Once Upon A Midnight

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Once Upon A Midnight Page 181

by Stephanie Rowe


  She is sitting on the front steps of the dorm when I get there. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltale signs of painful crying.

  “Charlotte?” I choke on her name. It kills me to see her like this.

  I don’t get the chance to ask her what has her so upset. The second the last syllable crosses my lips, she launches herself at me, burying her face in my neck, and coiling her arms around my head. My chest muffles the sounds of her wails, and a few loitering students shoot me a wary glance.

  Her actions leave me stunned. I’ve never been sought out for comfort before. I offered it as an angel. I twisted it as an exile. Before my mind can work everything out, another man cries out for her.

  “Charlotte!” The boy, Wesley, rips her away from me and folds her against his chest. “Why didn’t you call me?” His question comes out rushed. “Why did Alyssa have to? Come on, let’s go.” He turns to lead her away, one arm wrapped lovingly around her shoulders, but she drags her feet. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  Hospital? What is going on?

  They haven’t taken two steps before yet another person calls for her, this time it’s a woman. “Charlotte!”

  The chestnut locks of her roommate’s shoulder-length hair bounce as she bounds down the stairs. Her skeletal arms pull Charlotte into a hug; her green eyes lock on mine, and the flames flash for a nanosecond before they vanish. “We’re all here for you, dear,” she whispers in a consoling tone.

  Everything about her seems off. Like what I see today isn’t the same as what I saw yesterday. Her mannerisms. Her voice. Her features. Given that Alyssa has been my commander since the fall, my mind doesn’t recognize her as quickly as it should.

  There isn’t time to focus on all that is wrong with Alyssa. Right now, the woman I love is falling apart in her arms.

  “What is going on?” I roar, grabbing every eye within a half-mile radius.

  Charlotte jumps at my volume and spins around, throwing herself back at me. This time, I’m quick to wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

  “Oh, Henry!” she pushes out between wracking sobs. “My mother was in a terrible accident! A utility truck rear-ended her car and pushed her into a pylon. They had to life flight her to St. Charles in New Orleans! My dad is with her, but I have no way to get there!”

  I sweep her up into my arms. “Yes, you do, my dear. I’ll take you.”

  “I can’t ask that of you.” Her whispered sobs sound loud in my ear, but it isn’t a protest.

  “I don’t recall you asking.” I am already jogging back to my car at the frat house. The sound of the boy’s and Alyssa’s footfalls pound against the pavement behind me. “Why would you think you couldn’t?” I ask.

  She shrugs and snuggles into my chest, her arms clinging to my neck. “Can we talk about it later? I’m not really up for that conversation at the moment.”

  The icy grip of guilt cinches around my soul. You will be the ruin of this girl, which, yes, that is what you are supposed to be, but…

  The sight of my Jeep derails the voice of my guilt-ridden conscious. I put her in the car and then run around to the driver’s side. I just popped the gearshift into reverse when two bodies slap against either side of the vehicle beside the rear seats.

  “We’re coming too!” the boy hollers while jumping in behind Charlotte. He leans forward and wraps his arms around her shoulders, bending his head until his forehead rests on her temple. Alyssa hops in behind me, but doesn’t say a word as she straps herself in.

  “Buckle up, boy!” flies harshly from my lips. Just the sight of him comforting the woman I know he loves, at least as much as I do, sends me into a jealous rage. The sound of squealing tires accompany the lurch of the car as I jerk the steering wheel around and throw him back into his seat.

  He follows my order, a grimace marring his youthful face. “That was uncalled for, Montplaisir!”

  “Just looking out for your safety, Breaux!”

  “Wesley, stop!” Charlotte snaps. “Henry is right! I don’t need you nattering in my ear right now, and I certainly don’t need you fighting with Henry! What I need is to get to the hospital and see about my mother!”

