The Betrothed
Part 28

Abby woke up the next morning alone. Stretching her hand over to feel Darrick’s side of the bed, she realized that he had never made it under the covers; not only was the cloth still cold, but the blankets on his side were still neatly tucked in. Puzzled, she lay silently for a while, listening to see if she could hear him moving about, but the only sound she could hear was the creaking of the old boarding house. Then, the memories of the previous night came flooding back.

He’s left me, she thought, feeling dead inside as she did so. He went out last night, and he’s never coming back. The thought was answered by others, and it felt to Abby as though they were coming from some place outside herself.

Of course he left you! You panic just from having to shop for paint, then you spend the rest of your day moping around. You’re pathetic! What use would he have for you? Abby pulled her pillow over her head to drown out the voice, but it was of course no avail.

He doesn’t really love you, you know. It’s just the bond. How could he love you if he had any choice in it? You’re just some silly, sheltered girl desperately faking the confidence you don’t have. What could he see in that? Just stay under the covers. Stay safe in bed. You’re just a millstone around his neck, might as well admit it. That’s all your worth anyway. Darrick would be better off without you.

“Please stop,” she pleaded in tears. “It’s not true. Darrick gave up everything for me, and I gave up everything for him. He loves me. It’s real.”

He never wanted to be bonded. He never wanted you. He told you himself. And now he’s stuck with you. You’re dead weight. You can’t do anything but lie around the house and take up his time. What are you? An artist? Where is your art? What can you contribute to him? To anybody? Everyone would be better off if you weren’t around. Your parents wouldn’t have to deal with your embarrassments any more, and Darrick could find someone to make him happy. Everyone would be happier if you were dead.

By now, Abby had no words with which to respond, and no energy to use them if she did. All she felt she could do is lie in the bed and weep, trying to make herself as small as possible, hoping that the voice would go away and leave her alone. In a way, she was glad Darrick was gone; she didn’t want him sullying his memories of her by seeing her like this. But she was not to get her wish. She heard the door to their living room open and Darrick enter noisily. She heard the plop as he tossed his jacket over a chair and the thud of his feet as he approached the small bedroom. He threw open the door with a loud bang and nearly ran to her bedside. Abby tried to cover herself with the blanket, but he enthusiastically tore it from her.

“Happy six-month anniversary!” he declared in a loud, clear voice. Abby winced, both at the noise and at the reminder. Six months. Surely he’s tired of me by now. “Want to start the celebration now?” He was in the bed a few seconds later, stripped of everything but his boxer shorts. It was only when he went to place a kiss on her lips and got her ear instead that he noticed something was wrong.

“What is it?” he said, the excitement in his voice undermining the concern. “I can’t believe you’re still in bed. Are you sick? You already slept so much last night.” Darrick barely gave his words time to form, rushing on to the next almost before finishing the last. Abby wondered how he could breathe, and wished she had one-tenth of his unusual energy. She herself could barely speak, but she summoned up enough willpower to answer.

“I’m not sick,” she said. “I don’t want to get up.” There was more to be said, of course, but she had exhausted her energy reserves with just those two statements.

“Why not?” Darrick asked, then rushed on before she could answer. “It’s our anniversary. We were going to do all sorts of things today!”

“I don’t feel like sex,” Abby replied.

“That’s a first,” Darrick replied, and Abby had to admit he was right. But she couldn’t deny how she felt, and right now she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But the thought of being alone terrified her, and she reached out a hand to hold Darrick’s arm. “Abby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t leave me, Darrick,” was all she could say. Any more, and she wouldn’t be able to restrain the despair inside her. He’s going to leave you. Leave you and be happy. It’s what you deserve. Abby could feel her heart racing again, her breath quickening.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Darrick said. “I want to celebrate with you. We can go out tonight, someplace nice. I got tickets to a concert at the Variety. And then we can go somewhere for a drink. It’s gonna be great! Come on, get up. Ow!” Throughout his speech, Abby had felt herself growing more and more panicky, her grip on Darrick’s arm tightening until she had finally hit his limit. At his final exclamation, she let him go and pulled her arm back under the covers as quickly as she could.

“I’m sorry, Darrick,” she said in alarm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t be angry with me.” I’m groveling. What’s wrong with me? But she couldn’t stop herself. All she could feel was terror at the idea that she had hurt Darrick and he would leave her, while at the same time wishing that he would. Leave! Don’t see me in this state! She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She felt as though she were suffocating, the rational part of herself being submerged ever deeper and deeper into this frightened, quivering thing that she was becoming. With a huge effort of will, she managed to exert a little control.

“Darrick, please just go away for now,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I just . . . I need some rest. I promise I’ll be up for dinner tonight.” She even managed to coax a smile from her lips, though she feared it did not reach her eyes. “And, afterwards, I’ll let you have your way with me.” She leaned over and kissed him, and for a second, something stirred inside her. An old, familiar, welcome feeling. But then, it was gone, and she felt twice as empty and cold as before. Darrick started to respond, but before he could get too far, Abby rolled over and put her back to him. She heard him sigh.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he said. “Is there anything that you want?”

“Just go away,” she said, already face down in the pillow. She waited a few eternal, agonizing seconds, then she felt and heard him get up and leave. She suppressed the urge to cry out for him to come back, holding her breath until the door slammed shut once more.

The Betrothed
Part 27

Cynthia Knight watched silently as her husband stacked his bags next to the front door, no tears left in her after six months of weeping. John put down the last piece of luggage and stood staring down at it, still looking a bit conflicted. Cynthia didn’t know if she cared if he was leaving or not; all she could think of was the eternal quiet of the empty house once he was gone.

“So you’re leaving me too,” she said flatly, feeling hollow. So maybe I do care, just a little.

“You left me long ago,” John replied. He didn’t sound bitter or angry, just resigned. They had both known for a long time that this moment was inevitable. The only thing they could not have predicted was the exact circumstances of his departure. “Maybe with me gone, you can go back to your own people. Erase the taint of my existence from your record.”

“And what about your son?” Cynthia asked, finally able to summon some anger at her abandonment. She wondered why she cared; surely, six months ago, she would have, if not welcomed, at least been indifferent to his departure. Now, with everything else she loved torn from her grasp, she wanted to hold on to whatever she could. “Should I erase him from my record as well?” Unfair, she knew, but she felt justified in fighting dirty. John turned to face her, and she could tell that she had managed to get through one final time.

“Are you sure you aren’t the ones who want to erase him?” John said, snatching up his first bag. “What have you people done to find him? Have you gone to the police? A private investigator? What have you done besides sitting around twiddling your thumbs?”

“What would you have us do?” Cynthia said, summoning the energy to rise from her seat and raise her own voice. “What should we tell the police? That my twenty-one-year-old son has eloped and not told us where he was going? They’d laugh in our faces. You know that we’ve done everything we could. Every trail has turned up cold. They’ve fallen off the face of the Earth.” Her voice choked. Gone. Darrick’s gone. And with him had gone her connection to her own people. With few exceptions, everyone’s blame for Darrick and Abby’s departure had fallen squarely on her shoulders; she was more exiled from her people now than she ever had been during her marriage. And she didn’t think that John’s departure would change that. “How could you think I haven’t done everything I could for my only child?”

