An Immortal Dance

by Alastair Fontaine

  It was Friday afternoon, and the time had come for their release, albeit temporary, from the monotony of the school week. A cool breeze, a gentle reminder of the coming winter, greeted Courtney and Ambrose as they left the confines of those red brick walls. The sun was already disappearing from the sky, its light quickly being replaced by the glimmer of stars and streetlights. Flaming oranges and dull yellows formed an odd pattern on the earth surrounding naked trees with their outstretched branches in sinister supplication to the darkening sky. The time of year had come again where they had been cruelly robbed of their beauty by the oncoming freeze. Ambrose wore a long, black topcoat with a grey cashmere sweater underneath to stave off the cold, whilst Courtney chose a fitted white parka, grey fur lining the edge of its hood. They stopped at the edge of the premises, where an elegant, onyx Cadillac awaited her. As the time for them to part approached, he couldn’t help but to reflect.

  “Do you think we went too fast? I mean, we barely knew each other and then boom! We’re together.” He looked at her with only sincerity in his hickory eyes.

  She stopped to consider. She could not tell him the truth. Not yet. She took his hands in hers and returned his piercing gaze, trying to hide the sudden deluge of sadness, joy, fear, hope, love that inexorably began to fill her. “No, Ambrose. We could have known each other for millennia and it would have been the same. I have loved you ever since we waltzed under a night full of stars. I hope you love me,” she laughed, seeing his surprise, “Yes, I was Aisling.”

  “Why did you lie at first? Why didn’t you just say it was you?” Ambrose asked, a trace of uncertainty clouding his features.

  “I guess I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl who just, you know, kisses random guys at a masquerade ball. I’m not. Believe me, you aren’t just any guy.” She faltered, realising that she was coming dangerously close to the truth. With alarm, she felt him tear his hands from hers. Then, bliss enveloped her as he crushed her to him. She could smell the sweet musk radiating from his chest, combining with her own floral perfume even as their soft lips entwined. The sounds of rushing cars and people passing by ceased to exist as she buried her hand in his soft, chestnut hair, determined never to let go. Never again.

  When they parted, she felt tears welling up in her sapphire eyes. Tears of joy. While she had kissed many men in her long life, none compared to the immortal who now looked upon her so adoringly.

  “Courtney, I don’t remember very far back, but I’m pretty sure that even before the accident, there was no girl like you. If there truly is a greater power in the universe, it lies in what I feel for you. It is in us, here and now. I can’t think of anything more worthy of divinity. All I ask is that you let me give you the world.” He spoke softly, just loud enough for her to hear, and used his thumb to wipe away her tears.

  “Oh, Ambrose. You don’t know how much that means to me,” she sighed. Then, she remembered a question that she had long wanted to ask him. “I’ve been wondering, that night, what happened to you? When you passed out, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. I guess it must’ve been the heat, the music and all the people. I probably sound like a loser, but I’ve never been to a big party like that, I guess I just got disoriented,” he lied. He had just confirmed that he was dating the pinnacle of feminine perfection. Ambrose d’Artois was no fool. He absolutely was not going to freak her out by telling her that he had been hallucinating during their dance.

  “Oh. I see, well don’t worry. You’re my loser.” She stuck her tongue out at him. She sensed that there was something more, but did not want to press him. Eventually, he would tell her, when he was ready.

  “Wow, so much for our moment there,” he laughed, putting on a face of mock disappointment.

  “See ya, loser.” She winked, turning towards her Cadillac.

  Ambrose felt that he couldn’t bear parting with her at that moment. He acted on impulse. Before she took another step, he blurted out, “Courtney, would you like to meet my parents? Like today.”

  She smiled triumphantly to herself and turned to face him. “Of course. That would be amazing. Hop in my car and Marshall will take us to your place.”

