Marked for Love

by Hannah West

  It had been just like Noelle’s favorite fairy tales. A chance meeting at a chance time had led to a whirlwind romance and marriage after their instant compatibility. They had an immediate, strong connection. They were each other’s perfect companions, their destined person. It had been Noelle’s dream since she was little. She would meet her soulmate, get married, have kids - her perfect life.

  All of that had been shattered when she had walked into that one-story house and seen Lydia’s body on the floor.

  Noelle knocked back the rest of her drink. “More, please,” she said to Sylveo, who poured more scotch.

  “Long day?” Sylveo asked, apologetic.

  “You could say that.” Noelle stifled a yawn. One more drink would be enough to knock her out for a good long while. Maybe she would forget about Lydia. Forget that strange, empty feeling in her chest. The grief she felt for someone she had never met. She swirled the scotch in the glass, eyes on the way the amber liquid swirled.

  Finishing the drink, she put cash on the bar and her empty glass on top of it. The world was slightly wobbly, and her stomach felt full of liquid fire. She clutched the bar as she stood, swaying unsteadily. Noelle smiled. It was just as she had planned. She made her way out of the bar.

  “It’s not fair,” she told the street pole as she toddled down the road. “I didn’t even know her.” Noelle stared plaintively at the mail box. That was the downside to moving to a new city for such a time consuming job - it was difficult to meet people outside of work. Six years later, being a workaholic still hadn’t helped much in that regard.

  She nearly stumbled off the curb. “Why do I miss her?” she asked the pavement. It didn’t have an answer.

  It took her three tries to open the door to her apartment complex. Keys were oddly tricky when one was both tired and inebriated. Eventually she made it inside. “Home,” she declared. Her keys were hung on a hook on the wall, her pockets emptied onto the kitchen counter. She took off her clothes, grabbing pyjamas from the laundry basket and pulling them on. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  Walking into her bedroom, she plugged in her phone, didn’t set an alarm, and went to sleep.

  Noelle sat in her car, staring at the steering wheel with mild trepidation. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, threatening to make her lose what little she had eaten that morning. It was ridiculous she had to go to that meeting in the first place, ridiculous that she had to go to several of them, but she didn't have a choice if she wanted to keep her job. She glanced at the building in front of her. Two stories, nondescript, yet far more terrifying than any suspect she had faced in her six years of police work.

  Grabbing her purse, she unlocked the door and got out of her car, closing and locking it behind her. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Ten minutes until the meeting was going to begin. Her short heels clicked against the pavement on the quick trip inside. The glass doors closed behind her without a sound, and she looked around the room she had entered. It was painted an institutional yellow, paint peeling from the walls where children had picked at it. There was chairs around the edges, and a small play table off to the side for any younger children. Next to it was a bookshelf, filled with shoddy children's books. On the far side was a glass half-wall, separating the workers from the general public.

  She headed over there, holding her purse closer to her. All she knew about this place was that it helped families who needed it, no matter what sort of family they were. It also hosted group meetings and counseling for those who either struggled with their soulmates or had lost them. That was what she was there for. She made her way to the glass, waiting until she was beckoned forward. "I'm here for the Loss Meeting," Noelle said, fidgeting with her purse in her hands.

  "Down the hall, take the second left, third door on the right," the woman said without looking up.

  "Thank you," Noelle said automatically, backing away and moving towards the hallway. She took a deep breath before stepping forward down the hall. The first left was a short dead end, the second led to a long hall, with several doors on both sides. She counted to three and stopped just before the open door. Was she ready for this? She wasn't, not really, but she knew she had to, so cautiously she stepped forward. There was a tall blonde-haired woman standing just inside the door, right next to a table with a small ledger on it.

  "Hello," the woman said with a warm smile. "My name's Michaela. You must be new." She reached out to grasp Noelle's hand, shaking it gently.

