The Love of Her Death

by Luna Carrol

  She found just the right one. An ivory colored dress that was just as fancy as the blue one but not nearly as low cut. The sleeves reached her elbows, and the hem swept the floor in a wide hoop shape. She really did feel like Cinderella now, and she preferred it to the vixen she played earlier.

  Soft music filled the room—airy flutes and gentle piano keys. The party had started, and it wasn't a loud, wild party at all. It sounded more like a ball. Something from an era she had only seen in old movies.

  She quickly brushed her hair and did her best to arrange it in a way that resembled a lady's. Pulled up on the sides, it hung in long auburn curls down her back. Pulling on a pair of white gloves, she walked to the door. All she needed to do was think about attending a party with the other passengers.

  She pulled the door open. The immediate presence of laughing and drinking passengers still surprised her. Everyone she saw smiled and nodded or lifted their glass. She made her way through the crowd, not knowing exactly where she was going. The airy music drifted around everyone.

  Her gut clenched tightly. Although everyone wore smiles and seemed friendly, she knew them for what they were. Murderers. She couldn't trust a single one of them. Maybe she'd just leave.

  She could have sworn she saw Colin. He moved between two people and disappeared before reaching another. There he was again. He wasn't wearing his uniform. She bit the inside of her cheek. If he would just stay put for a moment, she could see if it really was him.

  A happy couple moved to the side and revealed Colin. He stood directly in line with her. That was definitely not his uniform. He wore a tuxedo. Although every man in the room wore formal evening wear, Colin surpassed them all.

  She looked to a woman beside her. She had a terribly loud laugh. Looking back, Colin was gone. She grunted in frustration.

  She pushed her way through the crowd once more. She reached a door and looked back. He hadn't passed her. She twisted the knob and felt cool air blow across her face as she stepped out onto the platform that she had been on earlier with Jay.

  Colin stood on the platform looking away from her. Odd that he chose to lead her out here.

  "Colin?"

  He nodded.

  "I thought it was you. I almost didn't believe it when I saw you weren't in your uniform."

  "He was a murderer."

  "Who?"

  "Jacob.” Colin's hands gripped the rail tight enough for his knuckles to turn white.

  He knew. She felt a little nauseous. Being here was no coincidence. “So? We are too.” Play it cool. The man was obviously upset.

  Colin turned and looked at her. “He wasn't perfect. Not like you thought."

  She straightened where she had been trying to see his face. “What I thought of him doesn't really matter, does it? We shouldn't be concerned with what others think."

  Colin's jaw twitched. “There's something different about you, Donnice. I don't know what it is, but, ever since you stepped on this train, you've driven me crazy."

  "I'm so sorry. I wish I wasn't on this train to drive you crazy, but, if you remember correctly, you're the one who convinced me to board it."

  She spun around to face the party once more. “Now, excuse me. I'm here to please myself."

  "Wait, Donnice."

  She turned to see his hand outstretched. “You need to remember that these people aren't here for the same kind of good time."

  "Are you trying to protect me now?” She lifted her chin. “Do us both a favor. Make up your mind. Either you have feelings for me, or you don't but don't go around confusing me. Pick one."

  He lowered his hand. “Have a good time."

  She nodded. “I plan on it."

  She walked back into the crowd. Hell, she couldn't have a good time now. He confused her. She pushed past a man, who looked at her as if she had been the one in his way. Good grief. Men are a plague!

  The door closed behind her. Colin clenched his fists tightly. He should have helped Jacob to his stop earlier. He deliberately left the man to distract her. The last thing he needed was to have a female on board who constantly needed saving. Not only that, if she had gotten interested in the leather jacket jerk earlier, then she may have learned to relax a long time ago. Jacob wouldn't hurt her. He wasn't the type, and Colin knew it.

