The Aeon Star

by Hart, Lauren T.

  Nick was gracious enough not to state the obvious back to her. "This is my doctor's office, Dr. Brenner – Frank."

  "Why?" She sat up.

  "Because I thought you needed to be here," he stated the obvious.

  Great.

  "Oh good, she's awake," said an older gentleman wearing a white jacket over his pajamas. "Frank Brenner." He stuck his hand out to her.

  "Jen... uh Hollis," she shook his hand.

  "She's still really cold," Nick offered.

  Dr. Brenner half nodded. "Do you feel cold?"

  "No, I'm hot. Burning hot."

  "Would you mind giving us a minute?" he said to Nick.

  Nick looked to Jen for confirmation. She nodded. He kissed her forehead then left.

  Dr. Brenner took a seat opposite her, and checked her vitals as they spoke. "I've heard Nick's version of things, I'd like to get yours now. Nick says you fainted?"

  "I don't know. I was kind of unconscious."

  He chuckled. "What's the last thing you remember?"

  "I was in the ballroom," she started. "No. Wait. That was from my dream."

  "This ballroom, it was burning?" Dr. Brenner asked.

  "Yes. Sort of. How did you know?"

  "You told Nick you were burning?"

  "I thought I was, it still feels like I am, but I have really vivid dreams sometimes."

  "I see. So, something similar has happened before?"

  "When I first moved here, but it's been months since I had... since before now..." she trailed off.

  "But never before that?"

  "No. Not like this, not that I can remember."

  "Were you under a lot of stress at the time?"

  Stress was understating it. "Yeah."

  "Would you say you're under a lot of stress now?"

  "Some. Not as much."

  "Can you think of anything that might have been a trigger?"

  Trigger. She shook off the report of gunfire as she shook her head. "I don't know, maybe."

  "Well, your temperature is normal, your blood pressure is fine. Do you take any kind of medication, or use recreational drugs?"

  "No."

  "Mmm-hmm. Have you ever heard of hypnopompia?"

  Hypno-whatia? Seriously? Had anyone ever heard of that? "Uh, no."

  "Well," Dr. Brenner started, "when we're in REM sleep, when we dream, our brains perceive things exactly the same as if we are awake. Awake or asleep, or even remembering, it makes no difference to the brain. You visit, dream or even think about a park and all the same synapses fire, every time." He punctuated the points with his hands, drawing an invisible representation in the air between them. It was almost like sign language, but totally not.

  "Now, hypnopompia" he continued, making a broad swipe with his hand, as if to erase the invisible slate, "is the state between awake and asleep. When you're in this state, sometimes the mind has trouble differentiating between the sleeping world and the waking world. It can be very confusing when this occurs. People have reported a lot of strange things; apparitions, sleep paralysis, even out-of-body experiences. Do you think it's a possibility that that might be what's happening to you?"

  "It could be," she nodded. "So what am I supposed to do about it?"

  Dr. Brenner grabbed his prescription pad and started jotting. He invited Nick back in and told them both his recommendations. Then he tore off several sheets from his prescription pad and handed them to her.

  They thanked Dr. Brenner for his time and left.

  To distract herself from the searing heat, she leafed through the small stack of prescriptions on the drive back to Nick's. She had no intentions of filling them or taking them if Nick decided to fill them behind her back. Among the various sleep aids and anti-anxiety medications there was one for birth control pills.

  Seriously? No.

  She removed the advice prescription that read: Reduce Stress. And tore the others in half and then again.

  "What are you doing?" Nick asked.

  "I can't take these. Drugs and I don't get along."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I just have a different system, that's all. Drugs either don't work for me or they make me sick. One of these" — she decided not to mention that it was the birth control, an attempt to regulate her wayward periods — "I took when I was sixteen — ish. And every time I took it I got sick and I'd throw up. I won't do it."

  "It's okay," Nick soothed. "I get it. No one's forcing you. So which one did you keep?"