  The boy balks at her, but shuts his mouth. The rest of the drive is silent. I drive one-handed, as the other is on the knee of the girl sitting next to me. Alyssa watches the boy out the corner of her eye. He watches Charlotte, a defeated and angry expression engulfing his face.

  Chapter 13

  The accident was a turning point for me…

  “Well done.”

  Alyssa’s emotionless compliment makes me cringe. The boy, she, and I sit in the hospital waiting room while Charlotte chats in an office with the doctor and her father. The boy offered to accompany her, but she waved him off without a word or a fleeting glance. He’s been sulking in a corner ever since, glaring at me when he thinks I won’t notice.

  “Well done, what?” I snarl under my breath. My nerves are fried, given that I’ve spent the last two hours watching the woman I love slowly fall apart and drown in her internal turmoil.

  Alyssa leans into my ear, more for show than anything else, to whisper, “I didn’t expect you to pass this test.”

  My heart plummets in my chest. Pass this test? I understand the implication; I just don’t want to believe it. “What do you mean?” escapes my lips before I can swallow the idiotic question.

  A calculated smirk sweeps onto her face. “I needed to know who the girl would turn to in a crisis. She didn’t even call him, whom she’s known for years. Seems even without any of the romantic trappings these latest generations put so much stock in, she still feels closer to you. I must admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

  All the potential consequences of that particular observation swirl through my mind. Alyssa set this up! She engineered this entire affair! Charlotte’s mother was in no accident!

  “Is it just bad luck that you didn’t kill her, Alyssa?” My fury heats my whispered accusation. “Was it your intent to cause her immense amounts of emotional and psychological pain?”

  She shrugs in response. “These humans give too much power and meaning to death. They all will face it. They use it as motivation. ‘Seize the day.’ ‘Live for the moment.’ ‘Life is short.’ ‘It’s precious.’ They go on ad nauseam about death and its significance, never realizing that they are just cogs in a wheel. Sure, they’ve made advances to be more comfortable, but they never truly accomplish anything long lasting. They are nothing more than a parasite, a scourge.”

  “If they are so inconsequential,” I counter, hands clenched into fists on top of my knees, “why bother with them then? Why are we wasting our time with this boy and this girl?”

  “Because humanity puts stock into power, without ever realizing what true power is. They need leaders who inspire them, and we need chaos. That boy,” and she nods her head in Breaux’s direction, “with the right training and guidance, his charisma will guide men of power. He’ll be a great orator in the future, a man of ideas and action. We just need to twist his good intentions to meet our designs.”

  It is all still above my head, and I don’t consider myself a stupid man. “I still don’t get why we need people at all. Would it not be less time consuming to just change your face and accomplish what you want, whenever you want?”

  Alyssa rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so obtuse. You know why.”

  I shake my head in argument.

  After an exaggerated huff, she holds out her hands and spreads her fingers then continues. “I keep these as far from the crime as possible. We pull strings, Henry. It’s how we survive. If you get too close, our enemies identify you. You know how that will end.”

  And, I do. There are true angels out there who I know have turned a blind eye to my interference in the goings on of man. If they caught me acting versus planting seeds, they wouldn’t hesitate in sentencing me to my death. Humans aren’t the only beings who fear the end to the existence they know. I shiver at the thought, thankful
I’ve never been close to that atrocity. But, I’ve had haunting nightmares of watching exiles pulse out of existence. The fear of not being remembered by the people left behind is almost as paralyzing as the fear of existing no more.

  Her nails glow with the green flames that spell our doom, as do her eyes when I bring mine to meet them. “Master your puppet, Henry. It’s the only way to ensure that it will always be their life, her life, on the line and not yours. That’s where death comes into play for us. You’ll be surprised what the right death will do for the right puppet, how eager they’ll be to master some silly objective.”

  Her eyes dart to her puppet who is still sulking in the corner with his eyes locked on the doorway Charlotte will emerge from. We fall silent and time passes without measure. Five minutes could have passed or five hours before Charlotte reappears in the waiting room. When the door swings open and reveals her destroyed face, all three of us stand up. The boy makes a move to approach her, but she heads directly towards me.

