Requiem

by London Saint James

  For that second time stood still. My heart screamed out. I know him, somehow I know him but my mind fought against the knowledge.

  “I need to see you again,” he said. He opened my door. “In the morning. We will talk in the morning.”

  When Cayden left I completely fell apart, flung myself onto the bed then curled myself up into a ball. I wrapped my knees up to my chest, holding my arms tight around them. I crumbled, literally in every sense of the word. My body shook, my head hurt, my voice muffled into my chest. This was worse than any déjà vu I had experienced tonight. I would take the pain of any memories, even the memories of the crash over this current emotion. And it did not matter I was soaking wet or if I got sick. My eyes were overflowing in traitor tears, and I didn’t wish to move.

  “Oh God!” I cried out.

  I was in more pain than I had experienced since the loss of my love and the ending of my life. My breath had been knocked from me. I could not find my lungs. It did not matter Cayden Cain looked so much like Austin because he wasn’t the man I loved. So for this, I knew those fault lines within my heart, which from time to time would shift and quake had broken open again.

  What did matter was the way I felt with Cayden’s simple touch. The kind, reassuring gesture when he reached out and touched the surface of my cheek, set my skin on fire. Lightning struck. It caused a fire which caught. The fire ran the entirety of my body until it found a home between my thighs. For this I was worse than a charlatan, worse than a cheater, worse than a liar. I should not have felt the burn, the desire, the sensation of sin which flowed like an electric current through me. Pure agony riddled my body. Cayden’s touch should be blasphemy to my flesh but God help me, it was not.

  “What have I done!” I screamed.

  Austin was the only man I have ever loved. The only man who could set my skin on fire yet I felt something in which I should not. I knew I had betrayed the love of my life for the weakness of my flesh. There would be no forgiveness, no absolution. No ending to this disloyal destruction of my deceitful soul.

  I cried out in heart wrenching protest. “What is wrong with me? This cannot be possible. Not possible!”

  For the desire of my heart, my love, my need for Austin, was in direct conflict to the desire I experienced still burning upon my flesh.

  Chapter Eleven

  DENIAL

  “Zander, I need a laptop. I have a lot of work to do on the script, and I have to get started.”

  Zander’s reply was scratchy. “Winter?” I obviously woke him up. “What time is it?”

  The sound of a yawn broke through the earpiece on the phone.

  I glanced over at the clock. “Five,” I replied. “Sorry to call you so early. I’ve not been able to sleep, and I want to keep my promise to you, but in order to do that I have to get started on the script. It’s not possible for me to stay here in New York. I need to go back home, but in order to go back home I must finish what I started here. I hope you understand.”

  “Winter, would you like to talk about what happened last night?”

  “No.”

  There was a long pause.

  “All right, I will have my assistant bring you a laptop, and I will come over at a more decent hour to check on you. Are you okay?”

  “I really would like to be alone today. I have a lot to do, and when I start a project I pretty much immerse myself in that project and nothing else. I am sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. It’s my process.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Zander. Sorry I woke you.”

  A few minutes passed. I paced anxiously, stopping only periodically to gaze out the window to see the endless line of traffic on the street below. It was hard to think, difficult to focus on anything other than the impossibility of Cayden. There was a small rapping at my door, which broke through my scattered thoughts. I took a breath then opened the door to find a short blonde lady, her heart-shaped face pale but pleasant. She stood in bunny slippers and wore a green fluffy robe. A laptop was tucked under her arm. I could tell she wasn’t fully awake. She looked very tired, but somehow she mustered up a smile. Her blue-eyed gaze met me.

  “Ms. Wells, Zander said you needed this right away.” She held out the laptop toward me.

  “Yes, sorry. I know it is early but I do appreciate it,” I replied.

  “No problem.” Her voice sweet and high in intonation. “If you need anything else call me. I placed my cell number on the sticky note on top of the laptop as well as the number to my suite. Oh, I am Melissa by the way, Melissa Brighton.”

