by S. L. Baum
“That night still haunts me. Jeremiah vowed to continue the hunt,” Catherine murmured. “I can still hear his voice.”
“‘I declare that it will be my mission, and my son’s, and his sons’, to find the evil in this world and annihilate it from existence,’ Jeremiah boomed as the fire consumed what was left of the body,” James continued.
“Catherine and I returned to the inn as quickly as possible, not leaving our room until the next day, to board the steamboat and depart from the danger. While on the boat, we listened to every conversation we could hear, trying to find out more information about the Lords. We lucked out and were able to piece together several bits of gossip from the more talkative passengers onboard.”
Catherine chimed in with the details. “We discovered that Jeremiah claimed to have accidentally shot a young man while out hunting, twenty years earlier. He cried out an apology, then trekked across a clearing to check on the man... to make sure he was not badly hurt. Apparently when he got close enough, he witnessed the man wiping blood from his arm, but no injury was apparent. Jeremiah said the young man then ran off into the forest but he was too afraid to follow,” she explained.
“Jeremiah had never let that day leave his memory, talking about it all the time, searching the forests for the young man. For twenty plus years he had searched, to the detriment of his marriage and to the detriment of his mental health. He became a crazed zealot, preaching about the evil that live among us. He brought up his son Ezra in an environment of hate and fear. The mistake of the Immortal young man had been to cross paths with Jeremiah Lord once more,” Catherine finished.
“My mistake was that I did not speak up for the boy,” James admonished himself.
“You cannot hold yourself responsible for that,” Link insisted.
“I always picture Catherine or Charity in that young man’s place. And it is simply an unimaginable horror for me. If I had stopped Jeremiah then, that boy would still be alive. Then maybe the Lord children, and grandchildren, would never have taken up the hunt,” James replied.
“Or maybe you and Catherine would have been captured by the crowd and killed as well,” I chided. “Then where would I be? You saved me. I don’t know what I would have done after Roger’s death if I didn’t have you two. They would’ve had to lock me in an insane asylum. I would have been turned over to the Government once it was discovered that I wasn’t aging and that I could heal myself,” I declared.
“No, James. You must not fault yourself. Everything happens for a reason. Charity is right. We might have been killed too. You must not hold yourself responsible. Jeremiah Lord killed that boy and there is nothing we could have done to stop him. I believe the reason we were witness to that gruesome scene was to become more aware. We both knew there were people who thought we were evil. But real danger had eluded us. After that night we knew exactly what would happen if we were to ever be discovered by those with malice in their hearts,” Catherine stated. “All these years, James... You’ve held onto that guilt for much too long,” she smiled at him, pushing the hair back from his downturned eyes. Catherine cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward to kiss him – a sweet, tender, loving kiss.
“Thank you... for loving me,” he murmured.
“Always,” she whispered back.
Alone again later that night, halfway through an old musical (Link was being gracious), Link paused the movie, “They really love each other,” he said.
“Who?” I puzzled.
“Catherine and James,” he said. “They are each the half that makes the other whole.”
“Yes they are. They have an extensive history together,” I answered.
“We could be that,” he said, his eyes intent, intense.
“We could,” I agreed with slight hesitation.
“I need to know more about you, your history. Can I quiz you a bit?” he asked.
“Fire away,” I smiled, “but I get answers from you too.”
“Where were you born?”
“San Diego – You?”
“Mesa, Arizona. When we first met, you said your birthday was in February. Later when I figured out who you really were you said something about March.”
“Emily Johnston’s birthday is February tenth - arbitrary date. My birthday is March twenty-second,” I explained. “James and Catherine always celebrate both. I get two birthdays! When is yours?” I asked.
“April sixteenth, I only get one,” he quipped.
“What’s the best city that you’ve lived in, so far?” I asked him.
“Here,” he answered with simple honesty, “I met you.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I leaned forward to give him a quick kiss.
“On the ride to Montrose you said the vehicles from the Fifties were so stylish. What was your favorite?”
“I’ll say the Thunderbird, convertible. But that is the only favorite I’ll give. I have been alive for too long to have absolute favorites. I like so many different things, it is too hard to pick just one,” I answered.
“Okay, no favorites. How about siblings?” he asked.
“None, only child, like you – I’ve assumed,” I said.
“Correct. What else?” Link paused in thought.
“Nothing else,” I answered. “The past isn’t all that important. You know the basics now - where and when I was born, my connection to your family. You know my weaknesses and my strengths. You know I love you and I know you love me.”
“That I do,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me.
“We’ll make our own history,” I said as I snuggled into his embrace. “I’ll give you one more favorite,” I whispered. “Being in your arms... that is my favorite place to be.”
chapter eleven
DELICATE THREADS
I took off first, daring him to catch me. I was better at it now, better than I should be. But then I always picked up new skills quite quickly. We were in the Enchanted Forest, weaving through the trees. I could hear him behind me, getting closer. A cackle escaped his lips, I pushed myself harder. He would not overcome me. I was not willing to accept defeat.
