Untitled, part IV

“No doubt you have heard stories about the fall of man and the expulsion from paradise, leading to armies of angels and demons engaged in an eternal struggle for the heart and souls of mankind. Modern thought dismisses such ideas as folklore, on par with myths of Zeus and Hercules, entertaining tales with moral lessons but no relationship with reality. But what would you say if I told the stories were, for the most part, true, if somewhat distorted by the passage of time? Not only true, in fact, but only the tip of the iceberg of the whole story?”

“I would say that you were crazy,” Alex replied, his voice shaking, not nearly as certain in his pronouncement as he would liked to have appeared. “Or a televangelist, which I suppose isn’t that much of a difference.”

Jonathan smirked. “As I said, the truth has been somewhat distorted over time,” he continued. “Indeed, those televangelists would no doubt faint dead away in fright if they knew the whole of the story. Or that the spiritual powers they impersonate were in fact possessed by others, those who in truth are fighting the battle to which they only pretend.”

“Get to the point,” Alex blurted out, tired of this man’s dramatics. I need to know just how fast I should run screaming. If I could run, that is, he amended ruefully. His sarcasm didn’t seem able to completely conceal the knot pressing down on his lungs, however.

“The ‘point’, as you call it,” Jonathan said sharply, “is meaningless without context. All you know is your own very minor experience, but there is a larger picture with which we are concerned, and which is very concerned with you. You are soon to encounter enemies to freeze your young blood, and if you want to survive it, you must understand exactly what you are going to be fighting.”

“I’m not going to be fighting anything!” Alex exclaimed, jumping out of his chair. “I don’t know what kind of supernatural battle you’ve involved me in, but I want no part of it. Unlock that door now!”

“You don’t have a choice. You are involved, and if you run away from me it will simply follow you home. Unless you wish to expose your loved ones to danger as well as yourself, you will sit down and hear me out.” Jonathan’s eyes had narrowed, and his voice boomed through the large room, echoing off the walls in an unsettlingly unnatural way. Alex felt a shove on his chest, though he saw nothing there, and he fell back into his seat. “Good. From here on, do not interrupt me unless you have a legitimate question. I will tolerate no more childish outbursts.

“Most people know of angels, though to far too many they are merely effeminate cherubs adorning paintings or mantelpieces. In reality, they are fearsome warriors, and though true and good, they would terrify any normal human who caught sight of one unprepared. They are the elite of the Creator’s army, those involved in direct battle with the forces of the Adversary. But they are not the only forces fighting for the side of good. There are other classes of being below those of the angels, though greater than humans, who serve the angels in the Creator’s forces. Some of these beings mankind has heard of, if mainly through myth and legend, while others are entirely unknown to the majority of our race. I hope to introduce you to some of them soon. Finally, at the bottom of the chain of command, there are the human soldiers, the servants of those who serve the angels. It is these humans – people like you and I – who are often those who oppose the Adversary's schemes on the most basic, daily level, who fight to save their homes and neighbors from evil forces that would destroy them, but which they can never know about. For over twenty years now, since I was only a little older than you, I have been a member of that army. And now, so are you.”

“That’s funny,” Alex said flatly. “I don’t remember signing up.” For the first time, Jonathan looked a little embarrassed.

“I did that for you, when you were just an infant.” Alex’s fear was almost gone now, shunted aside by a building rage. He stood up again, and towered over his still-sitting uncle.

“Why?!”

“Because it was the only way I could see you again!” Jonathan’s voice cracked. “You were my nephew, my beloved sister’s son, and you were being taken away forever. You have no idea what that is like, to lose a member of the family before you can even know him, to know that he is somewhere out there, living out his life, completely ignorant of the ones who gave him that life to live. It was tearing up every member of my family, and my sister – your mother – most of all.”

“Fine,” Alex said, his anger abated only a little. “I can understand feeling that way, I suppose. But you have yet to explain the connection between your feeling bad twenty years ago and everything that has happened to me today.”

“Right as they were taking you away, I asked to see you for a moment. In that moment, I passed on my calling to you. I gave you the gift, the extra abilities that all those who fight with us possess. I initiated you into the Creator’s army.”

