Purpose Page 6

  “I don’t believe. I know!” I cried into my hands. “Don’t you? Can’t you feel the truth?”

  She sighed. “You know I haven’t been able to feel anything at all. And we haven’t been able to find anything. We’ve tried to send soldiers in, but, if the Daemoni do still have him, we have no idea where.”

  I stopped shaking as I listened. She’d never given me so many details.

  “They lie so much, we never know what to believe. And Rina’s heard nothing from her other sources about any of this.” She sighed again. “And this video…we’ve never been able to figure out if it’s him or not. Our people examined every frame and couldn’t determine if it was even real, let alone who the hostage was.”

  I dropped my hands from my face. “What do you mean? You’ve seen this before? You’ve known about this?”

  She grimaced. “Yes, honey. We’ve had this video for a few years.”

  “A few years?” My jaw dropped with disbelief.

  “When the media did that whole character bashing about your having Dorian so young and out of wedlock, we were going to make an official statement. But then the Daemoni sent this video, threatening to send it to the media worldwide if we said anything at all. We decided it best for you and Dorian that we just keep quiet. Ignore the rumors and let them run their course.” She paused, then added quietly, “No one wanted you to see this.”

  “Until now.”

  “We don’t know who sent it or why.”

  “It’s obvious why! The council wants me to move on and they thought this would convince me. Well, they’re wrong. It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me!”

  The next thing I knew, I sat at the head of my bed, my arms wrapped around our wedding picture and my knees drawn up in a ball. I didn’t remember if I had walked here purposely or had fled to the refuge of my room. I didn’t even know how long I’d been sitting here, rocking back and forth, whispering, “No, no, no.”

  Before this, I’d already worked through the first four steps of the grieving process, getting stuck on the depression part…and sometimes moving backward. I had never reached acceptance, though. The council—at least one person—thought they could rush me into it with this video. But the idea back-fired. It pushed me back. All the way back to denial. Because I absolutely refused to believe my husband was beheaded in the video. In fact, with the way the camera cut away from the hostage and then the angle of the view…I couldn’t be certain there was even a head in the sack rolling on the floor. The scene really could have been staged, just theatrics, as Mom seemed to imply. But someone obviously wanted me to see it…and to believe it.

  How stupid could they be? Did they really think I would be so easily convinced? Our connection was too strong. Or is it? I froze at this thought. I’d been losing him in my memory and now even in my dreams. Our connection had actually been quite weak lately. Mom knew that. Owen had probably figured it out. They said they hadn’t told anyone, but now someone on the council knew and tried to take advantage of my weakness. Tried to shred my hope, as if slashing that grotesque sabre right through my thread.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and saw the images in the video. It could be convincing, actually. Quite convincing. Especially with the Amadis mark on the hostage’s chest. And his voice…beautiful and horrible at the same time…screaming my name.

  “It’s not him,” I whispered again. Even I could hear the doubt in my voice. I shook my head. “No. It’s not him. I won’t believe it!”

  I felt something inside me start to crack, about to break. Probably break me down for good. Psycho Alexis tried to work her way in, blackening my heart and my thoughts with grief and anger. Then a rough growl in the back of my mind marked Evil Alexis also wanting to take control. I shook my head again, more violently this time.

  I just need to feel you again. I know you’re there.

  Then a thought occurred to me, rushing me to the back of my walk-in closet. I pulled out his bag, tore open the zipper and stuffed my face inside, inhaling deeply, trying to smell him, to bring back his memory, to feel him and know he still lived. The scent was so faint. After wearing his shirts every night for over a year, I’d finally packed them in here, his scent washed out of them.

  Feeling his physical presence with each touch of his belongings, I rummaged through the contents. Papers and keys for the beach house lay at the bottom of the bag. The letters I’d written every year on our anniversary were in there, too. Letters where I reminded him of his promise and where I made my own promise—that I would come for him after the Ang’dora if he didn’t come back first. Letters I could never send. I read them twice and my chest, where my heart should have been, throbbed with pain. Then I came across the envelope he’d given me at the safe house. I had never bothered to open it.