  I wondered if she was somehow use to crazy people and insane hours. She seemed to be at ease in this situation however, I actually felt bad for rousing her out of bed at this hour.

  “It is nice to meet you, Melissa. Thank you for the laptop. I am sorry for disturbing you so early,” I apologized, taking the thin silver computer.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured. “It’s nice to meet you. I work for Zander and Cayden. I have heard a lot about you so it is actually nice to finally put a face to the name. I will see you later I am sure.”

  Melissa grinned then turned. She made her way back down the hallway, bunny slippers slapping the carpeted floor in a thwaping cadence.

  When Melissa rounded the corner at the end of the hall, I closed the door, made sure it was locked, and walked over to the desk. My coat, dry, still hung on the back of the desk chair, so I threw it off and took a seat at the desk in a hurry, actually. I turned on the laptop then found the wireless signal to the internet. An urge to find out about Cayden Cain overtook me. The need ate at me like acid. Oh, I had every intention of working on the script, so when I told Zander I needed to get started it was not a lie, but I also had to understand who Cayden Cain was. Cayden haunted me, and as much as I may want to, I could not deny how he made me feel.

  The home-page on the internet was set to a Google search engine. I typed “Cayden Cain” into the box then pressed the search button. Thousands of results popped up on the page before me. I scrolled down to find website after website dedicated to Cayden. I clicked on IMDb, Internet Movie Database, and looked at the overview. Cayden Cain was born in New York City on May 18th. He was twenty-three years old. Cayden was the exact same age now as Austin was when he was killed, but even stranger, Cayden was born in the same month, on the same date, in the same city only sixteen years later than Austin.

  Reading the mini-biography I discovered when Cayden was seven, he was involved in a car crash, which took the lives of his parents and left him the sole survivor from that accident. Cayden and his older brother, Chandler Cain, moved into the home of their aunt in London, England. The biography did not go into any details about the crash however, this information chilled me. I felt cold prickles arise upon my forearms. My arm hair stood on end. If Cayden was seven years of age when the accident took place that would be exactly sixteen years ago. That was the timeframe when Austin died in a car crash. This knowledge hit me, and it was necessary to stop reading for a moment. I stood up, paced around and bit at my bottom lip rather anxious.

  With my curiosity beyond peaked and nowhere near satisfied, I sat back down, strumming my anxious fingers on the desktop. The staccato sound of my fingers as they hit the desk seemed to get harder and louder. It was impossible to stop myself from searching out information. So, I focused my attention back to the laptop and returned my gaze to the computer screen once again.

  At the age of thirteen, Cayden attended a school geared toward the arts. At fifteen, he started his acting career. He starred in several amateur plays and productions. By seventeen, he had starred in a small foreign film and moved to Hollywood shortly after, gaining his groundbreaking role at the age of eighteen. The movie in which Cayden first gained his recognition glared at me. The words were harsh and demanding. The title of Cayden’s movie, Longing, the same title in which Austin was going to begin filming after our wedding. This information, the name of the movie, stunned me.

  Cl
icking on the movie title, I watched the web-page change. It took me to a more detailed description. I read a synopsis of the movie, beyond shocked to see this was not just a coincidence of the title; it was the exact same movie. I never knew the studio waited to film it. Oh, I figured the studio would have found another actor. I also knew the movie would have eventually been filmed. But I could not understand the length of time it took the studio in completing this project. The fact it was finally completed with Cayden sent my mind whirling. After all, what were the odds of such a thing?

  I stood up again only to find I had to leave the computer. I walked away from the desk bewildered, baffled, befuddled even. I actually started speaking out loud, talking to myself, trying to understand the odds, the astronomical odds at that. Impossible. It seemed like Cayden was taking the same path which Austin took. Perhaps picking up where Austin left off.

  “Not possible.” I muttered, nevertheless, the evidence was there.

