Fallen Eden (24 page)

Our eyes met, a silent string of apologies exchanging between us. I smiled, before turning and heading straight for the door.

“Where are you going?” Cora called out after me.

“I’m getting after that north,” I answered, waving my farewell. I charged down the stairs, heading to the garage. I didn’t doubt my legs could carry me as quickly as any car could, but given I’d likely be travelling through many high-traffic areas along the way, I didn’t want the repercussions that would come when thousands of Mortals saw a woman sprinting like a comet down Main Street.

William’s Bronco, Charles’ pick-up, and Patrick’s Maserati were ready and waiting for me and, while William’s Bronco would have been the one I preferred all things being equal, I knew it couldn’t match the speed of the Maserati. The keys were waiting for me in the ignition, like an open invitation to all car thieves. I rolled my eyes at his carelessness, until I realized I fit into the car thieves’ category. My moment of guilt passed quickly, the reminder that William was out there, somewhere, alone, chasing it away.

I brought the engine to life, pressing the garage door opener, shifting into first so I could make a break for it the second I knew the Maserati’s roof could clear the retracting door by an inch. My foot was caught in the air right before I slammed the accelerator, halted by a tapping on the window.

I glanced over, rolling the window down, not hiding my surprise to see who was there. She handed me a folded piece of paper. “This should help,” Abigail said, her eyes warm.

I unfolded the note, finding a location—an exact location—scrolled down in black sharpie in Abigail’s cursive. “Is this—”

She nodded. “I think he wanted someone to know where he was in case you ever came looking for him. He never gave up hope.”

I felt tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. I opened my mouth, attempting to pry words to the surface, but my throat constricted around each one.

“You’re welcome,” Abigail said, understanding. “Bring him home.”

“I will. And, thanks,” I said, finally able to manage a few words.

Abigail backed away from the car. “Oh, Bryn?” she said, her voice innocent.

I looked over at her. “Yeah?”

“If the Council gives you and William any more trouble,”—she smiled, back in her demure and proper mode—“give ‘em hell.” She winked at me.

“Planning on it,” I said, pounding the accelerator to the floor.

NICARAQUA

To say the Maserati stood out in Central America was kind-of like saying my five foot ten inch frame, topped off with pale blue eyes and fair skin, blended in with the locals, so I tucked it away in some abandoned barn that was more falling than standing—Patrick would have gotten a hernia if he knew—and trekked the rest of the way on foot. I made great time and, given the roads weren’t “roads” by my definition—they would have been consider bike trails where I was from—I couldn’t have made better time with the car.

Nicaragua was like something from another time, so unspoiled and wild with organic green foliage, I half-expected to run into a dinosaur lumbering about the jungle. I’d never heard of the village Abigail had written down for me and even if I had the luxury of being able to plug it into the Maserati’s GPS, I doubted it would have pulled anything up.

I’d made it to the capital city of Managua with no problem and there, locals told me to head southwest until I ran into a village hidden just outside of the Mombacho Cloudforest—if I ran into the dormant volcano, or the sprawling lake, turn around, I’d gone too far.

Sounded simple enough to me. That was, until I started hacking through the jungle that seemed never-ending and as if it was intentionally putting barriers right in my path. After several hours of leaping over fallen banyan trees and lunging through vines, I realized I should have been competed in the hurdles instead of the two-hundred meter.

Night had blanketed the Cloudforest an hour ago and, while I didn’t have any problem seeing, there was something creepy about this place. I knew it likely had to do with the foreign sights, sounds, and smells more than anything. The haunting song of howler monkeys was all around me, as if I’d walked right into the middle of a family of them, but no matter how long I progressed, their song never dimmed. Either the Cloudforest had howler monkeys like Central Park had pigeons or they were following me. Orchids that were sweet in an overwhelming, luscious kind of way fragranced the air, mixed with the musty scent of damp earth.

Growing more desperate, I picked up the pace, catching my toe on an exposed snake of a tree root a few strides later—clumsy even in Immortality. I stopped; I’d been break-necking it through this place for miles, relying on sight, smell, sound, and sheer need to guide me to him, but the way I’d found him most—best—was through feeling. Skin-to-skin contact not required.

I closed my eyes, drowning out the forest’s chorus, and focused on nothing but him. The way I felt when he was near, the way he absently drew patterns in my hands for hours, the way our fates had fused together.

My eyes flashed open. “Thank you,” I kneeled to the ground, kissing the cragged root that had tripped me up long enough to remember what I was searching for, and what sense I needed to rely on to find him.

