I sat Cross-legged on the worn, patterned rug close to the fireplace. Outside the villa walls, the wind screamed through the cypress trees that ringed our villa, their black silhouettes staggering in the darkness.
I'd been living in fear for weeks now. Ever since that awful night—the break-in, the intruder, the haunting photograph—I was a broken shell under constant observation. And now, with the golden light of our living room, I fought in vain to regain once again some semblance of normalcy. But even as I tried to steady my trembling hands, the weight of our shared burden pressed down on me.
Caspian paced back and forth before me like a caged animal. His huge frame filled the air between the antique settee and the grand fireplace, and his great body, once a warm knot of heat, heaved with only repressed fury. He was on the phone, his baritone voice was low as he negotiated with Randy, his supposed informant. Every so often, he would pause, and I’d catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes, usually as dark and impassive as midnight, now shimmered with raw anguish and anger.
"I don't care how much it's going to cost," he said angrily, his knuckles white. "Just locate him." His voice was harsh, the agonized desperation within so that even I hurt within for even my chest, the empty room echoing the thoughts I had in my head.
Was this my fault?
I asked in the silence. Had I not pulled him out of the safety of the villa, if I had only stayed hidden, would we have been safe at that point? Or was I simply another weak point for the darkness to consume? I hadn't even known I was crying until a hot tear went down my cheek, salt mixing with memories of all the terror we'd been forced to face. Before i could say a thing, Caspian fell on his knees to me. I was frozen there, unable to move, while he edged nearer and wiped the tears from my face with the tip of his thumb, his shaking fingers and palms soft in spite of their having to find their way past his enormous arms. His eyes—thoseursed blwere fixed upon mine, imploring reaction, forgiveness, hope.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion.
"Don't do that. Don't blame yourself for all of this."
I tried to answer, but his words and my own guilt overwhelmed me into silence.
"But I—"
I began to speak, my words barely a whisper.
No, he interrupted me, his hand sifting through my hair. "Lily, I'd reduce this world to ashes before I'd let anyone take you away from me.".
His confession broke me . I was like all the layers of sorrow and terror I had built over all the nightwatches that crumbled beneath the weight of his vow to protect me. I hid my face against his chest, his thudding heart a metronome pulse that drowned out for a moment the mad voices yelling in my mind.
We sat beside each other on that rug so cold for what seemed like an eternity, our silence a blend of hope and despair. The fire's flame danced against the walls of the parlor, creating long trembling shadows that spoke of our shattered past and unsure future. I shut my eyes and listened to the wail of the wind so distant outside—a wail that permitted me to question whether the world itself wept with us.
And then Caspian stepped back, still regarding me, its warmth haunting and intolerable in its sadness. "Lily," he whispered, his voice low and on the brink of despair, "I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to drag you into my darkness ." His finger swept along my face, soft enough to iron out the creases of despair that had etched themselves onto it.
I took a shuddering breath and moved over to take his hand. "I know," I gasped, trying to sound calm. "But I'm here for you because I love you. I choose you, day after day—even when it seems like the world around us is unraveling at the seams."
The honesty in his eyes eased his face for a moment, and I glimpsed not only the man who stood guard over me, but the conscience-ridden heart that was wracked by guilt too great to be borne by him. "I'm scared, Lily," he admitted, his voice trembling as he grasped my hand. "I dream of losing you every night."
I'm so afraid that you will eventually get tired of all this and you'll leave me.
I was touched by his words, but I pulled him into a hug that was a little closer. "I'm not leaving," I blurted out loudly. "I'm not afraid of the darkness if I have you. We must go through it together, Caspian. I need to know that I am important to you on an individual level, but that the two of us together are worth more than the ghosts of your past."
He glanced down at me then, his eyes a whirlpool maelstrom of fear, love, and desperation. I understood him in that instant for all his weakness—a man wracked by secrets and guilt, and still fighting to the last gasp of life to protect the one being he loved more than life itself. His lips quivered as he struggled to say, "I swear, Lily, I'll suffer hell if need be, just to save you."
I wept, though, and stood in front of him. "I'm here," I whispered. "I choose you. I'm with you no matter how many ghosts are in our history or no matter how big of a train wreck the future will be."
The silence that lingered in the wake was thick with the promise of a new dawn, unwilling though stubborn. In the distance, the wind had slowed to a gentle hum, and rain outside was a gentle, insistent throb on windows. The old mantel clock ticked mournfully, marking hours that we would employ to construct anew the foundations of our broken lives.
Finally, about midnight, when the villa had subsided into nervous stillness, I found my way into the drawing room. I settled into a big armchair drawn up to the window, and stared out of it at the streak of raindrops streaming down the panes. The room was bathed in a sphere of golden light from a table lamp, whose rays cast yellowish capers onto dusty boards and old papering. It was a sanctuary crowded with memories—bitter and sweet—and I couldn't help but wonder if I would be dwelling among specters.
I remembered the occurrences which had taken place in the previous weeks—the ubiquitous surveillance, the strange photos, the disclosure of a threat which might have potentially originated from Caspian's own past. I remembered the hot fight in the study, the gravity of Caspian's vow when he told me that he was afraid to lose me, that he was not good enough.
Caspian spent hours away from the drawing room, and I was sure that he walked up and down through the corridors, a rebellious guard in the darkness. I shut my eyes and tried to allow the reassuring tick of the clock to calm me into a posture of tranquility, but a dread of our situation seeped into my mind again. Every creak of floorboards under our feet, every wail of wind outside, was like an overture to disaster.
And then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the door creaking. My body was tense, my heart pounding, and my eyes wide open when Caspian came into the room backward. Dark and heavy-lidded with suppressed tears, his eyes met mine at once. There, in the weight of the look, I felt a fiery purpose to protect and a still-vibrant fear that clung to him.
"Lily," he whispered , his voice trembling and husky, "I'm going to call Randy again. I need to know more—anything so that I can get rid of this mess."
I frowned, my mind reeling with mixed emotions. "Randy…? You really think that he will help us?" I spoke in a trembling voice. "Whenever I hear the name, I remember how dangerous your past is." I said, unsettled.