Chapter 25 #2
It was overwhelming to return, knowing that so much pain had happened to me within the avenues I was once again exploring.
There was a fascination brewing within me, however, at the thought of seeing what had changed.
A part of me wondered if enough had changed that I would be able to return one day, though I knew logically that I would be unwilling to leave Lena and the coven.
They had become my family; Lena, my closest friend and confidante.
While the buildings remained the same, I found it interesting to see which businesses had stood strong in the face of economic changes, while some had been replaced altogether and a fresh set of people were doing their best to start a new venture.
The rhythmic humdrum of music called to me, pulling me a few streets over until I was standing in front of a bar where people were reveling, beverages sloshing over their mugs.
The air was filled with the burning scent of alcohol and the blood I craved desperately.
The music thumping reminded me of a night spent in the bayou years earlier, when my life had taken on a new shape and allowed me to look at the world a little differently.
I could still recall the feel of a body pressed against mine, a hand caressing my face, lips pressing gently against my own…
I shook my head to clear the hunger scratching at my insides and the tangled mess of memories that threatened to pull me back into something I had convinced myself I had let go of.
I continued forward, taking the path my feet guided me to. There was no rush to get anywhere or to see anything in particular, because I knew memories would flood me that way, and I was not eager for a trip down memory lane, however much I missed certain aspects of my past.
My lips pulled upward as I turned the corner onto a street I was all too familiar with.
Standing in the middle, as tall and grandiose as ever, was Saint Mary’s church.
The religious house that had shown me both love and pain, causing a chasm of conflict within my soul that I wasn’t sure I would ever recover from.
The fondness I had for it battled against the echo of heartache that tainted every part of my life from the moment I had last visited the place.
Without realizing I had moved, I was suddenly standing in front of the large wooden doors with my hand outstretched, reaching for the handle.
As the hinges creaked with the movement, I expected the inside to reflect the familiar exterior that had not changed a fraction since my youth.
But the open doors lay way to an entirely new interior that washed away any reflection of the past.
Even with the open doors, I stood tentatively at the threshold, scared to take the daunting step inside in case I was unable to cross over.
I had seen Levette inside, boldly sitting among the pews like he belonged there—and part of him did, no matter what he told himself—but I was not confident that I myself would be able to.
I had not committed so many atrocities that made me feel devoid of all morality and humanity.
Still, I was fully aware that my permanent state of being was not what was intended for me, not what was right.
I was a dark creature who preyed on the weak and took life away from people as had been done to me.
It did not matter how many times someone told me that I was not abandoned by God; I had caused myself to be damned, and I feared taking a step and acknowledging that my decisions had led me to turn my back on Him.
Nobody quite understood, and while Lena tried, she still struggled with her own immortality, though she rarely spoke about it.
Magdalena was from a time when people prayed to false idols carved from the trees they made their homes in.
She had long since given up on them, had abandoned them when her immortal life began, but the scars from it were rooted deeply in her.
Old magic pulsed in her veins, and without being able to blame it on the gods she was raised with, there was a permanent question mark over her life and she struggled with it tremendously.
Fear is an emotion for the weak. Lena had once said those words to me which had cut me at the time, but had made me stronger over time.
I didn’t agree with it entirely—fear was smart because it made you alert and more cautious—but it stayed with me.
When I felt paralyzed by fear, it meant I was no longer being careful and was instead letting it rule me.
I was being weak by not fighting my fear.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted my foot and placed it over the threshold. I let out a shocked, gasping laugh as I walked further inside, staring down at myself like I expected to be covered in flames.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” a rasping voice said to my right, pulling me out from the tirade of thoughts in my head.
I was thankful, though somewhat shocked, to see Father Smythe hobbling over to me. He was still dressed in his cassock, though he had aged significantly and now relied on a cane to walk.
“Father Smythe, I—”
“Didn’t expect for me to still be alive? Me either, son. I guess the Lord is not quite ready for me yet,” he said gruffly, laughing until his breath caught.
Taking his free arm, I helped guide him to the pew in front of us, taking a seat beside the old man.
Seeing him so weathered by the years made me think of my own father, whether he was alive or not, and what he would look like.
Even if he was alive, seeing him would not do anything to benefit my life or be a balm for the wounds he inflicted inside me, but the human part of me was still curious.
“It has been a long time since we last saw each other,” the priest commented, garnering my attention. “A decade, I would say. Jeez, you must have the Father’s favor, boy, because you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”
It was supposed to be a compliment, but I winced nonetheless. I had not aged, not a single wrinkle or mark on my skin in ten years, but it was a curse rather than a blessing from above.
I shrugged, trying to play it off. “I would say I have good genes, but you know my family…”
Father Smythe nodded, his lips pursed together. “Indeed. Your father—”
Lifting my hand up between us, I cut him off. “It has been an extremely long time since I saw him or had news of him. No disrespect, Father, but I would like to keep it that way.”
