by T. R. Hamby
“No, I smell,” she giggled as he laid her gently on the bed. That’s what she loved about him too; he was always gentle with her, never rough.
He made a face at her. “You smell good.”
“I’ve been sweating all day,” she laughed as he kissed her neck. “I need to shower.”
He smirked, and she giggled. “I’ll shower with you.”
She hesitated.
There were some things that were still taking her time. Letting Michael hover over her had taken months to get used to, due to things Will had done...it was always things Will had done. The shower was a similar issue--a confined space, difficult to escape. It had been easy for Will to corner her there. But Michael’s shower here was big--the whole condo was large--and she knew he would let her leave at any time, or leave himself.
She took a deep breath, playing with his fingers, and nodded. “Okay.”
He was studying her warily. “We don’t have to. I can wait for you.”
She couldn’t help but frown, momentarily distracted. He could wait for her, couldn’t he? He didn’t need a shower. She had noticed this not long after they had started seeing each other. Michael didn’t seem to sweat. He still showered regularly, needing to wash off whatever traces of mud or dirt he picked up from daily life. But they had done a lot of things together--in bed, out in the sun--that would make anyone sweat, except for him.
She had researched it; there were illnesses that could be the cause. But he never mentioned being sick, and he always seemed so healthy.
She finally looked at him. “Let’s just shower,” she whispered. “Slowly.”
He nodded.
She was anxious, and she tried focusing on other things while they undressed.
There were other things, too. Michael was so broad, so muscular; you would think he spent an hour or two at the gym every day. But he hadn’t once mentioned working out to her, had never had to plan around the gym. She had asked him about it once, and he had skirted around the topic, not really giving her an answer.
It was the same with eating. He was never hungry--never. He only mentioned eating in relation to her own hunger. There had been more than one instance in which Gilla had to suggest getting some food, as he had clearly forgotten about it.
Then there was his old apartment. Gilla had never seen it. He had explained it away, saying the place was shitty. But that didn’t make much sense, considering the fact that he clearly could afford better. He had very nice cars, after all, and now he had a luxurious condo, and was spending money on an expensive remodel. When she had asked where the old apartment had been, he had vaguely said it was on the north side.
He turned on the hot water, and she stood by the door, hugging herself. She preferred that she be the one closest to the entrance. Michael gave her time, giving her a reassuring smile and soaking his hair.
She took a shaky breath. Images were flashing in her mind--being pinned to the wall, cowering in the corner, Will standing over her.
Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, no. Don’t think about that. It’s over now.
She opened her eyes, and saw Michael studying her again. He didn’t move, just kept his arms at his sides.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. She had to do this.
She stepped forward, getting caught in the spray, and carefully drew into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest. He was still, though she could hear his heart racing--almost humming. She had never heard such a fast heartbeat, not in a human.
She realized, with a sharp jolt, that all these questions about Michael culminated into something greater about him--something almost mysterious. Something...something that didn’t seem explainable.
But he had still never given her a reason to doubt him. Even now, when she was completely vulnerable, naked and trapped in a glass box with him, he was careful, gentle.
She finally looked up at him, her heart racing. It took her a moment to work up the courage to speak.
“I never told you my real name,” she whispered, her voice almost drowned out by the water.
He looked a little pained. “Oh. I didn’t think…”
He trailed off, and her heart ached. She knew it hurt him, what had happened to her.
She took his hand and kissed it.
“It’s Maja,” she said. She had always loved her name, and it hurt to know that she could never be known by it again.
He looked almost touched. He slowly brushed at her hair. “Maja.”
The tenderness in his voice gave her a wonderful thrill. She wanted to kiss him, but there was something she had to say.
She took a deep breath. “I know there are things you haven’t told me,” she murmured, and he went pale. “About yourself. I won’t make you tell me. I hope to know one day, but...I want you to know that I trust you. Truly. I’ve never been loved like this. You’ve helped me through more than you know.”
He looked away, and she thought she saw tears glittering in his dark eyes.
He closed his eyes, swearing under his breath, and ran a hand through his wet hair.
“You should know, though,” he finally said, and his voice was hoarse.
She stared at him; she hadn’t expected so much emotion.
He took a deep breath, still not looking at her. “You shouldn’t live with me without knowing everything.”
She felt an icy chill. God, what was it?
He seemed to remember himself, and he cleared his throat.
“Let’s finish this--go to Nora’s,” he said, his voice low. “She’ll help me...help me tell you.”
She nodded nervously.
He stared at her for a moment, as if trying to memorize her face. He took her hand and kissed it, and there was so much tenderness in it that her heart ached. She had no idea what he and Nora were about to tell her, but she had a horrible feeling it was going to ruin everything.
He was quiet as they walked to Nora’s. Her building was only a few blocks from his. Gilla held his hand, and he squeezed, though he looked anxious. She felt her heart pounding in trepidation.
Nora’s apartment smelled delicious. Gilla could smell lamb, although the sauce she couldn’t identify.
