by Kali Willows
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Ambrosia. What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you—Desmond.”
Ambrosia’s muscles screamed as she got off the bench, and she tucked her chin trying to hide the grimace of pain.
“I uh—I hope we can bump into each other again.” The dark stranger stood as well, still facing her.
The corners of Ambrosia’s mouth pulled up in response to his striking grin.
“Maybe, who knows?” She backed away with stumbling steps, finding it difficult to stop watching him. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She worked her wobbly legs as quickly as she could and then turned around and walked away.
“Sweet dreams....” Ambrosia turned around to reply, but he was gone.
Chapter Two
She continued to experience the same paralyzed, terrified awakening at three thirty-three each morning. But now, she remembered the dreams—or whatever they were. Hovering, with no control over her body, floating under the chin of the Statue of Liberty. The cool breeze, the lapping waves below, police sirens in the distance…so real. She rubbed the very real bump on her head, incurred when she swung around, smacking into Lady Liberty’s neck. A bizarre dream, and if that was astral projection, it was a lame attempt.
Ambrosia tried every technique she found in the esoteric tomes from her local bookstore in her futile attempts to astral project or even to remember if she had. When those failed, she turned to her old friend Google. The descriptions of relaxation and meditation methods were pointless. If she lay down or even sat to try the procedures, her sickness devoured her. Exhaustion overtook any vain attempts to relax. Usually she passed out, if not from fatigue then from the waves of agony that consumed her body.
Madame Zovka was a loon, and Ambrosia became furious that she’d believed her ridiculous tales. Sorting through her memories of that evening, her stomach fluttered at the sudden flash of dark, seductive eyes. An image of the stranger’s devilishly sexy grin brought a smile to her face. Her watch had stopped at the exact time she woke every night—but why? It had worked perfectly since her run in that evening.
Desmond.
At the sudden shriek of the smoke alarm, she struggled into the kitchen. I can’t even feed myself anymore; this is ridiculous. Infuriated tears streamed down her cheeks as she tossed the cindered toast into the sink.
***
“The numbness is only going to get worse. I’m sorry, Ambrosia. You may have to consider using a wheelchair to get around.” The doctor’s sincere expression and gentle tone did nothing to ease her pain and anger.
“I’ll walk until I have no use of my legs at all. I’m not using a damn wheelchair. I’m not an invalid.”
“I realize how upsetting this is for you, but please, be realistic.”
“Dr. Williams, I don’t think I can stomach any more realism. I can’t sleep through the night, I can barely eat or walk, and the pain is unbearable. Can’t you just lie to me for a change?” She could hardly choke out the words as her throat grew thick. “Can’t you at least offer a glimmer of hope or something I can cling to?” Unable to hold back the building sobs any longer, Ambrosia broke down.
She couldn’t even muster the physical strength to climb down from the examination table. Her will just as strong and determined as ever, she cursed the battered body that lacked the ability to follow its direction.
“I would be giving you false hope. Your leukemia hasn’t responded to any treatment, and your anemia has reached a critical stage.” He slid her sleeve up her gangly forearm to reveal the excessive bruising that had now surfaced.
“If you would go back on your medicine, at least I could try to make you comfortable in your last—”
“In my last few weeks, right?”
“I’m afraid maybe days, if that. Your body is starting to shut down. Your pulse is weak, you’ve lost so much weight, your blood pressure is low, and your gross motor control is failing. Honestly, I should admit you to hospice care.”
“No, I won’t lie in a hospital bed, waiting to die.”
“The leukemia is spreading faster than we expected.” Standing at the sink, the doctor washed his hands. In a moment, he’d be in the hallway—and she’d be stranded on his damn table.
Working to slow her tearful sobs, Ambrosia hated that she had to beg for help. “Please help me down, Doctor. I have a date tonight and I have to get ready.
“A date?” His voice raised an octave, as he spun to stare at her in astonishment.
“My last date, so I’m gonna make it count.” She accepted his hand and climbed down.
“Ambrosia.”
“Mind over matter is my only recourse right now, so be it.” Determined to defy his cynicism, she pulled out a prescription bottle and cranked it open. “Could you please get me some water?”
He filled a plastic cup at the sink and handed it to her. “You’re taking your medicine?”
“Just the pain pills.” She popped two tablets into her mouth and chased them with the tepid tap water. Tossing the empty cup into the wastebasket, she reached for her clothes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed and go prepare for my date.”
“Ambrosia, you can’t possibly….”
“Why not? I have secluded myself for months now. My family is all gone, but my friends looked at me with such pity, I couldn’t bear it. I am taking this one night, with a complete stranger, to be held, to be cherished, to feel something for the last time. I’m not delusional, Dr. Williams. I’m lonely. This isn’t a cure, but it is just what I need for tonight. Then maybe I can find some peace, can find the strength to face my own death.”
“I see.”