  "Yeah," Noelle said, managing a weak smile. She had never been very good at being social outside of work or the occasional night out with a close friend, none of which she had here. "My name's Noelle."

  "Nice to meet you." Michaela smiled again and gestured her towards the table. "Here's where you sign in - just your first name, we do provide anonymity between visitors. Then you scan your mark so your visit can be recorded into the database." Noelle stiffened, her hands balling into fists. They would know where she went, who she visited? "It only records the city," Michaela assured her. "They do not get access to where your meeting was, simply that you attended a valid Loss Meeting."

  Noelle relaxed slightly, enough to nod and smile. "Okay." She stepped forward, picking up the pen and signing her name. There was a handful of other names, none of which she recognized. That was a relief. At least she wasn't stumbling across victims or relatives from the homicides she had worked.

  "Take a seat," Michaela encouraged. "We'll get started in approximately five minutes. Feel free to mingle." She offered Noelle one last smile before moving on to greet a short brown-haired woman who had just walked in the door.

  Noelle stood uncertainly, glancing around. There were approximately fifteen chairs assembled in a circle, approximately three quarters of which were filled. Apparently people arrived early for the meetings. Most were talking in groups of two or three, except for one black-haired woman who was sitting by herself with open chairs on either side. Noelle took the chair to her left, next to another empty chair. The last thing she wanted was conversation. She wasn't up to it, not now. Not after what had happened.

  It still hadn't entirely sunk in, yet, that she was going to be alone for the rest of her life. That the one that was supposed to love her was dead. That's why she was there, surrounded by others who had lost their soulmates. The only difference was that they had known theirs first. Instead, Noelle had shown up to a crime scene only to find out later that the victim was bonded to her. Protocol was protocol, and she had ended up in a Loss Meeting less than two days later. She looked up to see the black-haired woman watching her with a curious expression. Noelle smiled faintly, not sure what else to say or do. She had much more confidence when chasing a suspect or appearing in court.

  “Hello,” she said, nodding at the strange woman.

  “Hello,” the woman said with a polite smile. Then her eyes turned to Michaela as she stood at the front of the room.

  Michaela clapped her hands gently. “Let’s call this Loss Meeting to order.”

  Noelle swallowed, wiped her hands on her pants legs, and leaned back in her chair. What now? “For those who are new, first we introduce ourselves - first names, no occupation or other directly identifying information.” She smiled at Noelle. “Then, it’s sharing time. We talk about problems we have been having, or how we’re coping. You are free to share or not share, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Noelle affixed the smile to her face, feeling like she would need that a lot. She had nothing to share, not really. What did she say? That she had lost her soulmate before she had ever known her? That wasn’t typical, not at a meeting like this.

  She listened as the others introduced themselves as a widow or a widower, and the length of time. It was her turn sooner than she had wanted it to be. “Hi, I’m Noelle, and I lost my partner - um.” She stopped, feeling stupid. Could she say it? Did she want to say it? “Two days ago,” she finished.

  The demeanor in the room changed, becoming palpably sad. “Well, we’
re very sorry for your loss and we applaud your strength, being able to come to a meeting so soon after,” Michaela said.

  “Thanks.” Noelle crossed one leg over the other and offered a tremulous smile to whomever looked at her before glancing down at her purse.

  “My name is Sara and I lost my partner eight years ago,” the black-haired woman said. Noelle glanced at her, surprised. She wasn’t any older than her late twenties. That was a relatively early tragedy, almost everyone else in the room was mid-forties or older. Then again, she could be an accident victim, Noelle mused. The younger she was, the more likely it was that she had lost her soulmate to a crime or to a disease.

  The meeting continued, and the sharing started. Several people took the time to speak, talking about the loss of their partner to cancer, or a robbery, or something else, the grieving process they had went through. Aileen talked about struggling with her wife’s loss after discovering her journals yesterday after four years. Robert talked about losing his wife to cancer and how a health scare of his own had brought back all of those memories.

