“You can imagine, when she explained all this to me, I thought she was off her nut. It was an incredible tale she spun to be sure, but I believed it was made-up nonsense and I continued to argue the point, right up until she went into the kitchen, returned with a knife, and stabbed it through my heart.”
...
“Holy shit! That’s seems like a crazy way to get a point across.”
Drake laughed. “Yeah, but in all fairness, I wasn’t really willing to listen.”
“Even still...” I tried to wrap my head around the insanity of such an action but figured it was a lost cause and gave up. “So after she stabbed you, then what happened?”
“Well, with the knife still protruding from my chest, I came to the conclusion that perhaps she was telling the truth. If you thought her stabbing me was bad, you’re going to love what she did next.”
“I’m afraid to ask...”
“She pulled the knife from my chest, yelled Ta-da, and took a bow.”
“No way.”
“Hand to God. She has a fairly twisted sense of humor. So, after her little “magic” trick, she crossed the room and sat in the chair next to the window again. When I asked Katarina what had happened to my wife, her voice was totally deadpan when she replied, She’s dead. There was no sympathy in her tone, just the facts. She was cold as she described the scene and Cleo’s body, sparing no graphic detail in lieu of my feelings. Whoever the hell I’d believed Katarina to be, certainly changed that night. She showed me a side I had never seen before; a side that lacked compassion.
“When she finished recounting events, I felt sick and unsure of how my life had run off the rails so badly, coming to a stop like this. You’ll have to forgive that I’m skimming over the hours of yelling and disbelief that followed Katarina’s descriptions. In reality, it didn’t change fate then, and retelling it now certainly won’t, so there isn’t much point.
“The next week or so, I stayed secluded at Katarina’s cottage, but not by choice. New Reapers have problems controlling the ensorcelling ability and have a tendency to “leak” it, for lack of a better term, everywhere they go. It can appear circumspect if everyone you pass on the street suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter or wailing cries. So I stayed cooped up, while Katarina tried to teach me how to control the new skill. God help me, she sucked as a teacher and was so impatient.
“Katarina travelled back and forth to London to get food and salvage what she could from our demolished building. I wanted to tag along, but she claimed I’d draw too much attention. I had my suspicions maybe Cleo was alive after all, and was the real reason Katarina didn’t want me near London. When she returned one evening, I’d convinced myself that was the case and exploded at her the moment she set foot through the door.
“She did nothing but look bored as I railed against her. After I shouted myself hoarse, she tossed a newspaper on the table and left the room, without saying another word. I sat down and started turning the pages, until I came to page four, where there was a picture of Cleo and me, with the headline: Two members of London’s prominent families, lost during first raid. Our families held funerals, but I wondered what they buried in those fancy, expensive coffins, since I was still occupying my body. However, I wasn’t still in my body. It’s part of the process of becoming a Reaper. The Reaper doing the creating yanks the soul from its original “shell” and it floats around for a while, before the reconstruction begins. All that pain I experienced was my soul becoming corporeal again.
“Even with the proof sitting before me in black and white, I was in denial. I was still around and I wondered if something similar could have happened to Cleo. I made the mistake of voicing those curiosities out loud, without knowing Katarina had come back. She tore across the room and slapped me across the face. Her ferocity was immense and her words were harsh. You wife is dead! You need to accept that and get the fuck over it!
“I wanted to remind her that my wife of eight years had only been dead eight days, but the look in her eyes made me think better of it. So, true to form, I did the only thing I could think to do, the same thing I’d been doing for the past year when I felt low. I took Katarina to bed and, what happened in the time that followed, was not romantic. There was nothing loving or affectionate about the sex. It was rough and angry, as if I was trying to pound all of my guilt and shame into her.
“Afterwards, I dressed and walked out into the woods behind the cottage. I screamed and I raged. I cursed myself. I cursed God and the universe. I bellowed my apologies to the heavens, in hopes that Cleo could hear and grant me forgiveness. No such wish was granted.”
...
“So, that’s London.” Drake’s voice was heavy. “I lost everything.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I blurted out the first thing to come to mind. “Well, Katarina sounds horrible.”
A tiny, sad smile touched his lips. “Yeah.”
“Why did you stay with her?”
“It’s a good question, one I’ve asked many times over the years, but I think my issues with her stemmed from before I became a Reaper. I believe she ensorcelled me and, I think, because she did it so many times and for so long, that when she changed me, some of those feelings of attachment carried over.”
“If you believed she ensorcelled you, why not just stay away from her? Why keep going back?”
“The solution sounds simple enough, in theory, but the man I used to be died in the bombing. I changed my name and tried to move on, but Katarina was part of that man and his history. This quasi-immortality can be lonely and she is the devil I know. The sad truth of it is that she was an accessible link to my past and convenient, nothing more.”
I was astonished by his brutal honesty, but I guess after seventy plus years with someone, a person you may have never genuinely cared for to begin with, it would be easy to not cling to false pretenses and sugarcoat the relationship. I finally understood what Devon meant by “very long-term girlfriend”. As I sat there, milling over the story, another insensitive request tumbled out of my mouth.
