The Time Stopping People

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The Time Stopping People Page 7

by Kristy Evans Beckwith


  *

  Discovering his whereabouts wasn't a hard feat. As he stood at the top of our main hilltop, scoping the horizon, I sensed he already knew I was coming. This was his usual place to visit whenever he wanted some fresh air and needed to be alone.

  His back was turned in my direction, as I treaded up the stony pavement. On any other day, I wouldn't let him enjoy his aloneness. Giving him space (sometimes) seemed like the right thing to do. However this time was different.

  Without saying a word, I reached for him, almost touching the back of his shirt. There was a moment I imagined my fingers grazing along his arm. I wondered if he could discern my closeness. With my body directly behind him, could he hear my heart speeding?

  For a few moments he didn't move. Instead he watched the pear-colored sky with a sense of wonderment. Then he turned around with a smile on his face, staring me down with those alluring brown caves. Slowly, he positioned himself to the ground.

  “Have a seat with me, Calise.”

  I looked over in the direction of the castle, expecting the others to find us snuggling on the hill. When no one did, I knelt beside him and swallowed the small space between us.

  “Hey,” I finally said.

  “Do you know what you want?” His question made my hands warm.

  “Yes,” I answered. Our exchange at the swimming pool immediately came streaming into my mind. “I respect your role as our coach. I'm really focused on my work, more than ever. I'm a complete professional...as soon as you start training me.”

  He grew tense, taking in my words. “How do you like being here?”

  “I love it,” I blurted. “I think your friends are really talented.”

  For some reason my confession brought him to tears. He couldn't stop laughing. “It certainly looks that way. We think you're really talented too.”

  “How can you tell?” I pulled my legs closer, resting my chin across my knees. “I've only been sitting down and taking notes most of the time.”

  There was long pause before he confessed, “I've seen you going to the gym late at night.”

  “Oh.” I turned the other way, biting my lip. “I was going to tell you about that.”

  “It's fine,” he said reassuringly. “Keep doing what you're doing. I have something coming up soon, that'll whip you right into shape. You have to trust me. I know what's best for you. I know what's going to make you good at this.”

  I looked ahead, admiring the lowering sun.

  He was right – I had to trust him more. Of course he knew what he was doing. I had to let go and accept the fact I was in good hands.

  “There's a reason you're watching them,” he continued. “There's a reason you've only trained once. So I can see the kind of person you are.”

  “What kind of person is that?”

  “Delicate.”

  My eyes moistened, taking in his word choice. “You think I'm delicate?”

  He sighed deeply, changing the subject. “Aren't you going to ask me what you're training for?”

  I easily kept up with his quick change of subject. “You told me you're a Collector . . . that you go on assignments and retrieve things of high price. I figured you would tell me the rest when you're ready.”

  “That's right,” he admitted, leaning back on his elbows. “We collect valuable things for important people. I guess you could say we're basically giving things back to their original owners.”

  “What does that do?”

  He started explaining himself, but my eyes were glued to the oval shape of his mouth, how it curved slightly despite the fact he wasn't smiling. At that moment, nothing was more important than being by his side; we hadn't been this close since our first night together.

  “What do you get in return?” I rephrased the question.

  “Balance,” he responded. “We keep the balance by helping them get what they want. In return, they help keep us above the radar. This is what keeps the peace. It keeps the balance between our kind and the outsiders.”

  'Outsiders' was such a unique term for him to use, I had to pause and consider his point. It must've been easy for him to call other people 'the outsiders' when he and his crew lived amongst themselves for so much of the time.

  “Do you ever keep these collections for yourself?” I suddenly wondered if he'd ever snatched items for himself. Was he able to afford his lifestyle because of it?

  “No,” he clarified sharply. “We don't steal. We have everything we need here. There's nothing they could offer us from their world that would be more interesting than ours.”

  The last word he spoke sifted oddly between us. There was some special code floating underneath his words, which I was meant to determine. But for the first time since I'd known Chris, I didn't know the answer. It could've been the subtle way he distinguished 'their world' from 'our world' that made me feel bewildered, like there was more to him than what met the eye.

  “What kinds of things do you collect?”

  “I'll show you everything you want to know,” he answered in a mellow tone. “In due time.”

  'I like it here mostly because you’re here,' was a thought I wanted to confess aloud. Time didn't allow it.

  Chris stood up and stretched his body, extending his palm in front of me. “We should head back before they think I’ve left for good.” His skin was cold and rough in my hand as he lifted me from the ground. This time, I accidentally ran straight into his chest, and heat rose to the of my cheeks. So I walked ahead of him.

  I could be a professional if that's what he wanted from me. His eyes had been so sincere, so full of certainty that night in Laguna Beach. The windows to his soul had spoken volumes. Now my heart was wistful, wishing I could rewind my life, back to the night when he almost kissed me.

 

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