"Truthfully, I would rather imagine farming than do it," Emily answered.
“You won’t always feel this way,” he said.
“Why do you feel like you need to tell me everything that I am supposed to feel or do one day? It is arrogant, isn’t it?”
He laughed, "It is very arrogant. Forgive me. I am assuming so much, but I have no idea what you will do with the time given to you."
"You like being cryptic," she said, annoyed.
“There is just so much to say, but I don’t think it is the time.”
With that, he turned to his food. Soon they were eating outside under the double shadows of the moons. The eerie blue, purple light surrounded them. The candlelight just made the colors more surreal. He had brought out an ancient record player. She knew there was a whole movement to bring back vinyl, but this was absurd. It was one of those Victrola music boxes. She saw it and laughed.
“Nanites first and then this?” She said.
"It is the best that technology has done in a long time." He said, putting on some music. It sounded like a baroque waltz.
“I miss my phone. I liked having all my music where I could see it.”
He grabbed her hand and led her close to him. He danced. She danced. She felt utterly stupid dancing. It felt like an absurd romance novel. She refused to be part of a silly romance novel. It was ridiculous.
“You are resisting the dance. Why?” He asked.
“It feels forced,” she said.
“Most courtship is forced social intercourse,” he answered.
She burst out laughing. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Would you rather I skip all of the protocol and move directly to this?” He asked as he pulled her closer and kissed her.
She immediately saw her brain describing the event in terms of once in a lifetime, never before and other such rubbish, and she stopped herself. She was not going to turn into one of those people and was not going to be part of an over-the-top romance. She was responding rather passionately. It was amazing. It was nothing like it had been with Tom. She saw Tom's face clearly in her mind, and then the smell of the burning flesh came into her body. She pulled away from Geoffrey feeling sick.
“I can’t do this,” she said and walked away.
"Yes, it is probably for the best."
She stopped.
"It is probably for the best? What the hell, Geoffrey? Really?" She answered.
"There is so much more you don't know. It is not time." He said, taking a step back, surprised by her reaction. "It has nothing to do with you."
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said and walked away.
She reached her room and felt the tears. Emily was angry but angry at herself. She could have lost Geoffrey. He was arrogant, silent, and odd, but he was kind. She liked his company, his excellent food, his incredible library, and the mystery he represented. Fear filled her, and it felt as if she would die. The anxiety was so severe she felt as if the world was curving into her. She was the vortex of pain she could not shake. She couldn't erase the smell of burning flesh, and she couldn't distinguish between Tom and Geoffrey. The faces blended as one.
She felt arms come around her, and she leaned into them as if it was an anchor. She felt a hand pressing her face against a chest. Emily was so cold that she could not picture being warm again. The images bounced over and over again in her head, and she couldn't distinguish between the now and then. She heard his voice through the nightmares.
“Emily, it is okay. It is fine. I am sorry I drove you to this. I understand. I understand better than you could possibly imagine. It will be fine. I promise. The nightmare will end.”
Geoffrey’s voice brought her back to the present.
“It was so terrible when Tom died,” she said. “It was so horrible.”
“I know,” he said.
“I can’t lose you,” she said.
He was silent as he laid next to her, holding her tightly as the cold left, the anxiety left, and calm returned. Once she felt calm, he kissed her gently and walked away.
"It can wait," he quietly said as he closed the door. Emily wondered what he meant, but let it go.
Chapter 8
TJ56823
Journal 1
Tristan parked the car on the dry lakebed. He couldn't believe he let her go. Geoffrey was a nut. It was good money. This was different, this was family. Tristan had to get his brother's murderer. He had no idea how to get to Geoffrey's house, but he knew how to contact him. He would follow Geoffrey to his home. Geoffrey usually met him at the dry lakebed. What Tristan needed was an excuse to see Geoffrey, and then he could follow. Thankfully, he had the package to deliver. Getting Geoffrey, there would be easy. Following him, not so much.
Tristan took out his cell phone and sent a text, then he put music on, and settled back for a long wait. He had been waiting for three years for this moment. It would be easy to get rid of the girl. The phone beeped. There was hope.
Geoffrey arrived two days later. Tristan was about to give up and head back to the city. He hated camping and the whole outdoor life. Geoffrey must live very far away. Tristan could tell that Geoffrey was annoyed at being called out to meet him. Tristan took out a packet from the back. He made sure that Geoffrey didn’t see the camping gear. He approached Geoffrey.
“Do you have it?” Geoffrey asked.
Tristan handed him the packet. Geoffrey took it and put it into his backpack. Tristan took out his phone to make sure he got paid. Tristan nodded.
“How’s Emily adapting?” Tristan asked.
“What do you care?”
Tristan shrugged, “Just curious. She was very distant.”
"She's fine," Geoffrey replied and turned to walk away.