“In other words, you drafted me.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this how your precious Creator recruits all his warriors? I guess the notion of free choice doesn’t mean that much to him. Frankly, I don’t think that’s someone I would want to be fighting for. And you still haven’t explained how we got from there to here.”

Jonathan jumped up out of his own seat, his own expression now one of anger. Standing, he was once again taller than his nephew, and Alex instinctively wanted to take another step back, but the chair was in his way. He forced himself to hold onto his anger and stand his ground, and meet his uncle glare for glare.

“Never speak that way again,” Jonathan declared. “You have no idea of Whom you speak. No, the situation was not ideal, but I did what I had to to bring you back into my life. When I gave you the gift, you were too young to understand or use it, so it lay dormant within you, to manifest only when you were ready. I knew that when it did activate, you would be drawn back to the one who gave you the gift, to be trained in its use. It was the only chance I had to see you again, the only tool at my disposal, so I used it, even though bestowing the gift upon one who could not make their own decision is strictly forbidden. It was my choice, and though I was punished severely for it, I did not regret it. Not then, and not now, though you are certainly trying my patience.”

“Sorry for disappointing you by actually having my own opinion about you hijacking my nice, normal life.”

“There are other people to consider here than just you. Don’t you have any curiosity about your real family at all?”

“I know my real family,” Alex said in annoyance. He had heard that particular question his entire life, and he was tired of it. “I have no interest in those who gave me up.” In fact, hearing the story of his mother’s indiscretions only made him feel slightly unclean, to have been produced in such a fashion. “Until today, I was having a pretty good life, and I would like to go back to it.”

“That is no longer an option. For one thing, you have abilities now, and you must learn how to control them.”

“How about I just not use them at all?”

“Like you didn’t use them today?” Jonathan snapped. Alex could not think of a suitable reply. His rescue of Roger had been instinctive, and it did make sense that if he used his powers instinctively once, he would do so again. “You haven’t yet told me exactly what happened, but I can guarantee you that something similar will happen again, and if you didn’t hurt anyone the first time, you might do so the second.”

Silence hung in the air for a minute, as Alex digested what he had heard. He hated to admit it, but for the first time since they had met, Jonathan had a valid point. He had saved his friend today, but who’s to say that he might not hurt him somehow next time. Even if his powers were limited to what he had already seen his uncle utilize, there were already several ways he could think of that he could hurt himself and others. But he didn’t want to begin immediately. So much had happened to him today that he needed to think over, to chew up and digest, before he could even begin to learn to use whatever strange new talents he possessed.

“How about a compromise?” he asked. “Give me some time to go home and think over all of this, and then I’ll come back. Let me make one thing clear, though; you can train me, but I make no promises about serving in any sort of army, divine or otherwise. That’s something I’ll have to come to in my own time, if at all.”

Jonathan sighed and shook his head sadly; breaking their eye contact, he wondered over to stand before the fireplace, his hands behind his back. The light of the fire flickered over his face, though the illumination in the room remained steady. After hearing what his uncle had told him, Alex looked around and saw the peculiar house in a new light. Jonathan had said it was his creation, and now Alex wondered if he meant that literally, if not only the house itself but even the rules of nature inside it had been shaped by his uncle to meet his demonstrative needs. Impressive, he thought grudgingly. Is that the kind of thing he can teach me to do? The prospect was not uninteresting, though he still had no desire to spend any real length of time with this man. Maybe a few short lessons, though, spread out over time. I think I could handle that. But no fighting in any war. I think God, or whoever, can make it without me. After a few moments, Jonathan spoke, startling Alex out of his reverie.

“Any other time, that might be acceptable,” he said, “but not now. Your awakening has come at a highly fortuitous time, and we need you right away. I’m afraid your training is going to have to be ‘on-the-job’, so to speak.” He strode briskly back towards Alex, moving and speaking faster than he had before. “In fact, we have probably already wasted too much time here. I created this house as a protected place, but even as we speak, the forces of the Adversary are growing stronger, and I don’t know how long I can keep you safe. I need to take you over to our ally’s world, those whom we serve. From there, we can plan our battle strategy in safety.” He reached out as to take Alex’s arm, but Alex jumped back out of his reach.

