Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (32 page)

Elizabeth walked over to him and placed the defrosting bag on the table. “Is something wrong?”

He grimaced and dipped his head lower, his hair spilling forward to mask his discomfort. “I appreciate your kindness and help.” He paused, searching for words until she thought he would not say any more.

She moved to grab the damp plastic bag but halted as he looked up, his crimson eyes arresting her. She never thought that eyes could really be that colour, let alone that beautiful.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, but I won’t be coming back.”

She sucked in her breath at the pronouncement and then realization blossomed. “You’re going to speak with Paul.”

He nodded and she smiled.

“That’s good.” She stepped closer. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but if you and Paul can patch things up, that would be wonderful.”

His thin white brows furrowed and she did not understand his consternation. Would it not be best for all concerned that the two of them patch their rift? “What is it?”

“My wallet, I can’t find it, and I hate to ask after all your generosity.”

It was clear to Elizabeth he was not one to ask for help and was deeply uncomfortable doing so. She knew well enough to be patient for him to continue.

“I have a taxi waiting and … well.” He grimaced sheepishly.

“No problem.” Elizabeth patted his arm before walking into the foyer to retrieve her black leather purse and matching wallet from within. Fumbling through the papers as she headed back to the kitchen, she held out several green bills.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the money. He carefully folded them and placed the bills into his trouser pocket. “I’ll pay you back.”

Elizabeth had no doubt that he would keep his word as she followed him to the front door. Quietly, she watched him slip into his shoes and long leather coat, a nagging feeling percolating up from her belly. Without another word he left her home.

She watched as he entered the orange car and she closed her front door to the sight of retreating tail lights. Hand resting on the lock, she removed her hand, leaving the door unlatched. The   sensation in her gut formed into a certainty. She would not lock her door for she knew he would be back. Sadly shaking her head, Elizabeth turned back to the kitchen to make dinner for herself and her daughter.

H
e stood outside the condominium door, his heart hammering in his chest. He did not know what to expect but the sudden fear about what he was intending to do surrounded and encapsulated him. Regardless, he had no choice as he knocked on the locked door.

It had been disconcerting to find both his wallet and his keys missing from his belongings.

A faint reply bidding him entry floated through the wood. Spurred on by the inviting tone, he pushed the handle down and gave the door a shove inwards. Stepping into the condo he was surprised by the packing boxes stacked beside the door and a frown formed on his face as he stepped further in. There was no doubt Notus was preparing to leave. Closing his eyes he failed to connect with the Chosen, another damning piece of evidence to his mortality. It made the space increasingly uninviting.

“There’s a couple of smaller boxes–” Notus instructions abruptly ended as he came into the hall and saw the boy standing by the door. Pain flashed across the monk’s face before quickly retreating, leaving only blank coldness in its wake.

Unaccustomed to seeing the monk direct his stern stare at him, he spoke Notus’ name as he stepped closer to the Chosen.

“What are you doing here?” Notus took a step back.

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened at the accusatory tone.

“You’re supposed to be at Elizabeth’s.”

“I–I had to come.” Confusion filled him. This was not the welcoming he had expected. He had assumed that Dr. Bowen had picked him up from the hospital because Notus could not have done so during daylight hours.

Notus lowered his hazel eyes and brushed by as he walked into the living room. He stood for a moment by the sofa, his pale hand, stained with ink, resting on the leather before turning around. “There was no need for you to come.”

The proclamation and the matter-of-fact tone rocked him. He took a step towards the monk. “Of course I had to come,” he implored. “How could I not after what has happened?”

“Do not come any closer,” stated Notus as he retreated from the young man who had been his son for centuries.

He halted his approach, his gut twisting at the sudden distance between the two. “Notus?”

The Chosen shook his head, sadness filling his eyes.

He had to try again. “Paul, please,” he implored. “I can’t live like this.” The monk’s shoulders slumped as he pressed on. “This time it’s my Choice.”

Notus closed his eyes, grimacing as if in pain. “I prayed that you wouldn’t ask. That you would joyfully accept God’s grace that has lifted the curse from you and rejoice in being mortal once more, as I would have, as I have always prayed for.” He opened his eyes to penetrate stunned ruby eyes. “You have a chance to live a normal life, finally. You no longer need to be the Angel.”

Silence crashed down between them as the monk’s words and their meaning seeped in. When they impacted, the force thundered his heart in his ears,
making his head swim and his legs weak. He hated to beg but there was nothing left to do but to do so. “Notus, please, you don’t know what you’re condemning me to.”

“But I do,” replied the monk, his whisper barely audible.

“No, you don’t,” he pressed. “Being Chosen freed me to live fully in the night. Now it’s all darkness.”