  He looked to the crescent moon above. When she did finally stumble upon Mr. Leather Jacket, he hated it. He didn't want her to like Jacob. In fact, he didn't want her to like anyone else. He wanted to be the one holding her, comforting her, and satisfying her.

  He had never regretted his decision to become a soul eater. Not until he met Donnice Jordan. The one woman he wanted to hold but couldn't. To hold her would mean saying goodbye to her.

  Goodbyes had never bothered him before. As a matter of fact, goodbyes could be good. Saying goodbye to Jacob Asbury had felt all too good. Pulling the life from him and knowing that Donnice would never see him again reminded him of just how good revenge could feel.

  This woman had to go. She had to. He wouldn't be having all these emotional responses if not for her. She literally breathed life into a room and anyone in it, including himself. Life was something he had no interest in, except to feed off of it. He made the conscious decision to leave life after taking the lives of his captors.

  Surrendering life to forever drink the life force of others meant not feeling the guilt or enduring any consequences of what he had done. It worked. He still felt good about killing the Vietnamese that held him in that nearly submerged cage, and he didn't suffer any consequences for having killed them. Now, the only consequences he suffered were for taking on the life of a soul eater. He could never have any kind of life with ... He looked to the closed door ... her.

  * * * *

  "Excuse me, Miss.” A very strong accent.

  She looked back at the man she had shoved her way past. “What?” She saw his look of shock. “I'm sorry. I really am."

  He wore an almost European looking uniform strictly cut to precision and high polished boots. Metals and a ribbon on his chest completed the ensemble, making him appear regal. He had blonde hair pulled back in a small ponytail. He could be a living advertisement for the military. She really needed to get a rein on her attraction to uniforms. Of course, Colin's was different ... No. She wouldn't think about him. He had the audacity to criticize Jay, and he didn't even know him!

  He smiled. “A beautiful lady should never apologize."

  She laughed lightly. “If she didn't, she wouldn't be all that beautiful, would she?"

  "Ah, a lady of wit. Would you care to have a drink with me?” His blonde hair and blue eyes made that odd accent seem perfectly suited.

  He gestured to a crystal punch bowl across the room.

  "Wow. A real punch bowl. I haven't seen one since prom night."

  He gently led her by the arm. “And what would this prom night be?"

  That's right. All these people were from different time periods and countries. “It's just a traditional dance. One that signifies growing up."

  "Oh, very much like a debut?” He lifted a tiny glass cup and filled it with a pink punch.

  She shook her head with a smile. “It's pretty typical. I'm not a wealthy person or anything like that."

  "I see. Well, I'm no longer a wealthy person. So, I guess you can say we're of the same class now.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “To the bourgeoisie."

  She raised her glass slowly. “The what?"

  "The bourgeoisie. It means the working class."

  "Oh. Well, that's me.” She smiled and tapped his glass with her own.

  "You are American?"

  "I am. And you? I'm afraid I'm not very good with accents."

  "Russian."

  He continued to talk with a steady hum of words in a deep accent, but the door behind him opened. Colin walked in from the platform. He made the briefest of eye contact with her and then stared straight ahead once more.

  "Miss?"

  She looked to her c
ompanion. “I'm sorry. My mind is a little preoccupied."

  He laughed. “Yes. I understand. I believe we are all thinking similar things."

  She doubted it. No one else could possibly be trying to understand the conductor. Not the way she was anyway.

  He turned to look over the crowd. “I requested this little gathering."

  "You did? Why?” She sipped her punch.

  "I can't abide the dreading of what is to come. I've not only seen death, but I've seen it coming for a long time. Now that it's so close, I don't wish to dwell on it.” He stood stiff, placing one hand behind his back, lifting his chin, and sipping his punch.

  "You were a soldier I see.” If he wasn't in a uniform, all the military mannerisms would declare his occupation.

  "Captain Ivan Cherskiy."

  "And you're Communist?"

  "Niet. I support ... or supported the Tsar."

  She smiled. “Forgive me. I'm pleased to meet you, Ivan."

