It seemed akin to a lifetime before they reached the stairs leading to their apartment; and Willow thought surely her heart would burst from suspense. Within a few steps, she and her siblings managed access to the stairs and raced into their home, Lea limping close behind.
Their apartment was dark. They paused in the living room, breaths shallow. What if others wishing her family harm laid in wait? Carefully, Willow wended her way toward her parents’ room, her sisters and brother on her trail. The door to her father’s bedchamber was left open and she stilled. Her entire body shivered, beyond the cold seeping through her skin.
“Fillion?” she whispered, entering the pitch black room.
“Yeah.” A weak reply. “In bed.”
His voice quavered and she could hear his teeth chattering. Her hands, trembling but sure, reached out and blindly felt along the edge of the bed until she found his body. He shook, despite the covers, which were damp.
“Are you bleeding?”
“No,” he whispered. “I passed out on the deck. In the rain too long. Couldn’t find dry clothes. Too weak to rummage through Leaf’s room.” He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Is Leaf OK?”
“I am well enough, My Lord.”
Fillion’s breath hitched, as if catching on a sob. “I wasn’t too late.”
The obnoxious, loud voice sounded instructions once more and Willow sighed heavily. They remained quiet as the unnatural woman issued her commands.
When the voice silenced, Leaf asked, “Are you well, My Lord?”
“Yeah. You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice.” Fillion adjusted his position on the bed. “I turned on the sprinklers and shut down the dome.”
“Ladies, I wish for a private word with Fillion, please.”
Willow contemplated resistance. But Ember tugged her hand and she filed out of the room behind her sisters. They groped along the walls until they reached the living room. Ember found her way to the cupboard and began striking a fire nest in a stone bowl. Each silent in their tasks, they roamed around the living room until all of the candles and lanterns were lit. The bio-rain continued to thunder upon the deck, and Willow peered out the latticed window to the world she no longer recognized.
Eventually, the bedroom door opened and Leaf emerged, his haggard steps thumping across the floor. She fixed her eyes toward the chamber, hoping to glimpse Fillion. Leaf approached as if every bone in his body ached. She could not say farewell to her brother. How would she bear it?
Leaf knelt and opened his arms to Laurel, who ran into his waiting embrace. Her small frame quaked with sobs as she clung to him. Their brother whispered into her ear. She nodded, knotting her arms around his neck one last time before pulling away. An affectionate smile warmed his ghastly features and he cupped their sister’s face and kissed her forehead then her nose. Slowly he stood, and his face grimaced with pain, his breath hissing through his teeth.
Next, he stood before her and his eyes filled with tears. “Be strong and resourceful, Willow Oak,” he whispered. “I shall return.” He crossed his heart then pulled her into a tight embrace. In her ear, he said, “An Outsider medical team will probably arrive to fetch Fillion. Do not fight them. Let him go, ma chère. It is not the last you shall see of him.” He wiped away a tear crawling down her face with his calloused thumb.
“I understand.” A faint, rueful smile pulled on her lips. “And, despite my protests, I have actually always preferred your company to that of a snake.” He laughed and she could not help but smile fully in response.
“You pay me a great honor.”
“Do not let it go to your head, Leaf Watson.”
They smiled at each other a heartbeat longer, and then he shifted Ember’s direction. The Daughter of Fire stood in the corner, lashes lowered and head dipped toward the ground. Her posture remained straight, however. Ember’s elegance and refined beauty remained evident, despite the sopping dress and damp tresses.
In a few quick steps, Leaf gathered his wife in his arms and kissed her as if they were the only two people who existed. Perhaps, in this moment, they really were. Willow no longer blushed, understanding the agony and sense of completeness in such moments. Their younger sister giggled daintily behind a hand. Nonetheless, silent tears continued to make trails down her flushed cheeks.
No words were spoken between Ember and Leaf. No whispers in her ear or his. Their kiss slowed and they held each other as if memorizing the beat of each other’s heart. With a final kiss, Leaf pivoted on his heel, issuing one last look over his shoulder before shutting the door.
