by Dee Willson
We were lovers. I’m shocked but rather impressed. In any lifetime I imagine Bryce would be a pretty good . . .
Bryce clears his throat.
“I’m leaving town for a while. My family has connections and my dad is trying to help me find out more about this lost soul. Thomas will be keeping an eye on things here,” he says, still attempting to draw my attention. I drop the keys, hardly able to see through the explicit visions. “That might be easier to do if you were amicable.” Bryce shuts the door.
Somehow I start the ignition. I rub my eyes and try to focus.
Bryce steps back, frowning.
I’m overwhelmingly flushed.
We were lovers.
Perspective
February 10th
My nights are spent tossing and turning within two extremes. One end of the spectrum has me hot and bothered by Bryce’s touch, and the other has me suffering deathly encounters with lost souls. Both have me waking with a sudden jerk, an accelerated heartbeat, and a shortness of breath.
Seldom do I reach a state that forces me to succumb to being medicated, but between life-altering truths and very little sleep, today I’d settle for a swift whack to the head. After delivering Abby to school, I loiter in a steamy shower then spend twenty minutes searching for a pain reliever that hasn’t expired. It’s futile. If I had Tylenol, it was ditched in the wake of the break in. So I surrender, climbing back into bed with a damp cloth over my eyes, concentrating on the soothing vocals of Sarah McLachlan seeping from the stereo.
I’m hovering on the brink of deliverance when my cell rings, shattering my respite. I grunt as I grope for the phone.
“Tess, Sofia misses Abby a lot.”
It takes a minute to register the voice minus small talk.
“She sees her at school, Thomas.”
“It’s not the same. Sofia craves one-on-one time with her best friend. Is that too much to ask?”
I poke around throbbing neurons, trying to come up with a good reason to say, yes, yes, that is too much to ask, but when my probe uncovers only issues between us adults, I wave the white flag.
“I guess not,” I mumble, pushing my pride aside for the kids.
“Look, tomorrow’s forecast is calling for sunshine. There is a ton of snow and we’ve got a wicked toboggan hill out back. Bring Abby over and let the kids play a while.”
“Fine,” I say, curtly. “I’ll drop her off at ten.”
Thomas groans, obviously frustrated. “Please stay and talk to me. I know we see each other, but it’s not the same, and we don’t talk anymore. Really talk. I care about you, and it’s only fair you hear my side. Please, I also miss my best friend.”
I’m not a heartless savage, so his forlorn words wallop me. My head recoils from the impact. I’m mad at the way Thomas has handled all of this, the way he’s lied to me repeatedly. But he’s also stuck his neck out to help me, to find this lost soul so Abby and I can feel safe again. And aside from our daughters’ close ties, I want Bryce and Thomas to resume a healthy relationship as brothers. I guess I should try to salvage our friendship, to return things to the way they were. Sort of.
“I’ll stay for tea.” If Bryce can forgive and forget, so can I.
“We’ll start over,” he says.
“We’ll start over.”
Abby and Sofia run to the playroom before I even get my shoes and coat shaken off at the door.
Thomas was right. Abby and Sofia have been feeling the strain in our relationship. I’m ashamed to say that in my self-absorption I hadn’t noticed, not until I mentioned the arranged play date to Abby during our afternoon walk from school. Her entire demeanor changed. Immensely pleased, she giggled and skipped the whole way home then danced to her room to pick out specific toys to bring, ones she and Sofia enjoy together. She chattered about her best friend all through dinner then again through breakfast this morning, leaving no doubt that a talk with Thomas is an absolute necessity. Thomas and I need to work out our issues so our daughters can be together.
Of course, like most things in life, this is easier said than done.
“Come on in, I have the kettle on,” says Thomas, leading the way down the hall.
Bowls and baking utensils clog the sink, but the counters are spotless and the stainless steel fridge almost glows. I pull out a seat at the table, tucking my foot under my butt as I watch Thomas nervously putter around the kitchen. Squinting, I try to distinguish extraordinary movements from the mundane, but nothing stands out. He looks like a normal guy. Other than the shorts.
