Ephraim and I argued again. It seems we’ve become stuck in this cycle that keeps repeating. He promises to stay and I forgive him. We’re happy for a time before he becomes restless and accepts another mission that will take him away from us again. I beg him to change his mind and to stay but it’s no use. We argue and I beg and cry but nothing changes. He will leave this time just as he did the last. It’s become clear to me that he will always choose his duty over his family. My heart is breaking even as my resolve grows stronger.
I’ve spent my life unsure of my purpose in this world. I felt lost and untethered until Ephraim came along. I thought he was the answer. I thought he would somehow make me whole. I was wrong. I know now that this child is my purpose. My only focus now is making certain that my baby is safe and happy. I realize now that this place, this life makes that impossible. The baby will be here in just a few weeks, but I can’t wait that long. Ephraim swore to return before the baby is born, but I won’t be here. I will give my child a better life and the choice that was never given to me. To any of us.
Bree turned to the next page but it was blank. She quickly flipped through the rest of the book. Every page was blank. That was it? Disappointment bloomed within her and she closed the journal. She let her hands trail over the soft leather cover, her fingers tracing the small engraved letters etched there. She wasn’t sure what she’d been hoping to gain from reading Charlotte’s words, but she was certain she hadn’t gotten it. She was left with more questions than she’d had before.
She now knew that Charlotte and Ephraim hadn’t had a perfect marriage. Charlotte had been so unhappy that she’d planned to leave the Praetorians, taking their unborn child and starting a new life. Bree tried to imagine the courage it would have taken for a young mother in 1923 to leave all she knew behind and raise her child alone. She felt a spark of admiration for Charlotte. She’d loved her husband but the love and protection she’d felt for her child surpassed that love. She’d made a decision to protect her child above all else.
Bree felt a tightness in her throat and was shocked to find that her vision had blurred with tears. Why was she so sad over the death of a woman she’d never met? Charlotte had been gone for nearly a century, but her sadness and desperation had been so clearly evident in her journal entries. And she’d failed. Ultimately, she’d been unable to save herself or her child. There was no record of Ephraim having had a child and Charlotte had been killed in the spring of 1923. Bree wished she knew more about the circumstances surrounding Charlotte’s death. She hated an unfinished story and that’s what this was.
She wondered if Lydia might know more about Charlotte. She was the only person Bree could think of who might. Lydia collected books on Praetorian history. Bree had asked her about Ephraim, but she hadn’t asked her if she knew anything about his wife. Her mind made up and the journal in her hand, she left her quarters in search of Lydia.
Bree found Lydia as she was walking out of James’s classroom, having just dropped him off for his morning class. She gave her a smile and fell into step beside her.
“Got a second?” Bree asked.
Lydia smiled. “Sure,” she said. “I was just going to kill time folding laundry while James is in class but I’d much rather have actual conversation with an adult.” They both laughed as they turned to walk down the hall.
They got coffee from the cafeteria and took it with them as they walked through the halls. Bree didn’t want to sit. She felt strangely anxious and she wasn’t sure why. She handed Lydia the journal as they walked, but didn’t offer an explanation. Lydia looked from the book to Bree and back again. Then she handed her mug to Bree so she could open the book. When she read the first entry, her eyes widened and she looked back to Bree who only nodded.
“I know,” she said. “Keep going.”
Lydia skimmed her eyes over the pages as they walked, occasionally reaching over to take her mug from Bree and sip her coffee before handing the mug back so she could flip the page. Bree almost smiled at the image. Lydia was so much like herself. No wonder they got along so well. After a few minutes, Lydia stopped reading though Bree could tell it was difficult for her. She closed the book and took her mug back, finishing off her coffee.
“Where did you find this?” she asked, her voice holding a note of wonder.
Bree said, “In the library. It was on a bottom shelf. I wasn’t even sure what it was at first.”
