Purpose (8 page)

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…for
ever
. 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.