  As they walked towards the car, a hulking giant of a man stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing an equally massive charcoal suit over a spotless, white dress shirt. Marshall was as powerfully built as Jeremy, but there was no hint of kindness in his face. He maintained what appeared to be a perpetual sneer and seemed very ready to tear Ambrose apart at a command from his employer. He opened the shiny black door at the rear of the vehicle, revealing a well-kept leather interior of the same, dark colour as the outside of the car. Courtney gave him an affectionate smile as she stepped into the car, receiving a curt nod in reply. Ambrose offered his hand, but it was utterly ignored, met only by a cold silence. Noticing the awkward moment, Courtney took the outstretched hand and coaxed him into the car.

  “Just let him be unless you need something. Marshall doesn’t like to talk much,” she whispered apologetically. Marshall was a loyal man, extremely protective of his employer. His aged, grey eyes betrayed his participation in many a brutal skirmish. They had not left Ambrose in all the time that he had been waiting for her. Courtney understood Marshall’s concern. After all, he did not know their secret. However, she did not want conflict to arise between the two. Even if Ambrose had forgotten what he was capable of, she had not. For all his martial prowess, her beloved servant wouldn’t stand a chance against Ambrose. No mortal could.

  ***

  After a thankfully short ride, with Ambrose keenly aware of Marshall staring determinedly at him through the rear-view mirror, they arrived. Exiting the car first, he helped Courtney out onto the grey sidewalk. She took a moment to admire the house of the d’Artois family, not nearly as grand as her own, but somehow it seemed more like a home than her palatial estate ever could. Then, she turned to look at her servant.

  “Marshall, wait nearby. I’ll call you when I need you to pick me up,” she ordered.

  “Ma’am, are you ce-” he began to protest, hesitating as he caught the frown that had appeared on his employer’s unusually attractive face. An iron discipline reluctantly asserted itself over his concern and he said, “Yes, Miss Rossborough.”

  “Thank you, Marshall.” She waved him goodbye and took Ambrose’s arm as he led her into his house. She knew that faithful Marshall would not leave until she passed through the threshold into Ambrose’s domain. It was touching, really. She figured that feeling, the knowledge that others would throw themselves into harm’s way if she willed it, that others placed such blind love and trust in her, was what Ambrose had found so intoxicating in the times when he had led devoted armies in the name of empire.

  “You have a really nice house,” she commented, approving of the simple elegance of the place. The mortals who had taken him in clearly had fine taste. In fact, it made her think that perhaps she had gone a bit overboard with her own home. Somehow, the polished, carefully sculpted wood that made up the majority of the interior of the house seemed infinitely more refined than the lavish treasures that littered her manor. In any case, they were certainly successful mortals. She was glad and eternally thankful that they had rescued her beloved from whatever had befallen him.

  “Thanks. My parents should be arriving soon. For now, do you want anything to drink?”

  “Sure, what do you have?”

  “Water, grape juice, orange juice, coke and sprite.”

  “I’ll have some grape juice please.”

  “Sounds good. That’s my favourite. I’ll be right back; you just make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing towards the pair of brown, leather couches that dominated the living room before disappearing into a passageway.

  She gladly obliged, taking the time to examine her surroundings. Three circular apertures in the ceiling hosted lightbulbs that now illuminated the room. The two couches were located perpendicular to each other, with a large, meticulous
ly carved wooden table in front of them serving as the room’s centrepiece. Under it, there lay an exquisite rug. It depicted an oriental garden, beginning with a single lotus at the centre and expanding into tulips, asters, sunflowers, dahlias, roses and many more exotic flowers as the design approached the edges. On the table, she noticed a bunch of souvenirs from faraway lands. A carefully made acacia statuette depicting a Maasai couple, a horrifying painted effigy of Vlad Dracula and a beautifully painted porcelain plate from China established that their owners had travelled the world before settling in the small town of Hastings. A single, rectangular window at the front of the room separated two bookshelves containing an expansive collection of literature ranging from recent bestsellers to centuries-old works. Covers of different colours created a chaotic mosaic on the shelves, perhaps reflecting the variety of the knowledge contained within. Courtney suspected that the d’Artois family were not only very well off, but also learned and cultured people. They were at the pinnacle of what mortals called “education”. Fitting guardians for the man that they knew as Ambrose.