Lydia took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t even know this existed,” she said, her fingers trailing over the cover. “Charlotte Marsh’s journal. Wow.” She sounded shocked and amazed.
Bree remembered her own reaction when she’d realized what the book was and nodded. “That’s how I felt too,” she said. “I’ve had it for a while, but I just finished reading it this morning. I wanted to talk to you about it before, but I wasn’t sure what I’d even say. I wanted to finish it first, I guess. I think I was just hoping it would give me some answers.” She looked back to Lydia. “It didn’t. Not really,” she added. “I don’t know what I was hoping to find.” She sighed.
Lydia gave her a nod. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “Trying to make sense of Ephraim’s reasoning will just make you crazy. I don’t doubt that he loved his wife and maybe his grief made him crazy. That might be enough to justify his actions in the beginning. But it’s been nearly a hundred years. There has to be more to it than that.” She looked down at the book in her hand and sighed. “I hate unsolved mysteries.”
Bree laughed. “You and me, both,” she said. “What do you know about Charlotte?”
Lydia gave a tilt of her head and seemed to be thinking. “I know she died in April of 1923. The reports weren’t very detailed about how she died, just that she did. Ephraim was there along with the leader of their division at the time. His name was Thurston Thomas. From what I’ve read, the two of them were close friends until the night Ephraim decided to flip out and kill a bunch of people.” She gave Bree a sardonic look. “That tends to put a damper on the friendship, I think.” Bree chuckled.
“Anyway,” Lydia went on. “All I know for sure is that Charlotte died in the middle of the night in a hotel in New York. Why she was there and how it happened isn’t clear. Thurston ordered Ephraim to go on a mission. Ephraim didn’t want to go and argued against it, but he ultimately caved and went anyway. Thurston went with him. I’m not sure how they ended up with Charlotte in that hotel, but something happened that night that ended with her death. Then Ephraim went to the council and well...” she held out her hand. “You know the rest. He’s been hunting us ever since.”
Bree thought about Lydia’s words. It made sense. Charlotte had been planning to leave Ephraim before her baby was born. Maybe she’d made her way to New York, but Ephraim found out and followed her there. They probably argued. Had Ephraim killed his pregnant wife? It was possible, given what she knew of who he’d become. It didn’t seem likely, however. The doting husband from Charlotte’s journal didn’t seem the type to murder his wife. Or maybe she was his first victim? Bree still felt like she was missing some key part of the story.
They’d been walking for several minutes without any real direction and Bree realized as she looked around that they were approaching the end of the corridor. The only thing left was the elevator and the door to the stairwell. She slowed to a stop, preparing to turn around when she felt something brush her arm. It was just a whisper of a touch, but she felt it. She turned quickly, expecting to see someone there. The hallway behind them was empty. She and Lydia were alone. But she knew she hadn’t imagined it. Something had brushed against her arm when she’d stopped walking. She felt her heartbeat accelerate and she turned to look at Lydia.
Her unease must have shown on her face because Lydia said, “What is it?” Her brow was furrowed and she glanced around the hallway as Bree had done. Lydia turned back to Bree and gave a tiny shrug. There was no one there. Still, Bree’s unease didn’t lift. She tried to force down the sudden knot that wa
s forming in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t seem to shake the odd feeling. Something was wrong but she didn’t know what it was. She and Lydia began to walk back in the direction of the cafeteria.
Bree resisted the urge to turn and look behind them as they walked. She forced herself to walk slowly and calmly, even as she longed to sprint down the hallway and away from whatever was causing the uneasy feeling. The sensation of being watched crept up her spine, intensifying with every step. She glanced at Lydia who wore a worried expression. Bree wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to her own behavior or if Lydia sensed it too. Neither spoke, but they both began to walk slightly faster. Not far ahead, Bree could see where the narrow hallway spilled out into the much larger corridor. That area was generally much more active than this narrow off–shoot. She kept her eyes on that spot, watching it grow closer with every step. The feeling in her gut didn’t lessen as they walked. If anything, it grew stronger. Bree longed to get back to the common area, someplace that felt less isolated. They were a dozen yards away when Bree heard it. The unmistakable click that she’d come to know so well over the past several months.
