by V M Black
He circled the fire pit in slow, stalking steps. He was dragging something at his side, something long and narrow, but I could not take my eyes off his face to look at it properly.
He came right up to me and stopped, just as he had when I turned to face him in front of the restaurant. Then he pulled me against him with one hand, so that I could feel the length of his body, and his mouth came down over mine.
And I lost myself. The heat flared up in my midsection, twisting inside me, lancing down between my thighs and up, into my lungs and into my heart until I could only cling to him.
Then I felt him pressing something into my palm. His other hand, the one that held the object. And I saw that it was a long, thin rod of iron, and on the end of it was a letter: T. His letter.
His brand.
“Take it, Ms. Shaw.” He breathed the words into my hair.
My hand closed around the rod. I knew what he wanted, and I knew that I would do it. My heart beat wildly out of control.
Mr. Thorne kissed me again, urgently, and I stuck the end into the coal. I threw back my head as his kisses moved lower, across my neck, to the collar of the tee shirt. His free hand skimmed over my body, up from my thigh, under the shirt, and then he was pulling it off over my head. I was naked in front of him, but I was too hungry to be ashamed.
He said, “It is time.”
He stepped back, and I kept my eyes fixed on him, rejoicing as I reached for the end of the iron rod. The brand was glowing red from the blistering coals.
I knew what he wanted. His eyes filled my world. I grasped the rod of the brand as close to the heated end as I could bear. I turned it toward me, toward my naked flesh, shivering in terror and desire.
And he didn’t even have to ask.
I pressed the brand against my skin, and the stench of the burning flesh filled my nostrils as the terrible, glorious agony of it swept over me—
And my own scream woke me.
I was sitting up in bed, the blankets kicked off onto the floor, the alarm of my phone blaring at full volume. Still panting and shuddering with reaction, I scrabbled for the off button, and then I scrubbed my face with the heels of my hands.
Thursday. It was the Thursday before finals—exactly two weeks after I had seen Mr. Thorne at Komi.
No wonder I was having nightmares.
I took a breath and lurched into the bathroom. A shower chased away the last of the dream, leaving me with a clearer head.
Decision time.
Dammit, I’d made my decision. I’d made it two weeks ago—before that, even, back at Johns Hopkins, when I’d chosen the mysterious card over the hospice brochure.
I glared at my thin body in the mirror, glared at the ravages the cancer had done upon it. I was going to take the leap of faith. Even if I landed on crumbling ground, I already knew the bridge I stood on now was doomed.
I wrapped up in the towel, went back into my room, and grabbed the phone from the bedside table. I searched for the number that I had stored under the contact LAST HOPE. I hit send.
“Cora Shaw,” came the familiar voice. “We have been expecting your call.”
“Yes,” I said. My voice shook slightly, and I swallowed hard. “I am ready to give my answer.”
“That is good to hear, Ms. Shaw. What shall I tell Mr. Thorne?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“Ms. Shaw?”
I heard my voice answer as if from very far away. “I want to go through the procedure. Next Friday, after my finals.”
“A car can pick you up at six. Will that be acceptable, Ms. Shaw?”
“Very,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Ms. Shaw.”
The line went dead.
I’d done it. I was committed.
I put my hand to my chest, so I could feel the frantic rhythm of my heart, which circulated my poisoned blood with every beat. In eight days, it would be purified, rid of the mutant cells that threatened to overwhelm my body even as they failed in its defense.
Or else I would die.
Either way, I would see Mr. Thorne again. And I would know which of my fears were imagined and which were very, very real.
Chapter Eleven
“That’s it! Last final!” Lisette let out a whoop and slammed her textbook into the nearest trash can. “Take that, econometrics!”
“You know you could have sold that back,” I pointed out. “And anyway, it’s not like you even hated the course.”
She grinned. “A new edition was published two months ago, and now the university bookstore and Amazon won’t pay jack for this one now. I’ve been wanting to do that for three and a half years, but this is the first time one of my textbooks became obsolete the same semester I was using it.”