A split-second later a blur whizzed by my right side. It came to an abrupt halt, creating a white haze before my eyes.
“You stink,” I complained. “Couldn’t you let me win just once?” I whined to him.
“At the rate you’re going you’ll be kicking my butt in no time. I will be the victor for as long as I can,” Link whooped, raising his arms in triumph.
“You’re right I can wait. I’ve got nothing but time. Do you think they make wheel chairs with skis on them for the old folks?” I asked, sticky sweet, as I skied over to him.
“Oh you are wicked,” he smiled back. “But I still won.”
“Fine, you won,” I conceded. “I like that trail. It really feels like you are lost in an Enchanted Forest. I even have a Knight in shining armor, of sorts, to watch over me,” I teased.
“Mr. Knight is at your service Miss Johnston.” Link performed his best, ski gear, bow. “You are Emily Johnston today, aren’t you?” He asked.
“Yes, we are in public. I realize that switching back and forth can be a little difficult. I slipped up, the night you found me, after I fell on the mountain,” I confessed.
“When?” Link puzzled.
“You asked my name and I actually said Charity,” I reminded him.
“Oh that’s right,” he paused, remembering. “Then you said, ‘I don’t need your charity,’ to cover your mistake.”
“It worked,” I shrugged. “Sixty plus years of lying, makes one quite believable.” I put my sticky sweet smile back on, pushed off with my poles, and skied away.
He easily caught up with me, and ordered, “Stay on Double Cabin,” pointing to the left. As he passed me, he yelled, “Galloping Goose and then Bridges.”
Enchanted Forest, Double Cabin, Galloping Goose, and then Bridges – those were four of the countless names that were staked throughout the slopes o
n signposts. The mountain was a labyrinth of ski trails. Navigating your way down could easily be compared to driving the freeways of a large metropolitan city. The ski trails are the tangle of freeways that join each other at various junctures. The skiers are the drivers that must watch for signposts carefully. A name and an arrow mark the way for each trail and the skiers then merge, hopefully without crashing. Near misses were aplenty that day. Some skiers lost control of their vehicle and were involved in a single car accident. Luckily I was spared the embarrassment and the inconvenience.
The fear of a bad fall, with an obvious injury, was ever present in my mind. I curtailed my usual recklessness. The influx of people during peak ski season kept the trails filled with witnesses. If we could ski somewhere truly remote, completely by ourselves, I would really let go. Then Link would genuinely have something to contend with.
We skied on, knees slightly bent, skis zigzagging, making our way down the mountain. Link stayed by my side, my ever present sentry. He was always on the lookout now. My guilt, for bringing him into this life of mine, was growing. But I could not imagine going on without him. Prior to Link I was merely living, a day to day drudge through life. With Link by my side, I felt truly alive.
In no time at all we reached the bottom and slid back in line for Lift Ten. I was starting to feel like a yo-yo – up and down, up and down. We had repeated the scenario several times already, varying the route just a little for each trip down. I was beginning to tire.
“Last one,” I exhaled, as we were lifted into the air.
“Are you sure? The lifts don’t close for another hour,” Link pointed out.
“I’d rather be snuggled under a blanket, sipping hot chocolate by the fire, with you,” I breathed, resting my head on his shoulder.
“I can’t argue with that, but let’s make it a good one.”
“What does that mean?” I groaned, wary of his use of the term good one.
“After we get off Ten, let’s take Eleven up, then ski over to Twelve and take her up too. Galloping Goose runs the whole way down, and back home. It is a beautiful trail, you’ll love it,” Link smiled my smile and I was helpless.
“If one more run will keep that smile on your face, you’ve got it. Do you realize you just called a ski lift ‘her’? I’m thinkin’ maybe I should be a bit jealous here. Would you rather ski than be spending time with me?” I teased.
“I’m getting the best of both worlds today,” he assured.
“The bead tree,” I exclaimed, immediately distracted by the sight. “I keep forgetting.”
Up ahead, I could just make out “the bead tree,” on our left hand side. I had noticed it during our first trip up this lift (days ago) and marveled at the little bit of Mardi Gras that had somehow made its way to a snowy mountainside in Colorado. The tall evergreen was covered in colorful strings of beads, thrown by skiers. Some were weathered and faded, others were bright shiny and new. Each one represented a different skier, but together they created a symbol of celebration. I reached into my jacket pocket and extracted the strand that I had stowed away before we’d left the house.
I put the beads up to Link’s face, “Kiss it,” I grinned. He complied, and I gave it a kiss as well. As soon as we were near enough, I chucked it toward the tree. It landed perfectly, ringing around a waiting branch. “There we are,” I turned back to Link. “We will be in that tree, forever.”
I had dared to leave a little bit of myself, out in the open. I realized that it was safe. No one would ever be able to track it back to me. But I was so used to covering my tracks, making sure that no traces of Charity were left whenever we moved on. I had abandoned my own name years ago. If I was entering a high school I was always absent on picture day. Databases were scrubbed clean of ID photos. Handwriting experts had taught me well, the art of altering one’s writing so that it was unrecognizable. Charity didn’t exist anymore, except to Catherine and James, and now to Link as well. It was comforting to know that a little bit of her was also in that tree, no matter how insignificant it may seem.