“Of course, of course. Are you doing well, Warren?” He patted the top of my hands where I had them linked on my thigh.
“I have spoken to thousands of parishioners over the years, I would bet, and can barely remember most of their names or faces. But you, son—well, you always seemed so troubled. That thing sticks with you. I’ve often wondered about you and where you ended up. ”
“You’re a kind man, Father,” I replied, trying to brush off the sting of his words.
He wasn’t wrong; sadness had crept into almost every part of my life since childhood.
The idea of discussing it, however, made my skin crawl.
“I’m well. The years since I saw you have been spent traveling with a friend, exploring the world and the fascinating people in it. ”
The priest smiled, seeming genuinely pleased to hear it. “Well, that makes my heart glad. You deserve some happiness in your life.” The old man got to his feet, leaning his weight on the cane in his right hand. “Perhaps I will see you again before my time is up?”
“I would like that, Father Smythe.”
He nodded goodbye, shuffling out of the pew. As he got to the aisle, he turned around to ask me one final question. “Before you take off…Did you find your way back to the church, son?”
His question was expected, though it reminded me of a similar conversation I had with him a decade ago when I was stuck in a spiral about the direction my life was taking.
I offered the priest a small smile. “No, but I do not think that is a bad thing. I left the church, but I never left God. I’ll always love the Lord, Father, even when I do not deserve the love He extends in return.”
Father Smythe stared at me for a second as he pondered my answer. “Then that is all that matters. Continue to live well, Warren. You never know when your time will be up.”
Laughter bubbled inside me as I lifted my hand and waved goodbye. How little anyone would ever know or understand of my life! Time was not fleeting when you were immortal, and that was a dull ache in my heart that never ceased.
I remained sitting in the pew for some time after the priest left my side, staring at the large cross above the altar.
A replay of all my sins, my darkest moments and times when I became the monster within, crossed my mind and I found myself praying, asking for forgiveness I did not deserve.
Whether I would receive an answer or not, I was unsure, but I considered saying the words enough.
It was a step closer to my Creator than I had been in a long time.
Leaving the church, I began to make my way along the familiar path to my old apartment.
I felt a tug within me, a sentimental part I normally kept locked away for fear of reminiscing over things that were not healthy or conducive to my life, to check up on the place I had spent so much of my early adulthood.
The closer I got, the more flashes of memories came flooding back to me.
Tears spilled as I lay in bed, overcome with a loneliness I could not express.
Confusion as I pondered the complicated feelings I had for someone I barely knew.
The excruciating pain of being beaten by someone I loved.
Betrayal in my heart as I realized my brother was dead, and so was I.
No matter how hard I fought against it, it was as if the will within me was not as desperate as it once was to keep those memories at bay. I tried to stop my legs from moving, but my own mind betrayed me, forcing me to keep walking and showing me more of what I had kept buried.
I could practically taste Levette’s lips on mine as he whispered his apologies for saving me and ruining me in the same breath. Feel his hands on my skin as I kissed him like it was the key to my survival. The burning sensation in my flesh as hunger burst inside me and begged for release.
“Stop it! Please!” I cried out into the night air, but it was futile.
Lena had been right: returning to New Orleans meant unleashing everything that had been locked away.
The wall she had taught me to build was crumbling around me, and no matter how hard I tried, I did not have the strength to keep it standing.
I reached the outside of my apartment building and waited until someone entered, following closely behind them to catch the door.
Resisting the urge to bound up the steps and throw open the door, I instead walked slowly and took my time, though the pull in my chest tightened with every step.
It was as though the remnants of my wall crumbled with each step and I found that the closer I got, the less I even tried to resist. For whatever reason, I was desperate to feel whatever overcame me when I opened the door.
My hand shook as I grabbed the handle, shaking with just enough force to break the lock. The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open and I fell to my knees, gasping, as the final stones of my wall turned to dust.
The walk around the city had been filled with a scent that I refused to admit I remembered, craved, and had instead pulled me closer and closer to the root of it. He had been in every memory, in one way or another, as I let my defenses drop.
My apartment stood as a time capsule, filled with all my old things, though I recognized some of the finer clothes that were draped around the furniture. Even from the doorway, I could see that it had been maintained and lived in for the entire time I had been away.
Only one person would have been desperate enough to cling to me while I had so desperately tried to erase him.
It made my heart ache in a way I could not put into words.
A profound love and devastating grief overwhelmed me to the point that tears stung my eyes.
Only when I heard that voice inside my head did the tears spring free, leaving trails of black down my pale cheeks as I allowed myself to feel a decade’s worth of emotions in one singular moment.
Welcome home, mon amour