Falling into Forever (2 page)

Years ago, he had spoken to her father. On that day in a train station, a pale man with trembling hands had shoved a trinket box at his chest, saying, “The address—it is my mother's home. She can hold the gift for Alexandra and keep it safe until my daughter is old enough to know the truth.”

“Attention. Achtung,” sounded the warning that the train was departing. Again it echoed through overhead speakers mounted above them on the train platform: “Attenzione.”

“You must go. She will be safe,” he had promised her father as he took the box. “And you will return soon to tell her the truth yourself,” he added. Her father had stepped up into the departing train, which then noisily lurched away from the station.

As the raven-haired man sat in the van with the kitten, he muttered something to himself. “The truth,” he said, as if weighing the costs of talking to her. “You are a fool even after all this time. She will think you are a madman.” The van swayed in the stiff breeze of a brewing summer night's thunderstorm. The kitten yawned wide in his lap and nuzzled her face against his warm hands. He cradled her fragile body. “Mademoiselle,” he said softly, stroking her fragile back as he stared through his windshield into the night. Thick clouds hid the moon and stars.

“Alexandra,” he said, and he wrestled her drawing from his pants pocket once more.

His fingers hunted for a pencil as he pressed the paper against the dashboard. His fingers gripped the pencil tightly as he bore down upon the back of the drawing.

Dear Alexandra,
he wrote shakily.
Secrets surround you.
They lurk under a thin veil of reality, and you must know the
truth. Your father has already paid a price for discovering the
lies of men who used him for their own gain. But I swear, on
my life, that you shall learn the true powers of your blood and
inherit the fire destined to flame in your heart and soul for . . .
He paused. He wanted to write the word
me
, but instead scribbled
eternity
.

His chest heaved and the pencil dropped from his fingers, bouncing against the van's steel floor. He clutched at the scar upon his bare chest and winced. Short of breath, he cracked open the window a bit for some air. Outside the van, the night seethed with the palpable anticipation of a heavy rain.

In contrast to his sparse space in the van, Alexandra Peyton lived with her mother in a high-rise apartment, overlooking the city. While the man was writing on the back of her drawing, the high school senior was slumbering in her bed. But on one point they were alike: she was not calm in her sleep. Alexandra's long legs kicked sharply under her soft down comforter as she ran through her dreams, struggling wildly through a thick forest and up a steep cliff. Sweat beaded on her forehead as a desperate howl surrounded her.

In his van, the raven-haired man cried in anguish. His wail was swallowed up by the sky. “She is the one,” he said in the darkness, folding the unfinished letter as the low-hanging storm clouds surrendered sheets of rain that slammed on the metal roof of the van until morning.

2
Reunion

When she ran the red light, the breathtaking blonde in the silver convertible already knew she was running inexcusably late to see her best friend, Alexandra. Pulling her car to a stop in front of the towering downtown Atlanta apartment building, she ignored the “emergency parking only” signs and flipped on the Mercedes's flashers as she dug inside her outrageously expensive red leather handbag for her cell phone.

Smacking her gum, she waited for the call to connect. Across the street she spied a young, dark-haired man, a guitar strapped around his chest, watching her from the sidewalk. Strumming the metal strings, he kept his eyes focused on the spray-tanned, platinum blonde as he tapped his black boot in a slow, steady rhythm on the city sidewalk.

“Oh my,” she said to herself, holding her ringing cell phone to her ear as she admired him from behind her tortoiseshell Gucci sunglasses, a bead of sweat collecting along the thin gold necklace draped across her protruding collarbones.

At his feet, a guitar case lay open. Passersby had thrown loose change and single dollar bills inside. A gray kitten nudged the coins with her bitty paws, purring. A young girl and her mother passed by.

“Look, Mama,” the golden-blond five-year-old with pigtails whispered to the woman gripping her hand. The wide-eyed girl stroked the kitten.

“Don't, Abby,” her mother said.

He knelt down by the girl and picked up the playful kitten. “Her name is Princess,” he said, holding the kitten out to her. While Abby cradled the fur ball in her arms, the kitten licked her face. Her mother tried to pry it away.