“That kind of defeats the purpose of a grand gesture,” Geoff said. “I mean, if it’s trash, anyway....”
“Shut up,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s celebrate.” She spied someone else across the green. “Hey, Ross! Sabrina! Come on, let’s celebrate!”
Sabrina waved, and they crossed over. “You guys done?” Sabrina asked. Ross Myo had been an economics major, too, before switching to statistics his sophomore year. He’d met Sabrina, a bio major, in the taekwondo club, and she’d become a fixture in our group when we got together.
“They are—until next semester,” Geoff said, nodding at me and Lisette. “I’ve still got a history final in three hours. It’s no biggie, though. 100-level core course that I saved for my senior year slack-off.”
“When are you guys taking off for break?” Lisette asked.
“Our plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow.” Sabrina cast a look at Ross. “He’s meeting the ’rents.”
“’Rents? Who the heck says ’rents?” Lisette said cheerfully. “I’ve got to be home by dinner, but my car’s already packed, so I’ve got...” She checked her watch. “Two and a half hours to burn.” Lisette lived just outside of Baltimore, in the tony suburb of Ellicot City.
“So what do you want to do?” I asked.
“I don’t know. What do young people do these days?” Lisette said, rolling her eyes.
“You know that we’re just going to end up playing ping pong at the Stamp,” Geoff said.
“Table tennis, please,” said Ross in a pained voice.
“You just want it to sound cooler because you always beat us,” I said.
“Freaking Asians and their table tennis,” Sabrina said, grinning at Ross as they linked arms.
Lisette let out a huff of air. “Fine, then. Be boring. It’s not like I have hours to burn figuring out what we’re going to do.” She stalked toward the Adele H. Stamp Student Union with exaggerated exasperation.
Sabrina chuckled. “She’s full of something today.”
“Final high,” I said. “She aced everything. Makes her kind of slap-happy.”
We entered the Stamp, and Lisette led us down the stairs, talking ninety miles an hour the whole way. When we arrived at the TerpZone, it was mostly empty. Half the students had already gone home.
“You do realize that we’re celebrating leaving school for two weeks by hanging out...at school,” I said as Geoff paid for a table.
“Oh, hush,” said Lisette. “Better than sitting around, doing nothing.” She snatched up the ball and one of the paddles. “Who’s gonna face me first? I am invincible! Except you, Ross, because you’ll beat me,” she added.
Geoff smiled at me over her head. “I paid. Other paddle is mine.”
“He’ll beat you, too,” I predicted.
“Have some faith!” Lisette protested.
I grabbed one of the chairs and sat gratefully behind Geoff as he returned Lisette’s serve. I liked watching him—tall, rangy, and athletic. And the rear view wasn’t too shabby, either. I could tell that he wasn’t really putting his attention into the game, but he still beat Lisette handily.
“Your turn?” he asked, offering the paddle to me.
I shook my head,
forcing a smile. “I’m a bit tired.”
In all honesty, I could not have kept up with either of them for a minute, trying or no. My ear infection all but cleared up, but the stress of finals on top of the leukemia had left me wrung out.
“Come on,” Lisette groaned. “Now I’m going to be the ping pong dummy.”
“Table tennis,” Sabrina corrected, grabbing the paddle from Geoff.
“You have an unfair advantage,” Lisette said, pointing her paddle accusingly at Sabrina. “Your boyfriend has been showing you all those Asian table tennis secrets.”
Sabrina grinned. “Damned right. And I’m gonna school the rest of you whiteys in how it’s done.”
She served, and Lisette ducked as the ball bounced once and whizzed straight for her, letting out a piercing shriek.
Geoff and Ross howled with hilarity as Sabrina growled in mock fierceness, waving her paddle threateningly as Lisette scrambled after the ball. I laughed so hard that tears sprang to my eyes, my sides aching.