“Do you have any pictures of Cleo?” I flinched at my lack of social decency, but I wanted to see her. Not to size her up or make comparisons, but I needed to add the other face to their tragedy. I needed to see the woman he’d carried a lifetime of regret for.
He seemed surprised by my request, but moved to the closet anyway. Stretching to the back of the top shelf, he pulled down a metal lockbox. He retrieved the key from the dresser, before setting the box down on the bed beside me. Unlocking it, he rifled through for a few moments before pulling out an old, well-worn photo. He studied it first, before handing it over. I took it, but my eyes never left him. He sensed what I was asking and simply nodded. With his consent, I allowed my eyes to drop to the picture.
In the palm of my hand, in faded brown and white, stood Drake, looking almost the same as he did now. The attire may have changed, but little else. Next to him stood Cleo, more beautiful than I imagined. I couldn’t help but think Drake may have downplayed that detail for my benefit. They were standing in front of the Eifel Tower, a photo taken on their honeymoon. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, he was smiling at her, and she was smiling at the camera. I’ve never had someone look at me with a fraction of the love shining in his eyes for her. Even though she died decades ago, after hearing their story and looking at the picture, it felt as though she were in the room with us.
I had a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, I couldn’t tear my eyes away and, on the other, I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. I handed the photograph back to him, but my eyes remained glued to it until he placed it back in the lockbox and closed the lid. He returned the whole thing to the safety of its perch in the closet, before sitting down beside me on the bed again.
“She was very beautiful,” I complimented. My words were completely inadequate, but he nodded just the same.
After listening to him talk for so long, the strange quiet from him was unsettling. He
wasn’t looking at me, his gaze locked onto the floor. I leaned my head down in a silly manner, right into his line of vision, attempting to get him to look at me. It didn’t work, so I forced the issue, just as he’d done with me, and took his face in my hands.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told that story to and I don’t exactly come off like roses.”
“I’m not judging you. Hearing the story didn’t change how I look at you. Nothing could ever do that.” He tried to turn away from me, but I held him firmly in place. “Hey, I mean it. Nothing will ever change that.”
He grabbed my hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss into my palm, sending tingles up my arm. He breathed my name onto my skin, before laying another kiss in the same spot. Everything about the prior twenty-four hours had been so raw, exposed, and the electric current charging through my body and soul was no different. I wanted him, needed him, and it must have been fairly evident, because he wasted no time moving his lips to mine.
He kissed me softly, but was persistent in making my need of him grow. He slowly lowered me down onto the bed, allowing the weight of his body to lightly rest on top of my own. His hands were exploring, but due to the large amount of bruising still visible, I could tell he was holding back. While I appreciated the sentiment, I could have cared less about any slight pain. What I did care about was the sudden wave of panic crashing over me because we’d spent that last couple of hours discussing his past, but more importantly, his long-lost love.
He must have felt me tense beneath him, because he stopped. “Am I hurting you?”
I shook my head, but was unable to actually say, out loud, what caused me to pull back. He gazed down at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was ashamed I’d even thought it, but if it was true, if he was thinking of someone else while he was with me, I’d be crushed and horrified.
“Hey, it’s just you and me here, no one else. I promise.” He breathed the last two words against my lips and I damn near melted away. Someway, somehow, he seemed to know the best thing to say.
It didn’t take long before we made quick work disposing of our clothing, but everything after that was slow and passionate. Every touch was heavy with meaning. I wasn’t raised devout to any one religion, but I had enough of the basics instilled in me to be embarrassed by sex. It wasn’t as though I thought it was dirty per se, but there was definitely that underlying tone. In that moment, with Drake, I felt terrible pity for all those poor fundamentalist saps who never felt this way about sex. It was beautiful, magical, and all that other stuff they write about in terrible 1970s love songs.
My legs wrapped around him as he continued to drive the rhythm, making my body hum. His speed increased as I moved my hands to his hips. He needed no guidance, but I wanted to feel the muscles in his body at work, as he brought me to the brink again.
I looked up into his gorgeous face and watched the sweat beginning to shine on his features. My back arched and my nails dug deep into his hips, as my body started to sing. He gazed down at me and I brushed his hair away from his face. As his grey eyes bore right down into the heart of me, a frightening thought occurred. I’m falling in love with him. Momentary panic set in and I leaned up to kiss him, terrified my eyes could be revealing my secret. He rolled over, taking me with him, and our kiss grew deeper.
I could not get enough of him and, judging by the intensity and pressure of his lips, I could only assume he felt the same way. As the movement of our connection continued to thrill me, our speed increased. Even though we were physically joined, he still felt too far away. No amount of contact was ever going to be enough. I pulled him into a seated position, allowing more of our skin to touch, in an attempt to quench that need for total unity. He complied; a low growl resonated in his throat as his expert mouth worked at my neck.
