Back to You (12 page)

“Over the centuries, there have been many cases of people going insane. But I doubt if they have ever found themselves in this sort of situation. I don’t know…” he mutters sadly. “But we’ll do everything we can, Stella, I promise you. We’ll make it up to you one way or another. This isn’t over yet. But the longer the conspiracy goes on, the worse things get for us, and hope fades. Even if there was enough for Donn to come up with a solution, a counterproposal. He’s discussing it now with the Council.” Aaron’s rambling becomes increasingly surreal, and he breaks off, a strained look on his face.

That word again. Donn mentioned it the other day. What the hell is it? My head is full of questions, but I decide it’s best to take things one step at a time. I lightly touch his arm

“Aaron, what has happened? I’m confused, I don’t understand.”

He looks at me, gravely. “J. wants to break the rules, right
above
their dwelling, the tower of the library. It has secretly been their domain for more than five hundred years, from the time of its inception.”

I move closer to him. “But the library doesn’t have a tower,” I assure him.

“That’s what it might seem,” he nods with a smile. “But if you look carefully at the
courtyard
, you realize that you are wrong. The truth is right under your nose, in the palm of your hand…” For a moment there, I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing. “The library does have a tower,” he stresses, “an underground one.”

I‘m dumbfounded.“ An underground tower?”

“Yes,” he confirms, laughing at my disbelief. “The tower and the underground passages were designed in secret when the library was built.” Pause. “And hunting is not allowed within their walls.” Judging by his tone of voice, he seems to be hinting at something. “Probably the Boston Public Library is the most well-protected library in the world, at least as far as vampire attacks are concerned.”

I keep staring at him with clenched teeth, overcome with anxiety. This doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to stop the line of questions. “Why does J. want to break their rules?”

“They have decided to deny his request.”

I shake my head.

“What request?”

“J…” mumbles Aaron, breaking off all of a sudden as if he is stopping himself from saying his full name. “He’s asked for a hearing in the tower and, if it granted, he will request that you be left alone, and to keep you out of things. But they see you as something
more
than a guarantee now…”

I look at him incredulously, but I don’t have the time to say or do anything before Aaron’s eyes narrow, and he looks off, alarmed. “He’s getting nearer. He’s strategizing on how to push the envelope. I’ve seen him try different methods, change idea frequently. An attack on the guardians of the inside courtyard, a bookshelf hurled into the main hall, a series of attacks in the most crowded reading room.

“All these things would force them out into the open,” I conclude nervously. He nods his head in agreement.

“He knows full well that that is the quickest way to unleash the rage of the Council, or at least to make them react.”

“Oh,” I add, perturbed. “Then go find J. and make him reason.”

“That thought has already crossed my mind, Stella.”

“I don’t get it, Aaron!” I’m stunned, almost panic-stricken. “Why didn’t you ask Donn to stop J.? Why can’t you help him?”

“Think about it, Stella. We could try to stop J. with brute force. But if he sees one of us coming, how do you think he’ll react?” he asks, discouraged.

“I guess he would try to avoid being caught, seeing that you don’t agree with what he wants to do.”

“Exactly,” he replies, underlining every syllable. “If Donn or I could get our hands on him, we could stop him and persuade him that it would be crazy to go against the Council. But if he realizes in time that we want to stop him, he might put his plans into action even faster. And the Council would catch him. And… Stella, we can’t lose J. that way.”

“But if we can’t take him by surprise, Aaron, what else can we do?” I ask timidly.

“There is one way… you,” he replies, his voice just as feeble.

“What?” I ask raising my voice.

“You’re our only chance,” he repeats. “The only one who can make him reason.”

These words send my head spinning, they confuse me even more deeply. I stare at him intently trying to understand.

“If there was any other way, Stella… If we could help him by fighting alongside him, it would be different. But there are only a few of us, so we can’t…”

He anxiously awaits my reaction. Now I see why he needs to convince me. He wants to protect J., even at my expense. Or, perhaps, at his. He feels somehow responsible for him. I get it, and see no wrong in his reasoning.

I sigh and ask “Was he very upset about the other night?”

“Yes, of course,” he mumbles nervously.

We’re on the second floor of the reading room, with the door closed, but maybe whispering is pointless; he can still hear us. I clear my throat. “How is he?”

“He’s angry at himself.”

“It’s not his fault.”

