I gasp, and my eyes fly open.
“It’s… a long time,” I stutter in explanation. Probably enough to rival Ambrose’s, if not more. But even more unbelievable than that is the fact that I’m not devastated by the prospect of living so long. I’m eager to see what the future holds in those endless years, when six months ago, I was sitting in a bathtub slitting my wrists and craving oblivion.
It’s funny how life changes.
“Has this ever happened before?” I ask. “A human becoming like this without dying, I mean.”
Ambrose answers, “Not that I know of.”
Elias echoes his answer.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t piss off the big man upstairs that this happened,” I chuckle, but the joke falls flat and Elias visibly cringes. “Umm, is there something I should know?”
They exchange another heavy look before Elias lowers his voice and says, “Nobody is supposed to remember their first time meeting The Creator, but I do. I remember every second of it, and I’m certain it’s some sort of fluke. Knowing what I know about Him, we should hope that he doesn’t find out.”
Great. I’ve made a potential enemy of God himself, apparently.
“Was it true that you and Samuel were working on his behalf?”
“No. I had believed his claim at first, but Samuel wasdangerous and manipulative, which made him unreliable. However, I don’t doubt that our Creator utilizes others like us as his pawns.” Elias slumps back in his chair, exhaustion written all over his features. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I should have done more to stop him, but I didn’t know how, and I’ve only been living this way for a couple decades. Samuel took me under his wing, so to speak, and I didn’t understand his scheme until it was too late. But I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”
I nod, and Ambrose says to Elias, “I think it may be time for Brielle and I to catch up, but you’re welcome to stay if you need to.”
“The place I’m staying is not far from here,” he answers. “But I’d like to come back to say hello in a few days, if that’s alright.”
“You’re welcome anytime.”
With that, Elias leaves, and Ambrose and I are left in the weight of the silence that follows.
“Are you okay with talking about things right now, or do you need some more rest?” Ambrose finally asks.
“We can talk, but I’m making coffee first,” I say in an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere.
The stiffness in his shoulders loosens almost imperceptibly as he chuckles and says, “Deal.”
We make our way to the kitchen, and I go through the familiar routine of scooping coffee grounds into the filter and filling the tank with water. I press the button to brew it, and the machine gurgles and steams as coffee drips into the pot below. It’s a steadying ritual, something to ground me in the present as I try to wrap my mind around the magnitude of my new existence.
Immortal.
Once the coffee maker beeps to signal the end of itsbrewing, I pour myself and Ambrose steaming mugs of the dark, rich liquid, and we sit across from each other at the small kitchen table. It feels like more neutral ground than the living room or study, a place where we can speak freely without so many memories and emotions clouding our perspectives.
It’s impossible to escape all the memories, though, because I think about the last time I sat here with him in the late hours of the night as they gave way to morning, how he held me tightly in the gray light of dawn and held me while we danced.
I take a deep breath and say one word. “Explain.”
He swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak before closing it again and considering his words. Eventually he says, “As you know, I watched you for quite a long time. You piqued my interest and my curiosity, and I wanted—needed—to know more. I vacillated between convincing myself not to interfere with your life and desperately wanting to steal you away and make you mine.”
He taps his fingers nervously against the wooden table before continuing. “But I saw how miserable you were, how close you were coming to your breaking point. I took too long to decide what to do with you, and when you attempted suicide, I had to act quickly. I wasn’t sure if you’d come with me willingly, and even if you did, I feared you would run when you realized what I am. So I tricked you into coming to me.”
“And the whole ‘bargain’ thing? Ikilledpeople, Ambrose. That’s not something you can just wave off.”
He winces. “I probably could have handled that a little better as well, but I did have mostly good intentions. I didn’t care about adding to my lifespan, but it was clear you needed a purpose, something to strive for, and a way to take backyour power. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that killing those men was therapeutic for you in a twisted sort of way.”
He’s right. Enacting vengeance on corrupt men who weaponized their authority and preyed on the vulnerable healed something in me that had been broken for a long time. It gave me agency and power after living a life of abuse and subservience. But still…
“Why didn’t you tell me later on, after we… got closer?” I ask, not wanting to put words to the connection that has grown between us.
“I was scared,” he admits. “I was afraid you’d leave as soon as you knew the truth and that I’d lose you forever. And I know that’s incredibly selfish of me. I have no other excuse, but I did plan on telling you the night you left.”