“You’ve done nothing,” John said angrily. “Nothing that could possibly reveal yourself to the world.” He picked up the remote to the television and turned it to the news. As it had been for the last few hours, the news anchor was reporting on the worsening situation in Korea – an American submarine sunk, increasing skirmishes along the border, louder bluster from both sides. “Look at this!” John said, pointing towards the television screen. “You know what this means. It’s already started. North Korea’s got nukes, you know. This is the beginning of the end of the world. And you know what – I care less about that than about what it tells me about my son. What does it tell me, Cynthia?” He nearly shouted the last question. Cynthia didn’t want to look, but she was as aware of it as her husband.

“It means they’re already going mad,” she said, her throat closing until she could only manage a whisper. “They don’t have much time left.”

“Exactly,” John said. He didn’t sound triumphant, or even angry any more. Just tired. “Our son is going insane, and he won’t survive long after that. We should be screaming from the rooftops, doing everything we can to get their attention, or the world’s. But you people are so afraid of being discovered that you won’t do anything except in secret, even when it could mean the end of everything. Including our son. Well, I’m not going to put up with it any longer. I’m going to do whatever I can do to find him, and if it gets all of you arrested or studied or just mobbed with paparazzi, I don’t give a damn. There are bigger issues at stake.”

What can you do? Cynthia thought. There are no bank records to trace after that initial withdrawal. No cell phone or email records to consult. No trace anywhere of a couple with their names. They’ve done well. I would be proud if it weren’t so disastrous. All you can do is stand on the street corner and scream about the end of the world. I guess that’s as good as anything.

“And if you find them, what then?” was all that she said.

“I’ll let you know,” he said. “I’m not so stupid to think I can fix them by myself.”

“So you are coming back?” Cynthia asked, feeling foolish to be feeling as much hope as she was. John shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “If I find them, maybe. I know it will hurt Darrick to see his parents separated. If we don’t find them . . . then I guess it won’t really matter.” He picked up a second bag. “I think I may still love you. I know you don’t love me. I suppose I’ll have to decide if that’s enough.” He walked out the door, leaving Cynthia alone in a very empty, quiet house.

With Day 26's installment, I have officially passed 50,000 words and become a NaNoWriMo Winner! Obviously, the story still has a while to go and I will do my best to keep updating daily, but I'm no longer going to concern myself with word count and such.

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 26

Even before he opened the door to their room, Darrick could hear the subdued weeping coming from within. Alarmed, he walked in on guard, adrenaline already rushing through his system in response to all that he imagined he might find there. Instead of finding wrathful family or the victim of some accident, however, there was only Abby sitting in a chair with her head in her hands, and Angela bending over her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. Darrick couldn’t see Abby’s face, but her shoulders were shaking slightly in time with her sobs.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth trying to locate the source of Abby’s distress. Even though he could find no visible threat, his agitation did not lessen; rather, it focused on the easiest available target. “What did you do?!” he demanded of Angela as he rushed over to see to his wife. Angela’s eyes opened wide in surprise as she straightened to talk to him.

“I didn’t do anything,” she responded, a bit annoyed herself. “Abby had a panic attack at the art store. I brought her back. Now calm down and don’t make her any worse.” Darrick almost didn’t notice the rebuke; he was completely focused on Abby.

“A panic attack?” he asked, confused, going down on one knee to talk to his wife face to face. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Abby responded roughly, removing her hands from her face. She reached out and touched Angela’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me home, Angela. I’ll be alright from here.” She tried to smile, but it was a weak, sickly thing. Angela looked doubtful.

“Yes, thank you,” Darrick said, ashamed of his earlier accusation. “Let me talk to her.”

“Okay, then,” Angela said eventually. “If you need anything,” she said to Abby, “just let me know.” Turning to Darrick, she added, “Be easy on her, Darrick. She’s had a rough day.” She waited until Darrick nodded his acknowledgment, then left.

“So what happened?” he asked once Angela had left. Now that the initial rush was over, he was feeling jittery, but he forced himself to focus on Abby. She stayed silent for a minute longer, breathing deeply to try to calm herself down; finally, she recovered enough to speak.

“I’ve . . . I’ve never felt anything like it before,” she said, looking at Darrick with a look of rising agitation. Darrick was worried that she might be panicking again, but before he could say anything she continued. “Angela called it a panic attack, but it’s not like any kind of fear or panic I’ve ever felt before. I was trying to buy art supplies, and I just couldn’t do it. There were too many choices. I couldn’t make a decision. I didn’t even know where to begin.” She tried to smile ironically, but it came out more like a grimace. “I’ve certainly never had any doubts knowing my opinions any other time. I . . . I had to leave. It was so embarrassing, I couldn’t bear the thought of everyone looking at me.”

That’s pretty silly, Darrick thought, but he knew enough not to say it out loud. Still, Abby appeared to be recovering from her scare, so Darrick started to stand up.

“NO!” Abby exploded, her hands striking out to grab his arm, her expression wild. “Don’t leave me!” In response, Darrick’s agitation, building for days, suddenly transmuted to anger; he nearly snatched his arms away, wanting nothing more than to be away from this weeping girl who was suddenly a stranger to him. He was able to restrain himself in time, stopping his words even as he opened his mouth to tell her roughly to get a hold of herself. In the same instant, Abby appeared to realize what had happened, and pulled her own hands back. She looked down at them as though surprised at their actions. They both stood in frozen, stunned silence, each unsure of what next to say or do.

“I’m sorry,” Abby finally said in a whisper. “I don’t know what came over me. I felt like you were going away, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” She closed her eyes and visibly pulled herself together. When she opened them again, they seemed clearer, and her whole body relaxed. “I think I’m doing better now. Crazy girl’s back in the asylum. Or she’s no longer in control, at least.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Darrick responded, even though he hadn’t said anything. But for a moment there, he had been unreasonably, unpredictably furious; for a moment, he hadn’t loved the frightened girl in front of him, he had hated her. Now, just a minute later, he couldn’t imagine why. All he wanted was for his wife to be happy. Why would he be angry just because she didn’t want him to leave her? “Is there anything I can do for you?” Abby shook her head.

“No, really, I’m fine now,” she said, taking one final cleaning gulp of air. She ran one finger down the front of his shirt, hooking it finally around his belt. Her smile widened wickedly. “Though, if you really want me to feel good, there is one thing you can do . . .”

Darrick captured her finger and brought it to her lips, and pulling her up out of the chair, they both stumbled their way into the bedroom, laughing all the way, both eager to find a way to put the last few minutes behind them.