The flames dancing upon the wicks momentarily bent with the soft breeze. In melancholy beats, the iron ring sang against the hewn wood, fading to nothing. A bewildered hush fell upon her home. Willow watched her sisters, who stood where Leaf had left them. How could they move? It was as if doing so would dissolve the last moments that were now just memories. Ember met her eyes, the panic rising in their dark brown depths. Laurel’s soft cries lanced Willow’s heart, and she broke through the spell of shock and grief and scooped up the girl.
She held her sister and let her weep, refusing to promise her sunshine, laughter, or another moment with their brother. The only goodbyes they had ever known were deaths. At age eight, her sister had known many hardships. But this one was different.
Laurel whimpered as the tears eased, her heart continuing to weep even as her body grew fatigued. The emotions soon gave way to sleep, the rise and fall of Laurel’s body fitful and troubled. Ember—with deadened eyes and wan complexion—reached for Laurel and carried their younger sister to her and Leaf’s bedchamber, quietly shutting the door behind her.
For a few moments, Willow simply stood. Shadows of bio-rain and tree branches swayed upon their red-tinted walls, hypnotizing her. Lightheaded, she gripped the edge of the cupboard. Breathe, she told herself once more. But it was difficult even to do something as mundane and automatic as that. She needed to start moving before her mind completely slipped away.
Willow grabbed a candleholder and trudged toward her chamber to change into dry clothes. The hallway filled with the soft glow of the candle’s flame. The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath her feet. Just as she passed Ember and Leaf’s bedchamber, a light tap sounded from the front door. Startled, Willow squeezed the iron holder. Slowly, as if in a trance, she approached the door, opening it a crack. On the other side, a stranger met her frightened gaze.
“Miss, is Fillion Nichols here?”
His accent was undeniably Outsider, with his quick speech mannerisms and clipped words. The hollow, empty feeling in her chest permeated every part of her body with his question.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered in reply. Willow opened the door all the way. A man and a woman stood beside him, boasting bizarre hair colors and wearing similar fashions of form fitting tunics and breeches, as well as a white cloak with sleeves, edged in sky blue. Women wore breeches in the Outside? Most shocking was Canyon Daniels’ presence, and she stiffened.
“Leaf bid me lead them to your home, Your Highness,” Rain’s brother said.
“Thank you, Canyon.” He bowed, shooting one last anxious look at the Outsiders before disappearing down the stairs. She turned back to the strangers and, in a small voice, eked out, “Please, come in.”
They entered, carrying a litter, each shifting with obvious discomfort as they looked around the family’s apartment. Water dripped and pooled where they halted, adding more puddles to the others that dotted the planked flooring of the main room. Eventually, the trio rested their eyes upon her. They studied her mud-soaked clothes, soot-splotched face, and stringing wet hair, taking in her full measure with careless disregard, as if she did not possess dignity or feeling. In response, she angled her head to the side and lifted her chin.
“My name is Seth, and this is Corey and Andie. We are Guardian Angels at the lab.” He extended a hand and she stared at it, drawing her brows together.
“Have I offended you?” she asked me
ekly.
“Uh, no, not at all, miss.”
She considered the outstretched offering once more. The act seemed barbaric to Willow, as he presented no meaning to his gesture. What man asked for a woman’s hand without proper explanation or clear motive? Nervous, she flit her eyes to his, then turned away and trundled toward her father’s room.
“Follow me,” she said simply.
Another step, another snap, and pieces of her heart trailed behind her like bread crumbs. Her thoughts grew more dark the closer she came to Fillion, until the grief painted everything black—each stone in the archway, the path down the hallway, the abyssal hole in her heart.
Entering her father’s chamber, she said, “My Lord, you have visitors.”
“Willow?” he asked, eyes-widened at her disheveled state. His ashen features appeared gaunt despite the warm glow of candlelight. Fillion gradually moved to a sitting position and looked past her to the doorway and she watched as the air visibly left his body. “Damn it. I told Hanley not to send in a medical team. That bastard.”
