An Ever Fixéd Mark

by Jessie Olson

  “He molested her?” Lizzie wondered how loudly she asked the question.

  “I guess… I suppose that’s what it would be called today,” Oliver breathed out. Lizzie was startled by his sudden sensitivity. She forgot they were discussing a different century with different sexual mores. She wondered if he was still that tender… or if he could excite her nerves as much as Ben. Her cheeks burned, realizing he was watching her thoughts wander. “He was older than her.”

  “Five years,” Lizzie found the detail from a memory that might have come from the museum or her subconscious.

  “Yes,” Oliver nodded. “She visited my mother every Sunday after church. She said goodbye and then met me in my father’s shop. She read me books she took from the library. She told me about all the people who visited the Fultons. She was always fascinated by the foreigners because they traveled from a great distance – places she wanted to go. I loved to listen to her, to just watch her think. She was so bright and… beautiful…” his voice softened from his professor vernacular. An impish grin slowly curved across his chin. “She was curious about so many things. Maybe it’s because of what Horace did to her, but she didn’t hesitate to show her affection. She was very, very sexy.”

  “So she became your lover?” Lizzie laughed, not sure if it was amusement or discomfort that prompted it.

  “She was my first,” Oliver smiled sweetly. “I wanted to marry her. My mother loved her, but didn’t… my parents knew about Horace and didn’t think she was good enough to be a wife. They wanted me to marry the daughter of another local businessman.”

  “What did you want?”

  “I went to New York to fight the British in 1812. I asked her to marry me before I left, but she refused. She knew what my mother wanted for me and was ashamed of what Horace did to her. ”

  “But she loved Horace?”

  “She thought it was her fault for tempting him,” Oliver clenched his jaw. “But he died. Then she became devoted to his widow.”

  “Charlotte,” Lizzie watched his reaction to the second pronouncement of that name. He was cool and calm, no indication that Charlotte took his life or that he took hers.

  “They were friends. I didn’t understand the depth of their intimacy until… what has Ben told you about this?”

  Lizzie shook her head and lifted her shoulders. She wasn’t sure what Ben could have told her. “Just that Lily went back to you until Charlotte discovered your affair.”

  “I decided to leave my family and marry her. We planned to go west,” he looked out the window again.

  “I’m sorry to ask you to remember this,” Lizzie saw the cheese congealing on her plate.

  “I remember it whether you ask me or not,” Oliver said softly. “I… it is good to tell someone. To tell you.”

  Lizzie straightened her spine and went to her diminishing margarita. “So why didn’t you go west?” Lizzie knew that wasn’t how the story ended.

  “She was worried about the Fultons,” Oliver rubbed his hand against his chin and looked at Lizzie.

  “Because of Charlotte?”

  “Lily and Charlotte were friends. I can’t speak for what Lily felt or wanted from that friendship,” Oliver paused, revealing a glint of hurt in his eyes. “Charlotte admitted many years later that she loved Lily. Lily listened to her, as she listened to everyone in her life. Lily was the last human Charlotte ever let herself trust and feel anything for. She ended up killing Horace because he assaulted Lily. Lily knew what Charlotte was capable of. I think she believed she could keep Charlotte calm and so she stayed.”

  “Did she keep Charlotte calm?”

  Oliver’s face seemed to turn towards a frown, but suddenly forced a smile. “As long as Charlotte believed that Lily loved her.”

  “But in the end, she didn’t take out her wrath on the Fultons. She took it out on you.”

  Oliver picked up his fork again to try the pretense of eating. Lizzie looked at her plate and took a forkful of rice. It was lukewarm and its taste didn’t register.

  “Ben said you…” Lizzie was conscious of the chatty lunch crowd around them. “He said… Charlotte deserved her end.”

  “He told you I was responsible for that, too?”

  “Yes,” Lizzie took another large sip of drink.

  “It’s true.”

  “Would Lily have thought she deserved it?”