I followed Link from lift to lift, until we reached the top of Galloping Goose. It was officially the highest I’d ever been on the mountain – almost twelve thousand feet. I found it beautiful and eerie all at the same time. We’d stopped in a wide flat area, after getting off the lift. The view was undeniably beautiful. The top of the mountain, its rocky edges jutting out of the snow, was in full view. Then I noticed all the rope. We were at the edge. The boundary lines were staked in the snow, rope strung, and warning signs hung, letting everyone know that danger awaited anyone who dared to cross the line. I stayed as far away from the edge as I could.
“Come on scaredy cat. I can’t believe a girl, who can self heal, is shying away from danger,” he taunted.
“Too many witnesses,” I pointed to all the skiers as they passed by. “Do you want me to have to leave tomorrow? ...flee in the middle of the night?” I asked.
“Point taken, stay away from the edge. Let’s go,” he urged, digging his poles into the snow.
“Okay, okay...,” I pushed off.
Again we skied, Link by my side. I watched the snow glisten in the sun as we flew down the mountainside. It had a twinkle and a shine to it, as it reflected the light. It looked like fairies had come along and sprinkled glitter over the entire surface of the snow. It was beautiful. This day was beautiful. Link was beautiful.
There was an energy that radiated from him when he was doing the things he loved. He seemed to sparkle around the edges to me, as he reached out to touch my hand. His brilliant smile was plastered on his face, almost a permanent fixture when we were on the mountain. I hated the thought that by the end of the night it would probably be gone, replaced by the calm but worried mask I’d caused him to wear before.
When we reached the house my cheeks, tingling from the icy wind, were flushed. Link’s were bright red. Once all our gear was removed and placed in the garage, we headed toward the kitchen. We needed warmth.
“Hot chocolate coming right up,” I giggled as Link playfully pushed me into the room.
Catherine stood, waiting by the counter. I froze. “Did you tell him?” She asked.
A wall of guilt slammed against me. I had been stalling her for days now. “Not yet,” I replied.
“What? What are you not telling me?” Link asked, stunned by my visible apprehension.
“Charity, you promised us.” Catherine eyed me with disappointment. “They’ll be here tomorrow. They always show up on Christmas Eve.”
“I know... I know... I was going to tell him tonight. I swear.” It was the truth. I was putting it off until the last minute. Although, there was a part of me that just wanted to wait until late tomorrow – right before they walked through the door.
“Hello... I’m right here...” Link waved his arms at the two of us. “Tell me now,” he ordered.
“Some friends of ours will be here tomorrow night,” Catherine turned toward him. “Charity...” She poked my shoulder.
The impact forced me to wake from my momentary coma. I was trying to figure out a way to lessen the blow. I prayed he could handle it.
“S-Sorry,” I stammered. “As Catherine said, we have guests arriving tomorrow. There will be two for sure. Sometimes they bring friends. I hope they don’t this year. That might be too much. Marcus and Eve...” I trailed off. I was babbling.
“And these friends, Marcus and Eve, are special?” Link asked, trying to help me along.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Immortals, like you,” he continued.
“Not quite Immortals,” I paused. “Not exactly like us,” I glanced at Catherine pleading for help.
“How are they not like you?” Link asked, hesitant now.
“Remember how you asked me what I was, that day you showed me your grandfather’s photo album? You asked if I was a Vampire or a Witch.” I cringed, just a little, as the words left my mouth.
“Yes,” he said.
“Well..
.” I shrugged.
“They are one of those things,” he looked at Catherine, she just nodded her head. “Which one are they?”
“Witches,” I whispered.
“Witches...” Link froze.
“Please don’t freak,” I begged. “I know this is a lot. I should have told you earlier, but I just wanted to give you time to adjust to me and my situation before I burdened your mind with this reality too. Just weeks ago, you were oblivious to the existence of Immortals. Now you know I’m one and tomorrow you’ll be meeting Witches. Oh, I wish this wasn’t all happening so fast.”
“Just tell me I’m not in danger,” he said quietly.
“Marcus and Eve, and their – let’s say – associates, have made a conscious effort to leave the ‘nontoxic,’ as they say, alone. But they do tend to pester those they consider detrimental,” I explained.
“You’re talking in riddles,” Link accused.
“They are our friends, Link, they will do you no harm,” I promised him, hoping I was right.
“Alright, I trust you. You said not quite Immortals, not quite like you? What makes them different?” He asked, putting his calm mask on.
I hated that I knew what was underneath it.
“They age, but at a drastically slower rate. They also have powers, real powers. Some are external, something that they can display outside their bodies, and some are internal, a mental power,” I explained.
“There would be no reason for them to use these powers to harm you. It is your decision, you can choose to not be here,” Catherine offered.