“We have orders, Mr. Nichols.”
“And if I resist?”
“Law enforcement is just outside The Door.”
“Shit.” Fillion lifted his troubled gaze toward hers. “I’ll be OK.”
She furtively looked toward the Outsider and then studied her own fierce grip on the candlestick. “Yes, My Lord.”
Fillion glared at the Outsiders and barked, “Give us five minutes. Shut the door on your way out.”
“Mr. Nichols––”
“Now!”
They stared at her before departing, clearly communicating their disapproval. She flushed under their scrutiny, feeling stripped of her pride once more. Fillion was a prince of their world and what was she, really? A pretend princess in a game designed for science.
When the door shut, Fillion elevated his shoulders a notch. Gingerly, he coaxed the candlestick from her hand and placed it upon the nightstand. Pushing off the bed, he stood on shaky legs, swaying slightly. He gripped the edge of the bed until the spell passed. Willow placed her hands on his forearms for extra support and a corner of his mouth lifted for half of a heartbeat. Once regulated, he drew her into a loose embrace and smoothed away a wet strand of hair from her eyes.
“Why are they ordered to take you?”
“I broke the law. Again. I’m in a helluva lot of trouble,” he said. “Probably going to prison.”
A sob formed deep in her chest and her body tensed with the effort to remain in control. “I shall not survive the heartache of losing another I love. The pain...” She hiccupped with the effort to not weep. “The pain is unbearable. My heart is breaking for you.”
His eyes rested on the candle. “I don’t know where or how. Not even when,” he whispered. “But I will see you again. I don’t want a relationship ‘full of nevers’ with you.”
“Spin the tales and weave the stories together, My Lord. Make a reality of your own.”
He softly bit down on his bottom lip and took her hand in his. Maintaining a downcast posture, he cleared his throat. “Wait for me?”
“I would wait an eternity for you.”
A vulnerable, boyish smile warmed his face. It was just as heartbreaking as the first time she glimpsed it several weeks prior when saying farewell through the portal. Gray eyes wandered over Ember’s wedding gown with an expression akin to humility. The wet garment clung to the curves of her body. But she did not blush, nor look away from his imploring gaze.
The invisible thread stitching their lives together pierced her heart and looped the final knot with his. The tempo of his breathing altered just as much as hers; and she knew he felt the strange energy, too.
The tips of his fingers traced along her face and combed into her hair. He tilted her head up toward his and lowered until their lips caressed in a gentle slow dance. The touch was beyond intimate, as if their hearts were handfasting, each beat a whispered pledge and promise. Dressed in a wedding gown and alone in a candlelit bedchamber, it was easy to pretend she was his bride; and her pulse quickened with such heady thoughts. His breath became hers. His kisses akin to poetry, sonnets of love and loss, of passion overflowing with unspeakable beauty. But, as usual, they needed to drink each other in and drink fast, their stolen time precious.
Overcome, she pressed a hand to his heart and whispered against his lips, “Voici un témoignage de mon affection, conservez-le bien.”
He covered the hand with both of his, and whispered in reply, “Korekara zutto, ore no jinsei wa anata no mono desu. Zutto eien ni sasagemasu.”
The door opened a crack and she jerked away from Fillion’s embrace, heart racing. “We need to leave, Mr. Nichols.”
A muscle twitched in Fillion’s jaw once more. Silence stretched unbearably. Then he issued a curt nod. She watched as they moved him onto the litter. As they draped a blanket over his body. His eyes closed for a moment. Images of her father’s corpse being carried out of her family home to burn upon a funeral pyre scraped across her mind. The scream worming in her gut clawed upward. Still, it refused to emerge.
The hungry floor reached up with greedy fingers to claim her if she crashed. Whispering her name with promises of no pain. Willow shoved fear’s voice out as far away as possible, her vision fading as the blood rushed from her head. This pain was beautiful. This misery an experience she did not wish to forget. For he was worth it. He needed to know that someone would grieve his absence. Tears shrouded her cheeks as she quietly wept, holding back the urge to double over and keen.