  “I hope so,” Oliver looked at Lizzie as if expecting her to make an answer for Lily.

  Lizzie took another bite of her cold rice. She slowed the movement of her jaw, hoping he would fill the silence. “They found a letter Harriet wrote to Charlotte. She probably didn’t send it if they have it at the museum…” Lizzie wiped her fingers on the napkin in her lap. “It’s strange to think that I was part of this… but I really don’t remember much of it.”

  “Do you want to remember it, Lizzie?”

  “I… I’m not sure.”

  “There was a lot of sadness,” Oliver turned away from the table.

  “But… isn’t it a part of me?”

  “I don’t know. Is it?” Oliver looked at her.

  “Isn’t that why you and Ben are in my life?”

  “You don’t think you have control over your own destiny, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie picked up her fork and stabbed it into the food. “I don’t know.”

  “We all have a choice,” he nodded as the waitress stopped to check on them. “I learned the hard way it is too easy to blame fate for making poor choices.”

  Lizzie looked at the fork sticking through her untouched chimichanga. His words echoed of Nora’s constant advice. The fact he lived through much more horrific choices than Alec McCaffrey and came to that conclusion seemed like true wisdom.

  “In the end it is my responsibility… for Eloise and for Lily.”

  Lizzie wanted to remind him of Melissa, but decided to not open her mouth. She was tempted to take another sip of margarita, but decided her blood was bitter enough.

  “You ran a marathon, Lizzie. Can you give fate… or Lily credit for that?”

  “A half marathon.”

  “The point is, you did it.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “No,” Oliver nodded. “No.”

  “If you accept that you did those things… why are you sitting here with me? How can I not believe you won’t do it again?”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  “I don’t want to,” Lizzie breathed out slowly… looking at him. “I mean… I changed. I like to believe anyone can change and make themselves better. Especially if they are on this planet forever.”

  “You aren’t her,” Oliver looked down sadly. “Lily was unforgiving.”

  “I have to get back to work.”

  “You’ve hardly touched your lunch.”

  “Neither have you,” Lizzie caught his eye briefly and then looked for the waitress.

  *****

  She laughed as she ran through the hedges into the Harris’ yard. There was just enough moonlight to define the shadows of the trees. She saw a candle in a window of the house as she waited. Suddenly his arms came around her, turning her into his kiss. He lifted her off the ground and held her against the wall of the carriage house. She heard one of the horses whinny in alarm, speeding up the rhythm of her heart. The thrill of potential discovery heightened the thrill of his touch…

  Her heart beat rapidly as she opened her eyes to the darkness of Ben’s room. She pulled the blankets over her head and cocooned herself in the warmth, but it wasn’t the same as Ben beside her. Even when his body cooled at the end of the week. She closed her eyes, hoping to find sleep but was only able to see Oliver’s dark eyes nearing her before a kiss.

  She tried to fill her brain with other thoughts – of necessary tasks at the office, of groceries to buy on her way home from the hospital, Nora’s baby shower – but the dark shadows of the crescent moon kept haunting her mind.

  It was difficult to distract herself with th
e information Oliver gave her. She left the restaurant under the pretense she had to rush back to the hospital. She regretted letting Oliver pay for the meal… the meal neither of them ate. She didn’t want to linger much more in his company to argue the point. Nothing he said was too startling or disturbing to her reality. She heard much of it as if it were a history lecture in college or a training summary from the preservation society. Not that the preservation society would educate her about the bedroom habits of the servants or the presence of vampires in the Fulton House.

  She didn’t know if what she learned should make her feel better or worse about Oliver. It was obvious he loved her – Lily. He still hurt from what happened to her… and what she did to him. She chose to marry him in the end, but she wouldn’t leave the Fultons. What kept her in Cambridge? The friendship of a female vampire? She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to be someplace else and with the one who could take her away from her cursed life. Did Oliver say that? Lizzie couldn’t remember that detail in the midst of two strawberry margaritas. Was that something he said? Or was that her active imagination speculating about history? Or was it… something dislodged from her memory?