“Help yourself,” says Thomas, placing a silver tray of fresh baked apple fritters in front of me.
“Well, well, you’re pulling out the big guns.” The wafting aroma attacks my defenses by way of cravings. “I thought food was the way into a man’s heart?”
Thomas leans on the island, watching me. “Whatever it takes.”
I take two. “You were right, by the way,” I mumble between bites. “Abby’s been missing Sofia. I can’t recall the last time they played together out of school.”
“The last pageant rehearsal—they had a sleepover at your place, and you and I made out in my truck.”
It was actually the night of the break in, at Bryce’s place, but I keep my mouth shut.
Thomas pulls a chair and sits next to me, picking apple chunks out of his fritter. “I guess we shouldn’t talk about the pageant or . . .” He changes his mind. “We’re starting over, remember?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I feel something altogether different. I’m itching to discuss the part of the pageant where he beat his brother. Or the scenes in which he claimed me like an inanimate object. Maybe we should debate the abundance of lies and artificial pretenses. And what about the fact that he put his mouth on me without revealing a single grain of authenticity?
“How’s the painting coming along?” He’s straining to sound casual.
I swallow the last of my fritter. “It’s not. Between hunting down replacements for house stuff that got damaged in the break in, raising a daughter without a husband, and learning about the mythical world of souls, Lemurians, and Keepers, I don’t have enough hours in a day to paint.”
Thomas drops his fritter onto a napkin. He rolls it and throws it like a basketball into the garbage can. “If it’s all so time-consuming and stressful then stop,” he says, his stare lingering on the can across the room.
“Stop.” What does he mean by stop?
“Let it all go and live a normal life. Forget about lost souls and house raids—that won’t happen again. Stop letting my brother fill your head with a world you’re better off not knowing. And don’t raise your daughter alone. Be with me.”
“Thomas . . .”
“I was born a Keeper, just like Bryce. Yet even with all this knowledge and power, I choose to pretend it doesn’t exist and live an ordinary existence. Why do you think that is?”
I stare at him, thinking. “I figured you needed time away, to focus on Sofia after the divorce, just like you said. Was that another lie?”
Thomas looks away. “I’m not so sure the knowledge is a good thing. I don’t even know why we bother teaching people. I want better for you, more for you, a different life for you and Abby.” He leans forward, hands steepled. “Believe me, you don’t want to be part of that world. You want to stay far, far away from it.”
“I need to know, Thomas. I want to know.”
“Did Bryce give you the ‘knowledge is power’ speech?” He whips his hands down and leans back in his chair. “It’s bullshit. Knowledge would have gotten you killed that day in the coffee shop. That lost soul would’ve taken your life without so much as an afterthought. The fact that you didn’t have a clue what you were seeing is undoubtedly the only thing that saved your ass.” The chair legs scrape along the floor. “Did Bryce tell you that?”
“No, but—”
“You’re better off oblivious, ignorant, blissful.”
I give my head a shake, endeav
oring to keep Thomas from getting to me.
“I need to understand who I am, Thomas, to learn how to live with what I see. And Bryce doesn’t lecture me. He answers my questions, my many questions.”
Thomas laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. “You should be learning how to ignore what you see. You should be taught to look right through lost souls, as if they don’t exist. If you’d known how to do that, maybe the one in the cafe wouldn’t have noticed you at all. He surely wouldn’t have ransacked your house. Your dog would be alive, and Sonia wouldn’t be at the fucking morgue.”
I stand abruptly, toppling the chair. It lands with a sharp crash and I flinch like a deer within gunfire. “You can’t think that I had any control over—”
“This kind of knowledge will get you killed.” Thomas rises. “Then who’ll raise Abby? Huh? You want a kid with two dead parents?”