  I forced myself to sit back down, face the information on the screen, and hoped to find something to explain this to me. But what was I going to find? Nothing made sense any longer. In fact, nothing had made sense to me since the death of my beloved yet just when I thought I could live, however incomplete my life might be, the incomprehensible appearance of Cayden Cain rocked me. Cayden and his presence, his very existence shook me to my core.

  Shaking the thoughts of Austin’s death, and the bizarreness of this current information, I continued to read. I clicked links to different movies, different web-pages, only to see the rise of Cayden Cain. Cayden has had nothing but success in his career with each new film rocketing him to higher heights of fame and recognition. A shooting star, bright and luminous. My hands trembled with the realization of my next move. There on the right of the screen, a gallery link. I took in a deep breath in preparation, but it was probably going to be a useless attempt to prepare myself for what I would see.

  When I clicked on the photo gallery the web-page changed. There before my incredulous eyes were hundreds of pictures of Cayden. Trust me; I did wonder if I had been living in a cave. But in truth, I did live within my own personal dark ages. As I scrolled down, passing pic after pic, the realization that it should be impossible that I did not know who Cayden was until last night struck me. While I did not keep up with Hollywood, I was aware of certain actors. However I had never seen Cayden. Understanding as to why Zander was so shocked with the news I did not know of Cayden Cain became apparent. There on the bright screen of the laptop, Cayden was captured, frozen in time, by some of the most disturbing and some of the most flawless, gorgeous photographs I have ever seen.

  Some of the photos were candid shots, taken as he walked out of buildings, as he was getting into cars, at the airport or coming off of film sets. There were pictures of Cayden looking none too happy while walking down the long barren expanse of gray concrete sidewalks. He walked with his head turned from the cameras or looking down with the saddest expression while he studied the ground beneath his feet. These pictures hurt me. However the pain I felt was not due to the hauntingly familiar face of Cayden, but for the sheer pain, sadness, and what looked like longing captured in his eyes.

  I gazed at pictures of crowds which swarmed in around him while his bodyguards struggled to keep the fans from him. Pictures of Cayden covered in black from head to toe wearing a hooded sweatshirt, dark sunglasses, and so very obviously trying to hide from the prying eye of the camera lens. The paparazzi had been busy. They obtained pictures of him seated in side of restaurants, drinking with friends, long-range shots along with shots of Cayden standing on the balcony of his hotel, shots of him talking on his cell phone, coming out of a gate eating a Snickers, and even a picture of him rifling through a duffle bag.

  I backed up for a moment and studied a picture of Cayden with what I assumed were friends. In his hand, he held a beer. This caught my attention. Cayden held the bottle with his index finger wrapped around the neck, under the lip. He held the bottle just like Austin. And when Austin drank beer, he usually drank Heineken. Cayden was drinking Heineken. I sat silent and stared at something which for some may seem inconsequential, but made me shudder.

  I finally clicked on the next set of pictures. They were aerial shots, obviously taken from a rooftop, looking down on him. The paparazzi were like carnivorous birds of prey, circling overhead while he was their unsuspecting quarry below. These shots disturbed me for reasons other than Cayden’s likeness to Austin as well.

  Others photos were of Cayden with different beautiful women, his arm around them, everyone smiling brightly. The women were all very young, full of life and stunningly beautiful. Some were photos of Cayden at different Hollywood events, award shows as well as coming down the red carpet, dressed to perfection in an unblemished black tux. There were the photos of Cayden as the characters he portrayed in different film roles along with other various photo shoots for numerous magazines.

  While all of the pictures were stunning, one set of pictures took my breath. I felt my eyes widened. My breath ceased. For a moment I found it difficult to even blink. Cayden’s hair had been colored differently. In this set of photos his hair was pitch black, the color of midnight and slicked back. I took a breath then blinked. If I didn’t know better, I would swear it was Austin in the last play I watched in the East Village Theater. No longer able to look, I shook my head in total disbelief and flipped the top down on the laptop, hearing it click close.