  The idea of Lily was like the idea of Harriet – someone from a distant time she would discuss on a tour. Lizzie tried to put herself in Harriet’s shoes, living in that house and then later as a grieving mother. It helped her to understand the history of the museum and present it in a way she thought was interesting to visitors. Lily was simply another version of Harriet, with a more salacious history. Except she knew people that Lizzie knew. Oliver knew her. He felt real emotion for her. Lizzie couldn’t picture her from a glassy eyed portrait. She could imagine the thoughts in her head and the pains of her heart and the yearning to be someone other than what she is. She still didn’t connect Lily with herself. She could sympathize with her hurts and motivations… but it wasn’t her own. It wasn’t her life.

  The thoughts and details kept creeping back into her mind. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know if Lily liked Harriet. She wanted to know what Lily wore and what she was expected to do every day. Did Margaret like her… or was it guilt for her father’s sins? Did she like the world of Brattle Street? It couldn’t have been a whole hearted passion, if she kept visiting Oliver at the wheelwright shop.

  Lizzie kept staring at the ceiling, watching the bleary November dawn creep into the room. She realized Ben hadn’t called her that night. She knew he anticipated a busy day of meetings. He was undoubtedly exhausted… if he was well fed. If not, he was restless and would… would he seek out a source in Chicago? How was that different from feeding in Boston? It wasn’t… except his words echoed in her brain. She knew she was not being completely honest with him about Oliver. She feared his trustworthiness because her own was lacking.

  What good would it do to tell Ben about Oliver? Lizzie knew the moment she spoke Oliver’s name, Ben changed his mood. Lizzie didn’t understand that. Oliver was… he was so kind to her. He wasn’t any more of a monster than Ben. She knew Oliver committed … he did horrible things. So did Ben, though she didn’t know those as well as she knew Oliver’s crimes. Oliver admitted he was wrong. He knew he should take responsibility and try to improve. To do good to compensate for the hurt he caused.

  He ended a life. He ended her life… if it was hers. Was it really something to do with Lizzie? If Oliver didn’t stop Lily, would Lizzie exist? How did she know to pick the next life that would lead her back to Oliver? Why go back to a horrible end? What if this time it wasn’t going to end that way? What was it that Meg said? The next time it would improve? What if this time it was supposed to end with what Lily didn’t have? Did that mean she was supposed to marry Oliver?

  Was that why Ben said nothing of him? Did he fear Lizzie would go to Oliver? Is that what she was supposed to do? That didn’t make sense. She liked Oliver. But Ben was… she loved Ben. She missed his warmth. She was jealous he was in the company of other people. Lizzie wasn’t jealous that Oliver was married and unavailable. She wanted Ben. She wanted Ben to come home. She wanted him to tell her… she wanted him to tell her about Lily. She wanted Ben to come to the Fulton House and make her remember things. She wanted to dream about him. Why was he leaving it to Oliver?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lizzie put away her groceries in the cupboards. She felt at home in Ben’s kitchen, a room he seldom used except to read the Sunday paper in the morning sun. It was spacious, not quite as modern as Lizzie would hope for her own space. It could be her own space.

  She was slowly starting to wrap her brain around the idea of Ben’s apartment becoming home. She wasn’t sure how ready she was to give up her spot at Jefferson Park. She liked that apartment and all its memories. Things wouldn’t end well with Meg. Neither had made much effort to bridge the gap after Halloween. Lizzie figured that would pass eventually. It seemed trivial in comparison to the other thoughts plaguing her mind, even though Meg was a more important part of her life than Oliver.

  The ring of her phone jolted her back to the present. Her heart sped at Ben’s name on the caller ID. She felt a twinge of guilt that it rang just as another thought of Oliver left her mind. She took in a breath and greeted him.

  “Elizabeth,” she could hear the smile in his voice that suddenly made her wish he was there. She wouldn’t let herself want that. It was only Wednesday. He wouldn’t be back until late Sunday. “How are you?”