“No! I told you I was not going to be a tool in your war. If I’m in danger, it’s because they think I’m fighting for you. Well, I’m not fighting for anybody who didn’t give me my choice in the matter! So let me out, so I can go home and ignore all of this.” Alex ran the few steps over to the front door, and once again frantically yanked on the handle. “Open this door!”

“Alexander, I can’t do that!” Jonathan exclaimed, also running to catch up with his nephew. “I can’t just let you run off. You’re too important to us, to all of us. Please, come along with me quietly, and when you hear the whole story I’ve no doubt you will join us.”

“Get the hell away from me!” Alex flung his arm at his uncle, and Jonathan flew across the room to land in a heap against the opposite wall. Then, in a rage, he spun to face the door once again. “Open!” With the sound of shearing metal and splintering wood, the doors flew off their hinges and skidded out into the road, almost but not quite blocking the way of his car, which was now revealed. Surrendering himself to the adrenaline rush, Alex bolted to his car and drove off, his uncle’s ever-more-frantic cries fading into the sound of the rain.

Untitled, part III

“I’m really just interested in one thing,” Alex replied, not certain how to reply to such an odd statement, and starting to eye the door behind him, wondering if he might need to make a break for it. “Just tell me how to get back to the city, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Are you really in such a rush?” Jonathan said, opening a cabinet set on one of the tables, and pulling out a crystal decanter and two small glasses. “I get very few visitors out here. It seems a shame to waste your serendipitous arrival.” He filled the cups with a dark red liquid and placed the decanter back into the cabinet. “I’ve been saving this port for twenty years. Listen to me for just one drink before you go.”

Alex couldn’t stop himself from stepping back from the proffered cup.

“Um . . . I’m only twenty. I’m too young to drink.”

“That didn’t stop me when I was your age,” Jonathan said with a snicker. “Come now, never turn down a drink that’s as old as you are. Who knows when you’ll have a chance to taste something like this again?” He pushed the cup forward once more, and Alex, unsure of what else to do, took it. Jonathan immediately took a sip, closing his eyes as he held the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds; Alex wasn’t about to do the same. Finished with his reverential appreciation, Jonathan wondered over next to a chair and laid his hand softly on the back. Alex just pivoted to follow his movements. God only knows what might happen if I let him out of my sight. Grow fangs and bite my neck? Tie me to a chair and sacrifice me to Cthulhu? Or maybe just pull out a meat cleaver? As surreptitiously as he could, Alex began to inch back towards the front door. His host didn’t appear to notice.

“What do you think of the house?” he asked, waving his hand to encompass the room. “It’s my own creation. Rather dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s certainly one word for it.” ‘Unnerving’ would be another. Alex slid another couple of inches towards his escape. Jonathan just smirked.

“I’m sure most people would consider it overly melodramatic, if not simply archaic,” Jonathan went on, “but dramatic suits me. What is life without a little drama?”

“I’ve always liked the idea of living a quiet life,” Alex said, more to keep his bizarre companion talking and distracted than for any interest in the conversation. Slide. Slide.

“Yes, but there are some for whom that is not an option. In that case, is it not better to embrace the excitement than to try to deny it, which is ultimately nothing more than frustrating?” He flowed around the chair and sat down, his eyes never leaving Alex. “But I can see you one who would rather deny than accept. Trust me, it only makes things harder in the long run. Your destined drama will find you, mark my words.”

OK, that’s it. Time to run. Abandoning all attempts at secrecy, Alex pivoted on his heel and took a single bound towards the door, dropping his drink in the process. Rather to Alex’s surprise, Jonathan did not jump up and follow him, didn’t even voice a shocked protest. He merely waved a hand, and Alex heard a distinct click. When he reached the door a couple of seconds later, it was locked. His heart pounding, Alex twisted the handle a couple of times, with no result; he twisted it more frantically, but nothing changed. In shock, he stumbled backwards, eyes darting around to find another escape route; they lit on the window, and Alex found himself wondering how much it would hurt if he threw himself through it. From the chair behind him came a heavy sigh.