He locked his azure eyes on the mother. “She does need a good home,” he said.

A warm tingle pierced the woman's skin. “Thank you,” she said to him, smiling. “Come on, Abby. Let's go home.”

The girl hugged the kitten tightly to her chest and skipped away from the guitar case, but then she stopped and turned. Racing back, she beamed at the kneeling man and kissed his forehead. “You've made us the happiest girls in the world,” she whispered. He bit his lip when the girl leapt away with Princess and skipped back to her mother.

When she was gone, he said softly, “You have found your princess. Perhaps I shall one day find mine.”

Just across the street, ten stories up in Park View Tower, Alexandra Peyton paced across the hardwood floors of apartment 10-C, impatiently waiting for her friend Taylor. The smacking of her black rubber flip-flops against the polished floor echoed through every room. Her mom, a biologist, was at work at Atlanta's Centers for Disease Control. Her chunky bulldog, Jack, watched her lazily from his cushioned perch on the leather sofa.

“Where is she?” Alexandra said, exasperated at her friend's tardiness. But Jack merely rolled over without answering. “Why does it take her so long to get ready?” she asked him, looking down at her simple, basic uniform: dark-blue denim, cut-off shorts and a faded-red tank top.

As she reached for her cell phone on the coffee table, the screen lit up with her best friend's name and buzzed in her palm. “It's about time, Taylor,” Alexandra said as she hit a green button on the keypad.

When she took the call, Jack whined and hid his head under a pillow. “Calm down, little man,” Alexandra said, rubbing the top of the agitated bulldog's head.

She greeted the caller. “You said you were leaving your house any minute. That was three hours ago. Where are you?”

“I'm outside,” Taylor's voice sang through the phone.

“I don't believe you,” said Alexandra. She stopped scratching Jack's fuzzy ears with her chewed, unpolished fingernails.

“Look outside,” Taylor demanded.

Alexandra walked toward the apartment balcony and threw open the glass doors. It was a brilliant day with a cloudless, blue sky, giving clear visibility. Once out on the balcony, she said into the phone, “I don't see you, Taylor,” while she peered over the side of the railing. Grabbing a pair of binoculars from a plastic table beside her, she scanned the cars parked below on the bustling city street in front of her apartment building.

“Where's your Mustang?” asked Alexandra, suddenly seeing her friend sitting in a shiny, silver convertible, waving her hand in the air toward the balcony. Focusing the binoculars on the car's front vanity plate (“ILUVDAD”), Alexandra knew there could be no mistake; it was her best friend, Taylor.

“Daddy got rid of the Mustang after that last speeding ticket I got a couple of weeks ago. But this is so much better,” Taylor cooed into the phone. “Hurry up and get down here.”

“Okay,” Alexandra said, putting down the binoculars. “Be there in a sec.”

Walking inside, she turned to lock the glass doors behind her. She grabbed her packed duffel bag that was ready by the front door. Jack whined in anticipation when he saw her slide her keys from her purse.

“I'm sorry, Jack. I wish I could take you, but Granny June's mean old poodle doesn't like bulldogs,” she told him. “I'll be home in a few days, and Mom will be home from work in a little while. Promise me that you'll be good for her.” He licked her hand as she patted his chubby belly. “Love you,” she said as she shut and locked the door.

Taylor had already opened her convertible's trunk by the time Alexandra had reached the Mercedes. Alexandra eyed the cramped trunk bulging with pink suitcases. “We're only going to my grandmother's beach house for a couple of days,” said Alexandra. “And there's even a mall about an hour from her house if you've forgotten something.”

“An
hour
?” Taylor gasped. “Are you serious? You told me she lived on the beach, not on a deserted island.”

“Her house is secluded, but it's not in the middle of nowhere,” Alexandra insisted.

“An hour away from a mall is the middle of nowhere,” Taylor huffed as she slammed the trunk shut. “Anyway, I have to be prepared,” Taylor explained. “At least we're driving there, instead of flying there. You should have seen my dad's face when he got the credit card bill for my plane trip to Italy last month. The envelope was this thick,” she said, her arms spread wide. “When he opened it, he kept muttering about the baggage charges, and then this massive purple vein started throbbing on his forehead. I worried that he was going to stroke-out on me.”