He stiffens. “It’s not your fault either… This is still very hard for him. He was afraid of hurting you, and he can’t come to terms with his own weaknesses.”

“Tell him I’m not upset, not at all.” Aaron hushes me with a finger on his lips. Then he turns his head suddenly toward the entrance overlooking the courtyard, his hand still signaling to me not to make a sound. “Shh. I heard something.” He lifts his head and sharpens his ears. “Let me listen,” he says. “Maybe I’ll be able to understand his plans.” His eyes shut close in concentration.

I sense a new kind of urgency in the air. Then Aaron turns so quickly toward the entrance that I fear his head will snap off his neck. He must have heard something imperceptible to my human ears.

“What is he doing? He can’t do that!” he cries. “He mustn’t provoke their wrath…unless he’s on a suicide mission.” He looks at me, apprehensive. “Don’t follow me, ok? Just leave things be for now. Wait for further instructions from Donn, and be ready,” he warns me as he dashes off.

The librarian shoots him another dirty look.

“No, wait, Aaron!” I cry. But he has gone, as quick as a bullet, out the reading room door.

I remain still, thunderstruck for a full minute. I turn purple. I feel something – dread - rise from deep within me. Nobody around me seems to notice anything wrong.

Something is awry, it’s worse than I thought. I try to control myself and lean my head on the table. Right, I’ll try again. I force myself to be rational and ask myself the most alarming question possible at this moment in time. What is the worst that could happen? And an icy shiver runs down my spine. I’m shaking, and I can barely breathe.

At First Sight

My hands are
shaking uncontrollably and I grab my sleeves to try to stop them. I know it’s a sense of desolation that is ruthlessly assaulting my nerves. I need to be able to see clearly. But clarity seems remote, impractical… faraway, who knows where. I have to keep believing I’ll get to it. It also has something to do with the strange sensation of a déjà-vu that I had while in college, and the recurrence of that particular date. The feeling that I was starting from scratch, that my first day in Boston would have ended differently if on that afternoon, long ago, I had not stumbled upon the most bizarre encounter outside the Admissions office.

I go over Aaron’s words:
if you look carefully at the courtyard, you realize that you are wrong. The truth is right under your nose, in the palm of your hand.

A light bulb lights up in my head. I leap to my feet, pushing my chair back from the table noisily. I run down the hall, out of the reading room and run toward the crystal sharp light penetrating the great window, until it blinds me.

I can hear voices and some commotion coming from below. An uproar from a crowd. I look left and right halfway down the corridor, but see no sign of Aaron. I cautiously approach the tall, wide window overlooking the beautiful fountain, which sparkles in the sun, as if covered by millions of diamonds. The sunlight through the window throws a huge rectangle of light on the ground as if to show me the way.

Then I freeze; I can just about see him in the quivering transparency of the jets of water. But he can’t see me. It’s Jason – this time it’s no illusion. I realize that my delusions are all inaccurate; none of them have ever done him justice.

I run towards him, my eyes fixed on the marble pavement beneath my feet.

I fly down the staircase, taking two steps at a time, and reach the courtyard, out of breath.

A sudden gust of wind clears the sky and sends my hair flying into my face, blinding me and blowing me into the flow of the crowd. Despite the mild weather, the humidity turns the chilly wind into sharp ice.

I push through the crowds of students celebrating their recent graduation; they are smiling, laughing, solidly hanging on to the arms of relatives and friends. I struggle to find my way through the rectangle of grass and gray stone pavers.

The faces are a kaleidoscope of annoyance and surprise. The facial expressions are either cheerful or somber, and like a prism seem to radiate either drops of rainbow-colored light or stormy gloom onto the courtyard walls.

I spot a break in the crowd, and make a dash for it, but when my feet hit the marble, I realize it’s the huge rectangular fountain in the middle of the courtyard. I lose my balance and fall into the water, which comes up to my elbows. I struggle to climb out and splash water everywhere.

I run down the eastern side of the fountain. Without the crowd screening me from it, the wind whips my face and stings my eyes.

I almost burst into tears of relief when I look up and see Jason, a few yards from the side entrance to the courtyard; he seems to be talking animatedly to someone.

While the icy wind is still blowing, tears come flowing before that angelic vision.

I want to call out his name as I precariously attempt to run along the edge of the fountain – a narrow, slippery path. But the cold water and the strain leave me breathless.

