The Bringer (23 page)

He comes over to me until we’re a breadth apart, and cups my face with his hands. “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

I do as I'm told.

I don’t feel anything for a long moment – then I suddenly feel it.

My head is all warmth and fuzziness, my whole body tingling, and then a white noise rushes through my mind, filling every crevice. Doors that were once sealed shut are now opening, the memories flooding back to their rightful place.

Scenes begin to flash through my mind like an old movie, and I have to work quickly to catch hold of them.

Mainly I see Arran. His face fills out my mind. The lazy smile he used to wear on his lips, his light brown hair that always fell messily around his face, his dark, penetrating eyes . . . and that’s when I see James. It’s the eyes. They have the same eyes . . .

I can hear Arran’s soothing voice so clearly, it’s almost as if he’s standing here before me now, telling me he loves me and he will until time ceases to exist. I remember how happy I was. Then I feel it, the pain I felt the exact moment he told me he was leaving me for her. Oh God, it hurts . . . it hurts so much – too much.

I feel desolate, alone, wretched. It’s like I’m been crushed by it.

I see it all. I remember it all.

“
Lucyna.” I open my eyes to a very concerned Arlo, his hands gripping my arms, us both sitting on the floor. “Are you okay?” He shakes his head. “Of course you’re not. I should have known this would be too much for you to take all at once.”

I stare blankly at him, wincing as the memories continue to wash over me like a tidal wave. The pain is so raw, it’s like a darkness taking me over.

“
Say something, Lucyna. Please.”

I steel myself, seeing how worried he is, and force myself to speak. “I’m okay,” I say.

He moves to sit beside me and puts his arm around me, pulling me to him. “It’s a lot to take. I should have warned you how overwhelmed you’d feel, especially with the memories I’d concealed. Even though they are hundreds of years old, right now, to you, they’ll feel fresh. They’ll very quickly dull, I promise you.” He sounds so sure, so confident and I want to believe him.

I lean into him, needing comfort. Then I notice my body. I look just as I did when I was on earth. No more sparkle, just creamy white skin. I should be elated at the sight, but nothing can overtake this pain I feel.

“
This is my fault,” he says sorrowfully. “I should have handled this better. I shouldn’t have just given you your memories back like that.”

I glance up at him and he regards me warmly, his green eyes gazing down at me. But for some reason I find myself shifting back slightly, away from him. If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

“
No, Arlo, I asked you to do this. None of this is your fault. I’m the only one at fault here.” I look down at my hands, feeling like I barely know myself anymore – which is odd considering the barrage of memories I’ve just received back.

“
No,” he says sternly. “The only one ever at fault was Arran.”

I can see it so clearly now. I can now see why I was instantly drawn to James, why my feelings returned the moment I met him. My memories may have been buried, but my love was just hiding, waiting for his return. James and Arran may look and be different in so many ways, but the eyes clearly show they are one in the same person. The same dark, unfathomable pools I fell in love with all those centuries ago. And now, here I am, once again in love, once again in unimaginable pain.

“
Lucyna?” Arlo squeezes my hand. I can hear the concern lacing his voice.

“
I’m okay. Really,” I add, seeing the look of doubt on his face. “I’m just trying to process everything.”

He reaches his hand up and brushes my hair back. I quash my instant urge to move away, not understanding why I feel the need to do so.

Arlo is my friend, the only one who has cared for me unconditionally. It must be because I’m not used to him touching me, especially not in such a caring manner.

“
I’m so sorry for doubting you, Arlo,” I say sincerely. “And I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

“
There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“
Yes, there is. You’ve done everything I have asked of you. You’ve cared for me even when I didn’t know it. I can never thank you enough.”

He smiles warmly, then his face turns serious. “So what now?”

“
What do you mean?”

He looks past me. “Well do you still want to go back to earth . . . back to James?” he asks the latter part in quieter voice.

I shift uncomfortably as a wave of anger pulses through me at the mention of his name. I never knew I could feel such furore, especially not in relation to him. But it’s the thought of what Arran did to me that’s spurring it on, the thought of seeing those eyes again. James and Arran are melding together in my mind, and there is not a thing I can do to stop it. That’s when I know there’s no going back.

“
No. I don’t ever want to go back there,” I say vehemently, surprising myself at just the level of resentment in my voice. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”

“
You can . . . well you can stay here – if you want to.”

“
And whereabouts is here?” I ask distractedly.

“
Shangri-La”

I look at him and laugh. He’s certainly got my attention now. “Arlo, be serious. Where are we really?”

“
Shangri-La,” he says again, stressing the words to really drive his point home.

“
But Shangri-la doesn’t exist,” I say pedantically. “It’s just a myth, invented by a human, a supposed realm for immortals. And if it did exist, then surely I would have known . . .” I peter off at his steady expression.

“
It very much does exist,” he grins, waving his hand around. “But only a chosen few know about it, know how to access it.” He winks at me.

“
So how do you know?” I ask, still feeling sceptical. “Why are you one of the chosen few?”

“
Because I’m special,” he chuckles and taps his nose with his long pale finger. “It really is a beautiful place. It will make a great home for us both –”

“
Us both?” I say with open surprise.

His green eyes sparkle at me. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you alone here did you?”