  My body shook. I couldn’t swallow due to a hitch in my throat. My hands were unsteady and my legs felt like they were going to give out. I made my way to the bed then buried my face into a pillow. So much confused me, and the similarities to Austin, well, amazing. But Cayden was not Austin. This fact would be the only thing which kept me grounded in reality.

  I rolled over on the bed, grabbed a pillow and hugged it close, lost in thought about Austin. I knew without reservation I witnessed what would have been for Austin if he had lived. There was no doubt within my mind, Austin’s face would have been plastered onto magazines, in the news, and Austin would have been the bright shooting star. My thoughts were interrupted by a quick banging at my door. I figured it was Zander.

  Pulling myself from the bed, I brushed my hair away from my face then twisted it up into a tangle on the back of my neck. I wiped my face, straightened my tank top, tugging it down over the waist of my blue cotton shorts then went rather begrudgingly to answer the door. Chandler stood in front of me. He seemed to appraise me carefully before he smiled, rather amused.

  His deep husky voice rang out with one word. “Hey.”

  “Uh…hi,” I replied.

  “You look disappointed to see me.” He laughed a low throaty sound.

  “I thought you were Zander. I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I admitted.

  “How are you this morning? Looks like you had a rough night.”

  He is nothing if not honest.

  “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coffee,” he said, holding two cups up from Starbucks as he walked into my room. “I thought you could use some. I know I cannot function without my morning coffee.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I really do appreciate the thought, but I don’t drink coffee. I have never liked it.”

  Chandler sat down. He wore faded blue jeans riddled with holes along with a khaki colored buttoned-up shirt which was half-unbuttoned. His feet were adorned in the familiar flip flops. He extended his long legs out then crossed his legs rather casual at the ankles after sitting the two cups down on the coffee table. I questioned his choice in footwear. It was cold. Surely he didn’t go outside wearing them?

  “Hum,” he mumbled. “So you don’t like coffee?” He smiled, amused again.

  “No. Sorry,” I replied. Chandler just eyed me, his expression blank.

  I heard another knock at the door. I wondered if my suite was Grand Central Station.

  “Excuse me,” I said then went to answer my door.

&nb
sp; I passed a mirror on my way to the door and was forced to close my eyes. I didn’t want to see that woman. She was a mess, face pale, nose puffy and red from crying, and she looked exhausted. With a shake to my head, I opened my eyes along with my door.

  “Good morning.” The smooth voice echoed through my ears. It sent chills over my skin. “How are you?” Cayden asked.

  I stood stupefied for a moment. My eyes took in his face and his eyes. The dark blue-gray color flashed while his brow furrowed slightly.

  “Winter, you look tired. Did you get any rest?”

  “Bro!” Chandler called out.

  Cayden looked strange, perhaps upset even. He peered over me, off into the distance of my suite. His eyes narrowed. The blue blazed. “My brother is here?” he asked.

  “Um….”

  “Well, it looks like a party this morning because the gangs all here,” Chandler quipped as he walked up behind me.

  Cayden’s brow creased slightly then he said, “Chandler.”

  By the sound of his greeting, he was none too pleased.

  “Please, come in,” I mumbled to Cayden then moved away from the door.

  “I was getting coffee so I thought I would check on Ms. Wells.” Chandler paused. His gaze danced between his brother and me. I also noticed Chandler’s husky voice smoothed out some. He must have felt the need to explain himself.

  How odd.

  “Well, you can see for yourself, bro. She still looks–”

  “She looks beautiful,” Cayden interjected. His silk voice unfolded the memories of my mind.

  “Sure, you’re right. I was just going to say she looks tired so maybe we shouldn’t bother her. Anyway, she doesn’t even like coffee.” Chandler added with a low chuckle.

  Cayden eyed his brother. “Huh.”