  She showed him. "I think I'm going to tack it onto the bathroom mirror as a reminder."

  He smiled. The car became quiet then, as was inevitable. She could still feel the searing prickle of the Fire Light from her dream, and wished she had something else to focus on. She reached for Nick's hand, he turned it palm up and cradled her hand in his, lifting it periodically to kiss it only letting it go once they arrived home.

  He raced around to open her door, offering his hand to help her out of the car. Then he laced his fingers through hers, keeping a good hold as he walked her into the house, never letting go as he turned off the light in his office, locked the front door, and walked up the stairs with her and into her room.

  He kissed her forehead, and her cheeks then turned to go, but she kept her hold on his hand.

  "I'm not leaving you," he soothed. "I'm just turning off the bathroom light."

  He kicked off his shoes on the way, and slipped off his pants on the way back, tossing them in the general direction of the door. She couldn't help but wonder how long they might lay there if they had to wait for him to pick them up again.

  She took off her robe and tossed it onto the chair.

  He climbed in bed next to her and took hold of her hand again.

  She slid up next to him and laid her head on his chest. "Thank you," she said. "For everything."

  "I'm just glad you're okay," he said. "I was really worried — you still feel really cold."

  She still felt like she was burning. "I was worried too," she said. "I thought I was dying, and I just—" her words caught in her throat, her tear ducts responded accordingly with a fresh supply of hot tears. "I didn't want to do that to you."

  He gripped her tightly to him, stroking her hair and kissing her head while she cried.

  She thought she saw a spark of Fire Light skip into the air, but it might have been the hypno-crazya-pom-poms-whatever... And then she knew she had fallen asleep again. She was standing atop a familiar craggy rock that jutted up from the ocean floor several miles from the shore. Flecks of Fire Light glinted off her skin and rose in smaller flecks like embers into the sky but it was different now. She could understand the whispers now. They made wishes and talked of home.

  The searing pain did not recede, but after a time, the translation of it changed. She changed. She became the Fire Light and pain didn't fit the sensation anymore. It was not burning, it was breathing.

  She was not burning, she was breathing.

  She stayed on the rock, whispering her own wishes, until the last ember of Fire Light left her.

  The sun was well up in the sky when she woke, Nick was sitting in the overstuffed chair next to the bed, dressed and reading a book.

  She watched him for a few moments before he realized she was awake. He was so beautiful she was sure that she could watch him forever.

  "Buon pomeriggio, bella," he set his book down on the nightstand.

  "What's that in English?"

  "Good afternoon, Beautiful."

  Beautiful. Afternoon? "What time is it?" she stretched, her muscles burned — breathed.

  "Almost 2:30..."

  She must have been really tired.

  "On Tuesday."

  "Are you kidding me?" She shot up in bed. A spark of fire leaping into the air, she burned. Not fire, she reminded, breathing — no, that wasn't it either. "How could I have slept through an entire day?"

  "I guess you needed it. Are you hungry?"

  "A little. I think I could use
a shower more than food at the moment," and a toilet. She hadn't been since... Sunday night.

  "You shower, I'll take care of the food and I'll meet you in the kitchen." He stood, kissed the top of her head and left.

  Every part of her ached and burned — no breathed — no, that wasn't right either, was it? She couldn't keep it straight in her mind. Burning — breathing. That had been a dream. She was just sore from over sleeping that was all.

  Mrs. Chen had obviously been by. The bathroom was spotless, the towels washed and everything restocked. She'd even folded the end of the toilet paper into a triangle.

  Weird.

  Jen took her time getting ready for what remained of the day, moving and stretching to relieve her sore muscles. She slipped into a pair of jean shorts, her running shoes, and a black, low neck T-shirt with a shooting star printed across the front of it.

  As soon as she left her bedroom she could make out the unmistakable smell of Sammie's sweet potato fries.

  Nick was pouring lemonade into tall glasses when she entered the kitchen.

