Kristie Cook - Purpose

He picked up all my bags and led me out of the room and down the hallway. A man and woman stood at the elevators, holding hands.

“Stay very close so they don’t bump into you and don’t make a sound,” Owen said, his voice barely a whisper.

As we reached the Ferrari, Owen went to the front to drop my bags into the cargo space and I naturally went to the driver’s side door. He walked right into me.

“Ow! What are you doing?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” he echoed.

“Uh…getting in the car.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And what happens if you pass by a cop and it looks like the car is driving itself?”

“Oh. Right.” I’d already forgotten I was invisible to everyone else. Owen would have to drive me.

“I’ll stop once we’re out of sight of the highway,” he promised.

Owen’s plan worked. No one paid any attention to us, except a few guys who gawked at the car and a couple of women who smiled warmly at Owen while we sat at a stoplight. My sense felt they were plain human—not Daemoni. Either the Daemoni didn’t care about me, didn’t recognize the car or figured Owen was leaving by himself or just running errands or something. Or maybe we just got lucky and none were even out when we left. Neither of us felt anyone following us as we traveled the fifty miles to the beach house.

“Thank you, Owen,” I said as he made the turn off the highway. He drove about forty feet, then stopped the car. From the highway, our little key, which we shared with only four other homes, was barely noticeable by passing drivers, hidden in what looked like a wild overgrowth of natural vegetation.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.

He waved his hand toward me, presumably to lift the cloak, but I paid no attention. Instead, I stared down the sandy road that led to the beach house. A lump started forming in my throat, growing larger with each heartbeat until I thought it might suffocate me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Owen asked.

I didn’t answer, not able to talk with that boulder stuck in my throat. I finally nodded.

“I’ll be close,” he said and then he flashed, disappeared, leaving me alone to my task that would either show me the way out of my insanity or push me down into the utter blackness of no return.

I heaved myself out of the car and walked to the driver’s side on wobbly legs, feeling like one of Dorian’s toys—the rubbery kind that could be pulled and twisted and bent into odd shapes. I folded myself into the driver’s seat, took a deep breath and put the transmission into first gear.

As I turned into the driveway and the house came into view, grief slammed down on me. I hadn’t been back since Tristan and I had left together. This was our place. I didn’t want memories here without him. Yet here I was. Completely alone.

When I stopped the car at the house, I couldn’t move.

Memories of pulling into the driveway the first time flooded my vision. The moon provided the only light then and our conversation had been strained. It was easy to remember—I’d been so nervous, not about losing my virginity, but about doing it right for him. The emotion was still clear, but now felt from a more experienced, older perspective. That was an innocent time, a time full of joy and love and hope. We’d been looking forward to years—centuries, even eternity—of being together. And we’d been given only a couple of weeks.

The sobs finally subsided and I wiped my face with my hands, staring at the house with trepidation. It still looked the same, as if frozen in time with the memories it held. The light gray, metal roof reflected the bright sun and the blue-gray stucco siding looked like new. The wooden stairs and deck seemed to have a fresh coat of white paint—they gleamed in the sun, too. The house hadn’t changed at all.

But it was different now. Instead of promises of love and hope, the house now held guarantees of misery and loneliness. Part of me wanted to leave. A very big part.

I inhaled deeply, telling myself I could do this. I gathered the luggage and forced myself up the stairs. I rummaged in his bag for the keys, taking time to feel each of his belongings my hand came across, trying so hard to remember his face, to feel his presence. Once I stepped inside, I didn’t have to try. I could barely punch in the security code for the alarm, my hands trembling and tears blurring my vision.

The memories of our unplanned honeymoon—so long ago now—flooded over me as soon as I entered the kitchen. We’d cooked so many meals here together, listening to U2, Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins, the only three CDs that had been in the Ferrari at the time. Sometimes he’d taken me in his arms and spun me around for a short dance as we waited for the sauce to thicken or water to boil. I remembered him chasing me around the island with lobsters in his hands before he dropped them in the big pot of steaming water. My eyes traced over the crack he’d left in the granite countertop the day we had to leave and tears streamed down my cheeks.

I dropped the bags and stumbled through the unchanged family room into the master bedroom. It looked exactly the same, with a colossal bed and dresser in the main part of the room and a chaise lounge and little table in front of the sliding glass doors, which led out to the screened-in balcony. Everything was white, with splashes of jewel-tone colors in the fabrics and decorations, making it feel like a tropical island. He’d named it the Caribbean room.

My breath caught as I remembered our first night here. He was so happy I loved the place as much as he did. And so loving and gentle as he took me for the first time.

I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. When the racks of pain subsided, he swam into my vision. I saw clearly his beautiful face with the sparkling eyes, smelled his delicious, tangy-sweet scent, felt the electric pulse as he touched me, heard his lovely voice say, “I love you, ma lykita,” as if he lay right next to me. He felt close again. So close. And just like that first night at the safe house, I felt his presence in the world. Really felt it, like a nearly tangible energy reaching into my chest, surrounding my heart and filling my body.

I knew again, really knew he was still alive. Any doubt had been erased. He lived…somewhere.

I pulled the bedding into me and sobbed harder, clinging to it as though it were him, wishing like hell he would just come back to me.

When I felt like I had no more tears, I pulled myself out of the bed and examined the house. Mom had hired a management company to care for it and everything seemed to be in working order. I figured Mom had called to let them know of my pending arrival once she realized I’d headed to the Keys. With a push of a button, the hurricane shutters lifted and I went out to the balcony. I curled up in the chair Tristan always sat in, pretending I sat on his lap again, snuggling against his chest instead of the cushion. And I bawled.

It was a horrible, heart-wrenching day and night. But definitely not the worst of my life. In fact, I relished the agony because it made me remember. And remembering made me feel so close to him. I let the wounds open widely. I welcomed the pain when I saw the cracked headboard, a consequence of our heated passion. I embraced the burning throb as I stood at the shower door, reliving some of my favorite memories.

“Baby, I feel so close to you now. Please come to me.” I moaned myself to sleep, curled in a ball on our bed, my hand clutching the pendant as a lifeline. My old memory-dream played throughout the night and I savored every moment, knowing how important it was to hang on, even in my dreams.

The next day came slightly easier and I knew this was the right decision, coming here. After ignoring this place for so long, it gave me what I’d needed all along—real memories, a place he had been, where I could physically feel him and his love for me. The longer I stayed in our bed, the less the memories felt like an assault shattering my heart and more like a cozy blanket surrounding me with warmth. The reassuring sensation continued everywhere in the house and on the three-acre property as I worked my way around to each special place. I sat on the little beach for a long time, just gazing out over the water, remembering how we’d swam and snorkeled and skinny-dipped in the moonlight.