xix
I remember feeling feverish. My throat burned with a pain that none of Jane or Claire’s bites had left. I was weak – even the sheets thrown over me were too heavy to lift.
I remember Jane undressing me in the dark and putting me to bed. I remember waking when she let other people into the room. Once it was the old man from the desk that first night. Once it was Claire, and she stayed for awhile. Jane had some strong words for her, but they dropped to a whisper when they saw my eyes open. Another time it was a woman I didn’t recognize, and she wasn’t saying anything. A few times I woke and only Jane was there, sitting at the desk, staring intently at the tablet.
I remember being propped up for a drink from a warm cup that soothed my throat and let me feel my fingers and toes again.
Then it was light outside. A bright sun bled through the edges of the heavy curtains. The tablet was turned off and back on its stand, and Jane was watching me. She had changed again at some point into regulars – a black t-shirt, black shorts, and thick black tights. She sat cross-legged and sideways in the chair. She looked comfortable, and not at all tired. “Do you think you could eat?”
I wasn’t sure, but Jane had food for me in a few minutes anyway – pasta with red sauce. She made sure I kept putting food in my mouth until I finally pushed the bowl away.
“Not enough time.” She frowned.
I couldn’t sleep with the sunlight, so I lay in the bed and we talked. I talked mostly – as my throat permitted and between sips from that warm cup – and she asked me questions. They weren’t leading questions meant to arouse us or to uncover my next fantasy, but serious questions about my life, like a date interview. She asked about my parents and my brother – not details, but impressions about my relationships, what I liked and disliked about them, and how they affected me. We went through all of the women I’d dated (a longer list than I first remembered) and all of those I’d slept with (that list had doubled in the last two days). She tried to get me to name the things about myself that irritated other people, but nothing I gave her would’ve topped anyone’s list. There wasn’t much of which I was particularly proud, but I hadn’t much to regret either. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t thought about it before.
She asked me about the things I’d written, and I told her about my journal.
“I deleted it.” She said it matter-of-factly, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. “I wouldn’t have – there wasn’t anything in there to worry about – but you’ve put a scare on the Veyl, and now there will be scrutiny.” She left the chair and sat beside me on the bed. Her hands closed around mine. “But I read the whole thing first – your journal, every post – and I will remember it. Everything. I knew that would mean more to you, anyway.”
“It was set to auto-delete,” I offered.
“I know.”
She let the air clear for a moment, then pulled her bag up onto her lap and produced the copper plaque. “Look – it’s past morning. Actually, it’s late in the afternoon. How’s your resolve?” She held out the plaque to me.
“Strong.” The word cracked in my throat. “Still strong.” I affirmed the plaque verbally and pressed my thumbs into the circle when she held it before me.
“Good.” She paused. “Because today is your last day.” She slipped the plaque back into her bag as she continued. “I’d rather have more time to strengthen you up so we could both have a better time of it. I really wish that. But we can’t risk–”
My heart pounded in my ears. There was an ethereal buzzing that got louder, drowning out her words. It wasn’t a bell, but it tolled for me. It was my last day.
I could see her clearly, but she was oddly distant, like I was looking through someone else’s eyes. The fever flushed back. I felt cold and hot at the same time, and sweaty. I think I was going to faint.
“I love you.” I said it loudly, awkwardly. I think I said it. It brought my senses around like I had.
She stopped mid-sentence and weighed those words for a long moment. “I see you mean that.” She lifted my hand to her cheek, then kissed the knuckles. “I won’t say I don’t feel the same.”
She paused again.
“But there is no rule that says you can only love one person. Or that love is eternal. Or that love is not selfish. Or that my love doesn’t make me all the more eager to drain your veins.” She smiled.
I smiled as well, but sighed. I knew. I had said something like that to someone else before. Not about their veins. Nothing is eternal, and I wouldn’t be satisfied with less than eternal. I wouldn’t be satisfied with myself.
“Besides,” she continued more loudly, as she stood back up and stretched, “you were wrong – wrong about the soul. I know what you read – whose words you read – and it’s just paranoid xenophobia. The soul’s in the breath, not the blood. You have actually seen a Stephenson image before, haven’t you?”
She paused to watch my surprise, then nodded with satisfaction.
“So, maybe in 25 years or so we can go on another date. Look me up, if you still love me. I promise I’ll be younger than ever, and I’ll only bite if you want me to. Or if I can lure you into a dark alley.”
