STAIN (My Soul To Wake Book 1) (16 page)

His eyebrow perks up, arching itself.
“
Have they put out an APB on you yet
?
”

I shut my eyes as I take the first sip, savoring the hot drink. Nothing beats the first sip.
“
W
e’
re supposed to go home this afternoon
.
”

He hears me, I know he does, but he says nothing. The slice of toast that h
e’
s spreading a healthy smear of butter on is the only thing h
e’
s acknowledging at the moment.

“I’
m supposed to meet them back at the hotel
,
” I try again.

He has to answer now.
“
Umm hmm. I remember. W
e’
ll figure it out. If you want to go back, then
I’
ll rent out the house and move the business. If you want to stay here, then we will. You could even open a little coffee shop in town. Either way, i
t’
ll work
.
”

I place my mug down, but hold to the handle.
“
Wil
l
… you ca
n’
t leave your home. And I ca
n’
t leave mine
.
”

“
Sale
m’
s your home. Yo
u’
ll remember soon enough and then w
e’
ll figure out where we want to call home base
.”
He seems confident.

“
I
-
”

He interrupts me, dropping his fork on the table to take my free hand in his.
“
I
t’
s only an address. We can move to Hong Kong if you want. I do
n’
t care where we go. Yo
u’
ll be by my side.
I’
ll be by yours
.
”

I swallow and do the only thing I can think of. I nod.

~*~

“
Ready!
I’
ll be right there
.
” I answer Wil
l’
s calls from near the front door as I scoop yesterda
y’
s clothes into the little canvas bag. H
e’
s called me three times. I find myself moving painstakingly slow.

Crouching down, I scratch behind Moos
e’
s ear. He angles his snout up, stretching further into my fingers. His tail wags.
“I’
ll see you, boy
.
”

His dark eyes watch me as I lean in to kiss the top of his furry head. I feel him walking closely behind, trotting, the pads of his paws moving along. He rubs against my leg, begging for more attention.

I ca
n’
t turn to him, I ca
n’
t stop in my tracks to give him what he wants. I know if I do,
I’
ll lose it. The dog
I’
ve always wante
d
… this dog that
I’
ve bonded wit
h
… I ca
n’
t accept that i
t’
s possible this could very well be the last I see of him.

I pull the door closed behind me, listening to him scratch against the inside, wanting to follow me further. I slip my sunglasses on to shield my welling eyes just as a tear beads itself to spill.

~*~

I can feel him shifting his eyes to me.

Ther
e’
s a weird charge to the energy in the cab of the truck.  An anticipation, an expectation. I know this feeling. I distinctly remember having the same knot of bundled nerves in my stomach in the fourth grade while waiting to take my place in the center of the stage of our end-of-the-year play.

I felt like throwing up, then. I feel like that now, too.

With each turn of the tires, we draw closer to our destination. Somehow, I expected our trip to take us deep into the realm of nowhere, far removed from the whole touristy aspect of the city, but instead, we follow main roads and end our journey in the parking lot of a small elementary school building.

I
t’
s a Sunday, so the playground should be empty which will allow plenty of privacy for what oddly enough feels like the most important moment of my life. I
t’
s the culmination of years and years of nightmares, and the past handful of days of dreams. Could this finally explain why
I’
ve been plagued this way? Are they really memories instead?

Not to mention reaching the pinnacle of my relationship with Will. Ther
e’
s no getting around the fork in road at which we find ourselves. If we turn one way,
I’
m the reborn, reincarnated wife he desperately loves and has been waiting for. If we turn the other,
I’
m nothing but a cheap imitation of some grandiose manifestation of his grief.

I can feel his eyes wandering over to me, checking for any sign to indicate that
I’
m ready to take the journey. The truck has cooled in the long moments w
e’
ve been sitting, each lost in our own thoughts.

“
Does it hurt
?
” I blurt out the only question I can think of.

I’
m not a fearful person, but the idea of touching an object only to have every memory and feeling of a past life come rushing back does
n’
t strike me as something that would be pleasant. Especially if my nighttime episodes are a good indication of what those memories will be like.

Will reaches for me, closing his fingers around mine. I see him make the movement and notice the tiniest bit of quivering throughout his hand before he settles around my own. H
e’
s nervous too. The warm clamminess of his flesh only provides more evidence that he ca
n’
t be as calm and in control as h
e’
s so desperately trying to be.

