Chapter Twenty-Five The Nova
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Nova
He was watching, I knew he was, but he knew better than to show himself.
Today was for me. Not for research, not for chores, not for errands.
I took my camera and left the house with a small purse, just big enough to hold another roll of film. My day to myself would end on the last shutter.
Days off were supposed to be easy. For me?
They were disorienting. What did I do for fun?
I stayed at home. My idea of fun was sitting still and letting my imagination run wild in a catalog, looking for the next gap in the market.
All my typical visits were to my parents’, the Treasury, or the Everium as a treat.
In the end, I landed on window-shopping. I didn’t need to buy anything, just look.
I got up early, dressed in something light with my most comfortable boots for walking. Sometimes the excitement for the task came with the preparation. For some reason, I could only wait for that joy to hit me. It hadn’t come, not yet. But I was eagerly waiting.
From the moment I stepped outside, all I felt was dread. I almost abandoned my mission for leisure altogether.
I stood on my doorstep watching the carriages go by, the steam mobiles sputtering and hissing, and hearing the painfully mundane hum of chatter rise and dim in my ears.
The trees rustled above me. I stared at them because there was no wind. I expected a critter. Though it might have been the other creature who thought himself clever just because he’d hidden himself from my sights.
My driver pulled in front of my home, the steam engine hissing as it stalled. The beastly machine hummed, my uneasy reflection shining in the black paint. A tall, well-dressed man came out to open the door, awaiting my ready departure.
The leaves were no longer moving when I spared them a fleeting look.
I was ready to head east.
The first stop was just as small and quaint as the town itself. Shops with hand-painted signage in the windows and artisanal goods, harborside tourism.
The isle was by calm waters, finished with the sails of small novelty boats and people of leisure in white linen. Swans fluttered by the shores as children threw pieces of pastry into the water.
Tucked into the harbor were charming houses and quiet wealth. The hills were lined with second or third vacation homes, and maybe one more for the kept mistress. All green spaces were manicured, like the perception of wealth depended on every blade of grass being exactly two inches high.
The shop windows were the most interesting. Vibrant displays that weren’t necessarily for advertising, but for aesthetic. The candy store was my first visit. The entire place smelled distinctly like cherries, the nice ones from the Dalmatian coast.
The candies were so colorful you had to wonder what kind of dyes could make such vibrant shades. Butterscotch as orange as the sun, lollipops ranging from greens to reds, sour candies and clover chews. My favorite was sea salt dark chocolate.
I lingered in front of the chocolate bars, the paper wrappings pristine and decorative. I even held one in my hand, tempted to take it to the counter.
There was a rustling beside my ear. My scarf moved over my shoulder, as if someone was fixing its placement. Not a person in sight. Reluctantly abandoning the chocolate, I left.
Clouds began to move from a light overcast to a darker aura.
Along the gutters, water began to collect, the pavement darkening with every splotch. I did not feel anything on my hand, even after removing my glove. Palm to the sky, not even a drop.
Then by my feet, almost in a perfect circle, no water dropping within a two-foot circumference.
“No meddling,” I warned out loud, hoping the shadowy stalker might give me distance.
But when I began down the sidewalk, a distinct crunching sound. I stopped, and so did the crunch.
I reached into my skirt pockets. Lo and behold, an item.
Slowly, I removed it. In the palm of my hand, a half-eaten chocolate bar, the wax paper folded several times in on itself. I pulled the paper from the candy, the bite looking like a small dog had gnawed it off.
With swift feet I stepped to the curb, then stopped. A steam car whipped past me, not even seeing me as I tried to cross the street in the pedestrian crossway.
The metallic horseless carriages zipped past. Shiny machines and careless drivers. When it was just horses, at least their speed was only as fast as their legs. Now, the steam had given birth to a new addiction to speed and efficiency, despite the much more dangerous driving conditions.
It seemed like there was no break in the line of headlights beetling along the roads, not any in which I could safely cross, at least.
Suddenly, the glow of the lights slowed, the sputtering of stalling machinery erupted along the road, and they all stopped. Drivers blared their bells and horns at each other in confusion, some even stepping out to inspect their mobiles.
I stepped into the crossway, getting a good view of the traffic before I reached the other side. The minute my heel hit the opposite pavement, the cars seemed to erupt to life, resuming their normal functions.
Did I not tell him no meddling?
I waved my arm for the next commercial driver. One eagerly pulled over, the poor man probably thinking it was an emergency, based on my frantic waving.
“Wildwood,” I said, slapping the half-eaten candy bar between the front seats of the coach, the steam engine puffing in the front view.
The steam sputtered as the mobile sped off.
The path wound and quieted the farther out we went.
The lights from the shops and homes became fewer, and the clouds in the sky became rich and dark.
Water kicking up from the cliffs, as well as gifted from the sky, dotted the windows of the mobile, the engine struggling with the cooling temperatures.
“Here,” I said, “stop here.”
The driver pulled over on an overlook, stairs leading down to the pebbled beach.
