Grey Eyes

by Ramey, Quinteria; Alston, Brandon

  “Really?” I interrupted, more surprised, if possible, that I’d been in the same place with him even before the attack.

  He nodded. “It was a Saturday afternoon. I’d just come from meeting with an old friend and you were sitting there, right near the front, looking miserable. You looked right at me, and then promptly went back to looking miserable. The resemblance startled me. But I didn’t say anything to you. I suppose I was too disappointed.”

  I wondered how I could have overlooked a face like his, but that wasn’t the pressing question in my head. “You were disappointed in how I looked?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine myself looking particularly appealing in sweats.

  He gave me a chastising look. “Because you didn’t recognize me. You have to know that I have no possible way to predict where or when I’ll see you when you come back. Your face is always different, aside from this time, and because of that I usually spend the time between your visits doing a tremendous job of driving myself insane. I find myself staring into the face of every random girl that I pass in the street or sit next to on a train. If there is a young couple at a restaurant, no matter how in love they appear to be, I have to make eye contact with her. And in that split second before our eyes meet, I allow myself to hope that it really is you this time, and I find myself looking forward to one of two reactions. If you’ve already become aware of your past lives then you’ll come running to me, no matter what, just like you did the first time you came back. Other times I’ve come across you before your memories have returned, but you’ll still have a reaction to my presence. It’s usually quite unmistakable really, like you recognize that we have a connection, even if you’re not consciously aware of how yet. He smiled and then sighed. “But then, that can be once in fifty years.” He chuckled humorlessly. “You can’t know what it’s like to live and die in the span of seconds, dozens of times a day.”

  I could only look at him. I really couldn’t imagine what that must be like.

  “Despite your not recognizing me on that bus, I still kept an eye on you two for Aleksandra’s sake,” he followed.

  “You really loved her—I mean me, that much?”

  He turned those eyes on me again and cracked a small smile. “Can’t you tell?”

  I felt the world sway and I had to turn my head to keep from being swept away.

  “You say that this is the first time I’ve come back with the same face. Do you have any idea why?” His face took up that pained expression from the boat ride on the lake and I wondered if I hadn’t stumbled upon the bad ending he’d made me promise not to ask about. I couldn’t help myself. “It’s my aunt’s death, isn’t it? The “bad thing” you don’t want to tell me about.”

  He eyed me for a tense couple of seconds. “No. But they are closely related.”

  In other words, back off. I quickly changed the subject, determined not to allow the conversation to shut down like it had with London. “So when did you know that I was…well, me?

  “I didn’t for a long time. You don’t normally come back so fast. That combined with the fact that you hadn’t recognized me on the bus gave me reason enough to give up on you. But once you got here, the resemblance, the room you’d chosen, it began to nag at me. I decided to try one more time. I let you read an entry from your aunt’s diary—I chose it because her memories would be the first you’d remember. As I watched you read it, I could see that you were having a reaction to the words and I became hopeful. So the next day, I stepped it up a bit. I left another diary entry. It mentioned the spot where we used to meet—I didn’t really think you’d come, but you did. Not only that, but once you saw me again, you remembered everything.”

  “Those memories London showed me, that was the night, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about my grandmother’s version of the story. She’d said that I’d had some kind of breakdown—an anxiety attack she’d called it— and that they’d found me passed out in the maze. I wondered if any of what she’d told me was true.

  “Did I really pass out?”

  His eyes became intense again and he stood up.

  “Wait! Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

  He frowned. “I’m not leaving. I’m just realizing that I can’t keep you in the dark about everything. I’m going to tell you what happened with your aunt.”

  I swallowed, suddenly unsure if I wanted to hear it. I decided I had to. “Okay.”

  “The last time you were here you didn’t take the “bad thing” very well. It didn’t seem to bother you at first, but as time went by, it began to take its toll. I think if you weren’t an heir—it was the first time that’d happened—or if you simply had the freedom to disappear that you’d enjoyed every time before, then maybe you could have gotten past it. Like you always do. But because you were trapped, you acted out. You wanted me to make you a monster like me, banking that I could keep your mind human, but I refused. There’s really only a small chance that a witch can be turned successfully. My refusal set you off. You threatened to…kill yourself.”

  “Kill myself?” That dazed me and my own words echoed inside my head. “What boy could be worth your life?”

  “Like I said, you were incredibly desperate to escape this place. When I realized that you were serious about hurting yourself, I agreed to turn you. Only…”

  “I died,” I answered.

  “You died,” he repeated. “I’d hoped that somehow we could get past what happened the last time you were here, but there was that same desperation in your eyes when you entered the maze. You had pushed yourself too hard, you couldn’t even walk straight. Your eyes were crazed as you searched for me. I hid at first, thinking that maybe if I disappeared then you would forget about me. But immediately I knew I was deluding myself, you’d only spend your life searching for me. I stepped into the light just in time to see your body give out. I had no choice but to bring you back to them.”