  He returned, carrying two small glasses filled half-way with grape juice. He loved that violet delight like no other beverage. His parents had let him taste wine before, but honestly, he thought the alcohol ruined the sweet taste of the grapes. Alcohol, in general, wasn’t very good. He would never understand why people his age were so obsessed with it.

  “Here you go.” He handed her one of the glasses. “Do you want a tour of the house?”

  “Sure.”

  ***

  “How was your day?” Richard d’Artois asked his wife. They had been waiting in traffic for the past half an hour and it seemed like they had finally left the worst of it behind them. He had spent most of it ranting to Mercy about his latest stroke of genius. He was certain that it had the potential make d’Artois incorporated the leading firm in the field of financial consulting on the American East Coast. Mercy loved it when he got so excited, it reminded her of why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. However, her eyes had eventually begun to glaze over and Richard had realised that perhaps a change of topic was appropriate.

  “Nothing too unusual. I’ve been buried in paperwork, but all the clients are satisfied and no one is currently driving me insane,” she laughed. The stop light finally turned green, and they sped past it and out of the traffic jam. After another long day, they were both ready to go home.

  “Have you noticed Ambrose has been really out of it this week? He can’t seem to focus on anything,” Richard asked.

  “Yeah, I asked him about it. He just smiled at me and wouldn’t say a word until I changed the topic.”

  “Mercy...” Richard began, a note of concern in his voice.

  “Don’t,” she cut him off, the firmness in her tone convincing him that it was best not to broach the subject. If she was honest with herself, she had the same worries. However, she had decided that she would trust Ambrose and as of yet, he had given her no real reason to suspect him of any ill deeds. It would be unfair of them to speculate and she would have none of it.

  “Alright darling,” he said. “Alright.” They spent the rest of the trip in silence. Richard eventually raised the volume on the radio, filling the interior of their Audi with the mellow notes of a violin. When they finally arrived, Richard parked the car in the usual spot in front of the house. Exiting the vehicle first, he opened the door for his wife, extending his hand to help her out.

  “Thank you,” she said. During all their years together, Richard had never failed to make her feel like a princess.

  Together, they walked up the stairs. It was dark, and they held on to each other firmly, careful not to let each other slip and fall. They found their door unlocked, and supposed that their son had already arrived. When they entered the house, they were greeted by the unmistakeable sound of gunfire coming from upstairs. Richard shoved his wife back outside.

  “Mercy, get back to the car. Call the police!” he roared, even as he dashed up the stairs, thinking only of his son.

  “Like hell I will!” His wife ran after him. She refused to wait in the car while her Ambrose was in danger.

  The couple rushed towards the source of the thunderous barrage. Ambrose’s room. The door was shut. As the gunshots continued, they heard muffled laughter coming from within. To their terrified ears, it was a crazed, savage noise. They looked at each other in horror, realizing that they knew its owner. Ambrose. Their worst fears had been confirmed. What had they brought into their house? They could bear it no longer. They began to hear terrible moans emanating from within. Whatever the consequences, Mercy and Richard d’Artois would confront their mistake. Perhaps it was too late for the poor soul in there, but they could not stand aside and let the deed go unchallenged. Richard embraced his wife, locking lips with her for what might be the last time. In his eyes, she was still the gorgeous, young lawyer, full of passion and grace, that he had met on a summer’s night in Athens so many years before. It was a brief kiss, but it conveyed a lifetime of affection. They were ready. Richard burst through the door, fire in his eyes, ready to tear down the monster that he had brought into their lives.

  “Could you at least knock?” Ambrose snapped, embarrassed and irate. His parents had barged violently into his room, ruining a tender moment of celebration after Courtney’s skilful victory over the zombies of “The Branhaven Experiment”.