“You can’t get out that way,” Jonathan said, sounding almost regretful. “I’m afraid we have too much to talk about for me to let you leave so soon.” Alex turned to find that the man had not even raised himself from his seat, and his voice remained utterly level, a strong contrast to Alex’s own rising panic. Jonathan’s gaze fell on the spilled drink and shattered glass, and his lips turned down ever so slightly. “You didn’t even try it,” he said. “Well, you still have time.” He turned his gaze to the table beside him, and the glass appeared there, intact and full, just before the seat just opposite his own. Without thinking, Alex looked down to where he had let it drop, and the floor was completely clean, with no indication of the red stain that had been soaking into it just moments before. The event was all too familiar. Alex felt a weight on his chest and a rushing sensation inside his head. The urge to run was now stronger than ever, and knowing he could not only made it worse. He stared at Jonathan with ever-widening eyes.

“Who . . . who are you?” he choked out. One side of Jonathan’s mouth jerked up in response.

“Now that is the six-million dollar question, is it not?” He gestured once more to the chair in front of him. “If you would please sit down and make yourself comfortable, as I originally requested, I can make a start of answering that, and several other things as well.” A note of petulance entered his voice, the first time Alex had heard him sound anything other than perfectly calm and controlled. Alex still wanted to run, but he wanted even more to get some explanation of everything, and as odd and creepy as this man was, he also looked to be someone who might actually be able to supply answers. He settled himself into the chair, folding his hands nervously in his lap. He was still not about to touch that drink.

“Very good,” Jonathan said, his tone back to its wonted level. “I promise you, you have nothing to fear from me; quite the opposite, actually. My methods may be overly theatrical, but as I just tried to tell you, for those such as us, it is better to embrace the drama than try to avoid it.”

“And just who are ‘those such as us’? How did you do . . . what you just did? How do you know about me?” Despite himself, eagerness crept into Alex’s voice, and he leaned forward ever so slightly. But he was not to be satisfied so easily.

“All in good time, I assure you,” Jonathan put him off with a wave of his hand. “But before I completely redefine your view of the universe, and your own place within it, I want to share with you a story from my childhood.” He took another sip – as much for the dramatic pause as from any desire or thirst, Alex was certain – and then continued on. “Growing up, in what seems now to be another life, I had a younger sister. I loved her deeply, and she had many worthy qualities, but she lacked self-control and good judgment. He choice of friends was poor, and as she became older, they led her into more and more unwise decisions. She drank, she took drugs, she had the most unfortunate tastes in boyfriends; in short, she threw more and more of her life away. Finally, her increasingly reckless decisions reached one of their inevitable conclusions; unmarried and still a teenager, she became pregnant. Keeping the baby was out of the question, and to us, abortion was not even an option, so she gave the baby up for adoption.” Alex’s breathing nearly stopped. He was well aware of his own family history, and he had a disturbing premonition as to where this story was headed. “As I said, I loved my sister, and the thought of forever losing her son – my nephew – was unbearable to me. So I did something about it. Even as he was being carried away to his adoptive family, I gave my nephew a gift, something that would guarantee that I would see him again, that would draw him back to me at the right time.” He took another dramatic sip, then fixed Alex with his eyes. “My dear boy, you are that child. Alexander, you are my sister’s son.”

“That’s . . . that’s impossible,” Alex mumbled, his mind reeling, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He had known from an early age that he was adopted; from so early an age, that he never even thought about it. It was simply a fact of his life. There was no factual reason that he couldn’t be this man’s nephew, as disturbing a thought as that was. But the thought of that possible connection was just too big, too much to deal with, so instead he concentrated on the most immediate mystery. This ‘gift’, this thing that brought me back . . . Does that have something to do with what happened? Obviously, he can do things too. What does that have to do with our relation? How does it all tie in? Even that was a bit too much for his rattled brain that very instant, so he blurted out the most banal of his many questions. “How do you know my name? I never told you.”

“One of the very few things we were allowed to know about your adoptive life was that your new parents had decided to keep the name my sister gave you. You were named after our father, a good man who deserved better children than he got.” He leaned in. “But that’s not really what you want to know, is it? You have many other, more important, questions than that. You came here with questions, drawn to the one place where those questions could be answered, even though you did not know it at the time.” Alex found himself nodding, unable to look away, nearly unable to breathe. “Something happened to you today, didn’t it? Something unusual, something inexplicable, maybe even something frightening.” Wordlessly, Alex nodded again. Jonathan smiled. “Good. Then listen closely to what I am about to tell you.”

