Authors: Nicole Williams
I could almost feel his Mortal life slipping between my fingers.
“Paul,”—the arm that had stopped his charge moved to grab one of his hands—“Do you care for me?” I knew this was a low blow but I had no choice; I was grasping at anything to keep him alive.
His eyebrows hardened on William before he met my eyes. “You know I do,” he whispered, sounding ashamed.
I squeezed his hand. “Then will you swear to me you will do what I asked of you earlier?”
His eyes shot to the side and he started to shake his head violently. “No . . . no, I can’t do that, Bryn.”
I released his hand and reached for his face, turning it back to look into mine. I could feel William’s grip tightening around me even more. “Please,” I begged into Paul’s glassy eyes. I saw their resolve weaken before me, and celebrated an early victory. “Please—swear to me, Paul.”
He exhaled harshly and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat, but his eyes did not leave mine. “I swear to you, Bryn.
I
will not do anything to hurt you.” While his eyes remained fixed to mine, the last part he’d clearly intended for William’s ears.
“Thank you,” I whispered, as a wave of relief slipped over me. I’d saved Paul, and while I realized he would never fully comprehend what I’d done, it did not diminish my joy.
“Come on. It’s time to go,” William said urgently, pulling me with him as he moved towards the door.
I twisted my head around to Paul. “Take care.”
His face was blank, revealing none of the emotions that so commonly played across it. I’d hurt him—I was sure of that—but the hurt would melt away soon enough and he could go on living his life, and I found solace knowing this.
As William pulled open the door and led me through, carefully cradling my wounded arm in his, I heard a final, “Goodbye, Bryn.”
I flinched when the words hit my ears. They sounded lifeless.
Once we were on the sidewalk, William picked me up into his arms. “How’s your arm?” he asked, eyeing anxiously over my forearm wrapped in his make-shift bandage.
“Fine.” I lifted the arm, turning it over to examine it for myself. “Actually, better than fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” I was surprised to see there wasn’t any blood soaking through the layers of William’s shirt. His skillful, tourniquet-like wrap had been extremely effective.
He opened the passenger side door with one hand, continuing to hold me in his other, and lifted me onto the bench seat of his Bronco. I took one final look at the hunched-over figure in the last window booth, and then William was in the driver’s seat beside me. The engine roared and we accelerated over the road; leaving behind one problem and heading in the direction of a far greater one. Of this, we were both certain.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TARANTULA LEGS
After pulling into a turn-off on the highway back to Newburg, we met up with Patrick. It shouldn’t have surprised me to find him waiting for us in the middle of nowhere, with no hint as to how he’d gotten there—leaning against the rippled-metal barrier fence, his arms crossed and his face smug—but it did. I couldn’t help the wonder I felt from another mystery. I could see from Patrick’s patronizing face he was hoping I’d inquire into how he’d gotten here, so I suppressed my curiosity and placed an unimpressed look on my face as he entered the backseat.
“Hey-a, Bryn . . . William.” He playfully nudged the back of his brother’s head. “Did you miss me?”
“Hardly,” William responded. I rolled my eyes.
“What happened, Bryn,” Patrick hollered, when his eyes fell on my arm bandaged with William’s dress shirt. It’d been a good thing the shirt’s owner was wearing an undershirt, or he’d have been hard-pressed to make it to our rendezvous point with Patrick tonight. Even with the undershirt, I’d had to sit on my hands to keep them from misbehaving.
“I had a little run in with some glass,” I said, trying to sound blasé. “Which reminds me . . .” I reached with my other hand to start unwrapping the light-blue shirt. The pain was long gone and blood had never shown through the cloth, so I was anxious to take a closer look at the collateral damage.
“I thought you were on a peace keeping mission,” Patrick teased. “Doesn’t look like there was much that took place. What kind of injuries did you inflict on your college boy enthusiast?”
William shot a menacing look at Patrick, and then leaned across the seat. “Let’s take a look at that.” He reached for my arm and unknotted the ends of his shirt, unwrapping each layer with care.
Patrick leaned over my shoulder to view the damage. I was afraid to look, mostly because I’d learned from experience that looking at something as beat up as I knew my arm would be, would create an illusion of pain. Patrick let out a low, impressed sounding whistle as I felt the last of William’s shirt leaving my arm.
“Good as new,” William said, sounding pleased as his fingers brushed over my arm. “Look,” he encouraged.
I was shocked into silence when I forced myself to look at my arm. My brain wouldn’t be convinced what my eyes were transmitting to it could be accurate. There wasn’t a single gash, scab, slash or scar to indicate my arm had been shredded by glass only a couple of hours ago.
“What?” I stammered, sounding baffled. “How?”
Before my bewilderment could run away with me, William answered, “Because you’re so young, you are relatively breakable, but you are still Immortal. While you can bleed, you can heal at an unbelievable rate.” His fingers continued to trace over the top of my unscathed arm. “After a couple years you won’t nearly be so breakable, and nothing will be able to pierce your skin.”
“Wow,” I muttered stupidly, wishing I could have healed as fast in my Mortal life as I could now—it would have saved me a lot of scars. “Thank you . . .
Doctor
Hayward,” I said, raising my eyebrows in an all knowing kind of way. “Or should I call you a miracle worker instead?” I continued, unable to contain myself. “Stocking medical carts and wrapping gauze . . .”
He looked chagrined. “I forget Cora nearly has as big of a mouth as Patrick.”