  He inclined his head. “And you are?"

  "Donnice Jordan.” She laughed. “I am not in the military."

  "I should hope not.” Apparently, he found the idea to be absurd.

  "What day did you pass on?"

  He looked confused.

  "Your deathday?” Okay, all her life she said birthday. Deathday seemed just as logical.

  His face smoothed. “February 1917."

  She sipped her punch. “My history isn't too good, but didn't Russia become Communist around that time?"

  He looked offended or, at the very least, disturbed. Instead of answering her, he looked away. Well, duh, didn't he say he supported the Tsar? That would mean he lost. That was a touchy subject for a soldier or anyone proud of their country.

  "You were wealthy?"

  "Compared to most."

  "I imagine losing any life is bad, but it has to be worse when it was a good one. I bet there are quite a few people on this train who didn't mind losing the life they lived.” She looked around the room at the very happy faces. “Yeah. They all seem happy for now. What drove you to do it?” She looked back to him.

  His chest expanded with a deep intake of breath. “The workers rioted in St. Petersburg."

  "The bourgeoisie?"

  His eyes slid to the side and met hers. “Indeed."

  "I should go.” She placed her glass on the table. Oh yeah. She was the very thing that drove him to kill in the first place. That was her cue to exit the stage.

  "Wait.” He placed his glass down. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. You are American, not even Russian."

  She almost laughed at the “not even Russian” comment. Not only had he excused her for being middle class, but she didn't constitute his anger since she was something beneath him anyway. This man took snobbery to another level and didn't even know it.

  She fidgeted with her fingers. The seam of the satin gloves she wore gave her nails something to pinch and release. She didn't want to be rude, but she knew enough now to see the danger in this situation. He identified her with the class that caused his death.

  "I only wish to enjoy the time I have left.” He offered her the punch glass once more.

  She searched his eyes. There was no evil gleam. No piercing gaze of hatred and so many people surrounded them. She could stay here a little longer then. She accepted the glass with a nod.

  "You don't feel angry toward all members of the middle class?"

  His brow pleated. “No. They were not really the cause of my death. The workers would not have been successful if it had not been for the traitors that call themselves Russian soldiers."

  "Ah, treason."

  "Yes. Exactly.” His face grew hard. “The cowards turned on us. They guaranteed the fall of great mother Russia."

  Whoa. No need to make him get all stirred up. She sipped her punch, allowing him time to calm down. As she watched the people, she took note of how many couples were leaving arm in arm. Some people leaving were in groups of more than two. Of course, they would have to wander the train looking for an empty car since they haven't had time to figure out the secret of the layout.

  As the couples left, the car she stood in became more spacious and cooler. So many people leaving to experience what could be their last few minutes indulging in ... well, sex. Thinking about it, there wasn't much else for them to do. Food and drink was not an issue since Colin provided it. No need for money. No time to form relationships or even opinions of one another. The only thing left to enjoy was sex.

  Movement got her attention. Ivan raised his arm to greet another man across the room. The man wore a uniform almost exactly like Ivan's.

  "You know him?"

  "We died together."

  "I didn't know a person could know someone here."

  "You did not believe in seeing others once you died? I hope to see many more of my comrades again."

  "I didn't think about it.” Were her parents...? No, they wouldn't be on this train. They never killed anyone. Instead, they had been victims of a different crime—the city's neglect to fix a traffic signal promptly. That fleeting memory left her angry and sad at the same time. She should have made the city pay for the deaths of her parents. She would have, too, if she had been old enough.

  She tried her best not to think about her parents now. If she dwelled on that injustice, she would most likely want to find a city or state employee on this train and take it out on them. That's just the way it is. Hard working people die while assholes like her co-workers band together and breed.

  Jesus, she needed to change the subject. She wouldn't have the good time she wanted if she didn't. “How well did you know him?"

