Joshua Graham - Terminus

Hope had emerald eyes, just like…Not for a hundred years had he felt this way for anyone, much less a mortal. Now he knew why he didn’t want to let her go.

“Come on, Hope. Hang on.”

But the construct fell apart even as his strength ebbed. Her eyes rolled back and shut.

Exhausted, Nick fell to his knees at the bed.

He reached out and gently cupped her face, which felt cold and moist. If he could just heal her…

You’re in enough trouble as it is!

But if she died, the dark reapers would come for her.

Think. If he failed this assignment again, then broke the angelic laws against unauthorized healing, he himself might be the one taken by the dark reapers.

Tormented, he grappled with the decision.

Then, placing a hand on Hope’s forehead, he reached inside her mind and projected a sliver of a construct. One that didn’t task all of her five senses, just enough to cause the necessary effect.

He grabbed the trash can under the nightstand and held it at the edge of the bed.

Hope lurched forward and let out a horrendous retching sound.

Carefully, Nick lifted and turned her head so that she vomited only into the can. With each heave she tossed out a mixture of water and pills, some partially dissolved.

Nick turned away. Of all possible times to be experiencing the full extent of human olfactory senses, why did it have to be now? He looked back to check on her.

Not done retching yet, but nothing was coming up now. He patted her back, told her she’d be all right. She made a whining sound, then finished.

As she sat back, Nick grabbed a stack of tissues from the box and handed them to her. He sent a small healing pulse into her body from his fingertips as he brushed them across her face. Technically, he hadn’t healed her—though his hand did glow. The vomiting had. Helping her feel better wasn’t the same as healing her. Not exactly.

She looked into his face.

“Oh, my—it’s you, again, Clive.”

“I’m afraid so. Clive ?”

She waved her hand. Never mind.

“How did you—?” She slapped her hand over her mouth, grabbed the trash can, and completed her sentence with a final dry heave.

“I daresay you’ve tossed the last of them,” Nick said.

She got up, looked surprised that she’d managed it with ease, then went into the bathroom. Nick heard her running water, gargling, spitting into the sink. Then she came out and stood there dabbing her face with a white towel.

“Sorry you have to keep saving me. Really, I didn’t mean to be saved.”

Nick pushed aside any thought of what Lena would say if she found out. When she found out.

“Are you going to try again?” he said.

“I really thought I was going to die, this time.”

“You nearly did.”

“But somewhere in the darkness, I felt something I’ve never felt before. Never in my whole life.” She looked down at the floor. “Well, that’s not exactly true. It did happen once, on the day my daughter Chloe died…in the…” She squinted at Nick. “In the hospital, just before…”

Eyes still on Nick, she stood.

Nick stood.

Still looking directly into his face, she walked over to him.

“It was you.”

“Hope—”

“Oh, my God. It was you.”

“Hope, I don’t think you understand.”

“I thought I was just bereft and seeing things. But even though it was for a split second, I’ve never forgotten that look in your eyes.” She leaned closer. “It gave me a couple of seconds of joy.”

“Look, you’ve been through a lot—more than I can imagine.”

Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him so tight he could barely breathe.

“Don’t leave! Whatever you do, don’t vanish again.”

“I won’t, but—”

“I’ll really go insane if you do. Maybe I already am.” She pinched his arm.

“Hey!”

“Okay, I guess you’re real. But am I?” She smiled. “You pinch me !”

“I’m not going—”

“Fine.” She reached up. As though avoiding a punch, Nick backed away. But then with both hands touched his face. Tracing the outline of his jaw, she gazed at him in wonder.

For a long moment.

At first, Nick meant to pull away. But instead, he reached up and gently grasped her fingers. A tingling sensation ran through his being. For the first time in a century he felt the very real, very human sensation of touching, and being touched by a human.

His head felt light.

HE’D LOST TRACK OF HOW MUCH TIME had passed. When you haven’t been touched by a woman meaningfully for over a hundred years, it takes you by surprise when it finally happens again.

Finally, Hope pushed away just a bit, averting her gaze but not for long.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… quite all right.”

“I don’t make a habit of touching strangers like that.” She let her hand slide down his neck, around the curve of his shoulder. “But you’re not really a stranger, are you?”

Nick tried with no success whatsoever to collect his thoughts.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, backing away slightly.

“We met. The day Chloe died.”

Still dazed by the effects of their contact, he could hardly think. How did humans bear this without absolutely losing their minds?

“Chloe… Yes, I remember.”

“You touched me. We looked into each other’s eyes.” She took a small step back, her eyes ever widening in recognition. “But it was so brief I always thought I’d imagined it. Yet here you are.”

Regaining a little of his composure, he took a wobbly step back toward the chair.

“Are you quite all right, Hope?”

“I think so.” She touched her stomach, brushed his concern aside with a tentative smile. “May I ask you a few questions?”

“A few?” Nick nearly fell back into the chair. His head felt as though it was somewhere in the clouds. “I don’t know if I’d make it through the first.”

Hope tightened the belt of her robe, came over to the edge of the chair, and knelt so she could look up into his face.

“First question. What’s your name?”

“Not sure I should tell you.”

“Why?”

“Is that question two?”

She smirked.

“Okay, next. Where did you come from?” She narrowed her eyes scrutinizing him.

“That’s, um… classified.”

“Fine.” She gave him an appraising look. “That brings us to question three.”

His throat gave out a tired groan, like an old St. Bernard rolling over in its sleep without waking up. Nick had never before made such a sound, and Hope picked up on it.

“Are you quite all right, Clive?” she said, imitating his English accent.

“Never better.” He reached for the other trash can and put his face into it, making a queer sound that was a cross between a grunt and the noise people make when punched in the gut. Of course nothing came out since he neither ate nor drank. Yet here he was, mirroring his subject.

When the feeling of nausea subsided he opened his eyes and found Hope looking at him with concern.

“You’re looking awfully pale,” she said.

“Are you done with your questions?”

“I have one more.”

Nick placed his hand on her shoulder and sat up straight.

“Let’s have it, then.”

Again she looked him straight in the eyes.

“ What are you?”

NO TURNING BACK NOW. Nick was committed.

And this time his rashness had forced him into a situation that sabotaged his future. Yet somehow, he didn’t care.

Which was why, with Hope gazing up at him expecting a truthful answer to her final question, he decided to give her one.