“That’s far enough,” she heard a female voice say. She and Lydia froze.
Chapter 28
After Declan’s meeting with Conrad, he decided to go and visit Rowan. When he got to Rowan’s office, he saw his friend pacing back and forth behind a bank of computer monitors, clearly concentrating intently. He would occasionally mutter under his breath or scribble something onto a notepad. Declan had never watched him work before. His brow was drawn low behind his glasses and he didn’t seem to realize that there was someone else in the office with him. After a minute, Declan finally cleared his throat, causing Rowan to look up and give an absent wave before he scribbled something else onto a piece of paper.
“Declan, hey. What’s up?” Rowan asked, now staring at another screen and tapping keys on a keyboard. Declan knew he was interrupting what was probably important work, but he walked closer to the desk.
“Not much,” he said, looking around at the chaos of Rowan’s office. “What are you working on?” He gestured to the screens.
Rowan looked up from the monitor he’d been studying. “Hmm? Oh. Nothing major,” he said after a moment. “Just the usual day–to–day intel.”
Declan was taken aback. He knew that Rowan’s ability to process information was far beyond other people’s, but he hadn’t realized just how much work the man had to do on a regular basis. He was slightly impressed. “I didn’t realize how much you had going on in a typical day around here,” he said.
Rowan rolled his eyes and waved a hand as though dismissing what he did. “I’m about to take a break. I skipped breakfast and I’m starving. If you want to hang out for a few, we can grab a bite?” Declan nodded and moved to sit in the empty chair. Rowan immediately went back to work as though he weren’t there.
Declan watched Rowan walk among the monitors for several minutes, muttering and scribbling and scratching his head. Spotting a stack of blank copy paper, he snagged a sheet and a pencil from the cup on Rowan’s desk. Not knowing how long Rowan's few minutes might be, he began to sketch. There was an easy silence in the office broken only by the scratching of pencil on paper or Rowan's occasional mumblings which he didn't seem to realize were aloud.
A little over a half hour later, Rowan finally dropped his pencil on to the desk and sighed. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before replacing the glasses on his face. “You hungry?” he asked Declan who was finishing up his sketch.
“I could eat,” he said. Blowing away the dust on the paper, he placed the pencil back in the cup on Rowan's desk and handed him the paper.
Rowan accepted it with a bemused expression and looked down at what he’d drawn. He chuckled when he saw that Declan had drawn him as he’d worked. He looked back at Declan, a smile still on his face. “Not bad, man,” he said with a nod. “I mean, this guy’s not nearly as handsome as me, but it’s close.”
Declan laughed at that as he stood. “I’m happy to see your confidence doesn’t need a boost,” he told him. They left Rowan’s office trading friendly insults with one another as they walked.
As they made their way toward the elevator, Declan changed the subject. “I did have a reason for coming to see you this morning,” he said.
Rowan turned to him, eyebrows raised in question.
Declan tried to decide how to phrase his question. Finally, he said, “What’s it like? Your ability, I mean.”
Rowan thought for a moment before responding. “It’s kind of hard to explain unless you’ve experienced it. I’ve read up on all sorts of people and all kinds of conditions. I think the closest thing is when I’ve read about people having manic episodes. It’s like my brain is on full blast and I’m just being hit with everything at once. I have to slow it down and kind of play it back sometimes to catch it all. When I was a kid, it was really hard to control it. My dad would find me crying in a corner, just begging it to stop. I remember him just looking so helpless. His kid was hurting and there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it.”
Declan tried to imagine what being inside Rowan’s head must be like and found that he almost didn’t want to know. He pictured a frightened little boy, unable to understand how to control his own mind. He was impressed by Rowan all over again. Not for his Praetorian ability but for his ability to function normally despite it.