Notus shook his head. “You can live your life in the light.”

“No. I can’t.” He knew his voice was harsh. Fear twisted into anger, anger at Notus for denying him and anger at his differences that would always keep him in the dark. “That night when you Chose me, you saved me. Please, Paul. I’m begging you.”

Tears welled in Notus’ eyes before he brushed them away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do.”

“Then you know why I cannot.” Notus’ voice was soft and filled with remorse. “You were an accident. I never Chose you. It was a mistake I had been forced to live with, an oath broken to God. He has lifted your curse and forgiven me. I cannot – nay, will not – consciously break my oath never to Choose another. You of all people know this. Regardless of how I feel I cannot Choose you.”

The words felled him to his knees as his legs failed and nausea rose. Eyes burning with unshed tears he could not catch his breath. He should have known. He had known. But he believed Notus would take him back, that somehow Notus’ oath to his God would not encompass him.

He heard Notus’ quiet approach and a blossom of hope filled him as the monk laid his cold hand on his shoulder. Reaching out, he grasped Notus’ other hand and pressed his lips to cold flesh. It would be so easy to take the transformative substance from the monk, to take the Choice away from him, but he would not. It would be tantamount to rape and he had enough experience to know he could never do such a thing. The Choice had to be mutual. “Please,” he begged, tears falling.

“I’m sorry, Gwyn. I cannot.” Notus pulled his hands away. “I can only pray that through His grace you will finally receive the happiness you so richly deserve.”

He heard Notus walk towards to door. With each footfall the numbness of shock swept away the anxiety of being denied. It was only when he heard the click of the doorknob that he found the wherewithal to quietly ask, “What am I to do?”

“Live, Gwyn. Live life to the fullest. Live the life Jeanie would have wanted you to live had you been mortal.”

New tears welled in his eyes at the wound Notus wrenched open and the door clicked closed, leaving him alone in a place that was not his home. Rising on weak legs, he found his wallet and keys, minus the condo’s door keys, laying on one of the boxes next to the door. They had not been there when he came in and could only surmise that Notus placed them there when he left. Opening his wallet he found it full to near bursting with cash and credit cards. A note on yellow parchment stuck out from between the bills. With shaking hands he opened the note.

My Dearest Gwyn,

I am so terribly sorry that we must part, but our lives are now divided by what we are. Know that though I cannot be in your life as you learn to walk a mortal path you will never want for money. Your cards are your own and will     continue to be so, even down to your future generations, which I pray will be many.

May the Blessing of God be with you always,

     
Father Paul Notus.

Neatly folding the note back into quarters, he carefully placed it back into his wallet. Numb from shock, he exited the condo with the certainty that he would never see Notus again.

The wind whipped the ends of his hair to smack against his back.
Normally he would tuck his long hair into his coat before climbing onto his motorcycle but this time he did not care.
It was better to be reminded of his past physical torture than to feel the ache in his heart and the desolation of his spirit. Still he rode on, the racing bike constantly bucking for greater speed which forced him to concentrate more on the manipulation of the machine. It would be exhilarating if not for the undercurrent of speculation of what would happen if he gave the bike full throttle.

He did not know where he was going and nor did he care. It was the feel of the machine beneath his body and the flickering
lights sparsely illuminating retreating landscapes that kept the solid ball in his chest from exploding. Therefore a sliver of surprise
wiggled to dull the numbness of his heart when he found that he was almost back at Dr. Bowen’s home. He did not know how long he had ridden but as he drove up to her house he was met with darkness. Shutting down the Y2K, he walked it up the drive and kicked the stand to allow the motorcycle to stand on its own beside Dr. Bowen’s
Honda
.

Removing the helmet, he gazed at the house he had believed he would not see again. The time bomb in his chest lurched and he grasped at the leather seat in an effort to diffuse the sudden emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Willing away the tears that threatened to overflow, he released his grip and took a deep shuddering breath.

The house appeared foreboding as did the lack of colours the streetlight tossed everything into. The absence of colour and texture forced him to turn away. He could not enter this place. This was not his home. His home had always been with Notus and now the man who had always been more than a father to him for generations had turned his back on him, casting him out.

The knot in his chest expanded and he gasped. Try as he may he could not squash the bubbling emotions as the solid reality hit home with a devastating blow.

Notus had abandoned him!

The monk had turned his back, calling him an accident!

His legs failed to keep him upright and he slumped to the pavement as a light rain began to fall, slicking the tarmac and mingling with his tears.

Everything was gone.

Even the sense of who he was was gone. Notus had told him so.

No longer Chosen, he was no longer the Angel.

Jeanie was taken from him. Despite the years that pain remained as a dull ache. Now Notus had refused him and left him because he was mortal.