Untitled, part II

Twenty years later . . .

Raindrops splatted heavily onto the windshield, obscuring Alex’s view of the narrow forest road ahead. The rain was coming down at exactly that most annoying rate, hard enough to blur the glass, but not quite heavy enough for the wipers to scrape it away rather than smear it out. The road wound to and fro, refusing to remain straight for any appreciable length, and the thick growth of trees surrounding it made viewing around any corner an impossibility, especially in the darkness that had descended along with the rain. Alex had never before seen this particular stretch of street – though “street” was being generous, seeing as how this particular path lacked even rudimentary paving – and was not even sure how he had arrived here; his driving had been more or less random, governed more by some instinct than any sense of direction. All of these factors taken together implied that Alex should have been devoting the majority of his attention to navigating his vehicle, but he had other, more pressing, matters on his mind.

A stairwell in an old, rundown building. The walls, floor, and stairs themselves are constructed of that gray, industrial concrete that seems to be the standard for ancient college dorms everywhere. The handrails are metal, polished smooth by generations of students, as are the steps beneath their feet. It is not far to the next landing, but a fall here could mean serious injury, or death. Nevertheless, students run up and down it every day and think nothing of it. Why should Alex and Roger, his closest friend, act any differently?

Alex saw very little of the twisting path his car continued to hug tightly, all his necessary responses operating purely on autopilot. One image replayed itself over and over in his mind’s eye, the gray of that stairwell superimposed over the wet blackness of the real world before his physical eyes.

Alex and Roger are deep in conversation, the topic girls or movies or games or some such matter, the words themselves just a buzz, incidental to the true significance of the image. They are barreling down the stairs when the focus tightens in, and the image of Roger’s right foot fills the picture with unnatural clarity. He has turned to the side to make a point, and the foot comes down at an awkward angle, several inches beyond its intended destination. It hits the edge of the stair, catches for an instant, and then loses its grip. The foot falls, dragging the leg behind it. In a split second, all of Roger’s limbs are in motion, but their wild flailing finds no purchase, and Alex finds himself accidentally pushed backwards, unable to help until he finds his own balance, a task made more difficult by the heavy backpack slung across his shoulder. He watches helplessly as the seconds tick slowly by and his friend falls backward, his head inching ever closer to the inevitable, and fateful, encounter with the solid floor below.

The turbulence of nausea slowly crept up into Alex’s stomach. He knew what was coming next – he had seen it replayed in his head more times than he could count in the last few hours – but he could never get used to it. Nor could he get it out of this repeating mental loop it has established within his consciousness. Unconsciously, he held his breath as the little drama yet again reached its conclusion.

Roger’s skull was only a few inches from the floor. Alex wanted to scream, but instead, some other instinct took over. He saw vividly in his mind the image of what he wanted to do but lacked the time: grab his friend and pull him back up. In that instant, Alex felt his mind reach out and do what his hand could not. Only an inch away from the floor, Roger’s body froze in midair, seized by an unseen force. Roger gasped in shock, and Alex looked on with a frozen expression of wide-eyed terror, as his body slowly righted itself. A few seconds passed in utter silence, and then Roger was once again standing firmly on the stair, with only unsteady legs as evidence to what had just occurred. They both stood there, staring at each other. The silence lasted for a very long time.

Roger had wanted to attribute the entire incident to divine interference, guardian angels or some such, but Alex knew better. He knew exactly from where that unexpected force had originated, and it was someplace much closer to home than any ethereal guard dog. He had never believed in ESP, telekinesis, or any of that nonsense, but he knew that he had done something to save his friend. And while some might have reveled in the discovery of such power, Alex found the thought of it to be nothing but disturbing, good results notwithstanding. He had found some excuse and taken his leave of Roger not too long after the incident, and had locked himself away in his dormroom, struggling to make some sense out of everything, find some other explanation for what he knew had occurred. But every time he thought he had explained it away, he saw it all again – felt it all again – and knew that there was no easy answer.

