The Mortal Fringe (25 page)

"I am supposed to be keeping you safe,
and the way to do so is by not having people getting suspicious
about me."

"I'm sorry, I am trying as hard as I
can."

"You are trying shit. I have told you
before, Alex. She is risking more than what you could ever imagine,
if you screw things up, I am going to hunt you down for the rest of
your life."

"If this does not work out as she
planned, the rest of my life will end pretty soon, am I
right?"

"Exactly, so just pretend that we are
together so I can actually stick around and watch over you." She
says all this without losing her temper or the sweet fake smile.
Everyone looks at us and I bet they think she is saying nothing but
nice things to me, if only they knew.

The nights are the worst. If I don't
sleep, I keep thinking about Elizabeth, and if I fall asleep I
dream that she kills me, or that she dies with me. It's unbearable,
but Abigail can't help me, my dreams are my own, no one else's, and
if something hurts me in them, it's my problem, and no one
else's.

I try to keep myself from thinking
today, so I picture anything that comes to my mind. A television
series that I would like to watch, paintings that I used to like
when I was at school, I try to remember lyrics to songs that I am
not sure that ever existed. Anything that can keep me awake and
from thinking should work, but the problem is that the thinking
always comes back.

I can see myself opening the
suitcase once more. I want to put everything back in, go back in
time and go back to my room in Barcelona, that's what I want. I see
everything so vividly that I know I am dreaming again. Oddly
enough, no one seems to be dying in this dream. I keep putting
things back into the suitcase but I keep holding the last thing
that I should put back in.

A book ripped off in
half.

I wake up instantly and jump of my
bed. I knew I could not let go from this so easily. I look into my
wardrobe and suitcase. I open it slowly, trying not to make any
noise. Once it's open I look for the book in between the other
things that I left inside. I take the book, carefully, and a piece
of paper falls from in between its pages. There is something
written in the paper.

Elizabeth's handwriting.

CHAPTER 36

I look at the piece of paper every
time I got a chance to do so, which is difficult with Abigail
looking over my shoulder the whole day. I found it a couple of
weeks ago and I have kept it a secret, but I just realized that
perhaps Abigail, who was sent here to help and guide me, could know
something about it.

Barbra Harris, 212 Middle Street,
Bath ME

"What does that mean?” Abigail asks
when after days of asking me what was going on, I show her the
piece of paper.

"Well, it just looks like a
direction."

"Who is this Barbra
Harris?"

I tell her about her, and about the
book.

"I don't like her."

As every other Immortal that knows
about the book, I am not surprised to hear it.

"I want to go" I say firmly, without
hesitation.

"Yeah, in your dreams."

"No, in your car."

She looks at me as surprised as I am
myself. Elizabeth wrote down that direction on a piece of paper and
put it in the book afterwards, I can only think that she wanted me
to find it, and if she did, she obviously wants me to go there. I
explain that to Abigail, with more enthusiasm than I have ever
used.

"What will you say to your
mother?"

"I thought you were the one with the
ideas."

"I'm sorry Alex, I can't."

I say nothing, the disappointment is
clearly noticeable on my face. There's no need to exchange more
information, for a moment I thought I might have found something,
now the hope just vanished.

I have been avoiding human contact for
the past weeks, not because I miss Elizabeth; that would be a
stupid way to go with it. I am hiding myself away because the
frustration I feel inside me keeps me from moving. I know that
there might be an explanation to all this waiting for me, and at
the same time I know it is unreachable because the one who sent
with me to protect me won't let me leave and look for it. Whatever
the angle I look at it, the odds are not in my favor, I know that,
I just want to help, to feel useful again, or for the first time
even.

I am reading over the whole book once
more, perhaps there is something I've missed, some way I can help
Elizabeth not to become a Tartar that does not include my death. I
am being too selfish, perhaps, but I can't lie, if I can come out
of this alive, I won't have it any other way. But the book only
goes so far, and half the information I need is not here, I know
it. Both Elizabeth and Jay told me endless times that if I wanted
to know anything about their kind I only had to ask, because I
would not find anything here. That, I guess, is why she left me the
note. Because she wanted me to know something, something that the
book won't tell me. But what is it? What could it be so important
that she refused to tell me herself, and rather she preferred to
let me find out?

It's been a month and I am starting to
feel better, not free, but better. I am finally going out, with or
without Abigail, she thinks that after all these days some air will
be good for me and that probably nothing bad will happen in my
neighborhood. Even though I get to walk out, she follows me from a
relatively close distant, far enough from me to give me some
freedom, but close enough to come to my aid if I should need
it.

Abigail knows that I am utterly
disappointed in her, and she does not talk to me much lately. Mom
thinks that we are going through one hell of a bad momentum thing,
which I guess fits on Abigail's plans. After all, once this thing
is over, once Elizabeth becomes a Tartar, there will be no reason
to protect me, Mal will have prevented Elizabeth from becoming a
God, and she won't need me.

It is the last Wednesday before the
first weekend of February. That means that the moment is close, a
moment that half the population of the world is expecting, but not
because of me and Elizabeth. Elizabeth should become a God the
night of the Super Bowl.

The week is being harder than I had
anticipated, knowing that the life of the one I love is about to
end, or worse, become a nightmare for eternity is killing me slowly
enough to let me experience it. It's been three days since I last
had an hour of sleep, I can't stand this anymore, my head is full
of bad feelings and what I just decided is nothing but the worst
decision and the craziest one I have made in my life. But I won't
regret it, I can't just sit here and wait for the moment to
come.