  Richard and Mercy looked at their son in utter confusion. Then, they looked past him at his television. Beyond the glass, they saw a dauntingly realistic world. The imposing ruins of a once prosperous city littered a barren landscape. Rotting human corpses roamed like beasts inside the screen. A shameful realisation began to dawn on them. Only then did they notice the girl with her arms around Ambrose. A blonde beauty with piercing, blue eyes. She held a helmet with a device resembling scuba goggles embedded in its front, but with the lens obscured by a thick sheet of shiny, black plastic. Lying on the ground next to her, there were two strange controls. Narrow things, with a single circular button at the centre and a thick loop at one end. Their fury turned into relief, and then guilt, as the absence of a bullet-ridden carcass became abundantly clear.

  “Forgive us, Ambrose. We just wanted to check that you were alright. Lower the volume on that thing, it gave your mother and I such a fright when we came in!” Richard lied. He could not bring himself to admit the stupid thoughts that had run through his mind in those moments of terror.

  “Well, won’t you introduce us to your friend?” Mercy asked, eager to change the subject. She could not believe that she had doubted her son yet again. Sure, his past was an enigma, but he had given them very little reason to believe that they had taken in a criminal, much less a murderer. That opulent silk suit was still a mystery, but no harm had come of it and she had not seen any more expensive novelties. She had thought him capable of bringing death to her home. He had brought love instead.

  “Of course! Mother, Father, this is Courtney Rossborough. Courtney, my parents,” he said, stepping aside as she offered them her hand.

  “You can call me Mercy. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mercy effusively welcomed the stranger, stepping past her husband to shake the girl’s hand.

  “I’m Richard. You’re certainly a welcome surprise. Ambrose hadn’t told us he got a girlfriend,” Richard remarked, earning himself a pinch from his wife and a pained look from his son.

  “Hadn’t he now? Hmm… well, it’s great to meet you both. Ambrose is a great guy; I guess he takes after his parents,” Courtney purred. Ambrose wished that his parents would go away, before they messed up again. He had a feeling Courtney would bring it up later.

  “Well, we’ll leave you two to it. Just, please, turn the volume down if you’re going to use that thing,” Richard requested as he turned away.

  “It’s a VR set dad, it’s kinda supposed to be realistic,” Ambrose complained.

  “You know, I actually feel like watching a movie. Shooting zombies is ama
zingly tiring work,” Courtney chipped in, eager to avoid such a juvenile argument.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Mercy agreed, reminding herself to ask Richard how he had ever let Ambrose convince him to buy the VR set. “I’ll cook up dinner soon, I do hope you’ll stay.” She followed her husband down the stairs, leaving them alone again.

  “I’d love to!” Courtney called out. As soon as Mercy was out of sight, she closed the door. “Now, where were we?”

  ***

  The girl had left hours before, picked up by a black Cadillac. By the way she had held onto Ambrose, however, it seemed like she would have much preferred to stay the night. Mercy smiled to herself, remembering when she had been that pretty young girl so many years ago. Ambrose had gone to sleep soon after, never suspecting the injustice his parents had committed in doubting him. Now, Mercy waited at the dinner table for her husband to return with the cocktails. She hoped he’d been less stingy with the bitters than he was on his previous attempt. Otherwise, his ability to whip up a Manhattan was developing nicely.

  “Here we are.” Richard passed through the kitchen door. He looked very satisfied with himself.

  “Let’s see how you did.” Mercy took one of the small crystal tumblers. The liquid within was red. Richard must have used a cherry garnish. Fancy. Taking a sip, she observed that he had matched the change in appearance with a marked improvement in taste. She nodded to him in approval.

  “We need to talk, don’t we?” Richard said, worry creasing his handsome face.

  “We took that boy in Richard. We made him our son and he hasn’t given us a single unpleasant surprise since. He’s been a good boy, a hard worker and he really is the man I wish I had raised. We heard that stupid VR thing and almost immediately thought the worst of him. He wanted us to meet his girlfriend, and we embarrassed him.”