Towards twilight, Alex had experienced a sudden urge to get away, put the campus behind him and get out where he could be truly alone. He had driven out with no set destination in mind, taking every road, every turn, on instinct as his mind continued to reel. Half of the time he had barely seen the road ahead of him.

Which was how he had arrived here, out somewhere in the country, in the dark, on a dirt road rapidly turning to mud, twisting and turning through a wood thicker than any he had ever seen. He could not even remember the transition from the city into the country, and he was shocked at the totality of the shift. From what he could see through the dark and the rain outside, this was no settled suburbia, but true wilderness. All about him were trees whose lichen-encrusted trunks ran straight up into the darkness, even the lowest branches ten or more feet above his head; the forest floor was choked with undergrowth, vines and bushes and moss. The narrow dirt road was the only sign of any kind of civilization he could see. And he had no idea how to get back.

That last thought punched its way through the repeating movie. He didn’t remember how he got here, and he had no clue how to get back. Damn, he thought. I should have been paying attention, no matter what else was going on. The rising anxiety partially overrode his previous concerns, and he could finally devote some portion of his mind to something else besides the events of earlier in the day. He realized that the urge that had driven him outwards had faded, and he wanted nothing so much now as to get back home to familiar surroundings, to some semblance of the stability that had deserted him internally. Why did I ever think leaving would help anyway? At least there were some distractions back at school, ready for me to take advantage of as soon as I was ready. Out here, it really is just me alone with my thoughts. The idea was terrifying, and added an extra kick in the pants to his desire to find his way back as soon as possible.

The question was: how? There was no place he could even turn around, no side roads or driveways, and the road was too narrow and the trees to close and thick to allow him to make a U-turn on the road itself. The only direction he could drive was forward, and he had the distinct feeling that going forward would only lead him deeper and deeper into these mysterious woods. And where did this place come from, anyway? I didn’t think there were any woods this remote for miles and miles.

He had begun to truly despair of finding his way back when salvation appeared, in the form of a light shining through the tree trunks off to his right. Alex’s heart jumped at this sign of actual human habitation, and even as he wondered how to approach it, the road took a sharp turn to the right, and Alex found himself looking at a truly massive house. From what his headlights revealed, it looked to be something straight out of some Victorian novel, if the novelist had been particularly enthusiastic about architecture. Turrets and gables jutted out at every available corner, windows peeked out from under small roofs, and several columns supported the pediment covering a large portico. The whole thing was made of reddish stone left bare. The light came from a single window near the door, which glowed warmly. Despite the overall strangeness of the place, the light in the window was inviting, and Alex didn’t hesitate too much before he left the car and walked up to the entrance.

Alex lifted the ornate iron doorknocker and let it drop, once, twice, three times. The sound echoed much more than he expected, momentarily drowning out the pounding of the rain on the roof above. The sound acted unpleasantly on Alex’s frayed nerves, and he felt an urge to run back to his car and drive off before whoever inhabited this place could answer; only a sense of his own ridiculousness held him in place. Knock on the door and then run away? What am I? Twelve? Before his thought could get any further, the door opened.

The man who answered the door appeared to be in his mid-forties. His hair was dark, worn brushed back and shoulder-length, but the touch of gray at his temples and a few lines on his face betrayed his age. He was tall and narrow, topping Alex by several inches, a physique emphasized by the rather severe suit he was wearing. His expression was also severe, his features hard, but before Alex could once again feel the impulse to bolt, his tight mouth relaxed into a smile.

“Please, please, come in,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “Get out of the rain.”

“No, thank you,” Alex answered. The man may have been smiling, but Alex was still feeling far from comfortable. “I just need to know how to get out of these woods and back to the highway.”

“And would you rather get those directions out here in the cold and wet, rather than safe inside?” The man sounded as though his request was the most reasonable in the world. “I know what the world can be like nowadays, but I won’t hurt you. Nothing could be further from my mind. Please, come inside, dry off a bit, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Normally, such an invitation would have sent Alex running back to his car as fast as his feet could take him, lost or no, but something within him seem to operate his feet without his consent, and he stepped inside before he even knew what he was doing.