  “Make sure to seize this opportunity, Henry,” Alyssa commands under her breath. “Step up your game and put the final nail in the coffin of their unbreakable comradery.” Then she heads over to a stunned Breaux, whose wide and hurt eyes follow every step Charlotte takes to me.

  “Oh, Henry!” she whispers, arms folding around my neck as she buries her tear streaked face in my chest.

  I hold her, not saying a word, while anguished sobs rip from her body. Each muffled cry tears at my soul, and that’s when I realize something. Charlotte cares for me. She trusts me. My eyes cut to the boy. She trusts me over him. Sex didn’t put me between them. I did, this person I’ve become as I’ve gotten to know the real her. This man who talks Shakespeare and Rome, history and philosophy, all with this girl. My age knows no number, and people have always been insignificant, not worth the time to spend getting to know any one person because they lack permanence. And yet, here’s this girl, this eighteen year old child, this beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful muse. She found me, a soul I forgot I possessed, buried deep beneath my hatred and animosity and contempt for the human race. Alyssa is right. I need to master my puppet, but not to accomplish Alyssa’s designs.

  Chapter 14

  I was a damned man…

  “Hey,” I say, pushing her hair over her shoulder as she curls into my lap after visiting her mother. “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep and a decent meal?” I can’t recall when I last saw her take a bite of anything.

  She looks like hell. There are deep bags under her eyes, and even though it’s only been a few days, she appears thinner.

  She closes her eyes and sighs. “I can’t sleep,” she admits, “and food,” her nose curls. “All I can see is my mother’s neck snapping at impact.”

  It is too soon to know whether her mother will make a full recovery or not, and the uncertainty is tearing Charlotte apart.

  I cup her cheek with my hand, and she leans into my touch. “My dear, you do her no good by wasting away.”

  “Listen to your boyfriend,” a man speaks up behind me.

  “Dad,” she answers without lifting her head from my shoulder, “how many times do I have to tell you that he’s not my boyfriend?”

  In all the years that I’ve watched over her, I’ve never met the father. He’s about as tall as the form I currently wear, with Charlotte’s hair and eye color. It’s easy to see the family resemblance. A small smile curls his lips, but doesn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever you say, baby girl. Now, you two should go have some fun. I expect you to take good care of her, son, and boyfriend or not, be respectful.”

  “Yes, sir,” I respond, unable to ignore the natural authority that clings to him.

  He offers a curt nod before whispering to his daughter, “Take a night off. Don’t worry about school. Don’t worry about your mother. Go enjoy yourself. You still have a life to live. We both know she’ll hold it against you if you don’t.”

  I feel more than see some of the tension seep out of her muscles. She nods her head and stands, stretching her arms above her and rolling her neck. They hug before she takes my hand to lead me out of the hospital.

  “Where to?” I ask once we’re in the car.

  She props her elbow on the windowsill and lays her head against her fist. “Back to campus, Henry.” Her voice is distant and hollow.

  My thumb and forefinger catch her chin and turn her gaze to mine. “No.” Her eyes bulge and her mouth opens to protest, but I don’t give her the chance. “If you’re not going to sleep anyway, we might as well do as your father suggested, and have a good time tonight. Now, where would you like to go? I’ll take you anywhere.”

  Charlotte shrugs and drops her eyes, refusing to answer me. Genius strikes and I know just where to take her to lift her spirits. The ride to our location on the outskirts of downtown New Orleans is silent. I don’t even turn on the radio. Charlotte’s eyes are closed and her hand clasps mine.

  “Here we are,” I announce as I put the car in park and point to our destination.

  Her eyes open and she takes in the yellowed bricks and bright green shutters on either side of the doors. “You brought me to a rundown bar?” A hint of her spirit seasons her question.