I shook my head with amusement. It was amazing how uncomfortable he was with his many talents and accomplishments. “Cora said you went to med school three times. What exactly are your specialties?”
Patrick grunted from the back seat. “Besides everything?”
“Pediatrics, Cardiology and Trauma,” William answered quickly, before glancing back at my arm in an attempt to change the topic.
“I guess I won’t have to punish Paul with the nine most heinous forms of torture known to mankind,” he said with partial jest. I scowled into the pale blue eyes, while he continued to turn my arm over in his, searching for even a hint of damage still showing.
“Although I most certainly want to,” he said, smiling the one that made me more mesmerized than his others.
“So have you told her about your escape plan?” Patrick interrupted.
“No, not yet—”
“We’re leaving soon?” I interjected, my voice bubbling with eagerness.
“You’re
leaving,” William answered with emphasis.
My eyes squinted with confusion. “What do you mean,
I’m
leaving?’
I heard Patrick shift uncomfortably in the back seat.
“William?” I questioned, my impatience growing when his silence drawled on.
His sigh was heavy. “Joseph will be coming to get you next Sunday morning. He’ll take you back to Pacific City where the rest of the family will be.”
I tried to keep my voice steady. “And you?”
He grimaced, and looked like he was bracing himself for my forthcoming reaction. “I’ve got to remain behind—”
“What?!” I burst in, breaking the substandard brace he’d readied his body into. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Bryn, please calm down,” he pleaded.
I crossed my arms and slammed my back against the seat to demonstrate my outrage. “I’ll calm down once you stop being ludicrous.”
“I’ll only stay for a few weeks, a month tops—just long enough for John to be convinced there was nothing particularly unusual in your disappearance. If we both disappear at the same time, it will arise too many suspicions, and I will not endanger you that way.”
I shook my head like a stubborn two-year-old. “No, I’m staying with you—wherever that happens to be.”
“That’s not possible.”
“You promised, William,” I reminded him, glaring into his eyes. “That we’d be together
forever,
and I think me leaving you behind kind of breaks that promise, don’t you?”
“We will
be together, but I will do my part to make sure I do this right—so no harm comes to you—”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”
Neither one of us was going to yield—it was apparent. His eyes were dead-locked and focused on his objective, and my crossed arms and glaring eyes were symbols of my unwavering stance.
Patrick peeked his cautious looking face in between us and turned to me.
“Think about it, Bryn. It’s only a matter of time before John finds out about you two.” His eyebrows rose, tempting my objection, but I remained silent. “I know you two are trying to be cautious, but all it would take is one slip, and after last night’s little rendezvous—” An evil smile formed, showcasing his gleaming teeth.
“Be serious, Patrick.” I hissed at him. I wasn’t in the mood for his attempts at light-heartedness. Actually, I was far beyond being in that kind of a mood.
“Alright, alright, sorry. You’re crankier than usual tonight.”
“I wonder why?” I shot an accusatory glance at the man who deserved neither my harsh words nor looks, but the thought of leaving him behind filled me with dread. I was grasping at straws, throwing a Hail Mary . . . anything to keep him with me.
“Think of it this way then, since you can’t look at it practically,” Patrick said. “If you do stay behind with William, how long do you think my over-reactor of a brother will be able to keep his cool with John’s less than gentleman-like behavior around you?” Patrick nudged me, knowing he’d hit the bulls-eye of my heart.
“I give you guys a week tops
before someone witnesses one of your fleeting little touches you think no one sees.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “Or William pummels our boy John for the daily undressing he gives you with his eyes.”
“Patrick!” William shouted.
“Come on, William. The cold hard truth’s the only thing that gets through to this girl. The billowy layers you like to wrap it up in don’t work,” he said, thrusting his hand at me where I sat trembling from my fear-induced anger. “Obviously.”
A few seconds of silence hung heavy around us, before two sets of eyes teaming with anticipation, set upon me.
“Come on, Bryn. Time to be reasonable,” Patrick voiced slowly. “I’ll still be at Townsend Manor, and you
know
I won’t let anything happen to him.”
Patrick and I exchanged a loaded look as we recalled this morning’s conversation.
I festered in my seat, not able to give in yet, although I knew I would. They were both right, and the only reason I didn’t want to be separated from him was because of my selfishness—because I wanted him with me more than anything else. I wasn’t going to let this formidable vice of mine be the undoing of another person I loved.
Patrick rested his hand on my shoulder. He could smell victory in the air. “Come on, it’ll be alright.”
My head slumped forward in defeat into my damp palms. “Alright,” I whispered. “I’ll go . . . but, one month.” I shot a warning look at William. “Or else I’m coming back and retrieving you myself.”
“You have my word,” he vowed, before he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. Before my head retreated to the sanctity of his chest, I saw him flash a grateful look at Patrick.
“It doesn’t look like I’m the only one with a temper,” Patrick muttered over my shoulder once he leapt over the front seat and walked past me.
I glared at him.
When William came around the car, and I saw the concern on his face, my glare evaporated. No matter how angry I was, there’s no way I could glare with any kind of feeling at his face.
The three of us climbed the stairs together; the two of them on either side of me like bookends. I reincarnated my glare at the Manor before me—it was the reason for my anger and worry anyways, inanimate as it was.
Patrick shoved through the front door and held it open for William and me.
“Welcome back.” A voice greeted us immediately.
William stiffened and took a side-step in front of me, putting me out of view from the figure coming towards us. I didn’t need my vision to know who it was. The authority in his voice and the condescension between the words identified who it was.