* * * * *

Late that night, Abby lay awake in bed. She was exhausted, drained from the day’s extremes, but she couldn’t manage to fall asleep. She still couldn’t believe what had happened earlier. Not just what Angela had called a panic attack, though she had never experienced anything like that before, and had not believed that a person could be so terrified, especially by such a commonplace experience. It was what had happened afterwards that was truly bothering her. For a few moments, she had become something she had never believed she could be – a weak, simpering damsel in distress, helpless until her heroic prince came along to rescue her. And he hadn’t even done anything; she had been terrified just by the idea that he might walk across the room without her. I lived on my own for two years to prove that I could, to find out who I was without my family or my betrothed, and one fright is all it takes to send me running for him to save me. Pathetic. Why would he want me after that? Is this the bond? Is this what Darrick wants? What if it is exactly what he wants? I don’t want to be that person! No, I can’t believe that of him. I know him; he wants someone strong, not a woman who can’t support herself without him. But the nagging doubt remained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Darrick was only just tolerating her now. That he didn’t really want her, couldn’t really want her, the bond notwithstanding.

She supposed that she could ask him, but he yet to come to bed. She knew that she had turned in early; she had been fighting the desire to go to bed for hours, and had finally given in to the urge before ten o’clock, well before Darrick felt like retiring. Their bedroom romp earlier in the day, as nice as it had been, hadn’t had the affect on her that she had hoped. Instead of energizing and reassuring her, it had only left her feeling more empty and lethargic, and she had struggled to function for the rest of the day. Darrick, on the other hand, appeared not only energized but actually hyper. He had not been able to sit still afterwords, not to cuddle in bed, not even to watch television or read a book. Instead, he had taken to cleaning and organizing their room. Not because it was necessary – indeed, their sparsely-furnished room stayed clean and neat almost automatically, because there was so little to clutter it up – but because he did not seem able to stop himself. What if he’s avoiding me? What if he can’t stand to talk to me or even look at me anymore? Maybe staying busy is better than having anything to do with me! Stop it! Has the evil count locked you in the tower? Then stop playing the helpless lady waiting to be rescued! Abby couldn’t understand herself. She wasn’t the kind to obsess about what others thought of her; she had always practically dared others to take her as she was. But now she couldn’t stop wondering what Darrick thought of her, if he was disgusted by her cowardice. She wanted to slap some sense into herself.

Looking at the bedside clock, she was astonished to find it was two in the morning. Two in the morning, and Darrick had still not come to bed. Two in the morning, and she had still not slept a wink. She pulled the pillow over her head, praying that her mind would quiet and sleep would come, but the nagging thoughts would not go away. Then she heard the front door slam, and her heart plunged into her feet.

Oh, no. He’s gone.

* * * * *

Outside in the living room, Darrick was circling, unable to find anything else to do with his energy, but unable to bring himself to go to bed or even sit down. He had not before realized how incredibly boring the world was at 2 AM. Abby was doubtlessly asleep, so he had to be quiet – he didn’t want to disturb her rest after the rough day she had had – and the added pressure to not make noise was just adding to his nervous energy. He had the TV turned on to CNN, but the sound was off, leaving only the type along the bottom of the screen to follow what was going on. He had hoped that the television could provide something to occupy his racing thoughts, but it wasn’t nearly enough to completely hold his attention. Every now and then he would pick up some little object – a cup left on the table or a book on the couch – but then set it right back down, unsure of what to do with it. Not only was his extra energy unwanted, it was apparently also useless.

Even worse than his physical overdrive were his jumpy emotions. In just a few moments, he felt in turn excited, anxious, angry, elated. They even weren’t directed at anything in particular; indeed, his mind felt incapable of focusing on any one thing in particular. He just felt, and what he felt kept shifting. He just wanted it to stop. He envied Abby. Yes, her bizarre panic attack had left her drained and frightened, but she was able to sleep through it. No doubt she would awaken tomorrow completely recovered, ready to take on the world with her usual abandon. How he admired that in her. She was such a remarkable woman. Surely today had been an anomaly; after all, he had never seen anything like that in her before, and they had barely been out of each other’s company for the past six months. No, she would be fine tomorrow. Darrick only wished he could say that of himself.

Okay, this isn’t doing anything. Maybe if I had more than ten feet to go in either direction, I could walk this out. He grabbed his jacket and his keys. He was almost to the door when he wondered if he should wake up Abby to go with him. They both loved walking at night together through the neighborhood; the old houses and broken brick sidewalks set an incredibly romantic mood underneath the bright moon, and they had enjoyed more than one late-night romantic interlude in the park, seen only by the ducks who gathered around hoping to be fed. He almost turned back to see if she would join him, but stopped himself at the last second. No, she’s sleeping. At least one of us can get some. If I still feel like this tomorrow, I’ll suggest it then. He headed out the door, not realizing that he had slammed it behind him.

He hadn’t noticed that he had left the television on. A silent reporter was discussing the rising tensions on the Korean border, which had just now led to a small exchange of gunfire. Talks were proceeding to try to defuse the situation.

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 25

Abby perused the selection of paintbrushes, gently running her fingertip along the shelf, trying to decide exactly which sizes she would need for the project she had in mind. Behind her, Angela idly scanned the aisles to either side, trying to find something that interested her. She’s probably wondering what she’s gotten herself into, Abby thought, wondering if she had taken undue advantage of the older lady’s enthusiasm for taking her young friend shopping. She had originally proposed the trip when she had noticed that her newest boarders were wearing the same few articles of clothing, going through their entire wardrobe in a week or so. Angela had been especially appalled that the young bride appeared to possess an even smaller selection of clothing than her husband – an unfortunate, if necessary, result of taking up valuable luggage space with her wedding dress, Abby admitted. Not that the result hadn’t been worth it. Still, it had left her with an embarrassing dearth of suitable clothing, and no sooner had Angela recognized the lack than she had began to schedule shopping trips with the “poor young thing”.

Abby smiled to herself as she slipped a few brushes out of their niches and into her shopping basket. Angela worked to make all her boarders into a family, but she had taken a special interest in Abby. Or, to be specific, she had taken a special interest in the young woman fleeting an abusive ex-boyfriend with her new husband, the two of them living in secret to avoid being tracked by the man who had already found her several times before. Abby had come up with their story off the top of her head as Darrick had been negotiating with Angela to let them live there on a cash-only, no-last-name basis. He had picked out the boarding house originally because it looked to him to be a place that might not need all the official paperwork of an apartment complex, but Angela had been reticent to take in two strangers with such unusual requests, even with Darrick offering to pay twice the asking rent. Acting on a sudden inspiration, Abby had taken her aside and told her the first thing that had come to her head; after that, Angela had been more than willing to protect their secrecy and take their cash. Darrick remarking that she really was the smarter one of the two of them was only icing on her ego’s cake.

Since then, Angela had checked on her at least two or three times a week, making sure she was feeling safe, that she was emotionally recovering from her harrowing ordeal, and taking her on outings for necessary “girl time”. Normally, they spent their time in the little boutiques and used clothing stores in the nearby bohemian district of Little Five Points, where Angela appeared to derive as much pleasure from helping Abby spend her seemingly inexhaustible money supply as from buying anything for herself. Abby knew that $75,000 was hardly inexhaustible, but it was surprising how far it went when monthly rent and food were one’s only real expenses. Recently, though, spending her days with Darrick in their little room or out with Angela on shopping trips had begun to pall; she needed more to occupy her mind. She had to admit that even a perfect partner wasn’t enough to satisfy her twenty-four hours a day. She wanted to get back to her art, to start creating again, and so she had asked Angela if they could drop by an art supply store instead of their usual destinations. Angela had agreed gladly once Abby had explained her feelings, but now she was obviously bored and somewhat lost, though she would never be so gauche as to say so.