I gasp, shocked he’d say something so cruel. Abby cannot be parentless. She just can’t. My chest is tightening. For the first time in weeks I actually feel the cold hand of fear. Could Thomas be speaking the truth? Had I reacted differently, would the lost soul have stayed away? Could I have saved Maxi? And what about Sonia, could I have done something to save her? Bryce says there was nothing I could’ve done, but is he wrong? And what if I was killed? Grams and Gramps are in their eighties and won’t be with us for long. Abby only has me. She can’t lose the only family she has left.
“I’ve lived in this town for over a year,” says Thomas. “Not once have I seen a lost soul anywhere near these parts. In fact, I hadn’t seen much beyond the realm of normal until Bryce moved in. He brought danger here, with his fancy parties and social web of outcasts. Had he stayed out of—”
“Bryce would never knowingly—”
“You’re defending him? You don’t even know him. My brother has already tossed one woman to those damn souls of purgatory. You wanna be next?”
The heat jumps several degrees. “What are you talking about?” I’m tearing my napkin to shreds. My hands shake. I’m not so sure I want to know the answer.
“Come on, you don’t think you’re the first, do you?” Thomas sneers. “Bryce’s last girlfriend was butchered by a lost soul and he couldn’t do shit to save her. Even if he could’ve, he wouldn’t. All that crap about choices and consequences did nothing but lead her to slaughter. Bryce didn’t help her. A Keeper’s knowledge and power didn’t save her.” His facial muscles tic under the stress of his locked jaw. “And it sure as fuck didn’t save my wife.”
Holy shit. I stop breathing for a moment.
Thomas launches into a predatory pace between the table and butcher-block island. He’s pulled up his sleeves, mindlessly rubbing the scar along his arm.
“You wanna know the truth about this life? We are here to struggle. We’re challenged with nothing but heartache and disappointment, pushing us to our limits. We spend our time suffering and wallowing in a life we can’t control. My wife was an old soul. She could see what you see. Her husband hired me because she suffered from nightmares, screaming for mercy in languages she didn’t know, and their church had written them off. I tried to help her. Instead of teaching her avoidance, I tried to be the Keeper I was born to be. I told her about our world, our history, our truth. She wouldn’t believe me, so I tried harder. I pushed and pushed until I finally had her convinced.” He chuckles darkly. “She thought I was an abomination. She made sure she couldn’t have more children. All I wanted was a son. I should’ve had a son. She called Sofia a freak of nature and took off. She went back to him, back to that asshole without a clue. She abandoned her own child!” His hands fist in his hair, the blood drained from his knuckles. “She ran like hell from the world you’re fucking volunteering for.”
I open my mouth but no words come out.
“Why was I powerless, Tess? Why couldn’t I stop her? You wanna know what she did with this reputed knowledge?” He slams the counter with a fist and I jump. “She put a fucking bullet in her head!”
I gasp. His wife shot herself?
My mother downed two bottles of pills while I was at the hospital stitching a run-in with an ex. It was the last sunrise she ever saw, and her death nearly destroyed me. This is the past Thomas struggles with. This is his demon.
“This isn’t the life I want for you. This isn’t the choice I want you to make. You shouldn’t be with Bryce. Be with me. You can paint while I tend the farm. Abby and Sofia will be sisters, and we’ll have son. We’ll live a simple existence, uncomplicated and safe. I’ve shunned my work a long time with no intention of returning. It’s not all glory and power, as Bryce would have you believe. A Keeper’s life is hard work with little reward. We spend our entire lives helping others, but when we need help, who is there for us?”
“Maybe that’s why there are twelve of you,” I mumble.
“Ah, he told you that, huh? Did he tell you I’m the mistake, the one that shouldn’t have been born? The fucking family mishap?”
“He told me how much he loves you.”
Thomas’s shoulders slump and he rubs his eyes. “He doesn’t love me enough to stay away from you.”
“Shake the jealousy, Thomas. Work on a relationship with your family, your brother. He cares for you, for Sofia, and wants to be close. As for us,” my hand flutters between us, “we won’t ever be anything more than friends.”
“I know how you feel now, but in time you’ll think differently.”