“The tide is rising,” he warned. “I would stay on the overlook.”
I placed the money on top of the candy bar and left, the metal door clanking back into place.
The popping and humming of the locomotive was as loud as the roar of water. I leaned over the fence, the waves visible just above the trees.
A wild wind whipped against my head, pulling half my hair from its place when it took my hat.
Not even the pins were strong enough to keep it attached.
The curls whipped against my face, the cold mist numbing my cheeks and nose as I looked up.
The water danced above, small sparkling things that clouded my vision, filling my eyes and salting my lips.
“Dorian!” The memories were rushing back to me.
“Where will you run? Into the sea?” Dorian held his arms wide, his shirt undone, suspenders hanging off his hips, and the widest grin you could ever imagine. Sand was already collecting on the bottom of his service uniform pants. In one hand, fizzing alcohol with the top freshly corked.
“I can swim.” I hiked up my skirts, my shoes and socks already drenched and sinking in the wet shore.
He hoisted the bottle at me, foam splashing toward my face as I shielded it with my hands.
Suddenly I was scooped up, his arms around my waist and his chin against my sternum. He spun me so fast I thought I’d get dizzy.
The laughs died down, then I steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders.
I brushed the wet black hair from his face, and a heaviness hit me. I couldn’t stop the tears.
“Don’t leave”—a quiet plead—“please stay.”
He didn’t say anything, but his smile only widened.
“Marry me,” he said suddenly. “Lucia, we should be married.”
My mouth fell open; I didn’t know how to reply.
“They’re unlikely to draft me if I am. We can run away together, far away, some other place.”
“But it isn’t guaranteed.” I swallowed my worries as hard as I could. “With how everything is escalating, they could still send you away.”
“But then I will be married to you, and I will die a happier man,” he insisted.
“Dorian.” I shook my head.
His lips crashed into mine, the salty rain pouring over our faces. The downfall was so thick, it was like a heavy fog. There was nothing in this world but us. Just me, him, and the ground we stood on.
Inside me there was an irresistible, unmistakable pull.
And I was past the point of denying it.
Quickly, my heels clacked against the wooden stairs, disappearing down into the sandy wood. It was dark, the canopy of trees and clouds working to shield the light. A quick flash lit the opening of my path, along with the growing closeness of crashing water.
The mouth of the thin wood opened to the beach, pebbles glistening with each lap of a wave, the ocean angry from a far-off agitation.
In this moment, an electric current ran through me. It numbed my limbs, my face, my feelings. I saw the depths and I ran. My boots splashed, the waves curling around my legs and the sea-foam collecting in my skirts. Each step was harder, more labored, the water swarming as it held me.
Suddenly the water’s weight was mine, the world dense and entirely on my shoulders, laboring my heart, and there was absolutely no way to rectify it. I was lost, clueless. Nothing had worked so far; what made me think anything I did would work at all?
I wanted to find him.
To hold him.
But the only thing left was a perverse shadow of his image.
The world was so loud, so cold. I just wanted to find my warmth again. It was like being dragged under a boat, barnacles cutting me every which way and no escape. I was numb and sensitive all at once. I couldn’t do this for much longer. No one could.
The water was up to my neck, my body becoming warmer as I submerged. Then the final wave put me under, pulling me out to sea.
The silence was sudden, pressing into my ears like the warmest hug. I was weightless, light. The water wrapped itself around me, running its waves over my scalp.
I could open my eyes, just briefly, before having to close them again. The expanse was gray, with muddled splashing above. The current pulled me out before the sand dropped down, the darkness below eternal.
Closing my eyes was easier. I didn’t have to think. Everything was empty.
The water combed my hair . . . then the sensation of fingers, the pressure of the water turning to arms. My heart slowed as my body calmed.
My eyelids lifted, the image of my dearly departed the only thing keeping the current from pulling me out, his legs dug deep into the sandy shelf.
I touched his face, and it blurred before me.
The funny thing about grief was you knew they were gone. There was not one possible way that it could be them. In dreams, you knew it was so, but you chose to bask in the fantasy a little longer, even just to play pretend.
He looked at me with such despair.
It broke my heart.
Altair knew it would.
I leaned in, my numb lips not able to spare even a quiver. My lungs were collapsing; my body hadn’t decided if it wanted to breathe or drown. The honest thought was that I didn’t care at all.
Just as I opened my mouth, I released my last breath—and he caught it.
His kiss came with some assertion, a pleading one.
Air filled my lungs, but there was something else.
Just his touch washed me with a feeling of peace, like a child’s sleep.
No worries, no pain, no expectations. The feeling of never being hungry, never being cold, and no suffering at the hands of others.
Perhaps this was my call to wake up.
My arms floated around his neck, holding tight. Every fiber of my body strained, screaming that if I didn’t do it now, to end on my own terms, he would be my demise. But right now, it was just me, him, and the current.
He could let go, but he didn’t . . . and neither did I.