  So my grandmother hadn’t totally lied about my mental instability. It scared me to hear that I’d been so unhinged by my memories. It kind of put a dark cloud over our fairy tale, and yet there was still another “bad thing” I wasn’t aware of. Eager to shift my focus, I left those uncomfortable thoughts out of my next question. “They know about you?”

  “Of course. Who do you think protects this city?” he asked. “Did your grandmother feed you that story about ancient magicks keeping the vampires away?” He shook his head. “If witches had the power to keep us out, it wouldn’t have been much of a war. They wouldn’t normally keep an heir out of the loop, but given my history with your family, I suppose it’s to be expected.”

  My mind was reeling now. It seemed like every time I thought I knew something, some foundation of facts I’d felt confident that I could stand on, it would get snatched from underneath me. I thought about how close his cabin was. Why had I not realized how odd that was before? Mrs. Moorer’s face popped into my head—she had known what Tristan was and my grandmother had made her look paranoid. Then I remembered what London told me that afternoon during the meeting: “I know you feel bad for Mrs. Moorer, but don’t, it has to be this way.”

  “Why do you protect the city? For me?”

  “Not exactly. It kind of belongs to me.”

  That was a surprise. “It does?”

  “It became mine when the witches lost the war. Part of the peace agreement. We let you keep up appearances with the heirs and everything, but really you answer to us. Also, we get free rein to feed on anything outside the havens.”

  I shook my head. “That’s terrible.”

  “Better than the alternative. When the war ended, there were seven havens and seven heirs to rule them. Those that refused to sign the treaty were literally wiped off the map. That was a tragedy.”

  I found myself much more aware of our differences now that he’d explained how things really were. Yet, hearing the sadness in his voice as he spoke about the fates of those now nonexistent havens, it was difficult to imagine him con
nected to anything capable of acts that heinous. Being with him right now, it was easy to believe what my grandmother had told me about him that night. I grinned at the thought. “My grandmother said that you were just some boy from the neighborhood when you came to my room that night.”

  Another partial smile—but it faded quickly. “I came back to tell you that I had to leave, to say hurtful things that I hoped would change how you felt about me. It was the only solution I could think of that would save you from yourself. But when I showed up, you looked at me like I was a stranger. It wasn’t until after I left that I understood what your grandmother had done. She’d taken the decision out of my hands. She’d erased your memories of me. I was angry at first, but then I realized that this was the best thing that could have happened. If you didn’t remember me, then you would have no reason to want to come back. When it came time for your life to end this time, you could enjoy heaven.”

  “You don’t want me to come back?”

  “You’ve asked me that question with seven different faces and the same hurt expression. Ana, I love you more than anything. I live only because you do come back. But I do regret making you feel like you have to come back for me. There is something wondrous and amazing that awaits you after you die, and I want that for you. It’s too late for me, with what I am and the things I’ve done.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” I said, shaking my head

  “Life isn’t fair, Ana. Don’t worry about me. I’ve accepted that this is how it will be.”

  He let me think about that for a moment. His fingers stroked my hair.

  “Then, why did you come to my classroom to ask me to leave with you? Why did you take me back to your cabin? You had what you wanted.”

  He sighed. “Because telling myself that I could stay away from you is a lot easier than actually staying away. A small part of me thought that maybe you were only pretending not to remember, as silly as that sounds. But I suppose the true reason is simply that I couldn’t stand for it to end like that. For you to live out your life and I just be some stranger to you. That thought terrified me. So I sought you out, knowing all the while that what I was doing was selfish, that it wasn’t in your best interest. I thought that if you at least knew about me, our past, then that would be enough.”

  “But you weren’t planning on coming back to tell the rest were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t. Despite being cut short, I was convinced after I left that I’d told you enough about me that you could never not know who I was. I wasn’t aware that you still loved me, not until London told me at the club. And then I could see it on your face. I didn’t know how to handle it at first, but I decided that if you still had feelings for me, then I had to come to you.”

  I thought on that for a moment—about being in love and not remembering why.

  “Do you understand?” he asked after a time.

  “I think so.”

  “Then can you promise me something else?”

  “What is it?”

  “Promise me that you won’t try to get your memories back. This really is the best possible situation.”

  I considered what he’d told me so far. Did I want that crazed version of myself to return? Would I still be me if my memories came back? I suddenly found myself feeling grateful that London’s spell hadn’t worked. “Then you have to tell me about our past— about all the things we’ve done.”