“
For m
e
… it was just intense. Like a bright white ligh
t
… like lightning, charging through me. It was
n’
t painful, but it is
n’
t something I would want to feel twice
.
”

I widen my eyes at the explanation of his own experience years before. It does
n’
t exactly reassure me.

“
Why did Malcolm choose this place for you? I mean, what he did, how he
put you
to sleep
.
” I want desperately to use the term
murder
, but think twice about it
.“
Why did he choose here, the tree, to do it? To leave your stain here? You could have done it anywhere
.
” I ask him one of the questions tha
t’
s been plaguing me.

His fingers soar to life, smoothing themselves over the cold skin of my hand.

“
I wanted it to be in the last place that you were. The place where you took your last breath. We made vows. I promised to remain by your side through good and bad, in sickness and in health. I thought life and death were part of that, too. If I had to wait over three hundred years to see you again, I wanted some small part of me to be with you, to be by you
.
” His explanation of something so dark and evil is beautiful in its own right.

I swallow. H
e’
s being patient, careful not to rush me before
I’
m ready. I have a long list of questions but ca
n’
t seem to settle on any particular one. I
t’
s time to answer the biggest question of all.

“I’
m ready
.
” Well, as ready as
I’
ll ever be. Sitting here pondering the possibilities just seems to make the situation more daunting to me.

He raises my knuckles and brushes his lips against them.
“
Then le
t’
s go start the rest of our lives
.
”

We each push on the door next to us, stepping out into the late morning. The sun is struggling to penetrate the thick layer of darkened clouds that have rolled in. The once gentle breeze has now grown, getting fierce in its warning to take cover.

We have some time, I think, though. Not very many people can say the
y’
ve done this before, but I ca
n’
t imagine it taking all that long. The heavy sky above is getting ready to spill showers but holds them for now, like a sagging cloth filling but stretching to hold the contents. Will notices this, too. Our pace quickens as we race against the imminent downpour.

The vibrant green of the manicured schoolyard quickly changes to the artificial beach sand of the play area, with him leading the way as we swerve through the large and colorful swings and slides.

A loud crack of thunder rips through, causing me to jump. Wil
l’
s hand grows tighter, trying to calm me however he can.

We leave the schoolyard behind, stepping past the border of trees that line the property and into the brush. It does
n’
t take long before whatever sunlight is left is stamped out, hidden from us through not only the storm clouds, but the trees as well.

Unlike the last trail Will took me down, leading to Malcol
m’
s old house, this one is definitely not a well-worn one. There is no carved out path indicating where to step next. I do the only thing I can, and follow in his wake as his large form pushes through the branches of overgrowth.

Another deafening roar of thunder violently sounds from above, followed by lightning. I try to remember the old trick of counting seconds between the two to determine how many miles away the coming storm is.

Is it one mile for every second? Two?

I do
n’
t have time to solve the equation as we step into a clearing, the protection of the trees that we leave behind forms a perfect circle surrounding a grass-and-weed filled area with one overly large and ancient looking tree in the middle.

I
t’
s real
.
At least the tree is real
.

I do
n’
t know if I had even gotten around to thinking about the possibility that there would
n’
t even be a tree to substantiate the rest of Wil
l’
s claims, but somehow, the thought must have lingered down deep, because as soon as I see the very real and very frightening tree ahead, my stomach drops.

So far, everything h
e’
s told me seems to be working itself out.

Perhaps the rest will, too. Maybe I really
am
her? The heartbreaking possibility of his being wrong begins to fade. I turn to him. His eyes are cold, set hard on the tree.
I’
ve been thinking only of how this possibility of a place would affect me, but did
n’
t even give a thought to how it would upset him.

He wholeheartedly believes this is the very last place on earth that his wif
e
… I quickly correct myself, that
I,
lived my last moment. This is the place where everything that boy lived for and wanted in life was ripped from him. I can feel the sadness and anger pouring off him.

The hardening muscle of his jaw is pulsing. The color of his flesh beginning to look like a fresh burn.

“I’
m so, so sorry
.
” He does
n’
t dare look at me, doing his best to hide the glimmer of a tear.

I turn to him, ignoring the tree for the moment.
“
Why? You have nothing to be sorry fo
r….
”

His voice cracks.
“
I let it happen. I was
n’
t strong enough. I-
-
” he finally turns to me, his eyes showing pain.
“
--I could
n’
t hold on to you
.
”

The rawness of his emotion is overwhelming. I can feel every drop of his pain as surely as I feel the first raindrop fall to my skin. I move to speak, to ease his torment somehow.
I’
m not given the chance.