  I ripped through the envelope. It contained some important looking documents I couldn’t focus on and a car title—the title to his Ferrari Spider, signed over to me, as if he’d known he wouldn’t make it back. His Ferrari. Since we’d had it in the Keys with us on our honeymoon, it hadn’t exploded with the rest of his belongings when the Daemoni blew up his house. We had used it as our escape car to the safe house. He had flashed away when he left the final time, leaving it behind.

  I knew the Ferrari sat in the extra garage. Not knowing I even had the title to it, I’d never done anything with the ostentatious sports car. I could never bring myself, through all these years, to even look at it. I knew Owen, along with Dorian (he loved his daddy’s car), took it for a spin every now and then and kept it maintained. Mom kept the tags and insurance up-to-date.

  I dashed to the extra garage. There it sat, red and shiny like new, obnoxious and beautiful as ever. Owen had taken good care of it. I circled the car, running my fingers over the horse emblem just as I had the first time I’d seen it, and stopped at the driver’s side door. This was not my side. I’d never driven the thing. I took a deep breath, popped the door open and slid inside. My hands caressed the tan leather seat and steering wheel, trying to feel Tristan’s presence. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, imagining that I could feel him sitting here right where I sat, his warmth and power surrounding me. And I felt even more convinced he was not in that video, his voice was edited in…they did not kill him years ago. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, my arm crossed against my stomach, focusing on the conviction. It’s not him.

  Then I suddenly had the incredible urge to go again. The need overwhelmed me. I frantically searched the workshop bench in the garage and finally found the key in a drawer. I left, pealing out of the driveway.

  Driving felt good. Driving fast felt amazing. I sped down the highway, wondering if I drove as fast as he did. My senses felt so keen, so alert, I didn’t feel like the car moved very fast as I weaved around traffic on the interstate. The needle on the speedometer hovered at 110. I drove for nearly an hour and headed home when the gas gauge fell to a quarter-tank…and only then because I hadn’t brought my purse.

  What is wrong with me? Insane impulses were taking over my life. I’d been bad before, really bad, but never like this. The messed-up dreams…the anger and irritability…the impulses…the physical urges…the hallucinations…the voices…and now the fake video. Everything crashed down on me at once. I considered again that I was finally losing it. Mom must have thought the same thing.

  “Maybe you need some time away,” she said when I returned. “A change of scenery…”

  “And where do you suggest I go?” I snarled. “The demons are inside my head, Mom. I can’t get away from them.”

  She cringed. The words had come out of my mouth before I even knew what I said.

  “Actually, that’s what concerns me,” she said, shocking me.

  Then I realized the truth of her meaning. I instantly became irate, with an overwhelming urge to throw it all in her face—letting her know exactly what she’d produced with her little romp in the sack with the evil sperm donor. Her intentions may have been to
save him, but she lost him…and now she might possibly be losing me.

  “Oh, are you afraid the Daemoni inside of me is finally coming out?” I sneered. “Maybe your little miracle isn’t so good after all.”

  “Alexis!”

  “What does it matter anyway? They’ve totally mind-fucked us! The Daemoni…even the Amadis! They just use us! And now look. They’ve destroyed us instead! Him. Me. We’re useless.”

  “Alexis Katerina! You really need to get yourself under control. I will not talk to you until you become rational.”

  I burst into laughter.

  “Rational?” I asked between chortles. “That’s a good one, Mom!”

  She narrowed her eyes, turned on her heel and stomped away. The urge to run—run away from it all—came over me. So I did. I threw on my new clothes and shoes and ran for miles. I didn’t know how my body survived. Just a few days ago it was a lump of old, tired lard that hadn’t moved more than necessary from bed to chair to bed again. Now, on such little sleep and no food—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten—it felt strong and wired with energy.

  But I couldn’t run far enough. I couldn’t run far enough away from my shitty life. I couldn’t run far enough to get to Tristan…to know for sure.