  I don’t answer her until I get out of the car and come around to open her door. “No, my dear,” slides off my tongue, and I take great pleasure in seeing her shiver at my sensual tone. I take both her hands and pull her from the car. “I brought you to one of the best jazz clubs in New Orleans.”

  She cocks an eyebrow and glances over at the sign, which hangs at a slight angle over one of the doors. “Fritzel’s?”

  “You’re going to love it,” I whisper in her ear while wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my front. “It’s perfect. You can sit and relax and enjoy the music. Can’t you hear it?”

  Her arms fix themselves over mine as she melts into my chest. “I must admit, it does sound good. Alright, let’s go inside.”

  She moves to drop her arms and walk towards the bar, but I hold onto her instead, taking awkward steps to the outside of her feet, keeping her body pressed against mine. She giggles and goes along with it.

  We make our way inside, getting looks from the patrons, some endearing, some sickened, but I don’t care. Charlotte makes me feel human, as if I have the whole world and my whole life in front of me, and I can do anything with it. Including, loving the girl in my arms for the rest of her life.

  A five-piece band is on the stage, filling the small bar with the upbeat sounds of pure jazz. The trumpeter blows a staccato beat while the piano man’s fingers fly over the keys of his upright. The music seeps into our souls as we take our seats at a table for two against a wall a little ways back from the tiny stage. Every patron in the bar bobs in their seat, each to the beat of the instrument that speaks to them. Charlotte and I stay for hours, listening to the music, having a couple of drinks, and I finally get her to eat some food.

  It’s well past midnight when we finally leave. She’s quiet on the drive home, but the car is void of tension. In truth, I think she’s asleep, until I reach the turn-off to go either to her dorm or to the frat house. When I turn the wheel in the direction of her dorm, she speaks up.

  “I’m not ready to go to the dorm. Can we hang out on the beach by your house?”

  “Sure, my dear,” I reply and cut the wheel to the right. It isn’t long before we sit on the manmade beach along the lake on the edge of campus. We fall back into that comfortable silence, both gazing out over the water. A peace fills me during these quieter times when she erases the loneliness. I can’t help but wonder if she takes note of the way the full moon reflects off the still waters. I turn my head to ask her, but her voice cuts me off.

  “Henry?” The hesitancy in her tone, that fearful way her tongue caresses each letter of my name, turns me into a ball of nerves.

  Her arms hug her knees to her chest as she gazes out over the lake. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminates her
features in a gentle light. A breeze blows the untethered wisps of her hair across her face. My silence draws her gaze, and her eyes bore into mine.

  I don’t need to search her soul for answers. The questions are written in every sad line marring her beautiful face. “Yes, my dear?”

  A deep inhale precedes an audible sigh. I press my lips into a thin line, nervously awaiting her insecurities to manifest in a barrage of questions I don’t know how to answer in a way that won’t end up destroying us both.

  “What was your thought when my dad called you my boyfriend?” Her voice may not be strong, but her eyes hold mine in an intangible grip.

  “Honestly?” I ask as a means to stall for a moment.

  She nods her head and waits patiently for my response.

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I liked the sound of it.”

  “Is that what we are, though?” she cuts right to the chase.

  “Is that what you want?” I counter, still too damn chicken to just admit to how much I need her.

  She shifts, folding her legs underneath her before knee-walking the foot or so over to me. “Henry,” slips from her tongue, heady with her emotions, while her hands cup my face. “I know I’m terrible at this game most girls play. I’ve been fine taking it slow, because…” she trails off.

  “Because?” comes out broken because my heart is in my throat. Could she possibly love me, the way I love her?

  Her eyes search mine, weighing my character. I’d give anything for her to tell me what she sees. I refuse to use my powers on this woman; refuse to cheat with her.

  “Because I care about you. There’s something about you, Henry, something special, and I…”

  And, you? my voice screams in my head. She’s right here, begging me to admit my feelings, to admit that she’s special to me too.

  Then my conscious kicks in. Is she special because of who she is or what she is or maybe even the power she possesses?

 

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