  “I’m staring at your kitchen,” she laughed, wondering if she should tell him she was contemplating improvements to it. No, she told herself quietly. She was going to wait until Thanksgiving, on the way home. “How’s Chicago?”

  “Cold,” he said quickly. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure,” she pulled out the last of her produce.

  “Can you look for a file in my office and then fax me the pages?”

  “Where is it?” she went across the hallway.

  “In the right hand drawer of my desk. It should be a folder called Hemo Financial or something like that.” Lizzie went to the drawer and searched through the files. “Are you having a good week?”

  “Yeah,” Lizzie kept looking through the tightly filled drawer.

  “Anything exciting?”

  Lizzie’s cheeks burned as she thought of lunch with Oliver. Did he know Oliver was in town? How could he? Would Oliver go to the clinic for a source? “Found it.”

  Ben quickly gave her the number. She could tell he was in a rush to get off the phone. She heard a conversation behind him. He wasn’t much interested in the small talk, and probably didn’t want to hear the minutiae of her week. “Nothing really exciting, no,” Lizzie sighed. She missed him. She wanted him to come home and fill her thoughts of something other than Oliver and his information about Lily. She knew she needed to tell him about Oliver. “You can’t talk long, can you?”

  “Sorry,” his voice was genuine. “I will try to call you later tonight. You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll still fax your file.”

  “Thanks,” he paused. “I love you.”

  “Love you,” Lizzie said before the phone disconnected. She went to his fax machine and watched as the papers slowly copied. She waited for the transmission to clear and then returned the file to its place. As she closed the door, she saw a hanging folder labeled “Green Falls, NY.”

  Lizzie pulled the folder out of the drawer and opened it up to four or five files. They all had property and estate information. Most of the papers were very old. Almost a hundred years. They detailed the sale of a local goods store from Benjamin Thomas to a Mr. David March. There was a deed of sale for a house on 124 Union Street. Lots of tiny print that Lizzie found a blur. She shifted through the papers of each folder until she came to the last, labeled Maria Thomas.

  There were many more old pieces of paper. Lizzie didn’t understand what half the documents entailed except the last. A death certificate. Lizzie scanned over the page and saw s
he drowned in the Hudson River on the 20th of May in 1915.

  She closed the folder and put it back in the drawer. She let out a shallow breath to curb the sudden sadness curdling in her stomach. She caught the dim reflection of her face looking back at her from Ben’s computer screen. Something about the shadows across her cheekbones frightened her. As though it was a ghost and not herself looking back.

  She quickly pressed power on the computer to erase the image. She wasn’t really curious about her email. She wasn’t really going to see if Oliver wrote anything. They said goodbye. It was done. She wasn’t going to see him again. Maybe there was something from Ben. If he didn’t have time to talk, when would he have time to write her an email?

  She went to the address bar to find Facebook, but scrolled down to cambridgeblood.org. She clicked Ben’s login and entered the site. A window popped up alerting Ben Cottingham that he was overdue for an appointment. She thought he went when he was home. Didn’t he? She couldn’t clear her thoughts enough to remember Saturday – or anything before Oliver filled her mind with details of Lily.

  She clicked the prompt and was redirected to his profile page. It was kind of like Facebook, for someone who didn’t idle so many hours in front of it as Lizzie. There was a photograph of Ben. It wasn’t recent. His name was listed as Ben. His location Cambridge, MA. It said he has been vampire since 1779. She knew all that. She saw a small box for preferences. He checked off a number of options, as one might on a dating website. Clinical. Female. Athletic. Unmarried. He had no preference for ethnicity. Did that matter with blood? His preferred blood type was AB positive, but accepted all varieties.

  Her eyes blurred. Why did it matter if the woman was married? Was that because he used to sleep with them? Did it matter now that he was in a relationship? Lizzie wasn’t AB positive. She was O negative. Did that mean her blood wasn’t his favorite?