  As I ran, I decided Mom was right. I just needed to get away for a while. Really be by myself and try to straighten my head out. Like so many irrational ideas, this one made perfect sense right now. I ran home, showered and packed.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked from my bedroom doorway.

  “Packing. I’m going away, like you said.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant….”

  “Well, that’s what I’m doing. I do need time away.”

  She came in and sat on my bed, watching me as I purposefully moved between closet, bathroom and bed, where my suitcase lay open.

  “Where are you going?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you when I get there.” I dumped an armful of clothes into the suitcase.

  “Alexis…”

  I stopped and looked at her. “Just take care of Dorian for me, please.”

  “Of course. But I really don’t think you should be alone right now, especially after seeing—”

  “That’s exactly why—” I cut myself off. I realized the video caused this pull to leave, creating a more intense need than ever to feel his physical presence. But she wouldn’t understand, or, if she did, she’d never let me go. Not that I’d really be alone anyway. She’d never allow it. I took a different direction with her. “I think being alone is exactly what I need. I haven’t been alone for…forever. I’ve felt alone. But there’s always been someone nearby, keeping me from completely letting it all out. Maybe being alone and facing these demons by myself…getting it all out once and for all…is what I need. I don’t know. I just know I need to go.”

  I didn’t wait for her response. Nothing she said would stop me. Well, nothing would stop Swirly, anyway. She was obviously in charge right now. I went into my office and packed my laptop and chargers and anything else I would need. Then I went to say good-bye to Dorian.

  “Are you going with Dad?” Dorian asked.

  “What?” I stared at him in shock.

  “His car is outside,” he explained with his six-year-old logic. He glanced out his bedroom window at the Ferrari parked in the driveway.

  “Oh, no, honey,” I said, hugging him. “I’m just driving his car. Daddy is still not home.”

  “Oh.” His chin quivered.

  I gave him another squeeze. “I’ll call you later. Be good for Mimi, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.” His eyes shone with tears. I had to get out of here.

  I grabbed my laptop bag, my suitcase and the other bag…Tristan’s bag. I didn’t know why I felt the need to bring it but I did. Maybe I’ll just burn everything and be done with it. Maybe that would bring the closure I need. No, I could never do such a thing. I didn’t want closure. I just wanted that physical connection.

  “This is a bad idea,” Mom said, following me outside. I threw the bags into the Ferrari’s passenger seat.

  “No, it’s a good idea. Or, at least it is an idea. The first real idea I’ve had, one with purpose, anyway.”

  “What kind of purpose, Alexis? You don’t even know where you’re going.”

  I didn’t answer her. I got in the car and left. Deep down inside, I did know my destination. After filling up with gas, the direction came automatically. Without a thought, I jumped on I-75 and sped south, then east, and then south again. As far south as the highway would go, as fast as I could go.

  Driving the Ferrari induced a rush of adrenaline through my veins. It purred at 120 miles per hour and it felt like no more than seventy. My senses were so highly tuned, I couldn’t even believe the possibility of losing control. I would come up behind someone creeping along at eighty in the left lane and smoothly move to the right, then slip back to the left. As if I was dancing, the car as my partner, and simply gliding around another couple. Instead of the blur of green and brown streaming by, I could see every pine tree, palm and palmetto bush individually. Possibly even every needle and palm frond. I even had some kind of sense for cops, because I automatically slowed down long before I saw the marked cars. I felt so liberated. And crazy…and maniacal…but I tried to ignore those theories.

  The farther I put Atlanta behind me, the more this decision felt absolutely right. Perhaps because I felt a sense of release with the idea of being free—free to do what I wanted to do, without watching, measuring eyes. Or maybe it felt right because I headed for a place where Tristan had once been, a place with real memories, a place with his presence. Then again, perhaps I just knew I needed to remove myself from the people I loved. Before I hurt them any more than I already had, especially with this new Evil Alexis, who was even worse than Psycho and Swirly.