She’ll have to hang on just a little while longer, Abby thought. I’ll make it up to her, paint her portrait for the common room or some landscapes for the boarder’s rooms. She’d like that, I think. The thought of producing even a basic landscape was exciting; it was a reclamation of a part of her she had left behind, that she had feared she might never get back. That was before she had known what Darrick was like, before she had known that he would want his own life as much as she did; now that she had the opportunity to explore her art once more, she was angry at herself for wasting six months of it. Well, maybe it wasn’t a waste, she thought as she remembered the highlights of the past six months of her life – entire days spent never leaving the apartment, sometimes never leaving the bed, Darrick and herself simply enjoying each other’s company; the two of them taking long, scenic walks; the long conversations that stretched hours into the night, never growing tired of each other’s company. No, not a waste. Never a waste. But the time had now come for something more.

Leaving the brushes, she turned back to leave that particular aisle, searching for the next items on her lists: the paints. Angela kept pace with her, and took one of the brushes from Abby’s basket, gently touching the bristles with her fingertip.

“I never knew you were a painter, Abby,” she said with a patient smile. “You always see these people with their easels out on Moreland and Euclid, and I was always jealous of them. It looks so relaxing. Rewarding, too, I guess. I never had the knack myself, though.”

“Have you ever tried?” Abby asked. “I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. Give me a few months, and I’ll have you painting as well as some of those roadside artists on Moreland.” She snorted. “Give me a few hours and I’ll have you painting as well as some of those hacks on Moreland.”

“Oh, I dabbled,” Angela responded, nostalgia lightening her voice. “Back in the sixties, you know. Everyone was writing poetry or playing music or painting or something back then. I even went out to San Francisco for a while, like you, lived in the Haight. But I’m afraid that my talents lie purely in unbridled capitalism.” She shook her head ruefully.

“And in watching out for young couples on the run,” Abby said. She wished that she could tell Angela their whole story, but she and Darrick had agreed early on that no one could know. She was fully behind their decision, but she still felt guilty about deceiving her friend, winning her sympathy through a fraudulent sob story. Especially when she thought the true story could have gotten them sympathy enough.

“Well, you know Albert and I never did have any kids,” Angela said, referencing her dead husband with a sigh. “With him gone, I need someone to watch out for. Jimmy thinks he can take care of himself – though I was able to get him off those horrible cigarettes, at least around the house – and Carmen . . .” She shook her head in disapproval.

“Too far gone?” Abby asked rhetorically, recalling the woman’s amorous nighttime exploits with a blush.

“I’m no prude,” Angela protested. “Like I said, I went through the sixties. Free love, drugs, the works. But that girl’s a bit too free with her love, if you ask me.” They walked into the paint area, the walls and shelves lined with every shade imaginable. “Normally, I would say live and let live. Her business isn’t my business. But I’ve seen the way she looks at your husband, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Watch out for her.”

“Oh, that doesn’t worry me,” Abby said lightly. “Darrick wouldn’t ever do anything with her. Let her try; she’ll just get frustrated. Then she’ll be really fun to listen to at night.” She chuckled. Angela looked as though she were about to say something more, but only shook her head silently, with a shrug that Abby interpreted as “whatever you say”.

“So, what do you need?” Angela asked, gesturing to the gallons and gallons worth of paint on display, all in little bottles arranged in neat rows. Abby had a list in her head, based on the picture she could already see in her mind, but looking at the massive amount of shades on display, she wondered if she could ever find them all. The rows seemed to extend back into infinity, every bottle a slightly different shade she would have to search through to find the perfect one, the exact color without which her work would be nothing but an amorphous blob with no meaning or emotion. She realized that she couldn’t even remember the colors she needed, or see her planned painting in her mind; all that she could see were miles and miles of tiny little bottles, labels blurring together and mixing up. How can I ever choose? What am I doing? I can’t do this! There’s too much! I can’t make a decision! A sharp pain in her chest told her that she wasn’t breathing, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a breath; the blood was roaring in her ears as her heart thrust it through her body double-time. Oh, gods, what’s happening? Have to breathe. Must breathe. She forced herself to take a breath, and suddenly she was sucking in great gasps of air, unable to calm herself down to a normal level. On the edges of her perception, she was aware that Angela had her hand on her shoulder and was asking what was wrong, while behind her a crowd was gathering, drawn by the loud sounds of her massive breaths. I can’t be seen like this! I can’t be seen at all! What if they tell my parents? What if they think I’m a freak? What if they tell Darrick and he doesn’t want me anymore? I have to get out of here!

“I have to get some fresh air,” she finally managed to whisper to Angela. “Here, hold these.” She shoved her basket into her friend’s hand and ran out of the shop as quickly as she could manage without completely losing her dignity, only stopping when the cold outside air once again stole the breath from her lungs.

By the gods, what is happening to me?

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 24

Six Months Later . . .

Darrick sat on the couch in the common room of Angela Bowen’s Boarding House, idly twirling a beer in one hand and a pen in the other, one eye on the TV and the other on the blank notebook on his lap. He wanted to look as though he was writing, but he had found that all that was necessary to maintain that illusion was to chew on his pen and make a few introspective noises at irregular intervals. The fact that his page was blank fit his story of being an eccentric author; should anyone ask, he would respond that he was awaiting his muse, and that the beer and television were there for inspiration. Beer would serve as a poor-man’s substitute for absinthe, and the television added the perfect postmodernist touch.

Of course, the real reason the TV was on was that he was bored; he was hoping that the beer would also help with that situation. Abby was out shopping with Angela, and that left Darrick with very little to do in their sparsely-furnished room on the second story of Ms. Bowen’s establishment, an old six-bedroom domicile in the Inman Park neighborhood of Atlanta. It was the kind of place invariably described in real-estate listings as “charming”, and Angela had decorated the common room in such a manner as to only encourage such platitudes. Living there was pleasant enough, though it might not have been Darrick’s first choice in other circumstances, but they had chosen it because it seemed as though it would attract the kind of people who would accept a few idiosyncrasies in their housemates, and given their circumstances, Darrick and Abby both knew that they could never pass for a completely normal couple. And that had proven to be more or less true; Darrick and Abby had found their own niche quickly enough, and uncomfortable questions were few and far between. No one had objected when Darrick had positioned himself as an author, the kind of job he felt could best explain their steady supply of funds as well as his utter lack of a work schedule. He couldn’t help but wonder if he were doing a disservice to real writers, but if playing on the stereotypes would keep their lives peaceful and – most important – below the radar, he was willing to risk it.