I tore through the trees, sure if anyone were out here they would have sworn they saw a streak of lightning bolting through the forest. I followed that energy I would have missed if I didn’t pause long enough to feel it, because it had been that faint, but as I advanced toward it, I felt its strength growing. Like a heartbeat in the night, beckoning me to it.

Limbs and branches broke across my face. Leaves, bark, and goodness only knows what else found their way into my clothes, but none of it slowed me down. He was here, nearer every step. My search had only taken a couple of days, a few tanks of gas, and across a couple of continents, but the exhilaration of having found him after my seemingly arduous search was the best kind of feeling of success. I couldn’t begin to imagine how it had felt for him to find me after a couple centuries of searching.

A woman’s wail brought me to a standstill. It had sounded more animal than human, but it was accompanied by a couple other female voices, low, soothing words spoken in Spanish. I’d found the village; I’d found him.

Another wail, as if the poor woman’s insides were being torn from her, followed by more words of comfort. I didn’t speak Spanish, but the emotion outlining the words didn’t require a translation.

I crept forward, careful not to make a sound. I pushed aside a couple of mammoth sized shiny leaves and was overwhelmed with the light coming from the makeshift tent a ways in front of me and it wasn’t from the lanterns buzzing in the darkness.

His hair hidden beneath a handkerchief, his mouth behind a paper mask, his eyes rimmed with dirt, sweat, and sleepless nights I’d never been so blinded by his beauty.

I came out from behind my hiding place, no conscious thought of it, going to him like he was my mecca and I’d never needed my pilgrimage more.

He said something in Spanish to the woman sprawled on the medical cot before him, encouragement unmistakable in his tone. The woman curled up into herself, her face bursting with blood vessels and droplets of sweat. A scream ripped through the air, so primitive the howler monkeys were silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out who this newcomer was.

The woman’s endless scream halted me, mid-step. I couldn’t imagine the kind of pain she was bearing and that William was standing at the end of the cot, doing nothing more than speaking a few low words. Her scream cut-off, mid-note, and, almost immediately after, a new sound shot through the air. Not quite a scream, not quite a cry, but a little of both. It was beautiful, though, and filled me with something so raw I choked on a few sobs.

William had his back to me, his arms wrapped around something, as one of the other women in the tent hurried over to him with a blanket in hand. He reached for it, tucking it gently and efficiently around whatever was bundled in his arms. I took a few more steps forward, staying low to the ground, to get a better look.

His shoulders suddenly tensed, as if he’d just been zapped by something, and his attention was diverted from the scene playing out in the medical tent. His head turned, though not all the way, but just enough for me to flatten myself to the ground like I was about to get caught sneaking into my room after curfew.

I waited a few seconds before chancing a look up, not knowing why I was acting like I was terrified he’d see me . . . I hadn’t come thousands of miles just to sneak a peek at him. Although I certainly would have if I couldn’t have any more than this.

And then I realized this might be all I’d get to have of him for the rest of my eternity. Stolen glimpses from hidden perches. Sounded stalker scary, but that was a title I was willing to wear if this was all I could have of him.

I took a quick look, before looking back away, just in case he’d discovered me sprawled out like a Marine in the Central American mud. He was looking away again, speaking soft whispers to the beat of his rocking body. The part-cry, part-scream quieted and everything seemed alright again. He turned to the exhausted woman, whose face had the look of unbridled joy, as if she hadn’t just been heaving in pain. I looked at William’s face as he lowered his mask and felt chills run down my spine. But the good kind of chills, the kind that make you feel all gooey and happy.

It was a flash of movement that broke the love affair my eyes were experiencing watching his mouth, a flash of olive colored flesh, still shiny and wet. The way William cradled the baby to him, firm but gentle, would have sent my internal clock into a tailspin if it wasn’t on eternal time-delay.

The woman said something to him, gripping his forearm when he lowered the baby into her waiting arms. His smile burst and he nodded his head, tucking the baby into the crux of her arm. He kissed the woman’s forehead before going over to a basin steaming with water. He dipped his blotted hands in it, rinsing and rubbing them together, and I was mesmerized. Mesmerized like I was experiencing the seven wonders of the world all at the same time. How could anything be more enthralling than the man I loved washing his hands from the work of delivering a baby in the thick of a Central American jungle?

He swept the handkerchief from his head, running his hand through his hair a couple of times, and the ache within me shot up a few notches.