  The other man talked to a woman while casually leaning on the wall. Peter's hair was a dirty blond, and his eyes a dark brown. She knew that not all Russians could be blond and blue-eyed, but the stereotype stayed with her. Maybe it was the Hollywood influence at work again.

  The woman, dressed like a gothic rocker, seemed at ease with her back pressed to the wall and half hidden in the shadows.

  "We were friends for many years. It was good to die with him."

  "You're not angry about dying?” She was pissed, and she didn't even remember how she actually died.

  "Angry? No. I died doing what I felt was good and right for my country. It is the senseless death that a soldier fears."

  "Anyone actually.” Her parent's death had been senseless. They died on their way to the store for ice cream—something totally frivolous and not needed.

  "Yes. I can agree with you there. Everyone should die nobly. I did, and I'm proud of it."

  "You remember how you died?” She couldn't believe it. Nothing seemed to have rules here.

  "No. But I must have. I lived nobly.” He was so sure of himself.

  She relaxed with the knowledge that she might just be catching on. It didn't matter how you died, only what you did while living. On this train, it only mattered whether you killed or not.

  "Not exactly, but I remember serving with my regime, and I remember an angry mob of peas ... workers.” His eyes met hers briefly. “The day after my own troops rose up against me. Peter was loyal. A true Russian."

  She smiled. “You were going to say peasants, weren't you?"

  "And now I must be the one to apologize.” He stiffly bowed without bending much at the waist.

  "It's alright. You're from a different era. Things are different now."

  His smile highlighted straight white teeth, sparkling blue eyes, and chiseled features. Donnes could see him leading men to battle with his tall and commanding presence. Hell, women would follow this man if given the chance.

  "Tell me how things are different in your time.” His eyes sobered and lowered briefly. Good thing her dress didn't reveal so much cleavage this time.

  "It's not so bad being middle class. Most attend school, have good medical care, homes. We still work, and we're not as well off as the wealthy, but there's a certain amount of...” She paused.

  "Dignit
y?"

  "Exactly.” She shared a smile with him. “It's nice earning my own way."

  "You work?” His shocked expression returned. “In this?” His finger traced the edge of her neckline.

  "I work but not dressed like this.” She laughed. “I live alone or did. I work and depend on no one."

  "You should be cared for.” Once more he sipped his punch.

  Cared for. What a nice concept. To have someone treasure you enough, and be wealthy enough would mean a lot less stress. Unfortunately for her, “cared for” meant living with an aunt who was nearly crazy and didn't care for her at all. No, independence was much more preferable unless the person was fortunate enough to be rich. Maybe things would be different if she had been the child of wealthy parents.

  Yet, she had heard of very unhappy wealthy women with unfaithful husbands and no independence living at the beck and call of another only because that other person, husband or wife, held the purse strings. Perhaps it could be worse than what she had.

  "I like my independence, but...” She spotted Colin talking with a blonde on the other end of the car.

  "But?"

  She turned back to Ivan. “Nothing. Is it hot in here to you?"

  He smiled and looked to his friend. The other man nodded and took his female companion by the arm gently.

  Chapter Ten

  "Let's join Peter and his new friend in another car.” Ivan smiled and handed her a fresh glass of punch.

  She accepted the punch and knew what would happen if she accepted his invitation—the same thing everyone else left in couples for.

  Her eyes had a mind of their own. They sought out Colin. He actually had his head near the ear of the blonde! His eyes turned to look at her, but his mouth still wore that blasted shitty grin.

  Fine! Please yourself, Colin. She would no longer worry about what others thought of her. Colin would want it that way. That's exactly what he considered progress to be. She would be making progress when she no longer worried about what he thought of her.

  She passed her punch glass back to Ivan after a deep drink. “I don't think I'll need this, Ivan."

  Ivan smiled and accepted the glass. “As you say.” He placed the glass on the table and took her by the elbow to follow Peter and the gothic rocker.