Tristan watched him go. This was the most complicated part of the plan. He had to wait until Geoffrey was beyond the lake to follow. Geoffrey's way of speaking unnerved him. He had a dryness to his voice that reminded him of horror movies. It was how you expected the dead to speak. Geoffrey reminded him of a knight from an army of death. Even his walk was off. It wasn't as strict as a military man and lacked the casualness of modern times. If he walked down the street, people would stare.
Of course, his Australian outback ancient coat and worn boots were odd fashion choices too. And then there was the hat. He was a caricature of some romantic hero, and it made Tristan smile. It was absurd. But why would a man like that need Tristan to bring him a woman? Based on his knowledge of women, Geoffrey should have ladies dropping at his feet. He was the silent romantic hero, down to his silly boots. According to Tristan, Emily never came back. He had been oddly specific, and that was creepy. Tristan wondered if he stalked her since he knew the name, address, and everything else. He needed to hurry. If he didn't, he might not reach Emily before Geoffrey did her in. He wanted revenge. It wouldn't be the same if Geoffrey finished her off. The package he delivered contained items meant for a happy Emily. He could be wrong.
He thought of the scene of the crime. Nothing was left of his brother but ashes. What sort of a sick bitch would do something like that? He took the backpack out of the car and walked. It was going to be a long journey.
EB26392
Journal 1
The tree curved towards the small stream. Emily sat on the branches drawing. She was alone for the first time on the farm, and she was enjoying herself. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Who would have thought it? And with someone like Geoffrey? Of course, nothing had happened. Geoffrey was priestlike in his behavior. Every so often, he would slip. She appreciated both the restraint and the slips. It was exciting, and she was falling in love. He was still as remote and weird as he had been upon their first meeting, but she appreciated his odd silences, devilish sense of humor, and the struggles he made to try to be more of a people person.
Several weeks had passed since she arrived at the farm. She lost track of time. The double shadows at night no longer bothered her. The light felt beautiful.
Even the sun's rays on the planet's eternal summer felt terrific. She asked lots of questions. Emily was sure she was driving Geoffrey insane. Every so often, she would get a story. They were unbelievable stories. Geoffrey enjoyed sharing the stories. Usually, they made both of them laugh. He had a way to find the absurdity in his predicament. It was like living with a history book.
She had asked about the first painting she had seen on the landing.
“What’s her name?” She asked.
“Josette,” he answered.
Before he could run off, she asked again, “What was she like?”
He looked at Emily curiously. The devilish smile returned.
“You don’t know?”
“How could I know?” She asked.
"I met her in Paris in 1894. She was walking a dog. It was some ridiculous small breed. I am fond of animals, and even more appreciative of beautiful women. I bent down to pet the dog, in hopes of gaining the lady's affections. The dog probably recognized how odd I am and decided to bite me. I immediately hid my hand. I was about to run away, but Josette was so embarrassed. She grabbed my damaged finger before I could run, and she laughed. It was an incredible laugh. We did a lot of walking in that park. The dog grew to like me, and I think Josette loved me as well." He answered.
“Did you love her?” Emily asked.
Geoffrey turned to look at Emily curiously. “Love is so complicated after a while. I know I am loving someone whom I will not only hurt in the end but lose. I was with her until her death ten years later.”
“Did you?”
“Yes,” he answered.
He had touched her hair gently, and then he walked away.
Every story told more about Geoffrey than the people he described. He was a gentleman. It was as if the violence took its toll, and he no longer had anything left to offer but kindness. Life had taught her a different set of expectations. Men tried things, and she rejected them. It was her life story. Even Tristan had been a bit interested. Maybe the interest disappeared with age. It wasn't such a terrible thing. This area of her life was completely closed. Of course, he sometimes slipped, and he was obviously interested. He was holding back on purpose. She didn't want to find the reason. She was terrified that it was because he knew she was a monster.
She finished her drawing and walked back to the house. Geoffrey's little cabin of rage was just a few yards away. Curiosity was eating her alive. She knew she was alone, but Emily still looked around, expecting him to appear suddenly as she opened the door. It wasn't locked. It showed he trusted her. She almost closed the door again, then changed her mind. She had to know more about his life. She wasn't patient enough to wait for his next story.
As she stepped in, the metallic smell of blood made her gag. She stepped outside quickly to get a grip. She forced herself back into the cabin. Emily stepped into the room where she had seen him the night she discovered who he was. She had not returned, even though she heard him almost every night. The animal pain bursting through him. The desperation to feel what was impossible for him to feel.
The furniture was destroyed from repeated beatings, blood was spattered on the walls and the floor leaving it sticky. Geoffrey didn't clean it. She would have gotten a bucket of water and cleaned off the mess. Maybe he wanted a reminder of the ritual. Across the room was a door.
She crossed the room and put her hand on the doorknob. Immediately, she took her hand off the knob. It was sticky from dried blood. Again, she gagged. She closed her eyes until nausea passed. She placed her hand on the doorknob again and turned. The door opened. She looked beyond it. There was an old desk in the middle of the room. To the left was an open door leading to a bedroom. On the floor was a trap door. She had to look inside. It was not as easy to open like everything else. It took all her strength before the wood gave, and the door flung upwards. A ladder went straight down. As she stepped into the ladder, a series of fluorescent lights on the ceiling lit an enormous room. The room was almost the total size of the farm. There was electricity. How? She got off the ladder and looked at the walls. There were wires, but it was hard to know where they led. The room itself was full of bookshelves. Emily thought that the shelves with the journals were Geoffrey's life story. Emily took out a random journal.