  Along with the fries there were a couple of roast beef sandwiches wrapped in paper, one had been marked with the words: 'NO MAYO' and a smiley face.

  "Come to Italy with me," Nick said mid-sandwich, just as she had taken a bite of her own.

  She chewed slowly, giving herself a few extra seconds to pick her words. "What?" she managed. (Oh well, it was worth a shot.)

  "You need a break and I don't want to leave you. We can get a rush on a passport, and I can postpone the trip for a bit. What do you think?"

  "I think you're overreacting," she heard herself say before she could stop herself. Instead of stopping then, she just went on— "I know you're worried about me, and I'm sorry that I scared you — that I'm still scaring you. But going to Italy with you isn't the answer."

  He put up his hand to object.

  "And neither is you staying here." She took his objecting hand in hers. "I promise you, I'm okay. If you're still worried, I'm sure I can get Ashley to come and stay with me while you're away. Or Erin, I think she's about had enough of Jamie."

  "Jen," he began his protest.

  "Please, let's not fight about this."

  "Who's fighting?" he protested. "I don't want to fight about this either."

  "Then drop it."

  "That's it then? Your way or no way?"

  "If there's no way to reach a compromise then what else are we left with?"

  "Well, maybe I don't feel like losing this one."

  She could feel herself giving in to him, giving him what he wanted. It was a hard thing to fight, his pull, this strange power he had over her.

  It was in his touch, his voice, his intoxicating smell, his beautiful jeweled eyes. He was like a vampire — hypnotizing her into submission!

  No. She fought the impulse — as if her very life depended on it. She had to get away. She had to save herself. She would not give in. No matter how much she wanted to. She started to leave, to run.

  "Jen, wait."

  She stopped short. A familiar calm, accompanied by an unexpected surge of heat, ran through her.

  Genevieve.

  "Jen, I'm sorry. I don't want to stress you out over this. Please, I'm sorry. I'm just worried and I don't know what to do here."

  She turned to face him and met his eyes.

  "Jen?"

  Could he tell that she was not the same as she had been a moment ago? She had expected the ripples of awareness next but there were none. She sighed, resigned to her ignorance. "I am defeated," she said. "If you want me to go to Italy with you, I'll go. I have a passport upstairs."

  Nick looked like he'd just been hit in the chest with a wrecking ball. He was quiet for a long moment; his brow furrowed, calculating a response. Eventually he managed, "Do you want to go to Italy?"

  "No." She shook her head and smiled. "I really think it's best if I don't."

  She could see the pressure of her statement as his breathing became heavy and short. Clearly he understood that she was intimating surrender.

  It was a bit sadistic of her, but she was delighted by his inner turmoil. Maybe because it suggested that in some small way he might be able to understand her and her evil ways. But that might be too much to hope for. She could tell that he wanted to look away from her, but she kept her gaze firmly on him.

  "I don't want you to do anything, you don't want to do." He said after a moment. "Do you understand?"

  She nodded once.

  He looked like he'd just diffused a ticking time bomb. Maybe he had. Maybe that's all she – Genevieve – really was. A manipulating, murdering, ticking time bomb, held captive by the whims of a personality she'd created in order to forget, in order to save herself from the torments of those who were out to kill her before she became strong enough to be a threat. Who would save them now? She wondered. Surely not Jenny Taylor, Jennifer Anne Hollis — whoever she was — she didn't have it in her to stand up to a kitten. It was she, Genevieve, that handled every threat, while Jen-whoever watched from the sidelines. Even the threat of surrendering herself to someone she loved and trusted had sent her running for cover.

  "Will you excuse me?" she asked.

  Nick's horrified expression deepened, presumably with the realization that she was waiting for a response.

  He nodded, panged.

  She turned and started away.

  Nick cursed under his breath.