  Noelle sat there, silent, with nothing to share. Her story was like none of theirs. Instead, she had showed up to work, walked into the crime scene, and seen someone she didn’t know. Then the database had given her the news, she was given a week off from work, and even alcohol didn’t make it better. Then she had gone home and gone to bed.

  Eventually the meeting wrapped up. Michaela talked about grieving, about accepting the loss and moving forward. About how that feeling would still be there, day after day, but learning how to live with it was an important step. Noelle felt strangely out of place. She wasn’t grieving, was she? It felt like there was a hole in her chest, like she couldn’t breathe, but surely that wasn’t grief. That was - anxiety, or something. She hadn’t even known Lydia.

  Noelle snapped out of it to hear Michaela wishing everyone a good week. “I look forward to seeing you all next week,” she said with a smile. Noelle couldn’t smile. She felt strangely exhausted, like all her limbs were weighted down. She wanted to go home and pretend none of that had ever happened.

  She glanced at the clock. Normally she would be going to work. Instead, she was stuck with a week off while she coped with the loss. She hated free time. Standing, she went to turn and leave but tripped over a leg in her way. She ended up on the floor, another person partially underneath her. “I am so sorry,” Noelle said immediately, standing up as quick as she could.

  Sara smiled as she stood. “It’s okay. Noelle, right?” she asked.

  Noelle resisted the urge to take a step back when she realized that Sara was about two inches taller than her. “Yes. Your name is Sara?”

  Sara inclined her head, offering a hand for Noelle to shake. “We should get coffee sometime,” she said, reaching into her pocket and offering Noelle a card with her number on it. “Call me.” Sara smiled enigmatically and then left.

  Noelle watched her go, holding the card in her hand. She glanced down at it. It wouldn’t hurt, would it, for her to call Sara? Maybe make a friend? She didn’t really have anyone else here, over a thousand miles away from her home.

  Noelle laid on her couch, looking at the card in her hand. 'Sara McClaire', it said, with a number underneath. A rather strange business card, Noelle mused. There wasn't even an occupation. Was she popular enough that she needed cards with just her name and number on it? Or did it hold secrets that Noelle couldn't see?

  She couldn't help but laugh at herself. There she was, creating puzzles on her days off. She was bored, that was certain. She grabbed her cell off of the coffee table and punched in the numbers on the card. Foreign area code, which meant Sara wasn't a native to the area. Why was she there, then? Work was an option. Maybe she had moved after her soulmate had died and just never changed her number.

  Noelle hummed, watching as her screen went dark. Sara hadn't seemed very distraught at the mention of her soulmate. Noelle had seen widows of twenty years act more distraught than Sara did after eight years. Maybe their bond hadn't been very strong? It was an option, although a less likely one. They were soulmates, after all. They were meant for each other.

  She pushed the power button on her phone, bringing the screen with Sara's number on it back into view. She took a deep breath and hit call, holding the phone to her ear and hearing it ring. Her stomach dropped - what if Sara didn't answer? What kind of message would she leave? Did Sara even expect her to call?

  "Hello?" the voice on the other end of the line shook her out of her thoughts.

  "Hi," Noelle said hastily. "It's Noelle, from the - the meeting." She stumbled over her words. What did she say? She wanted Sara to like her, wanted to make a friend for the first time in a long time. She liked her coworkers, but at the same time, she saw them enough at work, she didn't want to see them outside of it too.

  "Oh. Hello," Sara said, her voice warmer than it had been. "Want to grab some coffee?"

  So she didn't do platitudes, Noelle noted. "If you have time, I'd love to," Noelle said, moving the phone to her other ear.

  "Does tomorrow at three work for you?" Sara asked after a moment of silence. “The little shop on McClinton and Mill?”