I wake up and put on some clothes. I
walk through the darkness of my sleeping home, trying not to wake
anyone. I go to the kitchen and I write a note to my mom, and
obviously, to Abigail.

I went out
.

My mom does not need to know any
further, and Abigail will know exactly where I am.

I get into the garage. The stolen car
from the airport shines with the fluorescent’s pale light. My heart
is beating so fast that I can't hear anything but the blood running
through my veins. I am sweating as much as I did the last time I
got into the driver's side of a car. I have not done this since the
day of the accident and I promised myself I would never do it
again, but the situation changes everything, fear changes the way
anyone feels about something. I get inside and take a deep breath,
I try to focus on anything but the accident, which tries to come
back to me every instant. Finally, I take the keys out and insert
them into the ignition system. The car starts, and I thank Abigail
for picking an almost silent car.

I leave my house, I look at it from
the rear mirror and think that normal is overrated; I don't want to
go back to normal. I’ve had monotony for quite enough. I need to
know that Elizabeth will be alright, and I cannot leave that to
chance. I am tired of waiting on the dark, I need to do
something.

I get into the highway; the dark road
seems to welcome me as an entrance to hell. I am scared of
everything. I am human, and no matter how brave I could be, fear is
the one thing that pushes us either back, or forward to beat
anything.

I drive, not knowing what I will find
once I've reached my destination. But the only thing I know is that
Elizabeth will be gone in three days, and that is all I care
about.

She saved me more than once, now I
need to repay the favor.

CHAPTER 37

There's nothing in front of me but the
limitless road and the long bridges to far beyond. My trip is a
long one, but I try to keep both my eyes fixed on the road, my mind
empty of any distractions, this is hard enough as it is, I don't
need any more worries.

Driving alone helps; I don't hear anyone
talking about what happened yesterday, or the day before. It is
just me, and for once, I am thankful for it. The traffic is
moderate; leaving so early at night has proven most useful. But I
still got a long journey to go, a long and lonely one. Deep inside
I have a fear that Abigail will have noticed of my disappearance by
now and probably is more than furious. However, that does not make
me stop, nor makes me think about possible side effects to what I
have done.

I enter Maine four hours after leaving
home, the answer to the piece of paper lies only some miles away
from me and it is now that I start to realize that I am getting
closer and closer to Elizabeth somehow. I keep driving, crossing
more bridges and feeling the water beneath me as the precursor of a
fresh start, for both of us. It has come to a point that I hardly
feel the car, I drive as smoothly as I can and I am getting over
the fear I had when I left, it may be the adrenaline in me that
kills everything else, but I like it.

Nearly six hours after having a duel
with myself about this whole thing, I enter the town of Bath; the
wide streets are perfect for me, so I don't have to think too much
about driving. I go past the city hall, with the grey rocky pillars
welcoming me to the city. Nearly 8,500 people living here, I cannot
imagine living more at peace than this, far away from anything that
could mean trouble.

I drive around looking for Middle
Street, one hand holding the wheel, and the paper note with the
other. It seems impossible to get there, I have no idea of where
the street might be, so eventually I pull over near some neighbors
going for a stroll near the city hall to ask for directions. Two
nice women answer me with funny jokes and smiles, I have been
circling around the same street all the time instead of just
driving ahead, which would have lead me straight to Middle Street.
I thank them both with a wide smile on my face, impersonating their
own, and start the car again. I drive carefully enough not to miss
the corner I am supposed to take.

I turn right when I get to Middle
Street and keep a close eye to the numbers on the building's walls.
212 is a long way ahead. It takes me about five minutes of slow and
careful driving to get there. I am lucky and I can park the shiny
car that has attracted so much attention along the way right in
front of the door.

I get off the black BMW and walk
straight to the door. I pass by the mailbox and the surname Harris
is written on it with white painting and beautifully written
letters. No doubt, the woman that wrote the volume on the Immortals
lives here. I go up the stairs and knock the door, not knowing if I
should, but since I came all the way, I am not turning back now.
Not without my answer.

I hear footsteps on the more than
likely wooden floor. Before reaching the door, the footsteps stop,
I hear how the door unlocks and then slowly opens. To my surprise,
I am not welcomed by a Harris, after all. It is Abigail herself,
looking as furious as one could be.

"What on earth were you thinking?" She
shouts at me, grabbing my shirt by the chest and pulling me
in.

"You wouldn't take me here" I answer,
defensively.

"And for a reason!"

I hear a noise at the other end of the
big hall.

"Let him in dear, I am dying with
curiosity here."

Abigail looks at me, still
mad.

"Yes, you are famous here
too."

I walk behind Abigail as she leads me
through the house. We go past a beautifully wooden made kitchen and
go straight into a beautiful and exquisite living room. There is a
woman sitting on a black armchair and a man standing behind her,
smoking. They both look to be around sixty years old.

"Hello Alexander, ever so pleased to
finally meeting you" the woman says as she stands up to greet me in
her house. She is wearing colorful clothing, and her hair is as
messy as Abigail's. Her eyes though, are plain blue.

"You know me?"

"Of course we do" the man behind the
armchair says "My name is James, young man, Barbra's
husband."

"For now" Barbra adds to James's
introduction of himself "He did not do the washing up last night."
She is obviously joking, but her tone was so severe that I do not
realize about the joke until I see them holding hands.