Casting another glance downwards at the blank page teetering on his leg, Darrick reflected that it was fortunate that his “work” was only a sham; he felt too restless today to apply himself to anything so concentration-intensive as composition. His thoughts jumped around from one subject to another, seemingly unable to alight on any one for very long. Taking the remote control, he flipped rapidly through the channels, the clicking of the buttons in time with the up-and-down jiggling of his knee, an unconscious echo of his racing mind. Nothing he saw interested him, nothing could catch his attention. Five hundred channels, he thought, and there really is nothing on worth watching. God, I want something to do! He tossed the remote down in disgust, leaving the television on some cable news channel. He took another swig of beer, finishing off the bottle, and was preparing to stand up and pace around the room when a rough voice interrupted his agitation.

“So whaddya think of this whole Korea thing?”

Darrick jumped as Jimmy McDonal, a fellow boarder, sat down on the easy chair to Darrick’s right. Jimmy was an older man, very country in both voice and habits. His skin was tanned and wrinkled from what Darrick assumed was a life working in the fields, though some of the wrinkles could be explained by the nicotine stains on his fingers. Angela Bowen was very strict about smoking indoors, though, so Jimmy had converted over to chewing tobacco, and never seemed far from a spit-cup, a habit Angela tolerated so long as he was certain to never miss. To Darrick’s surprise, Jimmy had taken a shine to him, chatting him up whenever they were in the common room together, which was often, as Jimmy was living on his pension and therefore had no job to keep him occupied.

“Um, what?” Darrick responded, having some difficulty placing Jimmy’s question in context. Jimmy waved at the television.

“You’re the one watching the news, son,” he said. “I try to avoid it, but goddamn if you can’t get away from it nowadays.”

Darrick blinked and looked, paying more attention this time. The headline read North Korea Masses Forces on Border. Darrick vaguely remembered hearing something about some diplomatic crisis earlier that week, but he hadn’t been paying much attention; that was about the same time his annoying restlessness had started building.

“I think that you guys were supposed to have taken care of this sixty years ago,” Darrick said, and Jimmy laughed, then coughed.

“You’re picking up a smart mouth from that wife of yours, Darrick,” Jimmy said in mock reprimand. “It wasn’t easy, y’know. Those guys were crazy, and the ones they have in charge now are even crazier.”

“Do you think they’ll do anything?” Darrick asked, feeling a burst of sudden alarm. Jimmy shrugged.

“Eh, who knows? They’ve been wanting to start something ever since we stopped ‘em last time, but all they ever do is bluster. Why would it be any different now?” He leaned back in the chair and flipped up the leg rest. “I’m getting too old now to care. They’ll not send me over again. Worrying about stuff is for young men, like you.”

You have no idea, Darrick thought. Sometimes Darrick felt like all he did was worry. Worry about being found by the Atlanteans, worry about what would happen if they were. Worry if Abby was really as happy and content as she claimed to be. That last one was particularly persistent. Darrick knew she was accustomed to a lavish lifestyle. How could she be happy renting a room in a boarding house hundreds of miles away from her family and the life she had always expected to live? Sure, she had lived away from it before, but that had been wholly her own choosing. What if he had pushed her into this? What if she resented him? What if—
“Didn’t mean to scare you there,” Jimmy said, and Darrick realized that he had once again gotten caught up in his own thoughts. He shook his head, partly in response to Jimmy’s assumption and partly just to clear it.

“Sorry,” he said, “that’s not it. I was just thinking.”

“Nothing good, by the look of you,” Jimmy said, too astutely for Darrick’s comfort. “Are you okay?”

“I need to stand up,” Darrick mumbled, mainly to himself. “I think I need some fresh air.” He matched action to words, nearly tossing the decoy notebook to the floor in his haste, catching it only at the last moment and slipping it under his arm, regretting the time it took to do so. He waved a goodbye to Jimmy and was nearly out the front door when he all but ran directly into Carmen Moraz, who responded to the near-collision with a flirtatious smile.

“Now, Darrick,” she purred, “you know that if you want to get closer, all you have to do is ask.” The look in her eyes let him know exactly what he would get if he did ask. Carmen was a very attractive woman only a couple of years Darrick’s senior, and her comment made his heart beat even faster than it already was. Rather than excited, though, Darrick felt annoyance. The woman just wouldn’t accept the fact that he was quite happily married; indeed, she seemed to see it as a challenge.

“The only person I’m asking is my wife,” he said flatly, and skirted around her as best he could; she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Just like sleeping, he thought. There were many nights Abby caught a fit of the giggles listening to Carmen in the next room over; Darrick wasn’t convinced that her exaggerated noises weren’t at least partially for his benefit. There were several mornings-after he had caught Carmen casting surreptitious glances in his direction, attempting to gauge his reactions. Abby had called him paranoid when he had told her, probably because he had not told her of Carmen’s more forward approaches. No reason to concern her over a possibility which would never materialize; Darrick knew he would never accept Carmen’s offers.

This time, Carmen seemed content to let him pass with no more trouble, and Darrick made his way out to the street. The chill of a winter afternoon hit him like a brick wall, even here in Atlanta, and Darrick wished he had taken the time to grab his jacket. Not worth it to go back now. Walking will warm me up anyway.

He strode through the neighborhood, streets shaded by old, gnarled trees and lined by old, ivy-grown houses. He and Abby had spent many hours walking the brick sidewalks and enjoying the scenery, admiring the old houses, some of which dated back a century. It made for a nice, relaxing afternoon stroll, usually capped off by sitting by the duck pond in one of the small parks that dotted the roadsides. Today, though, Darrick’s goal was different – instead of a nice stroll, Darrick strode along at a rapid pace, eating two or more feet of distance with each step, eyes tilted downwards to the cracks in the bricks below him. Thoughts and worries about Abby and Carmen jumbled together, and in the back of his mind, ever-present, Cynthia and John and Jessica and Anthony and Richard and Meredith and Patrick and everyone else they had left behind half a year ago. Darrick missed his parents greatly, and knew that Abby missed hers as well, not to mention the friends with which they had also severed contact. Were they looking for them? Had they left any clues behind? Were they hot on their trail? And the question that never left his mind, but which he was afraid to consider: Had they made the right decision?

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 23

John was doing his best to try to comfort his wife amidst the chaos surrounding them, and despite Cynthia’s disregard of his efforts, when Richard came barreling back into the room, breath heaving and face looking as though he were going to be sick. The older man grasped hold of the doorframe, holding himself up as his mouth worked silently, unable to get the air to form audible words, while around him he was ignored in favor of loud arguments and recriminations from all sides. He knows something, John thought, and it’s not good. What else could go wrong? Leaving Cynthia for the moment – It’s not like I’m helping her much anyway – he walked quickly over to help the winded priest to a chair, fighting the urge to interrogate him the entire way. It can wait a minute or two until the man’s gotten his breath back, John told himself, though his gut was urging him to faster action.