  That thought brought Dorian’s face to mind and the urge to turn around and run back to him. But something inside me knew this was more important right now. I needed to do this for him, for all of us. Whatever was going on with me right now surely couldn’t last forever. Mom said things would get better, even if they became worse first. And Dorian didn’t need to be around if and when things got worse. Yes, this is exactly what we all need.

  The drive should have taken over twelve hours. I approached Miami within five. By 8:30 in the evening, I came to the turn-off to our little key. I slowed down, but…although I’d made this trip specifically to face the beach house and its memories…I couldn’t bring myself to make the turn. Not tonight. Can’t handle it yet. I drove fifty miles farther, to the end, to Key West.

  My hotel suite’s window looked down on Duval Street, crowded with tourists hopping from bar to bar. I envied their normal lives and their ability to relax and have fun. I wanted to let go of my screwed up life and pretend I was one of them. I only ventured as far as the hotel’s bar and sipped some kind of frozen, fruity concoction. The outdoor bar faced the street and the passing crowds provided limitless opportunities for people-watching. I felt bad vibes off some of the revelers. And a few set off my evil alarms. Both Tristan and Stefan had once said this was one of the Daemoni’s favorite stomping grounds.

  I felt their eyes on me. They surely had to recognize me. They could capture me if they wanted. I tried to ignore my sense’s command to run, telling myself I wasn’t the frightened young girl I used to be. What’s the worst they could do to me? I wondered as I stirred the pixie straw around my slushy drink. Would they torture me or just outright kill me? Maybe they’ll bring me to my love. Would they take me to him and let us at least be together? Or did they even have him? Apparently, enough doubt about the video lingered. And then I wondered if they would decapitate me, too, and send the video to the Amadis. My stomach clenched. But then Psycho Alexis told me even that would be okay. Being together, whether within their captivity or both of us dead, had to be better than what I’d lived through so far.
I had a brief impulse to walk right up to one and let them have me.

  And then I saw Owen across the bar, keeping an eye on me. Protecting me. Probably just as much from myself as from the Daemoni. I’d given him a job again. Actually, I realized, he was not alone. I felt the presence of several Amadis, all on guard for me. Just in case. I had been right—Mom would never let me be completely alone. Realizing this suppressed Psycho Alexis.

  I wondered how these innate enemies seemed to co-exist. I’d seen the carnage both sides could produce during that bloody battle nearly eight years ago. Rina had said the Amadis only fight when necessary. But why wouldn’t the Daemoni be instigating something with them? Were even they able to control themselves when so immersed in the human world? Or did they have no reason to fight? No orders to attack?

  Why should we attack when you are so close to coming to us on your own? You’ll soon realize exactly where you belong.

  I stiffened in the bar stool. That voice again. The internal voice that was mine, but not mine. The voice of Evil Alexis that scared the shit out of me.

  I ordered another drink. Then another one. I hoped to drown the voice away, along with all my other thoughts. I’d never been truly drunk before. I’d been buzzed, but never falling-down, blacking-out drunk. Why not now? I had protectors to ensure nothing bad happened, so why not allow myself that numbness? After three drinks, which should have inebriated me, I felt little effect. Probably overpriced, watered-down drinks the bartender served. In fact, Owen had probably slipped him a larger-than-necessary tip to make my drinks weak. I gave up and headed back to my room, feeling a little defeated because I could never truly run away. At least Owen and the others didn’t bother me, for which I felt grateful.

  The front room of the suite contained a sitting area with a couch, chair and walnut armoire, which housed a flat-screen television. A desk sat by one of the windows, with a view of a small courtyard two stories below. A tall, walnut sleigh-bed and another armoire with a second flat-screen furnished the bedroom, the bed made with luxurious linens and a fluffy duvet. The marble-and-walnut bathroom contained boutique-brand toiletries. The hotel was the epitome of luxury. It should have been, for the rate I paid. This would have been a nice place for a vacation…like a honeymoon. But not better than where mine had been. The place I would have to face tomorrow.