I don’t stop when I reach the far side of the white marble fountain, and I dive into the crowd of capes, black caps and laurel wreaths. My vision is again obstructed, but the crowd moves away, trying to avoid the splashes of icy water flying from my arms. As I run, I call his name, but I know it is pointless; the buzz of the crowd drowns out my voice. But I don’t give up.

I reach the far end of the courtyard in a few seconds as I strain my ears to catch cries of wonder rising from the crowd. I suffered from otitis when I was a child, and it’s hard for me to hear well. But I listen for the cries of admirations of those who might find themselves before the sight of Jason’s onyx eyes and lavish lips.

I feel as if I am in a forest of dense brushes as I push through the crowds. Their ebb and flow draws me in the wrong direction, but it’s short-lived. The courtyard is small, I can’t get lost.

I try to join the flow of folks going in the opposite direction, and find myself amongst a family. The mother is holding a little girl in her arms, and the girl is looking curiously at something. I think I spot Jason among the shadowy figures. The older boy is also looking intently at something behind them, and he tugs on his mother’s sleeve to attract her attention. I dart around the father and race toward the gap in the throng of students by the side of the wall.

I search for Jason’s eyes on the left side of the fountain, where I had just seen him, but too many people obscure my view.

I do, however, notice the odd group of men in a semi-circle dressed in the black robes of graduates. Their shadow partly covered Jason before, and I now realize that they are a bit past the usual graduation age. I guess they must be professors, but their behavior is curious, it arouses my suspicions. They are standing still in front of the colonnade just by the entrance, listening intently. They are waiting for something.

The first one my eyes catch a glance of has a gray ribbon holding his hair in a ponytail, the same gray as his eyes, which seem to sparkle of silver under this light. Two other men standing next to him look alike; they even have the same dark, flowing hair. I guess they must be brothers, probably of Russian origin. The last man is short, with fire-red hair, which flows down to the top of his tunic.

I think I spot Jason, guarded and stiff, in the shadow of their silhouettes.

I am near enough to hear the melodious voice of the man with the silver hair. He is speaking too quickly for me to understand; he points his finger at the nearby door under the colonnade.

I dive towards them, trying to bring into focus the image that is blurred by tears. Every time I see Jason, my heart accelerates. His stunning eyes seem to be fired up by the thrill of the hunt. Then his eyes catch mine and in seconds, which seem like an eternity, the hunger in them dies, replaced by angst, his face now a mask of doom and gloom. I look at his smooth, pale skin, and then seek out his eyes again. They are tender, remorseful.

I have almost reached him, but he fades into dust again. I skirt around the man with the shiny, gray hair, missing him by an inch. He politely moves aside but watches me bemused as I cry out Jason’s name.

“Jason!” I yell, but my voice gets lost in the crowd. I can’t see him anymore, I can’t see anyone. “No!” I cry in dismay. “Jason, I’m here!”

Only now can I hear the furious protests of the heavier one of the two as I push past him at fast speed. The tall one remains impassive like an ice sculpture, and the two brothers from the East chuckle to themselves.

But I ignore them, intent on finding Jason. My eyes search the horizon, terrified.

Most of the men are staring at me, cautiously, menacingly, with their reddish-brown eyes. At this point, I can’t help but be hypnotized by their strange, mesmerizing gaze. But they are the first to tear their eyes from mine, suddenly looking upwards.

I try to follow their gaze; they are looking at a window on the second floor, the same one I spotted Jason from when I was inside. I am sure now. It was Jason, it wasn’t just another vision. As soon as I focus my eyes beyond the faint reflection on the window, a chill runs through my whole body. Donn is there, looking at me looking at him. His expression goes from impassible to serene, even vaguely amused.

The crowd of men seems to fade away, as if Donn has dispersed them through the vast power of his mind. I know full well what he is capable of.

He unfurls his perfect smile, then steps back from the window and vanishes.

I shake my head incredulously, covering my mouth with my hands as I continue to weave my way through the cracks in the mass of bodies.

I enter the darkness of the long, marble corridor and go upstairs again, but I’m too agitated to enter the reading room. I cross the threshold of another room, which is empty, airy, serene. I sink into a leather armchair, and my mind wanders to Jason as I await the return of the daze I’ve been in.

I curl up, bringing my knees to my chest, and try to calm my breathing. My hands are cold and clammy. I feel wounded, as if something has dug a deep hole in my chest and removed my vital organs leaving ugly, deep scars that keep bleeding, despite the passing of time.