He didn’t have to wait as long as he had feared, however. As soon as Richard was in the chair, he grasped onto John’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

“I need to talk to everyone,” he said between breaths, his urgency allowing him only the minimum time necessary to get the air to form the next word. “Get them to quiet down if you can.” Obediently, John waved his hands and shouted for everyone to shut up, that the priest needed to speak. Initially, he doubted that he would be heard or heeded, but invoking Richard’s authority brought him the respect his own outsider status would have ordinarily been denied, and the room settled down. Within a minute, every eye was on the priest as he sat, face white as a sheet and gaze wild with panic. At first, he didn’t speak, and as the crowd quickly picked up on his anxiety, murmurs began to slowly grow again, only to shut off like a spigot once he finally mustered the energy to begin.

“I’ve been consulting the texts in the Great Library,” he started, voice at first a strained whisper but gaining strength, “and I fear I have discovered something terrible.” Jessica nearly fainted at this, and her husband had to hold her steady; a low gasp spread throughout the crowd. John just felt sick to his stomach. “Abby and Darrick have run off without completing their bond. Do any of you know what that will cause?” Everyone looked around, curious to see if anyone would speak up, but all anyone gave was a shrug of ignorance. “Well, neither did I,” Richard admitted, “to my shame. In my defense, the tradition of marrying soon after the bond has matured is an ancient one, and very strong, and it has prevented this situation from arising within living memory, or maybe even in the last few centuries. So I never learned what the result would be. But I remembered reading something about it long ago, when I was still in my apprenticeship, and I was able to find it again.”

“What is it?” Anthony asked with ill-concealed impatience.

“Get on with it already, Richard,” Cynthia said, with a bit less skill in concealing. Richard nodded in acquiescence.

“The bond changes the recipients into each other’s perfect mate,” he continued, voice calm though his eyes and hands flickered restlessly. “That’s common knowledge. The completion of the bond finalizes this process. Without that completion . . .” He took a deep breath. “The bond will continue to try to change them, beyond what the human mind will allow. The mind will resist, fight back. The stress will build, slowly at first, and then increasingly faster, as the bond and the mind battle.” Richard clenched his hands together, bit his lip, and bowed his head.
“And then what?” John asked when Richard fell silent. “What happens next?” He tried to sound as encouraging as he could, but he knew his growing frustration was showing. Why couldn’t the man just spit it out?

“Madness,” Richard finally said, he own voice cracking on the word. “The stress will slowly tear their minds to pieces. I don’t know exactly how it will go or how long it will take; apparently, every person reacts differently. But their grasp on reality, on themselves, will tear more and more, until eventually their minds will be all but lost.” Jessica buried her weeping face in her husband’s chest. “And, then, not long after, death. The strain will eventually kill them.” Jessica’s wails could be heard even through Anthony’s shirt, and tears were running freely down Anthony’s face. Cynthia was still holding onto herself, but barely. John himself was wondering how much longer his legs would hold him. He couldn’t, however, shake the feeling that there was yet another shoe to drop, and until then, he would have to keep a hold of himself.

“That’s not all, is there?” he asked Richard, and even though the priest did not immediately answer, even his hesitation made the answer clear. John resisted the urge to shake the answer out of the man. He’s doing the best he can. This is hard on us all. Finally, Richard was able to respond.

“What I have to say next,” he said, “only the parents can hear. Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica. You stay with me. Everyone else, if you would please leave.”

“What?!” John exclaimed, enraged. “I’m the boy’s father, even if I’m not one of your own precious people. There’s no way in hell you’re sending me away.” Anthony started to reply, but Richard held up his hand for silence.

“You’re right, John,” he said, sounding tired and broken. “My apologies. You have every right to know as much as the rest. But everyone else must leave.” The crowds started to file out, though not without some grumblings. “That means you too, Meredith,” Richard said when Abby’s friend looked to be staying. She bowed her head in solemn acceptance and followed the crowd. “And you as well, Patrick.” Patrick almost protested, but one look from his father was enough to send him scurrying away. After hearing what Patrick had done to Darrick, John was tempted to follow him to deal out payback, but he reminded himself that there were more important things to worry about now than the behavior of a bully. Eventually, the room was empty save for the four of them, and all eyes – red-rimmed and watery though they may be – were on Richard.

“What I have to say now,” he said softly, “has been a kept secret by the priests of Atlantis for millennia. I believe that, under the circumstances, all of you have a right to know, but the information cannot leave this room.” His voice and inflection changed, and all four listeners felt themselves seized by a powerful force. “You will speak of this to no one outside this room. This knowledge will remain buried in your hearts and minds, never to be shared, directly or indirectly. This is my command.” John knew that he could never tell anyone even if he wanted to; that even if he should so much as try, the breath would freeze in his lungs and the words stick in his throat. It was a profoundly disturbing realization, and looking around at the others, he could see that the sensation was shared by all of them. If this is Atlantean magic, he thought, I’m glad I’ve been able to stay away from it until now. Only after this would Richard continue.

“Darrick is no ordinary young man,” he said. Cynthia smiled proudly, but Richard held up his hand before she could agree. “I don’t mean in just the way that every mother thinks her son is extraordinary. Darrick is the heir to the royal line. Cynthia, your House is our only remaining nobility, and even though in Atlantis you would not have normally been considered in line for the throne, with the death of all other branches of the noble Houses, the royal heritage falls to you. And with your brother’s death and your sister’s marriage into another House, Darrick is the only remaining natural heir.”

“I know that,” Cynthia said, “even if most people don’t give him the respect he’s due. That’s certainly no great secret.”

“Yes, but what you do not know is that the royal family is more than just another line of monarchs,” Richard said, a bit testy. “Nor are they the symbolic figureheads most Atlanteans treat them as nowadays.” He shook his head. “We claim to keep ourselves separate from the world, but its ideas still infect us. But that’s beside the point. Have any of you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King?”

“Wasn’t that a movie?” John asked, confused. “Robin Williams playing a crazy homeless man.” Anthony rolled his eyes.

“It’s part of the Arthurian legends, isn’t it?” Anthony said. “I don’t remember much about it, though.”

“It got incorporated into the mythos, yes,” Richard said, “but it didn’t begin there. It’s origins actually go all the way back to Atlantis. It’s a story about a king who receives a wound and is dying, and as long as the king is dying, so are the land and the people. That’s how it worked with the Atlantean kings. The health of the king was the health of the people, literally. And it still works that way today. Have none of you ever wondered at our continued survival? It’s almost unheard of in human history for a landless nation to survive, especially for thousands of years. And yet, we do. Not a single House has been lost since the Cataclysm. That’s because the royal line has never yet failed. The Cataclysm was actually the closest it’s come, but it – and we – survived by the skin of our teeth. In fact,” he continued, looking to Cynthia, “a very strong geas was laid on the royal family to do everything possible to make certain it didn’t die out. Cynthia, I’m convinced that’s why you took a husband and had a son, even though most of the exiled children never marry. You didn’t know it, but the geas was working to preserve the line.” Cynthia looked uneasy at the notion, and John felt roundly used. That’s all I am to these people, breeding stock to keep up their royal family. He beat down his anger for the moment, though; there were more important issues. His son was still in danger.