The Outsiders gave instructions that Fillion was to remain hidden due to “media” clamoring outside the gates. Before his face disappeared beneath the odd, metallic sheet, Fillion met her eyes and slowly blinked. Those otherworldly eyes never missed beat, often trailing after her with keen intelligence, as if she were a cipher he needed to solve. And, at times, they provided glimpses of the man behind the pain and derision. But, in this moment, he looked upon her as if she were the light of day after a long, dark night.
Then, he was gone.
The scream dug its claws through her chest until it broke free from her raw, blistering pain in a heart-shattering wail. With each gulp, each breath, she filled her lungs with the altered atmosphere of her fractured community. It would become a part of her, sustain her. But, right now, it burned as if a thousand fires.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Nothing was exempt. Not the leaves. The air she breathed. The water dripping from the bleeding sky. Nor her heart. She curled her fists tight, nails digging into her palms, as another doleful scream scorched through her body, unable to stop the dirge.
***
There are reports that the famed biodome city, New Eden Township, is under emergency evacuation. The gates are heavily armed with law enforcement and the scientific compound jammed wireless signals, preventing drones from capturing images. Management has commented that the scientific compound is under cyber-attack by what they believe to be a human rights hacktivist group. So far, it appears only one resident has emerged—a young male, believed to be sixteen to twenty years of age. But drones and journalists are unable to verify any details at this time. Shelve this newsfeed for continual coverage and up-to-date information. We’ll provide more details as they come in.
— Jack Arthur, “Attack on Mars: A War of the Worlds,” The Associated World News, October 29, 2054
***
It seemed like hours since Fillion left the Watson apartment. But it had only been minutes. His mind was fading again. Weakness flirted with his stamina long before his goodbye. Talking to Willow had drained what remained of his battery life, and he barely kept it together. The emotional toll was too much to quantify. So he didn’t. For once.
Before leaving, N.E.T.’s equivalent of a search and rescue team covered him with a thermal nanotech blanket. Almost immediately warmth infused his skin, slowly making its way to his core, regulating to his needs as his biometric stats changed. And. God. Never had heat f
elt so glorious. For a blessed moment, he didn’t have anything to rant about. Not even the metallic pitter-patter of raindrops crashing against the blanket. OK. So, maybe he did.
Fillion’s eyelids sank shut as his body lulled to sleep with the light jostling and heavenly warmth. The crunch of footsteps echoed in his ear, reminding him of the rush of wheat hulls in his pillow. And he smiled. Wait. He liked that sound? Whatever. His mind was rambling. Not a good sign. At least the mental tangents kept his thoughts focused on something besides Willow. That was a slippery slope he couldn’t navigate right now. A fight with Hanley awaited him at N.E.T. There was time later to process his and Willow’s separation and officially shut down.
“Mr. Nichols, we are about to cross through The Door. Per instructions, we are to keep the thermal sheet over you until you are safely inside the lab. Media drones and journalists are hovering at the gate. Do you understand the instructions?”
“Roger, roger,” Fillion murmured. Life was a bit soupy at the moment. He felt so weak—the antithesis of manliness. There was no help for it. Still, anything that allowed his body to continue to draw warmth was a reasonable plan to him, even at the cost of his ego.
“Here we go.”
The footsteps became softer, padded. Fillion figured they had left the biodome. A sharp pain lanced through him with this realization. He didn’t want to leave. In fact, he would be content living there the rest of his life. What would his mom have to say about that? Socially, Fillion had already suffered from isolation and confinement. The ever-watchful eyes of the media created an extreme environment. Although the biodomes closed in on him, the ceiling seeming to drop more and more each day, he would still rather be part of that world. Would still rather be with Willow, and with Leaf.
She’ll never be yours.
What was Hanley really saying? Like his employer could stop him from having a relationship with Willow. Yeah, so the world thought she was dead. So what? Miracles happen every day. Harming her or Leaf wouldn’t magically erase their existence. There was a different message in that simple statement. And Fillion began to worry. His mind was in no state to ponder the hidden, though.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 62