  "Yes," Noelle said with a nod. The little shop wasn’t far from her apartment, and it wasn't like she had anything else to do. It'd be a welcome respite in the middle of her boredom. She still wasn't sure what she would do to make up the rest of the time she had. There was only so much exercising and shopping one could do before getting bored of it.

  "See you then," Sara said, and hung up.

  Noelle blinked as the call beeped its end. She certainly didn't waste time on pleasantries. Part of Noelle was offended, part was intrigued. What did Sara do that she didn't have to worry about pleasantries? Or was it only on personal calls that she didn't take the time? Noelle supposed she would find out. She tossed the phone back onto the table, not feeling the least bit apologetic for the thunk it made.

  It made the beep that signaled an incoming text and she lifted her head to see the number. Her mother. Noelle sighed and let her head fall back onto the arm of the couch. She hadn't told her mother about Lydia. It wasn't that Noelle didn't want to, but she didn't know what to say. How did she tell her mother that she would never be quite as happy as her mother had been? That she would never know her other half? Noelle barely remembered her father, but her mother always glowed when she talked about him, as if he was the best thing in her world. Noelle would never have that.

  She grabbed the remote and turned it on. Maybe the daytime soaps would keep her entertained until coffee the next day.

  Noelle started getting ready an hour before she was due to leave for coffee. It wasn't like she didn't have the time. She showered, took the time to ensure that her curly hair looked as good as it could, and stood, clad in a towel, in her closet. Picking clothes was always the hard part. It wasn't that she had much of a variety to choose from, but she wanted to look put together. Eventually she settled on jeans and a loose v-neck shirt that accented her tanned skin.

  Glancing at the clock she realized that she still had twenty minutes before she had to leave. The coffee shop they had agreed on was barely ten minutes away, and she didn’t want to get there too early to seem overeager. She had made friends in college, but college wasn’t the real world, and it was different when someone shared a class instead of sharing a life experience.

  Would Sara want to talk about their respective partners? Noelle swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. What would she say to that? She didn’t feel like she was grieving. There wasn’t anything to grieve; she hadn’t even known Lydia before her death. With a mental shake of her head she banished the thoughts away, turning her mind to what she needed to be doing. She gave herself a quick look-over in the mirror, checking her curls and what little makeup she had put on.

  Deciding that enough time had passed - she would only be fifteen minutes early - Noelle grabbed her keys, put her slim wallet and phone in her pockets, and then headed out the
door.

  It was a short drive before she was sitting at a small table, one leg crossed over the other and her phone in her hand. She could see a clock easily from where she was. It was a small coffee shop, a local one, with approximately eight tables. She had never been there before, but she knew of it. A couple of the other Detectives went there before their shifts to get coffee and get ready.

  The clock ticked in the quiet cafe. It was a slow period, Noelle estimated. School hadn’t gotten out, nor had work, so only two intermittent customers came in during the fifteen minutes she waited.

  At exactly three on the dot, Sara came in through the door. She was dressed in slim, dark blue jeans and a long-sleeve grey shirt. Her black hair was short, cut into a neat bob that accentuated her face. Her eyes were brown, framed by long, dark eyelashes. She had a soft nose and a friendly mouth, soft lips that Noelle were certain would be pretty if Sara smiled. She was on the tall side at five eleven, but she had only two inches on Noelle.

  “Hello,” Sara said with a slight smile, reaching out to shake Noelle’s hand. “Did you order?”

  “No.” Noelle shook her head. “Not used to all the choices,” she said, sharing a slight grin. Sara smiled in response - a full smile - and Noelle was gratified to see that she was right. Sara did have a lovely smile.

  Noelle stood and joined Sara in front of the counter, surveying the menu. She was used to the cheap coffee that she got at the police station. The shop was small, yes, but it made up for it in variety. Sara stepped forward first, talking quietly to the young man behind the desk. He rang her up and handed off the cup to the barista next to him.

  “Your turn,” Sara said, nodding to Noelle before moving towards where she could pick up her drink.