Rowan went on, “Eventually, I figured out where the off switch was.” He chuckled. “That was seriously the best day of my life for a long time. Now, I can turn it on when I want to and off when I don’t. It’s not exactly a picnic when your brain is constantly throwing info at you.”
Declan nodded his agreement. “I can imagine,” he said. “I’d say you’ve managed it pretty well, all things considered.” He watched Rowan’s face lose its amused expression. He looked thoughtful but Declan thought he caught a hint of sadness there.
“I guess,” Rowan said. “The thing about turning it off is that you can miss something you should have seen. People you care about end up dead.” He pushed the button for the elevator as Declan stood next to him, silent. He looked over to Rowan, his gaze sympathetic and curious.
Rowan did his best to school his features to a neutral expression, but Declan could see that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The elevator doors opened and they entered, Declan pressing the button for Level 3. They were both silent during the short elevator ride, lost in their own thoughts. Declan wondered if he’d made a mistake. Maybe Rowan didn’t want to teach him about his ability. As they stepped out into the hallway however, Rowan surprised Declan by speaking again.
“Not quite a year ago,” he said in a low voice, “I lost my girlfriend.” He shook his head. “Girlfriend,” he scoffed. “Such a weak word. Stella was…” he trailed off and took a deep breath and blew it out. “She was it, you know?” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he only shook his head.
Declan felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. He was so clearly hurting. He thought back to the story Corbin told him the night Pax had been injured. He’d mentioned losing Stella but he hadn’t mentioned her relationship with Rowan. Maybe he’d thought it wasn’t his story to tell. When he looked back at Rowan, Declan could see in the other man’s eyes everything he wasn’t saying. He’d clearly loved Stella. Her loss still haunted him.
He thought of Bree’s eyes, her smile, the sound of her laugh and he understood what Rowan was trying to say. Sometimes words weren’t enough. “I know what you mean,” he said.
Rowan walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped. He nodded. “She left for a mission that night. I kissed her goodbye and she just never came back. That was the last time I saw her.” He sighed. “I still feel like I could have done something, should have seen it coming, something. The most important person in my world died and I didn’t have a clue. All because I needed a break. I hit the off switch and she died.”
He
spoke in an angry voice that Declan had only heard from him that night at Corbin’s place. He wasn’t used to seeing Rowan as anything other than cheerful or sarcastic. It felt strange to be witness to this sort of emotion. He watched as a muscle in Rowan’s jaw ticked.
Declan sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, knowing his words were inadequate for Rowan’s pain. “I could tell you it’s not your fault, but I know it won’t make a difference.” Rowan didn’t look up from his feet as they walked. Declan didn’t know what else to say and he imagined that anything he did say wouldn’t help his friend anyway, so he kept quiet.
As they entered the busy cafeteria, Rowan seemed to deliberately shed his melancholy expression, forcing a smile onto his face. He greeted several people with a smile and a wave as they walked. As Declan walked alongside him, he had the sudden realization that he was no longer a stranger here. He knew these people by name and they greeted him as they greeted Rowan who’d lived here his whole life. Declan had spent so much of his life feeling like he didn’t belong and that had become normal for him. He’d become so used to being just a bit outside of whatever was happening around him that the idea of home had seemed foreign until now. Somehow, he seemed to have made a home here in this place over the past few months. It was unsettling but he found that he liked the feeling.
They sat and ate in silence for several minutes before Rowan lowered his fork and looked at Declan, his expression serious. Declan gave him his full attention. It took another moment for Rowan to speak. “Declan,” he said. “This place, this war, it can change you. It can take over your life if you let it. You and Bree are happy now and that’s great. It’s hard to find what you guys have and even harder to hang onto it.” Declan wondered what Rowan was getting at. “I just don’t want you to focus so much on the fight that you forget what’s really important. What you’re fighting for.”
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