Lisette brought back the ball and threw it at Sabrina, who caught it easily. Geoff grinned down at me, hauling another chair beside mine. He flopped into it. It was nice to have him near.
I snaked out a hand, half-hidden, under the arm of the chair. He took it and folded it in his own. It felt good.
Over the next ten minutes, Sabrina crushed Lisette, who surrendered her paddle to Ross. “I’m not even going to try against you,” she said.
Ross and Sabrina played a couple of games while we watched, Ross spending as much time coaching Sabrina as playing against her. After his win, Lisette insisted that Sabrina and Geoff have a final showdown, to see how much Ross’s instruction had improved her game since we’d played together last. This time, Geoff was on his toes, lunging and jumping to return Sabrina’s volleys. A fast one whizzed by, and he threw himself back to catch it.
“Watch out!” Sabrina yelled, but it was too late. He slammed into my chair, and we both went over in a tangle.
“And game,” she said, coming around the table to help.
Geoff put out his hand at the last minute to keep his weight from landing squarely on me, but I hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me.
“Crap, Shaw,” he said, jumping up. He slipped an arm under mine and pulled me to my feet. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you were there. I mean, I knew you were there, but I didn’t know I was that close.”
I clung to his arm for a moment to steady myself. He looked so guilt-stricken, his broad face earnest and intent.
“Really, I’m fine, Geoff,” I reassured him. “I’m not that fragile.” I let go of him, and a moment later, he released me cautiously.
“Thanks for the win, Cora,” Sabrina said. “The old stationary-chair trick gets them every time.”
“Very funny, Sabrina,” I said, making a face at her. “I’ve got to go anyway, guys. I’ve got an appointment tonight, so I was planning on catching a nap before I leave.”
“Sure, no problem,” Sabrina said casually. She and Ross didn’t know that I was sick.
“Good luck, and call me,” Lisette said intently. She gave me a worried smile. “In case you’re asleep when I stop by and I can’t say goodbye.”
“I’ll walk you,” Geoff said, picking up my book bag. “I need to do some last minute reviewing, anyway.”
“Sure,” I said. “Bye guys.”
“Bye,” Lisette said. She waggled her eyebrows dramatically, looking at Geoff and back at me. I scowled at her. Geoff had the good grace to pretend not to notice the exchange.
Geoff and I walked side-by-side, not exactly comfortably, but I wouldn’t say the slight awkwardness was a bad thing, either. It was an awareness of his closeness, his golden looks, and his size, relative to mine.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I assured him again. He looked so worried that I couldn’t help myself. “All except my ankle, but I’m sure that will heal in a few weeks.”
“Shaw—” he began, his face a mask of guilt.
I relented instantly. “Kidding. Totally kidding.”
“That wasn’t funny,” he muttered as he opened the door for me precede him outside.
“Was to me,” I said.
He just shook his head.
“Are you seriously going to carry my books for me all the way back to my dorm, like in some kind of cornball TV show?” I asked.
“Would you like me to?” he returned.
I smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.” In truth, the backpack had felt heavier than it had any right to feel, dragging at my whole body after the end of the grueling week of tests.
“Are you going to Lisette’s place again this Christmas?” he asked, changing the subject.
I shook my head. “I’m starting the new therapy tonight, and staying here will give me time to recover. Anyhow, I’ve already paid for housing over the break.”
“I’m leaving as soon as my last final is over,” he said. “My family’s expecting me home before dinner, too, and with rush hour traffic....” He lived in Annapolis.
“Cutting it close?” I asked.
“What can I say? I like to live dangerously. Just yesterday, I reparked my car without fastening my seat belt.”
Dangerous. An image of Mr. Thorne came to me then, holding my finger to his lips. I shivered.
“Cold?” Geoff asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. We got to the front door of the campus apartments. I stopped and turned to him. “Thanks for walking me,” I said.
