Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
My life has been marred by death. Before I’d even taken my first lungful of air, I had murdered my mother, my father quickly following. Why do I always end up killing the ones I love? Why does it always have to end in death?
There must be another way.
I don’t want to save my brother from eternal unrest by killing the man I’ve fallen in love with, the man I’ve given myself to, the man who has made me feel alive.
Valdemar’s question comes back to me.
“And if I hadn’t killed your brother?”
And my response hits me full force in the chest.
“Then I would be falling at your feet.”
He didn’t kill my brother. He couldn’t pull the trigger back then any more than I could pull it in the dream.
And it comes to me, the answer I’ve been searching for to the question Valdemar asked me. What will make me happy? What is the only outcome that would deliver my happiness?
Snapping my eyes open, I find Valdemar and Ed staring at me, waiting, watching as I clutch the knife in my right hand, bracing myself.
“Open your shirt,” I tell Valdemar.
He doesn’t hide the gulp or the sadness in his eyes as he reaches for the buttons, his fingers releasing the material to reveal the smoothness of his chest.
I straddle him, his eyes never leaving mine as I run my hand along his skin, smoothing down the canvas I’m about to deface. Will it be the raven’s head, a wing, or a tail the knife punctures?
“Quickly. Don’t hesitate,” Valdemar says, but as I place the knife on his skin, he grabs hold of my hand, his eyes widening before they soften. “Before you do this, I want you to know that I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have been someone else to you. I wish I could have been what you are to me.”
I lean closer. “And what is that?”
His lips brush mine, his other hand gripping my thigh. “Everything.”
As I drag the blade slowly across his chest, it punctures his skin, blood leaking from the open wound. I sit back slightly, admiring the colour and the richness of his blood as it runs down his body.
Keeping his attention trained on me, I ask him, “And what makes you think I don’t feel the same about you?”
As Valdemar absorbs my question, its hidden meaning filtering through his brain, I slash my palm quickly with the blade, the sting making me feel alive.
His eyes go from my face to my palm, realisation not dawning on him quick enough to act before I place my hand against the open wound on his chest.
His eyes meet mine, wild, frenzied.
“What are you doing?” He tries to pull away, but the force of my hand pushes him back as I speak.
“I, Evangeline Bransby, swear the Blood Oath to you, Valdemar Montresor.”
“No!” he cries.
The words come to me as if I’ve always known them and they’ve just been waiting for this moment. “I bind myself to you and you to me, body, mind, and soul, in life and in death, forever joined, releasing you from any previous Blood Oath you may have sworn.”
I only just manage to finish before Valdemar launches himself up and pushes me back onto the bed, pinning my arms on either side of my head.
“What the fuck have you done?” he screams, his face contorted in rage.
“Exactly what I wanted to do,” I tell him as he takes my hand that still grips the knife and holds it firmly, angling it towards the open wound on his chest.
Valdemar secures his grip, readying himself to fall on the blade. Struggling, I push myself up and try to pull the blade from him, but he’s too strong.
Something drips into my body, a tingling sensation like warm water trickling through my veins and seeping into my extremities.
“Do you know how much harder this will be now? You will never be able to kill me once the Oath takes hold. It has to be now,” he pleads.
But I already feel it, the heat upon my skin, the surge of his emotions enveloping me. He feels it too. So much so that he can’t quite bring himself to thrust the blade into his chest.
Gritting his teeth, he tries to lean forwards onto the knife.
“Wait!” I yell, and he stops, like he’s physically unable to ignore my command. “Look.” I nod over his shoulder. He follows my gaze.
Ed is next to the bed, his image shimmering in tiny squares, as if the signal is bad. He’s looking around, patting his body.
“I can see him,” Valdemar says.
For a second, I’m confused, but then I remember Valdemar telling me that as he pointed the gun at my brother in the casino, he saw what Ed saw and received the vision as if Ed had handed his gift to him for the briefest of moments. Is that what’s happened here? Is Valdemar receiving my gift and seeing the world through my eyes?
We watch as a woman materialises through the closed door. Her long black hair hangs damp around her shoulders, her white dress clings to her body, and water drips onto the floor as she makes her way over to the bed.
Ed sees her.
It’s the strangest thing, like watching a silent film as they find each other, their embrace like a carefully choreographed dance that is beautiful and mesmerising. Annabel’s clothes are drying, her hair is curling, and a pink tinge appears on her cheeks. Ed’s bullet hole melts away, the blood disappears from his clothes, and his sad face finally looks serene, just like my mother’s.
My heart erupts as they hold one another, gazing into each other’s eyes, a sense of peace descending upon the room. I’m not sure how long they remain in each other’s arms, but eventually they break apart and turn to face us, Ed standing behind Annabel, one arm wrapped around her waist, his other hand resting on her shoulder, just like my mother and father did yesterday in my kitchen.
I don’t hear their words, but I don’t need to.
Thank you.
I swipe at a stray tear as they smile before vanishing into thin air.