“Time won’t make a difference, Thomas.” I plow into the overturned chair by mistake, grunting in pain. “I have feelings for Bryce, a connection I don’t see an end to. We have history.”
Thomas blocks my way from the kitchen, his entire frame swallowing the doorway.
“I’ve heard all about my brother’s pathetic theories. Did he tell you he was your lover in past lives? Ha! I’m sure he did. Anything to get you in his bed.”
“Thomas, this is none of your business, and you’ve no right to—”
“Let me guess, he left out the part about the two of you never producing a child together. Never ever. Not in a single past life did you bear his son.”
My gaze falls to the floor as bells go off in my head.
“Did he forget to mention you were killed before finding your happily ever after? Every time. Every fucking time! You were brutally murdered in each and every life that mingled with his.”
I stumble back and grasp the table to keep from sliding to the floor. My head swims in a lifetime of nightmares.
The brunt of a fist.
The fatal twist of a knife.
The theft of my soul.
Suddenly my violent dreams take on new meaning. Shudders run through my body. A cold sweat leaves the smell of fear on my skin.
“You have no future with Bryce.”
Oh my God, what if Thomas is right? I hold tight to the counter, my body going into shock. Maybe it’s too dangerous to consider a life with Bryce. Is that what I’ve chosen, a future with Bryce? My baby girl, Abby, my innocent daughter, her safety comes first. Should I take her away, leave Carlisle and find another place to live, a safer place, somewhere far from lost souls and Keepers? Where? How?
I follow the wall down the hall, slowly, unbalanced. My emotions are on overload.
I’m enthralled with Bryce’s lessons, the wonders of this world being unraveled like a good book, but is it all too much for me? Am I making the right choices? Maybe a normal life, the life I had with Meyer . . .
“Be with me,” says Thomas, stepping close, too close.
I look up, into his eyes. They’re a turbulent storm of gray, and I’m struck by one word: longing. What if the kind of life Thomas offers would keep my family safe?
“Tess, be with me, we’ll have our family. With me you’d be—”
“Lying,” I say, pushing past him. A rush of clarity has me heated to a boil as I stomp down the hall to the front door. “I don’t want to hear anymore.” I grab my coat and boots. Thomas reaches for me and I plow past him, opening t
he door. “I’ll be back for Abby at one o’clock. Have her ready.”
Thomas grabs the door so I can’t pass. “Promise you’ll think about what I’ve said.”
He’s not going to let me go until I agree.
“Fine,” I say, actually hating him.
He opens the door and I step out without looking back.
Think about what he’s said . . .
How can I not?
Precipice
February 12th
My toes dangle over the edge, curled against cold stone. I flex and a biting wind rises up the monstrous precipice to burn the tender skin between all ten digits. I stare into nothingness, the unfathomable abyss, as the chill smothers my face, stinging extremities. The spread before me is so dark I might as well be blind. Anxiety builds within my core, setting fire to every internal morsel. I can hear fear in the wind. It should affect me. It should rattle me and attack my senses. It tries, desperately, but my soul is numb and too stunned to run.
Tap, tap.
I jump inches from the ground before registering the sound of bone on glass. Bryce stands at the glass-paneled door of my studio, my haven. A pensive smile fails to reach his eyes. He slowly raises his hand to wave.
Somewhere in my mind swims the notion to open the door and welcome him in, but my feet are firmly planted, my toes still wrapped around the ledge of frigid rock. To move would mean stepping into the abyss. Or running in the opposite direction. Bryce opens the door a crack and asks for permission to enter, snapping me from this self-induced trance. I nod and smile awkwardly, crimson paint dripping down my sleeve. Bryce gently closes the door behind him.
I pull at my smock, hiding the tea stains on my clothes. Days of sleep deprivation have left me looking a little worse for wear. Okay, I look like shit. I stare at Bryce, unable to speak. At least one of us looks good. My favorite scarf hangs from his neck, and his dark tailored suit and crisp white shirt remind me of an Oreo cookie. I haven’t eaten today.