  He flashed me a wide smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  And he did. He told me about the nights we spent huddled together under starry African skies and the crazy times we had in turn of the century N’Orleans, where we’d danced until the sun came up every night of the week. We laughed about my nearly being swallowed up by a crocodile while touring the Amazon rainforests. We’d climbed mountains and sailed oceans, run barefoot down the streets of Paris and kissed in the pouring rain. But it wasn’t just the grandness of our adventures that kept me utterly captivated and made me feel closer to him. It was the details he remembered as well, like the annoying habits he’d hated at the time but then came to miss after I was gone. Or the nicknames we’d made up for one another, he was Peter Pan (for obvious reasons) and I was his Wendy. The emotion he displayed when telling the stories squashed any trace of disbelief that might have lingered. The enthusiasm in his voice and the light in his eyes were infectious, and honestly, I could have listened to him all night. Somewhere along the way, the fact that he was a vampire didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I had to if I was now waking up. I looked around the room, but Tristan was gone. He’d no doubt watched me fall asleep and then slipped away, over the balcony. The memories of his visit descended upon me, but I no longer felt that overpowering longing when I thought of him now. It had been replaced by a peaceful bliss—a gentle elation that filled me up. I turned over and faced the glass wall, my eyes on that lake in the distance as slumber scooped me up once more.

  I dreamt of a wide beach, with the waves crashing down on my feet. The sun peeked quietly over the horizon, providing just the right amount of warmth. My hair was long and very blonde, and I wore a white dress of linen. Tristan was there, holding me, his familiar scent just barely detectable over the smell of the ocean. Suddenly, he rolled over onto his back, carrying me onto his stomach so that I was now on top of him, looking down at his faultless face. Only, he looked worried.

  “Is it worth it, Mariana?” he asked me. “Is it worth it to have forever with me?”

  I nodded my head. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t deal with to feel like this, to have these moments. This is my choice, Tristan. And I’ve chosen you. I’ll always choose you.”

  And with that, he pulled me close to him, pressing his lips against mine, and I let the passion take me….

  I leaned up in my bed, panting and feeling very hot. I could still feel his arms around me, his kisses on my face….

  Crap! That was a memory.

  Chapter 21

  Unexpected

  “Is it worth it to have forever with me?

  What did he mean? It had to have something to do with whatever it was he didn’t want me to know. He’d already explained what he meant when he’d said that our fairy tale ended badly when he told me about what happened with my aunt. I could only guess that in the memory he was referring to the “bad thing” that caused my aunt to be so desperate in the first place. But if it affected all the previous versions of me, shouldn’t I be worried too? Didn’t he say that her circumstances were what made her react so terribly? Well, she and I have the same circumstances—the same face for goodness sakes. Did my not remembering make me immune to it somehow? Was it worth it?

  “This is my choice, Tristan. And I’ve chosen you. I’ll always choose you.”

  Choose him over death? Of course I would. If this was how I felt back then, I knew that I would never want to leave him. Even if that was what he wanted. But was it that simple? Did he just feel like I was choosing him over heaven? That couldn’t be it. He’d told me that outright. There had to be something more. And then I remembered the first part of my reply to him.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t deal with to feel like this, to have these moments.”

  Nothing I wouldn’t deal with? My thoughts moved to London and Aiden, and how she was leaving to be with him. Probably never to return. She was leaving everyone and everything for him. That had to be a lot to deal with. It was necessary, that I knew. I was almost certain that no one here would understand, not with the atrocities the vampires had caused over the years. At least she was waiting until she graduated. That might be easier for her family to accept than if she’d just disappeared into the night. Would I have the same patience? If Tristan asked, would I leave with him? Could I leave with him? In every story he’d shared with me we’d run off together, leaving my family behind. I doubted that my mother would be any more understanding when she recovered, even if she had been a whisper away from being one herself. I couldn
’t have both of them in my life. It was that simple. Eventually, I would have to choose. I wondered if my being separated from my family was the “thing” that I would have to endure to be with Tristan. It made sense. Except, how would not having my memories make that any better?

  Darren’s bright red BMW pulled up in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. I’d been concentrating on last night to avoid thinking about what this ride to school would be like. Carlos, who had been smiling when I first looked up, frowned when our eyes met. Darren, on the other hand, was beaming at me, smiling that easy smile of his as he stepped out of the car. The car he was driving because he’d sold his truck… for me.

  “Things must be really good with your mom if you’re headed back to school already.”

  I smiled despite myself. “Yeah, Dr. Roberts says that there’s not much to do now but wait. He’s certain that she’ll make a full recovery.”

  Darren winked. “It’s a miracle.”

  He swung his arm around me and I wormed my way out of it. He looked confused. “What’s wrong?”

  Darren had a right to know that I had feelings for someone else, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him yet. I sucked at giving bad news. “I… I fell. I hurt my shoulder. It’s still a little sore.”

  “Oh, sucks.”

  Guilt swirled inside of me.

  The car was quiet as we passed the sign welcoming us to the other side of Brighton. Reading Carlos’s mind, which I now decided had been what happened, had apparently made me his enemy for life. He refused to speak, even when Darren asked him a question. Darren didn’t seem surprised by this, just annoyed. Me, I did my best to keep my thoughts away from Tristan. It just felt wrong for me to fantasize about his next visit when I was sitting in Darren’s car. Poor Darren had attempted to initiate a conversation several times, but had given up at this point. I honestly didn’t know what to say. The need to explain myself remained on the tip of my tongue but I could never make myself say the words—or any other words for that matter. When I stole a glance in his direction, I could see him trying to make sense of my weirdness. I felt awful.