“He couldn't have been too mad at you,” said Alexandra, tossing her lumpy duffel bag into the backseat, “or he wouldn't have bought you this ride.”

Taylor trailed her fingers down the side of the new car. “It's sweet, right? He surprised me. But he said that I have to drive it this year and then all the way through college,” she said, rolling her eyes.

As Alexandra's fingers popped open the passenger-door handle, Taylor cut in front of her and parked herself snugly into the black leather seat. “You drive, girlie,” she said, tossing Alexandra the car keys.

Alexandra hesitated to open the driver's door.

“Get in and drive,” Taylor ordered. “I have to touch up my pedicure.” She buckled her seat belt. “I totally smeared it trying on these sandals at the mall yesterday.”

Alexandra smirked as she climbed into the driver's seat and readjusted the rearview mirror. “This is nothing like my hunk-o-junk Jeep.”

“I know,” Taylor sighed. “When are you going to put that thing out of its misery?”

“Not soon enough,” Alexandra said, cranking the key in the ignition. “Traffic is going to be rough getting out of Atlanta this time of day,” she said over the hum of the powerful, precision-tuned engine.

“Take it slow until you are used to her,” Taylor offered, but Alexandra had already punched the accelerator. With squealing wheels, the auto jumped headfirst into traffic.

They did not go unnoticed. Across the street, the guitar player spied the girls as they raced away from the curb. He shook his head. With tan, muscular arms, he pulled the guitar away from around his chest. He tucked his raven hair behind his ears and patted the back pocket of his brown-and-green camouflage pants to reassure himself that her sketch was still safely tucked inside. After the silver convertible turned right at a stoplight and disappeared from his view, he tucked his guitar into the case resting at his feet.

He also had not gone unnoticed.

“He is so cute,” said Taylor, watching his figure fade from view in her rearview mirror.

“Who is so cute?” Alexandra asked, trying to concentrate on the gnarled traffic.

“That guy playing guitar,” said Taylor, turning around in her seat for a last look at him as their car sped down the street. “He couldn't keep his eyes off you.”

“I've seen him before,” revealed Alexandra. “He plays that guitar in the park every day. I always see him when I take Jack out for a walk.”

“So why don't you talk to him?” Taylor asked.

“He's a stranger,” Alexandra pointed out. “I'm not going to walk up to some random guy and introduce myself. What's if he's some kind of psycho or something?”

“What if he's not?” asked Taylor. “You'll never know, will you?”

“We might still make it to my grandmother's house in time for dinner,” Alexandra said, trying to change the subject.

“Cool,” said Taylor, suddenly preoccupied with rummaging through her bulky handbag for nail polish. “Check it out,” she said, pulling a CD case and bottle of pink polish from her bag. “Antonio sent this CD to me from Rome.”

Horns blared as Alexandra barreled down the access ramp toward the interstate. Taylor's long, blond hair whipped into her face and stung her eyes. “Maybe we should put the top up?” Taylor shouted.

“No time now,” yelled Alexandra. “I want to get there before dark.” She maneuvered into the far left lane of traffic and pressed her right foot down harder on the accelerator. “Who is Antonio?” she asked.

“He was my tour guide in Italy,” explained Taylor. “I told you about my dreamy Antonio. He must be in love with me. He sent me this CD so I can learn to speak Italian.” She popped a silver disc into the CD player and turned the stereo's volume up as high as it could go.

“Ciao!” boomed a husky male voice with a heavy Italian accent through the speakers.

“Ciao!” Taylor repeated, giggling, as she brushed bright-pink nail polish on her big toes.

Alexandra rolled her eyes and glanced at the rearview mirror. The smoggy Atlanta skyline fell further behind her as she sped east toward the South Carolina coast.
Next
stop, Peyton Manor,
Alexandra announced to herself.

“Where exactly are we going again?” Taylor asked, plugging a GPS into a socket in the dashboard.

“Edisto Island,” Alexandra explained. “And I don't need that,” she said pointing at the GPS. “I know my way with my eyes closed.”