***
The loneliness that consumed him for decades had taken its toll. He rarely left his loft, even to feed. Decorated in a Victorian style, his home had once been a welcome sanctuary, but melancholy had snuffed out pleasure even in his lovely surroundings. If this didn’t work, he was going to go to sleep, and never wake up again—ever. A long-time, faithful friend had agreed to help him carry out his plan, but only if he first considered an alternative.
Contact Madame Evangeline and seek out another. Hunt for a distraction that would vanquish your misery for a night and give you a reason to reconsider your suicide mission.
He’d promised nothing, but since their discussion he’d made a discovery…one that had added a promise of light to his endless, dark existence. While traveling on the astral plane, he had encountered a woman. For months, he had enjoyed beautiful, erotic nights that gave him renewed interest in life—hope for a happy future.
Then, a few weeks before, she’d failed to appear, and he feared she never would again. He should have taken her when he had the chance. His appetite had been sharp, but his faith in eternal love had been so long repressed, he’d hesitated—and perhaps missed his only chance at happiness with her.
Once again hopeless, he contacted Madame Eve. His friend would not help him with his ultimate solution otherwise, but what was the point in finding another? His true mate had disappeared. He could only try to feed his insatiable sexual desires and perhaps find an inkling of tranquility.
Despite his ability to control his thirst for human blood, his sexual hunger had become debilitating, especially in the absence of his late night rendezvous with her. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember her delectable smell, the sweet taste of her kiss, the exquisite warmth of her body, but to no avail. The memories faded. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed.
“Aldon, it’s Desmond.”
“Hello, my dear friend.”
“Have you had any success?” A brief attempt at sounding hopeful was fruitless.
“No, I was not able to locate her, it’s as though she has completely vanished. I am sorry for letting you down.”
“It isn’t you who has let me down. I let myself down by holding back when I had her in my arms for the first time, the only time. I knew that was the moment, and I didn’t
take her.” He sat.
“You were honorable in your self-control; you fought the instinct to turn her before she knew everything.”
“Perhaps, but none of that matters now.”
“Desmond, when was the last time you fed?”
“I am not sure, I haven’t thought about it lately.” He cast a guilty glance at the half-empty shelves of the glass-doored medical refrigerator across the room, untouched for weeks.
“Desmond, you have to feed before seeing a human for a night of—your bloodlust will overpower you.”
“I have no appetite.”
“I wish you would reconsider,” His pleading words were offered with hushed voice.
“What will change in the next millennium that hasn’t changed in the last? I have no interest in immortality, not anymore.” Desmond grew tired of justifying his decision.
“You mean not without her?”
“It would seem so, my friend.” Irritation was soon replaced with sadness.
“I can’t believe it’s happening tonight.”
“That’s why I’m calling. Having fulfilled your requirement, I am ready to complete our agreement, in the dawn’s early light. I have reserved you a room in the Castillo Hotel, so there will be no need to delay.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You can and you will.” Determination colored his words. “You gave your word, and in all the time I have known you, you have never broken a promise. I’m counting on you.”
“This isn’t right.” Aldon’s voice grew louder.
“What’s done is done; there is nothing left for me.”
“As you wish, but I will miss you.”
“Thank you.”
Chapter Three
Standing in the vast lobby of the hotel, Desmond reviewed Madame Evangeline’s confirmation email once more.
As you have requested Mr. Jacobs, you have been booked into the Castillo Hotel and Resort on Peaks Island in Maine. All of your accommodations have been arranged.
Desmond put his phone away as he approached the concierge.
“Welcome, sir.” The cheery older gentleman rambled on about the hotel’s facilities, but Desmond was stuck in a dismal state with no eagerness about his evening plans, so the man’s enthusiasm fell upon deaf ears.
Sliding the room card into the slot, he pushed the door open. The breathtaking view perked his mood up dramatically. In all his long life, he had never seen a sight quite like this. Perhaps he was completing an unintentional bucket list tonight.
Dropping his overcoat on the floor by the massive king-sized bed, he walked through the clear, tubular-shaped room. Neon blue surrounded him, with magnificent creatures swimming all around. The underwater hotel was a remarkable destination. This view of under-the-sea alone was enough to make his last night of existence worthwhile. Nose pressed to the glass, he examined the sponge-like coral reef and colorful vegetation outside the window, the small schools of vibrant fish swimming by…. So much life, yet the room and all it offered gave such peace and serenity.
Taking in the rest of the astounding suite, he grinned at the hot tub directly across from the bed. No need for privacy here. Watching the sea creatures in all their glory while soaking in the tub would be a joy for his date when she arrived, even if that was the only bliss he could offer a stranger tonight.
***
Covering her graying skin with makeup seemed to make her look even worse in the mirror. The more she worked at it, the less real she looked. Feeling useless in her vain attempt at sprucing herself up, she called the hotel salon and asked for someone to come up to her penthouse suite and give her a makeover.
The knock on the door brought a sense of relief and she walked with weak legs to answer it.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” A petite brunette in a pink beautician’s tunic nodded with a pleasant grin and strolled into the room, a large bag bristling with the tools of her trade slung over her shoulder.