“
Well I didn’t expect –”

“
I know you didn’t expect, Lucyna,” He smiles. “but I have already spent forever with you. I’m not about to ditch you now.” He rises to stand and holds his hand out for me to take.

I waver, again not knowing why. All I do know is there’s a reluctance coming from deep inside of me.

“
Unless you don’t want me to stay with you?” he adds, looking shyly down, his golden hair partly obscuring his perfectly sculptured face.

I look up at him, my only true friend, all I have left, and I brush my stupid hesitation aside. I smile brightly. “Of course I do,” I say, clasping hold of his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

“
It’s going to be great,” he says happily, leading me along by my hand. “It’ll be just like old times . . .”

I continue to smile, pretending to listen as he talks on, but I can’t concentrate because right now all I can see in my mind are those eyes, those dark brown eyes.

And I know I’m doing the right thing by staying here but that doesn’t stop the hurt and regret from steadily flowing through me like a poison.

Chapter 17

Guises

It hasn’t worked.

All the pretending I’m okay, all the ignoring my pain.

No, it hasn’t worked, not one single iota.

Arlo was very wrong when he said the pain would dull. It hasn’t. Not in the slightest.

If it’s at all possible, I’m actually even more miserable than I was the day I got my memories back. Which was what . . . two weeks ago, give or take a day or two? Time has become pretty irrelevant whilst I’ve been here.

For all I think about every single second, of every long day, is him.

And even though I may appear to the outside world – well Arlo as he’s the only one I see – that I’m happy, with not a care or concern, the truth is I’m unhappy, sad, forlorn, mournful, afflicted and all of those things combined in one, to create the ultimate, most wretched misery you could ever imagine, that horrific it makes me want to hide away and lick my wounds for all eternity to come.

I wear this happy guise because I’d thought by doing so, by pretending I was okay, that it would somehow make it true . . . only it’s not really working out that way. It was always going to be impossible for me to forget when the luggage of my past was hot on my trail.

And I can’t tell whether the misery I feel is solely because of the pain Arran caused me all that time ago or because I miss James so much that been away from him is starting to cause me what can only be described as actual physical pain.

I’m not really sure what to do, well except for to continue on as I am. Which isn’t looking too promising, all things considered.

I can quite clearly see why I had Arlo wipe my memories and change me all those years ago. I’d be tempted to ask him to do it again, if I didn’t think that’d be the final straw for him when it comes to me.

I look up at the bright blue sky, watching it wink down at me through the green leaves that sit high above, the hammock I’m laid on swaying gently in line with the warm breeze. Then, without warning, an image of James kissing me flickers through my mind, the sight so clear, so intense, I feel like I’m going to explode from the agony that accompanies it. I clutch my arms across my chest, hoping to somehow compress the pain.

I miss him. So much. Too much.

My minds starts to drift, remembering the way he would touch me, kiss me, his smell, his laugh . . . his infectious laugh. I wonder what he’s doing right now . . . if he misses me . . .

Stop it.

I made the decision to stay away and I have to stick to it. Going back to James would ultimately only lead me straight back to hurt. That’s what Arlo says, and he’s right, I think.

James is Arran. James is Arran. James is Arran.

I sit up in the hammock, swinging my legs over the edge and try to block my mind from my memories. Then an image of purple asters, just like the ones from James’ garden, appears in my mind. I open my eyes up to see hundreds of them all sprouting out of the ground before me. Great, now I’m manifesting without even meaning to.

What was it he said they stood for . . . a symbol of love and patience?

And that’s when I know it’s no good. I can’t go on like this.

I love him, I miss him and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.

What’s the point of being here wallowing in eternal misery, hiding myself away from love, when if I just give myself up to it, even with all the risks that accompany it, at least I’d finally be living, even if only for a short time.

What is life without love? A hollow empty existence and haven’t I already done that one for long enough.

James isn’t Arran, he’s simply James, and he’s who I want to be with. I have to go back. . . . no I want to go back.

Now I just have to find a way to tell Arlo.

I start, when I look up and see him walking toward me. Well I suppose now is a good a time as any . . .

“
Asters . . . nice.” He nods down at them. “I was looking for you. I’ve got something to show you.” He turns and starts walk away as though it’s a given I’ll follow him.

“
No, Arlo, wait . . . I need to talk to you.”

He stops and turns back to me, a sudden curiosity stamped on his face.

I glance down at the trampled asters he’s just waded through, stalling, feeling fearful for what I have to say.

“
You’re leaving aren’t you?” he asks quietly, slowly. The disappointment evident in his voice.

I nod.

“
You’re going back to him?”

“
Yes,” I utter, sounding as guilty as I feel.

He says nothing, just glares at me, a look so icy it cuts right through me, a silence so strong it’s practically deafening.

“
And what about everything he’s done to you?” he asks stonily.

I curl my fingers around the thick edge of the netting and shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t James that hurt me.”

He grips his head, frustrated. “James is Arran, what do you not understand about that? And we all know what Arran was, what he did, what he was capable of.” He sounds so condescending, so belligerent, that it enrages me.

I jump to my feet. “What Arran did!” I expostulate. “Not James. He doesn’t know any of this. Nothing of who he was, what he did.”

I so desperately want him to understand my decision, understand how I feel. I want him to be okay with it.