Nora looked up from the salad she was tossing and beamed. Gilla grinned back. It was easy to say that Nora, except for Michael, was her closest friend. They got on easily, able to talk about everything. Or at least, Gilla had thought everything. Now she knew there was something more going on.
“How’s the remodel?” she asked, approaching them, but her face fell when she caught Michael’s expression. She frowned worriedly. “What? What is it?”
It took him a moment to speak. He glanced at Gilla, and there was such nervousness on his face that she squeezed his hand soothingly.
He looked at Nora again. “Can you...help me,” he murmured, clearly struggling. “I need her to know.”
Nora stared at him for a long moment. Gilla couldn’t decipher the look on her face.
Finally she let out a breath. “You’re sure?”
He nodded firmly.
She nodded too, faintly, and folded her arms, frowning. “God. Where do we start?”
Gilla shifted on her feet, nearly shaking with anticipation. Michael didn’t answer; he looked too pained to speak. He simply looked at Nora pleadingly, which scared Gilla.
Nora took a deep breath, shrugging. “What the hell. Let’s get the important part over with.”
And she reached a hand out to Gilla. Gilla hesitated, utterly bewildered, but took it. Nora led her to the kitchen, and selected a knife from the drawer.
Gilla looked over her shoulder at Michael. He had his arms folded, and he was watching tensely.
She slowly turned back to Nora, who also looked anxious. They stood by the sink, Nora holding the knife.
She looked cautious. “Don’t panic,” she said soothingly. “Don’t...be a
fraid.”
Gilla felt that was a difficult command to follow. She steeled herself, wondering what exactly Nora was going to do with that knife. She hoped it wasn’t what she thought it would be. She was queasy at the sight of blood, and took deep breaths.
Nora took a deep breath too, swearing quietly. Then, with the air of getting something over with quickly, she took the knife and slid it clear across her palm.
Gilla let out a gasp, her stomach lurching.
“Nora,” she exclaimed, watching as blood blossomed on her hand, dripping thickly into the basin. Her heart raced, and she felt dizzy. What were they doing?
“It’s okay, Gilla,” Nora said gently. She dropped the knife in the sink and turned the water on. “Look.”
Gilla really didn’t want to; her stomach was churning. But she took a step closer, watching as Nora put her hand under the water. The blood drained away, and for a moment Gilla could see an open wound in her palm, distorted in the water. But then she blinked, and it was gone.
She stared. Nora withdrew her hand, flicking water off her fingers, and held it out for her to examine.
She continued to stare, and slowly took her hand. It was wet, her skin glistening.
She gasped. The cut was gone, Nora’s palm smooth, untouched.
A thousand thoughts went through her mind. A magic trick, maybe. Prosthetics. A blood packet. They did it all the time in the theater. But she knew how that worked, and what Nora had done hadn’t been anything close to that. It didn’t explain how one moment there had been a cut, and the next moment nothing.
She took a shuddering breath, though she felt almost calm. She didn’t know why--after all, she had just witnessed something impossible.
She looked at Nora carefully. She could hear Michael shifting on his feet, and she could tell he was close to losing it.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered. It was all she could think to ask at that moment.
Nora looked amazed at the question, but she smiled soothingly.
“No,” she replied. “It’s all healed. See...nothing can hurt me, Gilla. Nothing can kill me.”
Gilla took a moment to absorb this. It was preposterous, if not for what she had just seen.
Michael shifted again, but she ignored it.
She studied Nora. She had never had any questions about her--she wasn’t like Michael; she ate, and went running, got hot at rehearsal. The only thing that had ever intrigued Gilla was the mysterious Mel, who had gone away to some country that apparently didn’t have cell service.
She looked around, her gaze switching from Nora to Michael, whose face was nearly gray. She realized that this whole thing went beyond the two of them--to Mel, wherever he was, and maybe even further than that.
She took a step back, breathing deeply.
“Okay,” she whispered, looking at the two of them. “Are you...um…”
She couldn’t think of the English word--although her English had improved exponentially in the last year. She looked at Michael.
“Vampyrer?” she breathed, and his lips twitched the smallest bit.
“Vampires?” Nora murmured, understanding her Swedish. She smiled. “No...not quite.”
Gilla looked at her. “Tell me.”
Nora looked at Michael, then said, “I’m human. Actually, when we first met, I wasn’t any different from you. I could get hurt...I could die. But then I…”
She hesitated, and Gilla waited.
She sighed a little. “I asked God to make me Immortal.”
She stared. “You asked...God?”
It was even stranger than the Immortal bit. Gilla had never believed in God--she hadn’t been raised to, and she had never found a reason to in her adulthood. She hadn’t believed in miracles or divine intervention--predestiny or damnation. It had never made sense to her.
Nora was nodding. “Yeah. God.”
Michael shifted again, and Nora looked at him. “Michael, sit down. I can’t tell if you’re going to faint or puke.”
Gilla looked at Michael, who looked sheepish. He went to the living room and sat down, hunching over, running his hands through his hair. She longed to go to him, to soothe him, but there was too much going on right now.