But I know I will survive. I’m alert, I feel pain, a sense of loss that burns and travels down from my chest in tidal waves of agony that wash over my body, my head. But I will survive. Not because the pain has lessened over time, but because I have become strong enough to endure it.

My eyes are fixed on the shiny marble floor, but suddenly I jump anxiously to my feet, feeling drowsy. Something washes over me. I can’t understand the dynamics, but I would recognize this scent from a million miles away. My body reacts before my mind can process the meaning of my name. I’m hearing it, called out in that velvety voice. And as my brain goes into overdrive to understand where Donn appeared from, the chemical reaction has already began going into effect on my body; the room begins to spin. I feel I am losing consciousness even as reality takes shape.

He caresses my face to soothe me. His sweet breath suffocates any words that are beginning to form in my mouth. At first, I cannot understand where the lullaby I hear is coming from, before I realize that it is his celestial voice humming that delightful and relaxing melody.

Without understanding how I got here, I open my eyes to find I am on a sofa in front of a bookshelf. It is the same room. Donn is lying down on the same sofa, a big grin on his face, a hand supporting my head, his feet dangling off the end. The very picture of god-like posture.

My ears fill once again with the sweet melody of his voice, whispering softly, softly.

“Stella? Stella, wake up. We haven’t got all afternoon, we have to hurry. “With his long fingers, he draws imaginary pictures on my arm, making my body go aquiver. His skin is smooth, toned, as cold as ice.

I look up at his turquoise eyes, and my heart tightens. “You’re here too.” I say, more to myself than to him.

Donn somehow becomes aware of my feeble heartbeat, and his smile widens. “You gave me a chance to make it up to you, remember?” He traces the outline of my lips with his free hand as he speaks.

I nod, distractedly, off guard. He lies still, watching me. His deep eyes draw mine in with the gravitational force of a black hole. His facial expression is cautious. “I learn quickly, Stella May Whitely. And I don’t make the same mistake twice. Until you personally tell me to go, I will stay by your side,” he promises, his eyes glowing with pride, his perfect ice-cold lips brushing against my forehead.

A faint smile curves my lips. I close my eyes, my head nodding in agreement. Then I let my head fall against his shirt and run my fingers through his hair, relishing its consistency as well as his delicious aroma. But after a brief silence, panic stifles the movement of my hand. I purse my lips pensively, one question at the forefront of my mind.

“What is it?” I slowly lift my head from his chest to get my breath back. He delicately takes hold of both my wrists. “What’s going on? Tell me everything, I beg you,” I ask, bewildered.

Donn smile fades, but he pulls me back into his embrace.

“What do you want to know?” he whispers, his tone patient but cautious.

I can feel his eyes piercing the top of my head. “Well…” I say, choosing perhaps the least important question as my opener, but one that is essential to me. “Why the sofa?” I ask impatiently, grasping onto him.

“Sorry, would you care to explain? What’s wrong with this sofa?”

“The sofa is unnecessary,” I shrug.

“That’s debatable,” he objects. “This would have been difficult to do on the armchair,” he says, turning to lean on me. He doesn’t put all his weight on me, but I can feel his marble-like body through my clothes. My heart is hammering away so hard, it is difficult to hear his relaxed chuckle. “I’m just trying to illustrate the benefits, that you seem unable to appreciate, of the sofa,” he whispers in my ear in his articulate fashion.

“Don’t get too used to it.”

“Too late.” His expression is tender, but his lips are tightened.

I look up to the ceiling.

“I like the sofa.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied, as he places a kiss on my forehead. “So do I.”

“But I still think it’s unnecessary,” I continue. “If we don’t want to get carried away, the reading room or the armchair is just fine for talking.”

“If you want to lead me on, just go right ahead.”

“That’s doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I reply, my voice faint.

“You’re not the only one who is in danger of losing control,” says Donn, studying my apprehensive gaze.

“You’re the only one running risks,” I snap.

“That’s all I need to hear,” he says, and before I can make sense of his words, he turns on his side and flips me on top of him and caresses my neck with his lips. Despite the coldness of his touch, I feel heat race through my body. His lips move down to the base of my neck, his hand tracing the bend of my arm. It continues down my stomach, onto my thighs until he reaches the hollow of my knee. The tip of his tongue, ice cold, follows the contour of my cheekbone. His hand lifts my calf and places it on his thigh.