The room inside was a match for the façade outside. It was large and wood-paneled, the walls covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. There were several large chairs, which looked to be padded comfortably, as well as a few intricately-carved tables, on which were several more books, some opened and some not. The floor was covered with a rug of intricate and colorful design, and the ceiling was high above his head, lost in shadow. Taking up one entire was a large and ornate marble fireplace, with what was nearly a bonfire raging inside. At first Alex thought this was the source of the warm, dim illumination, but though the amount of light seemed to be correct, the light that revealed the room and shone out the window didn’t waver or flicker with the fire. But the few lamps adorning the various tables were not lit, and Alex could see no other possible source of light. This was all Alex had time to notice before the man spoke again.

“Sit down and have a drink,” he said, waving to a chair. “We have much to discuss. My name is Jonathan, and there are so many things I want to tell you.”

Unattainable
by E. A. Smith

I first saw her in the romance section, knelt down to scan the titles on the bottom shelf, her back to me as I rounded the corner. A sky-blue tunic, belted at the waist, draping a lithe figure, and smooth auburn hair flowing past her shoulders – all I could see, but enough to make me duck back into the sci-fi aisle behind her, fearful of being caught staring. I hadn’t even seen her face, but I could picture it; not precisely, but with a vague impression of beauty that made me eager to see more, even as I feared the reality could not match up with my hazy imaginings.

I wandered through the surrounding aisles, hidden behind stacks of books, in a pattern which I hoped would be seen as random, even as I hoped my path would bring me into hers. As I walked, I told myself the absurdity of my behavior. What was the use of trying to get a better look? Even if we ran directly into each other, I knew I would not say anything beyond a quick apology, murmured with averted eyes to avoid the intimacy of contact. She read romance novels. What could I possibly say to a person with such lamentable tastes in literature? Given the opportunity, I would just stare and stammer, unsure of how to start, how to seem any more than just one creepy guy in a bookstore. The rows of books blended into streams of color, unnoticed by my gaze as I strolled by, purposefully casual.

I turned another corner, my path having brought me to the opposite end of the aisle in which I had first seen her, and there she was. Walking towards me, her face in three-quarters profile. I captured her face in my mind. Fair skin with just the hint of freckles, winsome features, and a slight curl to the lips that suggested a smile that could melt any man. She was more, not less, than my imagination had conceived, a near-perfect vision of Celtic beauty. Much more than a man like me could handle, or deserve. Instinctively, I walked on by, hiding my regard, continuing on the circuit I had been following before I caught a glimpse of her. To see more, to experience her, I would have to linger for no other reason than to drink her in from a few steps away, and I would not allow myself to take that final step.

But I could not get away. Everywhere I walked, there was the possibility of seeing her again, the chance of running into her, standing side by side looking at the new hardcovers, or touching hands as we both grabbed for the same magazine. Every time I picked up a book to flip through its pages, I judged it on what she might think if she passed by. Would she smile in approval, or sniff in disdain, or recoil in disgust? My mind constructed scenarios, all the different ways I would love to meet a girl in a bookstore. A “meet cute”, just like in cheesy Hollywood romantic comedies. I would be flipping through a book by Neil Gaiman or Nick Hornby, and she would happen by, and ask me what I thought of it. Maybe she would be a fellow fan, and we could share our respective favorite works, or maybe she would be curious about him, and I could display my encyclopedic knowledge as I gave my recommendations. Or we would both be sitting at the store cafe, tables adjacent, and her favorite song would come over the speakers, and she would lean over and tell me how great this obscure but talented artist was, a spontaneous expression of enthusiasm that would lead to involved discussion on music and life. The presence of these possibilities haunted every corner I turned, every book I picked up, investing every little action with a pregnant thrill, a significance far beyond the mundane motions of browsing in a bookstore. I was no longer here for myself, but for her.

But I never saw her again. I circled the building twice, every new aisle stirring my heart into motion as it came into view, only to instill a pang of disappointment when she failed to be an inhabitant. My actions felt hollow now. Who knows how long ago she had left? How long had I been chasing after a shadow? How long had I been playing the fool? I found that I didn’t care. Would I have preferred to have never seen her at all?

As I walked out the door, I wondered if infatuation was all that separate from obsession after all.