises, and the quiet moments when words failed us. All of it faded away when I realized my office door was open.

“Marcy,” I call out as I slowly walk down the hallway. My controlled breathing techniques failed me the closer I got to her. It was as though I could already feel the turmoil and anguish running through her, down the tether that connected us.

I turned the corner into the office. Seeing Marcy there on my computer is the worst kind of fear. How could I not have told her? I wonder how I could have kept this secret— a deliberate omission. The unspoken words hang heavy, like unsent letters waiting for a reply. Regret, that relentless companion, whispers: How could I not have told her? The missed chances, the unspoken truths—they accumulate like dust, cluttering my mind.

Her tear drenched eyes shoot to mine as questions dance through them.

“Fuck, Marcy, I can explain,” I confess as I take large steps to be within her reach. She moves as if frightened of me, shooting pain straight through my heart. “Please don’t do this,” I plead.

The relentless back-and-forth of the argument feels like a storm—winds whipping, lightning striking, and thunder echoing through my thoughts. Each word exchanged becomes a raindrop, soaking deeper into my conscience. And yet, absolution remains elusive—a distant shore beyond the tempest. Marcy has every right to be angry, demanding answers. This could have all been avoided if I would have told her everything up front.

The waves crash, each one a memory: the lies I told, the trust I shattered, the fragile bridge I burned. I watch the wreckage—the fragments of trust, the shards of connection—sink into the abyss.

Marcy throws everything from my desk in her rage but I don”t care. Everything can be replaced. Everything except her. Papers flutter like wounded birds, pens roll off the edge, and my chair tips backward. She’s a storm incarnate, and I’m caught in her path.

“You’re wrong about us and you fucking know it. You’re just running like you always do, dammit.”

The fury and pain in her eyes is something I never want to see again. Without warning, a powerful slap sounds through the office. Her hand absorbed her pain and sought out vengeance. The taste of copper floods my mouth as my mind races trying to piece together the events that led to this moment. My decision to hide the truth hurt us both in the end.

The office quiets. Marcy’s storm rages down the hall and out of the apartment, leaving behind a silence—an aftermath of the hurricane we were both caught in. My knees hit the floor clutching a picture in my hands that miraculously didn’t crack. It was a moment caught in time. Marcy’s flaming hair twists and turns from the wind making only her vivid green eyes shine through the chaos around.

I stand at the precipice, looking down into the ravine wondering how far the drop would be. Will it hurt? Will my screams be heard or swallowed by the raging waters below?

No! I take a step back knowing where I need to be. I can’t give up. She is my forever. My whole life has been orchestrated for us to be together. I won’t let that effort be in vain.

Jumping from the floor, I speed through my apartment and down the stairs, jumping over the hand rails to lower levels to get to her faster. I have to get to her before she’s gone forever.

I reach the ground floor, bursting through the doors in time to see Marcy’s pained emerald eyes glance to me. In that suspended moment, the world blurs—the cacophony of the street, the rush of footsteps—all fading into insignificance. Until she blinks. One flutter of her eyes and the spell is broken. The dam of pandemonium breaks, flooding the street with witnesses—a chorus of gasps and exclamations.

“Marcy! Marcy!” I thunder over the commotion as I race to her car. My heart is in my throat as I approach the terrifying scene before me. Smoke hits my senses first then the unmistakable scent of blood. The same scent that has haunted me all these years from the battlefield.

“Someone call 9-1-1! Now! My voice booms over the crowd causing several people to pull out their phones.

Her car was hit head on making it roll over in the street. My shoes skid across the debris as I drop to the ground by Marcy’s side. She’s suspended upside down from her seatbelt. The world narrows—a tunnel of debris, a spotlight on Marcy. Her car, crumpled metal, hangs like a pendulum. The scent of gasoline mingles with the metallic taste of fear.

Blood streaks her face forming a crimson river. “Marcy,” I say, my voice raw but coated in panic. But she’s beyond words—lost in the upside-down world. Her hair, once sun-kissed, now clings to shattered glass. I reach for her trembling hand—the skin cold, her pulse erratic.

The rain drums—a requiem. The street is a theater of chaos. Witnesses gather, their umbrellas like black flowers. They’ll remember this, the moment when gravity betrayed us, when my life tilted.

I unclip her seatbelt, each second an eternity that stretches on. She slumps, her head lolling. Her eyes meet mine, maybe a plea, a question. But answers elude me. I’m just a witness.

“Stay with me,” I whisper. But the world blurs—raindrops, tears. Marcy, the girl who laughed at sunsets, who whispered secrets in the dark, hangs between existence and oblivion.

I try to cradle her head as though it’s a fragile moth’s wing. The rain baptizes us—cleansing, but drowning. Her breath becomes a delicate thread. I want to tell her: “I’ve loved you since the first raindrop.” But words are inadequate, like trying to catch smoke.

The sirens wail—a chorus of urgency. Rescuers descend from every direction. Their hands strong, their faces masked. They’ll cut her legs free, mend her brokenness. But will they mend mine?

As they lift her, I watch, realizing for the second time in my life that there is nothing I can do. Matthew died in my arms, blood coating us both. It almost seems tragically poetic that I held his sister in the same position. But I won’t give up hope. I can’t. She is my lifeline to this universe and without her, I’ll jump from the precipice.

Losing her would be the final nail in my coffin, two graves needing to be prepared. The lovers who couldn’t be separated even in death, they will say. The lovers, bound by fate and circumstance, stand at the edge of eternity. They’ll say we were twin souls—two halves of a fractured whole.