“So you’re saying,” Anthony asked, “that, if Abby and Darrick go mad and . . . die, then all the Houses will be lost?”

“Yes, but it gets even worse.” Richard clenched his hands tightly together to stop their trembling. “Because Darrick – no offense intended, John – because Darrick isn’t pure Atlantean. Based on my own studies, I believe that his mixed heritage means that the effect could be spread to the entire world, not limited to just our own people.” He looked now at Anthony and Jessica, frozen in shock. “That’s why I pushed so hard for you to accept Cynthia’s bonding request. I believed – I still believe – that if Darrick were in a loving, happy Atlantean marriage, than it could bring great things to the world at large. Maybe even a Golden Age. Worldwide peace and prosperity. I hate to admit it, but I used you and your daughter to that end.”

“Not to mention our son,” John interjected angrily.

“Darrick, too,” Richard said, “though, given his situation, he would have been used one way or another, I fear. I was at least trying to use him to achieve the best result possible.” He looked down at his hand, clenched so tightly they were almost bloodless. “But now, I fear the worst has occurred. Darrick’s happiness could have brought about a golden age. His madness . . .” He trailed off, unable to say any more, but his meaning was clear. John felt compelled to state it for him.

“You’re talking about the end of the world.”

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 22

Meredith closed her phone with a heavy heart. She thought she understood Abby’s reasons for leaving, though she did not share them; as flawed as Atlantean society could be, she still found much that was noble in it and had no desire to live as part of any other. But, possibly as a result of her bonding to Darrick, Abby had always been restless, wanting to experience as much of the outside world as she could. Meredith had hoped that two years away had satisfied those yearnings, but it seemed that they had only whetted her appetite. Still, she wished her friend well, and was willing to accept her decision and wait one more year for her to truly return to the fold.

Hearing the raised voices coming from a couple of rooms over, she wondered if she could ever get Darrick’s and Abby’s parents to see it the same way. She realized that her friend probably had not realized the full magnitude of the Herculean task she had laid before her, but that wasn’t going to make the next few minutes any more pleasant. Steeling her spine, she walked down the adjoining hallway and into the main parlor, where many of the current occupants of the house were watching the drama unfold, or playing their own parts in it.

The room, large as it was, was crowded, the walls lined with silent spectators, some angry, some confused, a few openly triumphant, each according to their own positions regarding Darrick’s arrival and subsequent departure. Also standing off to the side were Reverence Dawson, looking absolutely dejected, and Patrick Martin, looking immensely agitated. Everyone’s eyes were on the three people squaring off at the center – John and Cynthia Knight against Anthony Martin, each of who were engaged in blaming the other for the disappearance of their children. Sitting in a chair off to the side was Jessica, still red-eyed from weeping.

“This would never have happened,” Anthony was saying, “if you had taken the time to install just a few Atlantean values in your son. There’s far too much of the outsider in him.” His voice was hard, proud, and angry – such a contrast from his normal kind tone.

“Do not blame Darrick for this!” Cynthia responded. Her voice quivered and her hands shook as she pointed her finger at Anthony. She was obviously poised on the narrow boundary between anger and tears. “Your daughter is the one who keeps running off. I wonder what it is she keeps running from?”

“It’s the bond with your son that makes her do it,” Anthony shot back, face red. “Our daughter is pure Atlantean. She should have been happy with us, with a good Atlantean marriage, a good Atlantean life. But this is what we get for bonding her with a . . . a . . . a half–” Cynthia screeched and leapt forward, and only John’s arms kept her from scratching her opponent’s eyes out.

“Watch what you say, Anthony,” John coldly warned, struggling to keep his wife in check. “Insult our son again, and I’ll not only let her loose, I’ll join her.”

A chorus of insults arose from several of the spectators, cries of “outsider” and “half-breed”, while the former supporters of the marriage remained rather quiet. It was obvious public opinion was turning against the Knights.

“Threaten my husband again, Cynthia,” Jessica said, standing up from her seat and standing by Anthony, “and you won’t have the chance to get to him before I take you down.” Her voice was still thick with weeping, but her narrowed eyes were now glowing with a more hostile emotion. “I can’t believe I ever listened to Dawson and bonded my daughter to your son. I’ve spent the last twenty years convincing myself I made the right decision, but here I am finding out that everyone else was right all along.”

Cynthia froze, speechless, obviously struck to the heart. John had no such obstacle.

“I have had enough of you people,” he said, placing himself between his wife and her former friend. “I’ve held my tongue for the last two weeks – hell, the last twenty years – because it was important to my wife. Well, I’m tired of putting up with you high-and-mighty types. My son is a better man than all of you, and from what I’ve seen, so is your daughter. Being bonded to my son is the best thing that ever happened to her.”

“Stay out of this,” Anthony growled. “This is Atlantean business. It stopped being an outsider concern as soon as our children were bonded.”

“He’s still my son, goddammit!” Now John’s hands were balling into fists. “I’m not going to give him up just because you people claim him.”

Meredith closed her eyes, not wanting to see or hear anymore, appalled at how little it took to bring out the worst in everyone. Maybe they were right to leave, she thought, if all this was hiding right underneath the surface. She didn’t know how she was going to get her message through, and was worried that it would just make things worse; but she had given Abby her word, and the thought of breaking it was anathema. Opening her eyes again, she saw Reverence Dawson standing off to the side. They’ll listen to him, she thought, and made her way carefully around the feuding couples to stand by the priest’s side. She had to tap him on the arm a few times before she tore his anguished attention to her, but when she whispered that she had a message from Abby and Darrick, his demeanor quickly changed. The uncertainty on his face became resolve, and he strove into the middle of the fray, arms and head held high.

“Quiet, quiet, all of you!” The restless, murmuring crowd settled down, and the Knights and Martins separated, still glaring daggers at each other, but willing to give the priest his say out of respect. Once the room was sufficiently still, Dawson motioned Meredith forward. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach as best she could, she stepped up as bidden.

“I’ve just heard from Abby,” she said, and felt some pride in keeping her voice from shaking. The room erupted again, but Dawson stilled it with another motion. Meredith quickly relayed all that Abby had told her. Hearing of the elopement and their plans to hide away for one year, Jessica looked as though she was going to be sick, Cynthia lost control of her tears and cried freely, Anthony glared even harder at the Knights, and John simply looked proud, staring triumphantly at the Atlanteans. The murmur from the crowd grew ever louder.

No one noticed that Richard blanched and ran from the room as though all the hounds of hell were at his heels.

* * * * *

Darrick stood in front of the judge, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He and Abby had waited in line for at least a couple of hours, watching pair after loving pair be escorted into the judge’s chambers to be wed, anxiously counting down the moments until their own turn. When their names had finally been called, Darrick had been so nervous that he could barely stand straight; Abby, on the other hand, had jumped up and told him to go on ahead, that she would be in straightway. Now he was left cooling his heels, occasionally making conciliatory noises to the increasingly impatient judge, assuring him that his fiancée would be along any second. He was starting to wonder about that himself when the judge’s eyes opened wide, staring at a point over Darrick’s shoulder. Darrick spun to look.