“Hello Ms. Thatcher, my name is Pricilla.” Approaching a small vanity by the window, she placed a white towel on the surface, and laid a daunting array of beauty supplies on the terry cloth. She tugged out the padded bench from under the table and Ambrosia sat, praying the woman could make her presentable.
“I can see where you were having difficulty; this makeup is much too dark for your creamy fair skin.”
Pricilla was being kind with her choice of words. Ambrosia knew her complexion was comparable to a corpse now. With gentle hands, the beautician wiped the unflattering makeup off with soft sweeps of cool, moistened cotton pads.
“There now, a fresh start.” Her bright eyes showed no shock or surprise as she pampered the sickly reflection that Ambrosia stared at in the mirror.
“I was trying to look a little more—healthy.” Embarrassment washed over her but was quickly gone as she watched the progress of her makeover.
“A little more bronze over these areas…there now, you look as though the sun has been kissing your skin.”
“Wow, can I keep you with me everywhere I go?” Ambrosia eyed her reflection in amazement, and then it dawned on her how silly her comment was. This was likely the last makeup she would ever wear. She blinked the forming tears away. “Thank you, Pricilla; you’ve done an amazing job.”
“Well, I think there are a few more things we can do to pamper you.” She pulled out nail polish and emery boards.
***
Taking a deep breath, Ambrosia tried to settle the insane butterflies wreaking havoc on her hollow stomach. Another dose of painkillers was helping, but not being able to eat made a mess of her already destroyed digestive system. Vertigo started to set in; the spinning imbalance sparked a wave of nausea and unease.
A rush of cold sweat started over her face and neck again, finally enveloping her entire body. She pulled her handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at the moisture, careful not to smudge her masterpiece of fake coloring.
When the door opened, she gasped in shock.
“You?”
“I can’t believe it’s you.” Dark eyes entranced hers.
“We met at the—I bumped into you at the fair?” Ambrosia clutched her tight chest trying to inhale.
“Are you okay?” Desmond took her by the arms as her knees buckled.
“I’m having trouble—” She forced the air in and out as panic started to set in. Was she losing control of her lungs?
He assisted her to the bed and helped her to sit.
“Ambrosia, right?” His voice grew fainter.
“Yes.” She tried to speak and everything faded to blackness.
“Thank you, Doctor. I will call down if anything changes.” His deep velvet voice was followed by the clicking of a door closing. She opened her eyes.
“What happened? Where am I?” Her heart raced. Everything was blurry–she couldn’t focus properly.
“Ambrosia, it’s Desmond. You came to my room and passed out.”
“Room three thirty three?”
“Yes, that’s right. How are you feeling?” With a gentle motion, he smoothed her hair back from her face and caressed her cheek.
“I don’t feel right, I can’t move my legs, I can’t see properly.” Ambrosia’s voice cracked.
“It’s okay, I’m right here.” Cold fingers wrapped around her hand.
“Desmond, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t, I shouldn’t have come, and I thought I could handle it, Desmond I’m—”
“Hush now. I know everything. I’m right here; you don’t ever have to be alone again.” His cool fingers trailed along her neck.
“I’m dying.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I had no business coming here tonight.” She struggled to rise, frustrated and embarrassed that her weakness was so evident. Couldn’t the universe spare her a little grace for one night?
“You don’t remember, do you?” He slid his arm behin
d her back, supporting her as she sat up.
“Remember what? The fair?” She stiffened, pulling away
“Well, yes, that, too.” He tucked her close to his side.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t recall anything else?”
“About what?”
“About me, about us. Ambrosia, don’t you know me?”
“Should I?” She strained to see his face better. His features blurred, but so close, she could see more than just vague outlines.
“Three thirty-three,” he whispered, his breath cool against her ear.
“What?”
“Three thirty-three has been our signal for months now.”
“Signal?” Her cloudy brain began to clear—just a bit—and a flicker of light shone.
“Every night, we met, you and I. I always sent you back at three thirty-three, so you would make the connection when you awoke.”
“I don’t understand?”
The coolness of his palm cupped her cheek as she fought off another flash of cold sweat.
“My beloved Ambrosia, why can’t you remember me? Everything we shared?”
“I don’t—where did we meet?” A wave of frustration washed over her.
“In our dreams, my love. You are my soul mate.”
Ambrosia’s chest heaved and she grew lightheaded. All the strength in her body drained and she lost control of her muscles and slumped over. Just as her doctor predicted, everything in her body was shutting down.
“Three thirty—thr—”
“Hush now.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek, his arms wrapped tight around her.
“The gypsy told me, but I didn’t believe her.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That I went to you in my sleep, that we would love one another for eternity.” The gypsy’s words began to make sense—which worried her. “I thought she was crazy, why don’t I know you?” Labored breathing evolved into wheezing.
“Your body is weak; it’s using all its strength to function. Maybe you just didn’t have enough energy left to remember.”