He shrugged out of the blue scrub gown next, revealing the man I loved at his very finest. Worn Levis and an undershirt that fit  just snugly enough to make me blush—my favorite look—completed by the thoughtful expression that pulled the corners of his eyes and mouth just enough to drive a woman crazy.

Unzipping the screen door, he ducked through it, somehow brightening the darkness of a black saturated night. He took a few steps in my direction. I didn’t dare twitch a muscle because he was close enough he’d hear it.

Coming to a pause, he looked in my general vicinity, light blue orbs glowing in the night. “Just because I can’t see you, doesn’t mean I can’t tell you’re near.” His voice was tight, controlled, as if he was holding back an emotion too strong to be released. I could only hope it wasn’t anger, resentment, or despise—although I knew I deserved them all.

“Come on, now,” he said, taking a couple more steps towards me. “I’d come in there and wrestle you out, but I don’t think that would be appropriate anymore.”

I wanted to holler out,
Marco,
yearning to have him throw his arms around me because every time he’d done so before, I’d known that everything would be alright. His embrace was that convincing . . . or that mind-numbing.

His feet remained planted to the ground, so I made the first move, hoisting off the jungle floor—my white tank and khaki shorts smudged GI Jane camo style from the hours, miles, and falls the forest had inflicted on me.

“Uh . . . hi,” I offered lamely, twisting my leaf-ridden hair behind my ear. I pushed aside the prehistoric-looking plant, coming out from my hiding spot.

His eyes flashed wide when he first saw me before he was able to recompose himself. I looked more Sasquatch than woman and I was going for my last-ditch, make-or-break plea to get back a man that could have been spawned by the gods. I really needed to start thinking my plans out better.

“Hello, yourself.” He swallowed, waiting for me, but I couldn’t untangle my thoughts enough to get the first thing out.

“Hey.” I bit my lip, willing something to come to mind, but it seemed being away from him for so long had brought on an unexpected dose of confoundedness. “That was really beautiful what you did in there,” I said, dodging the whole reason I’d come here.

His eyes narrowed, not in a glare, but like he was trying to figure me out. Good luck with that. “She did all the work. I was just there to make sure everything went as it should.”

“What did she name the baby?” I asked, peering over his shoulder into the tent.

“Eh . . . William,” he mumbled.

“Does that happen a lot?” I had an urge to stare into the baby’s face knowing his namesake was the man I loved. A stolen glimpse didn’t seem enough now.

He shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes. “From time to time.”

“From time to time,” I repeated. “How many from time to times?”

He paused, circling his eyes to the sky. “One can lose count.”

“Someone names their baby after you and you lose count?” My voice, face, and posture were all stark with dubiousness.

“One thousand-and-thirty-three,” he answered, his eyes floating to me. “Actually, one thousand-and-thirty-four now.”

My jaw dropped and I let it hang there. There had been hundreds of little William’s scampering over the world through the years. None carrying the genetic makeup of their namesake, but knowing what I did of him, his compassion that saturated the air wherever he went had surely found its way into these baby’s lives. Compassion through osmosis—maybe there was hope for the world after all.

“Please forgive me, I know this is going to sound all wrong,”—he looked down, scuffing his unlaced work boot into the tacky mud—“I’ve been saying everything wrong as of late . . . but what are you doing here?” He looked at me apologetically, but he was right, it did come out sounding all wrong. Too cold and unemotional to come from his mouth.

“I needed to talk to you about something important—”

“Is everyone alright?” he interjected, his body stiffening, making his muscles burst through the sleeves of his shirt. To accompany the aching, I now had yearning to contend with and with their combined forces, my gut felt like it was being ripped to shreds. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through this.

“Everyone’s fine,” I said, reaching my hand out for him automatically. My hand hung in the air long enough before I pulled it back to know he’d intentionally denied it. “I just left them a couple days ago and everyone was happy and healthy.”

His body relaxed instantly. “Is anyone with you?” He looked behind me, searching. The way his eyes had narrowed told me he wasn’t referring to his family when he’d asked if I was on my own.

“No. I’m alone.”

“They let you come alone?
He
let you come alone?” he asked, his eyes shadowing around darkness. “Do you realize you gave John the perfect opportunity to snatch you up? All alone, wandering around a foreign country.” His eyes clouded over, his jaw clenching in anger. “What was Paul thinking?”

“Thanks for the concern,” I said calmly, hoping to influence his tone with mine. “And no offense here, but I don’t let anyone tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Yeah. I remember that.” He looked up at me, sharing a remembered thought. “So what was so important that you had to traipse through a continent to tell me? All alone,” he emphasized.