She looked at Nora again. “You asked...God to make you Immortal.”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, still trying to wrap her head around the God thing. “Why?”
Nora glanced at Michael, then said, “So I can be with Mel. Forever.”
“So Mel is Immortal too?”
She nodded. “And Michael.”
Gilla looked at Michael, who had his eyes closed, taking deep breaths.
She felt a surge of understanding. She didn’t know everything, of course, but it made sense now--his eating habits, his fitness. He was...Immortal. He didn’t need food, didn’t need to exercise…
She slowly returned her gaze to Nora. “So...there are...Immortal people walking around Earth?”
Nora hesitated. “No,” she said, “no--I’m the only Immortal human there is. Mel and Michael aren’t human. They aren’t vampires, either,” she added when Gilla looked bewildered. “They’re Angels.”
She shook her head, feeling a surge of anxiety. Angels? Seriously? It was somehow crazier than the Immortal part. So now God and Angels were real, and Michael--the man she had had some sort of intimate relationship with for nearly a year--was one of them.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
She looked at him, and her heart ached. He was staring at his hands, his face still ashen. She had never seen him so nervous.
She shivered. “Michael?” she whispered, and he immediately looked around at her.
She swallowed. “Are you?”
He got up and approached her, slowly. She wasn’t afraid--it was still Michael after all, and she reached out and took his hand.
He looked a little relieved. He looked at her, his dark eyes sparkling in the lighting, and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and there was a pleading in his voice. “I lied to you. I’m not a private detective...I haven’t lived in Rome in years. I didn’t want to lie--I just…”
He trailed off, looking pained.
She took a deep breath. She felt a rush, the news hitting her like a train. She still didn’t understand...but if Michael said it was true...then it must be.
She looked down at his hands, suddenly marveling. An Angel. But he looked so...normal. So human. She traced her fingers along his arms, almost searching for any sign of divinity. But his skin was smooth. She put a hand over his chest, feeling his heart race, and she felt a thrill.
“Your heartbeat is so fast,” she whispered, looking up at him.
He looked sheepish again.
“Angel heartbeats are faster than ours,” Nora explained, looking relieved. “Mel’s is the same. Sometimes I can hear it humming.”
Gilla nodded quickly. “Yes...I always wondered...I thought you might have had a condition.”
Now Michael smiled, but he still looked wary. “Are you...okay?”
She frowned. Was she? She had just been told something that was beyond ridiculous, beyond preposterous. God was real, Angels existed.
She bit her lip. “I need...to know more, I think.”
He looked surprised. He and Nora exchanged glances.
“You’re sure?” he murmured.
She nodded firmly. “Yes. Telling me you’re an Angel isn’t enough...I need to know how...why…”
He thought for a moment, his jaw working. Then he finally nodded.
But Nora made a noise, and they looked at her. She was studying Michael, warily.
She glanced at Gilla, then said, “Hold on a second, Gilla.”
She gestured for Michael to come near, and he did, frowning. Gilla watched as she whispered in his ear. Her heart skipped a beat as the color once again drained from his face, and he actually shook.
“It’s up to you,” Nora whispered soothingly, squeezing his ar
ms.
He turned away, and for a long time he was quiet. Gilla’s insides were icy cold; she didn’t like what was going on with him. He was clearly conflicted, clearly worried sick. What could it be?
He finally gave a shuddering sigh, and he turned to Nora. Gilla shivered; there were tears in his eyes.
“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice low. “Could...could you?”
Nora took his hands, nodding. “Go home,” she murmured soothingly. “Lie down. I’ll...I’ll Call.”
Gilla listened, bewildered.
He nodded, then looked at Gilla. He was very pale, and he took her hand. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but he struggled, before simply squeezing her hand.
“I’ll...see you,” he murmured.
She nodded slowly, squeezing his hand too. She watched him go.
When he was gone she whirled around, giving Nora a wild look. “What was that?”
Nora took a step toward her, looking grave. “I’m going to tell you something,” she whispered. “Something about Michael that...could be…” She sighed. “Devastating, I guess.”
She then looked firm. “But please remember...I love him. He’s like my brother. I trust him with my life. And I know you trust him too...I know you love him. Just...please remember who he is now. How good he is.”
Gilla felt a chill.
She hugged herself. “Is this...does this have to do with Mel?” She remembered what Michael had said all those months ago. I did something terrible.
Nora looked surprised. She nodded. “Yes.”
“It--it can’t be that bad,” she said desperately, nearly shaking. “I mean--he didn’t kill anyone, did he?”
Nora closed her eyes. She didn’t reply.
Gilla’s blood ran cold, and she trembled. No. Not that. Anything but that. Her stomach lurched, and she held a hand over her mouth.
“Sit down,” Nora murmured, taking her arm. “Let me explain, please.”
Gilla let her guide her to the couch. She felt hollow. Of all the things she had learned today, this was the most shocking. Michael, the man she trusted, had killed someone...and it sounded like murder.