  Hot tears filled her eyes and flowed in silent streams. She loved him she realized, more than anything. How could this have happened? This tormented her, along with the realization that although she wanted to be free, she had become much more comfortable in her hiding place. In that way Jen-whoever was her strength. That was fair, she thought, as she sobbed silently back into her hiding place deep within.

  Chapter 23

  Il Cuore Vuole Che Cosa Vuole

  Things had been resolved, but were far from being back to normal between them. Jen's recollection of what had happened was still a little fuzzy, but she'd gotten out of going to Italy... somehow. All she could remember was the intense heat. Flustered from frustration she imagined. She remembered speaking... vaguely, Nick looking upset and then, she was in her room, crying, and definitely not going to Italy.

  Stupid her.

  She wasn't sure now, why it was exactly that she had been so opposed to going in the first place. But since she'd gone to all the dramatic insistence that she not go, she decided it was best to avoid the issue all together. Especially since Nick had been acting so odd since then — now that everything had to revolve around what she wanted. It had really started to get annoying.

  "Do you want to watch TV?" Nick asked after dinner one night.

  "Sure."

  "What do want to watch?"

  "I don't care, anything's fine."

  "News okay?"

  "Sure," she picked up a magazine and started flipping through the pages.

  "Would you rather watch a movie?" he started flipping through channels.

  "Whatever you want."

  He turned off the TV.

  He clenched his jaw and then the remote, as if in exchange for his jaw and calmly said, "If you didn't want to watch TV why did you say you did?"

  She set the magazine back on the end table, and turned toward him, kicking her leg up and straddling his lap. She pried the remote free from his death grip and wove her fingers through his. She kissed his red fingers and said, "Nick, I don't care what we do. You're leaving tomorrow and I just want to spend time with you."

  She kissed his lips; but he did not kiss her back.

  He looked horrified.

  Not exactly what she'd been expecting.

  "Do you want to be with me because you want to be with me or because I want you to be with me?"

  "Nick stop!" she shouted at him, and stood. "Why are you acting like this? I can't take this anymore. You want to know what I want? I want things to go back to being... normal — if there is such a thing. Stop ac
ting like..." She waved her arms about in front of her as her mind fought to find the right word, eventually settling on — "This! Nick, please understand that just because I agreed to go to Italy with you even though I didn't want to, doesn't mean..." She waved her arms around, searching again...

  "That you would jump off a cliff if I asked?" he offered, coming to stand in front of her.

  "Exactly."

  "Have sex with me?"

  "Well," she considered. "Now that I would do."

  He reached to cup her breast in his hand.

  She slapped it away. "Not now. I'm ticked off right now. Maybe you should try again when I'm not in the mood to slap you."

  He smiled broadly at her.

  "Are you actually happy that I'm upset?"

  "I'm happy that your volition is your own," he smiled and slipped his arm around her waist.

  She glared at him through squinted eyes.

  "Back to normal. I promise. I'm sorry I misread you."

  He kissed her forehead, and then her cheek then her other cheek then her chin.

  "Okay," she relented. "You're forgiven."

  He kissed her then and butterflies swarmed, he slid his hand under the back of her shirt and traced his fingers along the small of her back. The butterflies mounted to the sky, soaring about in dizzying formations, as she pulled him toward the couch.

  This was it, this was that moment; she couldn't believe it was finally happening — finally happening to her that is. Finally her turn... Number one hundred and eighty-eight. She winced. Not what she wanted to be thinking about right now.

  She wondered if she should tell him she was a virgin, or that she loved him, she wondered if he would say it to her. The love you part, not the other part.

  She pulled at his shirt, he moved back enough for her to pull it over his head. She tossed it on the floor. She kissed the star on his chest. The star that had practically been begging for it since she first saw it — or maybe that had been her.

  Then as quick as you can say there's someone at the door — ding-dong — there was.

  "Ignore it," she pleaded.

  "Yeah," he agreed, breathlessly.

  Then the door opened. "I brought sorbet," boomed a familiar voice from the foyer.