The noises escaping me were almost inhuman. Just when I thought I could take no more, all of my senses way past their legal limit, the rapture exploded through me. For the second time, he had me praying to God and screaming his name all in the same breath. I was so deep in the throes of passion I had no shame if the entire neighborhood heard. He grabbed me by the back of the head, bringing our mouths crashing down on one another. My body continued to shudder with aftershocks and he wasn’t even through with me yet.
Wasting no time, he flipped me onto my back again and, without losing any of our momentum, he continued to push into me. His movements became slow, deep, and purposeful again. With one final thrust, he called out my name before shuddering in his own ecstasy.
Our bodies radiated heat and glistened with sweat, but we stayed locked together anyway. His head rested on my shoulder, his breathing tickling my neck. I clung to him in every possible way I could. I ran my hands through his hair. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to say something. I waited with a hopeful heart, wondering if he would say the very same sentiment I’d been thinking. He remained quiet. I supposed it might have been expecting too much for him to say it so soon.
The longer I lay there with him in my arms, the more I understood my previous revelation had only been partially true. It wasn’t that I was falling in love with him... I was in love with him. It had been happening for some time and, this weekend, with all its affirmations, confessions, and testimonials, had been the last little push I needed to admit it to myself. Given the sharing mood of the previous days, it seemed the opportune time to declare my feelings. I, too, took a deep breath, ready to let the words pass over my lips, but nothing came.
Fearing rejection, I remained silent until he sighed, lifted his head, and gave me a kiss as he rolled off. He pulled me tight into his embrace. I knew the moment to say what I needed to say had passed.
An hour later, as I lay there, wrapped in his arms, listening to him sleep, one tiny, underlying detail from his life kept nagging at me. He cheated on his wife with Katarina. The situation had possibly been due to ensorcellment, so it may not have been entirely his fault. But he also cheated on Katarina with me. Now, he hadn’t given me all the reasons, but I had to assume it was because she was a total bitch. I know that’s not a good reason but, having met the woman, I couldn’t say I blamed him. The real problem seemed to be stemming from the idea that there could have been many more of these types of indiscretions in between the two I knew of.
Had I lied to him when I said I wasn’t judging and nothing could ever change the way I looked at him? If so, it made me a complete hypocrite. I feared the same and he dissolved those fears by seeing past all the bad things I’ve done. Could I not do the same for him? Did it really matter what he’d done in those years before we met? Unfortunately, I knew it did. It mattered so much more than I cared to admit, because it had the potential to solidify the pattern of infidelity. The circumstantial evidence was piling up and, given I already had some intense feelings for him, I couldn’t shake the terrible notion that this was not going to bode well for me.
Chapter 23
Drake and I had been together for two months and were practically joined at the hip, but I still hadn’t been able to summon the courage to tell him how I felt. There were moments when I’d think, Now would be a good time, but I’d always take a deep breath and let the moment pass right on by, without saying a word. Then, I’d have to convince myself the time hadn’t been right after all. When it was, those words would just fly out of my mouth, without a second of hesitation. However, those three little words continued to evade me.
It was a gorgeous, June afternoon and Devon, being the ever-social butterfly, procured tickets for the concert in the park. He finally came around to the idea of Drake and me as a couple. At least, he hadn’t voiced any other concerns, since the night of the party. If he still had them, he kept them to himself. He’d been making a real effort, which, I’d like to think, was because he saw how happy I was.
The band was set to take the stage around four PM, and someone in our little group had the idea to pack some wine and a picnic lunch. I was put
in charge of the food because, according to the guys, I could “make a mean turkey and Swiss”. Smooshing meat and cheese with some mayo between two pieces of bread does not make me Julia Child, but far be it from me to deny the goobers what they wanted.
Tore and I met Devon at his place. From there we were going to meet Portia at Drake’s place, since it was centrally located to the park. I sent Portia a text to remind her of the plan, but received no response. So I gave her a quick call to let her know we were heading out. It seemed strange she wasn’t answering either because, until that very moment, I thought the phone was permanently attached to her hand. I left her a message anyway, in hopes she and the phone would be reunited again sometime soon.
After a short train ride from Devon’s, we arrived at Drake’s place. I saw no point in all of us going up to get him, so I called to let him know we were waiting in the lobby. It went straight to voicemail... like always. I left him a snarky little message about his phone never being on, before abandoning Tore and Devon to go retrieve him.
The elevator doors opened into his apartment with a loud ding, but I stepped out into silence. We were forty-five minutes early. I found no sign of Drake downstairs and thought maybe he’d run out to do an errand. The possibility did strike me that we’d miscommunicated the plans and he’d gone ahead to the park, thinking we’d meet there. I tried his phone again, but soon found it ringing away on the kitchen counter. There were two unopened bottles of wine next to it, which I assumed were going along for the picnic. I picked them up and then heard a noise coming from the loft.
“Drake?”
No answer.
I took the stairs, two at a time, but stopped abruptly in my tracks when I reached the top. It then became glaringly obvious why he hadn’t answered his phone or responded when I’d called his name. He was in bed, asleep, and tucked away safely in his arms, on my side of the bed, was Portia. Guess I had my answer why she hadn’t been answering her phone either.
Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Page 18