“I’ll come up with you,” he said, reaching past me to open the door. The offer was a little too casual. “If I’m carrying your books, I might as well do a proper job of it and take them all the way to your room.”
“Sure.” I felt my face heat a little, and I ducked under his arm into the building.
“You heard back from any grad schools yet?” I asked as we waited for the elevator.
“Three,” he said. “Two acceptances, one rejection, but no news yet on assistantships or fellowships. You?”
The elevator doors opened with a chime, and we stepped inside.
“Honestly?” I said, pushing the button for the fourth floor. “I didn’t apply until November.”
“Ouch,” he said.
“I know, stupid, right? But I was distracted. Hope all the slots aren’t filled before they look at my application.”
The doors opened, and we walked to my door, marked by the huge collage of pet memes that Lisette had papered it with. I grabbed the lanyard around my neck and unlocked it, pushing the door open.
“Well, thanks again,” I said, extending an arm to take my backpack.
Geoff stepped forward instead, dropping my bag just inside the door. I stepped back automatically, but he caught up with me and pulled my body into his, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand tangled in my hair, puffy jackets bunched up between us. I realized his intentions just as his mouth met mine, and instantly, instinctively, I opened to him.
I leaned into him, letting my sick and weary muscles surrender to his warm strength. I gasped against his lips as his tongue touched my teeth, and I let him urge them apart.
Finally, after a time that was both far too long and far too short, he pulled away. I staggered back a couple of steps and stared at him. He was looking at me, his breath ragged and two spots of color high in his cheeks.
“Well,” I said breathlessly. “I did say next semester.”
“I know,” he said. “And I meant to wait. But I had to say—” He broke off.
“Goodbye,” I finished. “But it won’t be goodbye. The therapy will work, and we’ll both be back in a month, and we’ll laugh about how sick and scared I was.”
“I’ll never laugh at that,” he said. His smile was rueful. “But I really do have to cram for my history final.”
I grinned back, still feeling the pull of him but more on my own balance again. “And I do need my nap. Go on, then,” I said.
“S
ee you in January,” he said.
“See you,” I returned.
He raised a hand in salute as he stepped backwards, out of the door, and I mirrored him.
Then he was gone.
I slumped onto the couch, staring at the empty doorway and the bright lights of the hallway beyond. Geoff was part of what I’d wanted out of life: the degree, the boyfriend, the job, the marriage, the house, the kids. He slotted so neatly into that life trajectory, my modest version of “having it all.” I’d never imagined any other future, though I wasn’t on any kind of rushed timetable to get there. And it was everything that was threatened by my cancer, everything that I’d mourned as lost.
I still wanted Geoff, along with the rest of that dream. I felt my attraction to him every time he was near, and he would still fit well into the rest of my life that was still laid out in its tidy map, if only the cancer would go away. He might not be the one to end up filling the full boyfriend-husband-father sequence. But he could. And that’s what I wanted.
But now, when I tried to fix my mind on the bright image of that future, shadows of Mr. Thorne kept intruding on the edges. He was a man who could never fit in my life plan, not in any capacity. Even so, I still wanted him, too, in a way that I’d never wanted anything else.
Perhaps more that I’d wanted anything else, even now, when he was miles away.
And that terrified me.
The microwave clock read two o’clock. I had four hours—only four hours until the appointment that would determine whether that “see you” was a prediction or an empty promise.
Four hours before I saw Mr. Thorne again.
Well, then, I thought, I’d better get my sleep.
Chapter Twelve
At precisely 6:32 PM, the Bentley stopped, and the chauffeur walked around and opened my door. I knew because I checked my phone one last time before turning it off and shoving into my coat pocket.
“Thank you,” I murmured. I realized that this might be my last time in the car—in any car. I still didn’t know the chauffeur’s name, and now I might never learn it.
I shut down that line of thought as I got out. I was not going to die. Not tonight. It was a knowledge that was deeper than reason. One that I had to cling to.