“I walked through another portal today. I was received with great care. I arrived at the fifth moon of ZX994. It was charted. Humanoid beings were aware of the portal and happy to hear the news on our end. The news is not good. The planet is slowly collapsing, and the inhabitants don’t really care about its future. I know I am a member of my own species, but sometimes I despair of us. They don’t really feel they are capable of accommodating us.”
Emily closed the journal and put it back. She took out another one.
"I have been in and out of Italy for a very long time. It keeps changing, but somehow also feels familiar. I like sitting by the Roman forum and thinking that I am as old as those buildings. Who would have thought when I first sat there as a boy, this would be my life? Now those structures are in ruins, and I am still standing. I feel the pollution of Rome, the hundreds of tourists, and the sounds of the endless cars in the distance. Maybe I have outlived my welcome. It is 1953. It is time to return to my hideout. I had to check some things out. I have an old friend here whom I needed to see. Well, she is now a great-grandchild of my original friend. She is still dear to me."
She returned the journal so it wouldn't be obvious she had been there and moved on. There would be time to look at the journals more carefully. She still had a couple of days before Geoffrey returned. Emily felt guilty, but she technically arrived against her will. Of course, he had chosen willingly to stay on. She was living with a stranger, and she felt it was necessary to get to know this stranger. It was a feeble excuse. She took out more journals and read through them.
In a distant wall, she saw a series of file cabinets. They were probably fifty years old but looked as if they were used often. She approached the newest one and tried the top drawer. It opened easily. The files were organized in alphabetical order of women's names. She took out the first one. There was a photo on the front. It looked as if it came from a security camera. Based on the date of the photo, it was taken fifteen years ago. It was a young woman, maybe about Emily's age. She continued to look through the file. As she read the next piece of paper, she almost dropped it. Emily's heart was hammering against her chest. The woman in the folder had killed someone. Her boyfriend died while they were having sex. She insisted he had a heart attack. They suspected murder, but they couldn't prove anything.
She took out the next folder, and it was the same thing: a different woman with a similar past. She kept pulling the folders out, and all of them told the same story. She finally saw her name, and she knew what she would find. She opened it and saw her face and then turned the page and saw Tom's face. She sat on the chair, staring at the information. Geoffrey knew she lived in the warehouse, and knew of the deaths. The folders were from every part of the globe and spanned over fifty years. Why was he tracking her?
TJ56823
Journal 1
Tristan followed Geoffrey at a respectable distance. He was not an adventurer. Geoffrey didn't really like discomfort, and everything was uncomfortable. He was having a hard time keeping up with Geoffrey. It kept him going. His ego couldn't let the bastard get the best of him. He felt like he had been climbing up and down mountains in the desert for eternity. Truthfully, he had been following Geoffrey for less than two days.
His hands, his clothes, and even some of his face were in tatters. He felt he shouldn't care so much about his face, but he was pretty, and it served him well. A giant scar on his face would ruin much of the life he loved. So, he followed, trying not to hurt himself in the process. It was not going well.
They arrived at a peak. Geoffrey sat down on a rock, and Tristan used the opportunity to get closer. As he hid behind some rocks, Geoffrey looked around as if he sensed him. Tristan ducked down even further. The rocks we
re at the edge of the summit. He looked down and saw dense fog. He looked up, and Geoffrey was walking quickly towards the fog. Tristan followed quickly, afraid to lose him in the mist. He saw Geoffrey disappear into it, and Tristan ran. The moment Tristan stepped into the fog, an earthquake began. He fell hard on his knees. Tristan saw Geoffrey no more than five feet ahead and moving quickly. He got up and followed afraid to lose him. It was hard to walk. He couldn't believe an earthquake could last this long. He tripped as he was rushing down the mountain and rolled the rest of the way down. As he hit the ground, the earth stopped shaking. He expected to hit the hard rock, but instead, he fell on the soft grass.
He sat up. Rainforest surrounded him. He forced himself to stand and saw that Geoffrey was nowhere to be found. He was in trouble.
EB26392
Journal 1
Emily finished looking through all the documents in her folder. Geoffrey had been tracking her for almost ten years, since the first death. He had tracked further. Geoffrey knew where she grew up, and who her high school friends had been. He knew her parents' names. Oddly, there was nothing about the car accident that killed her parents. He only had two names. Emily saw the extensive details on her grandmother and their finances. Recorded in these papers was every address where she had lived. He even kept a record of her credit score. He knew how much money she earned at every stage of her life. He knew everything.
Dance of Life: The Belief Chronicles: Book One (Chronicles of a Planet's End) Page 7