Not since he had first laid eyes upon Abby at the Presentation had his breath been so thoroughly stolen away. She was dressed in a gown of blue and green, the exact same shades he had worn to the Presentation, but with highlights on the bodice and hems of her own House colors. The bodice was cut low enough to hint at cleavage while still maintaining Atlantean standards of decency, the sleeves came to points behind the hands which joined with the trail that draped behind her. The gown clung just enough to provide an image of slender grace, transforming her into an elegant sprite to match her usual manner. To top it off, her hair was caught in a lace net of pure white, which framed her face like a halo of cloud, setting off the rosy glow of her cheeks. To say that her face shone like the Sun would have been an underestimation; she was a nova, a light to outshine galaxies. Even in his best outfit, Darrick felt dingy and unworthy in comparison, and despite everything, he once again blessed his parents for their choice.

She slowly strode up the aisle, marching to music only she could hear. When she finally took the final step to place herself beside Darrick, it was all he could do to keep himself from taking and kissing her then and there. She smiled at him, and Darrick knew that she returned the sentiment in full, despite his more ordinary appearance. They both turned to face the judge.

“Normally I frown on brides primping before the ceremony, Miss Martin, seeing as how there are people waiting,” the judge said, “but in your case, I have to admit, I’m impressed. That’s quite a unique gown.”

“It’s the traditional wedding garb of my people,” she responded, her musical accent lending truth to her claim. She looked at Darrick. “I wanted you to see me in it,” she told him, blushing at the admission.

“Th-thank you,” Darrick finally stammered out. “You look amazing.”

“Then it was worth the hour it took me to figure out how to get it all in my bags,” she quipped, but her expression was pure satisfaction.

“Good choice, Miss Martin,” the judge said. He then cleared his throat and proceeded.

“Then, if you will join hands and repeat after me: I, Darrick Knight, take you, Abigail Martin . . .”

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 21

A few hours later, Abby stood in the bus station in the closest small town, crowded for the morning commute, searching for a coin to feed the pay phone. As she dug through her pockets, hoping to find some loose change, she silently cursed the necessity of abandoning their convenient cell phones, even though it had been her idea. It was her shaking hands that made the task of finding the necessary specie such an onerous one; she was nervous – no, she admitted to herself, she was terrified – of calling her best friend and trying to explain their situation. The bustling, barely-organized mob of city commuters only added to her nervous energy.

She had spent most of the drive to the station trying to put together her statement to Meredith, not to mention what message she wanted her friend to deliver to her parents. At least Darrick was sleeping most of the way; gave me plenty of time to think. I guess all the excitement of the getaway was too much for him. She glanced back at her betrothed, now lounging in a dingy chair several feet away; he met her gaze with a concerned look, and she smiled to reassure him. She had never imagined that anyone would be able to talk her into changing her entire life on a whim, but even after observing her parents for her entire life, she had no idea that the bond between a betrothed couple could be so strong. Given the choice between choosing him and choosing her family and friends, she knew she would choose him every time. She supposed that it helped that he was leaving behind almost as much as her; this was a new beginning for both of them. If I could just figure out the best way to let go if the old one.

I wonder if anyone has noticed we’re missing yet. They don’t really need the bride and groom until the ceremony, right?

She finally pulled out a quarter and dime with a triumphant flourish and slipped it into the slot. After a moment to recall Meredith’s number, with another silent curse at the lack of a cell phone’s memory, she dialed and waited with pounding heartbeat as the ringer sounded.

“Hello?” Meredith answered, obviously confused by the unknown number on her Caller ID.

“Hi, Meredith,” Abby said, feeling a little sheepish. The sharp intake of breath on the other end answered her earlier question of whether or not the two of them had yet been missed.

“Abby! By the gods . . . !” Meredith quite obviously struggled for words through her shock, and Abby had to fight down a little of her own. She wasn’t sure she had ever before heard an oath pass her gentle friend’s lips. More than anything so far, that drove home the magnitude of what they were attempting, and the utter chaos it had to be causing. In the meantime, though, there were things that needed to be said before events got too out of hand.

“Meredith, please be quiet,” she hissed, keeping her own voice low as an example, though her instincts were urging her to shriek. “Is there anyone else around who could have heard you?”

“No, I’m by myself,” Meredith answered, quickly picking up on the situation. “Everyone’s running around trying to figure out what happened to the two of you. Except for your mother, that is. She’s curled up on her bed in tears.” Abby winced at the implied accusation. She knew it was the closest Meredith would get to an outright rebuke, and it hurt her to think of her friend unhappy with her, especially when she couldn’t deny it was somewhat legitimate. “Did you and Darrick run away? Where are you?”

“We’re at the bus station in town,” she replied, keeping to the facts for now so she could be certain she got in everything she needed to say. “You can tell my parents they can pick up the car there.”

“The bus station? Where are you going?”

“I’m very sorry, Meredith, but I can’t tell you that. Darrick and I want to live on our own for one year. We’ll be back after that, but until then, we don’t want to be found.”

“And you’re saying that what I don’t know, I can’t tell?” Meredith sounded hurt.

“I don’t want you to have to lie for us,” Abby reassured her. Abby felt an urge to tell her friend everything, just to have one other person to share their secret, and to lessen the rejection she feared Meredith might be feeling. But she realized Meredith was absolutely right, as unpleasant as it was: what she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell.

“Why are you doing this, Abby?” The pain in Meredith’s voice was now unmistakable. “You just got back from living away from us for two years. Are we so horrible?”

“No, never,” she said as emphatically as she could. “I love all of you, and I’ll miss all of you. Well, except maybe Patrick. But Darrick and I want to live our own lives for a while. We want to find out who we are before we have everyone else telling us who we’re supposed to be.”

“That sounds very familiar.”

“Now you know where I got it from. There’s something else, too, that’s on my mind, even if it might not be on Darrick’s. Meredith, Patrick attacked Darrick yesterday. He’s alright – it was just a punch to the stomach – but I’m afraid for Darrick’s safety if we stay.”

“I see,” Meredith said slowly, absorbing the information. There was silence for a few more moments, then she went on. “So you really are running away." Another pause. "You’ll be living with Darrick for a year?” Meredith wasn’t going to come right out and ask, but Abby picked up on the tacit inquiry.

“Don’t worry, we’re still getting married. We’re stopping by a courthouse on the way to get married by a judge.”

“I suppose that’s something. I don’t think your parents will see it that way, though. And Darrick’s mother is on a rampage.”

“I hate to ask you to be the bearer of bad news, but I called hoping that you could tell them all of this.” Wow, how cowardly does that sound? Abby thought.

“I’ll do it,” Meredith said without hesitation, and Abby mentally blessed her friend, wondering if she were worthy of such devotion. “You know they won’t be happy about it, but hopefully knowing a little bit is better than nothing at all. Is this the last I’m going to hear from you for a year?”

“Probably,” Abby replied, already feeling the loss. She knew Meredith had been looking forward to spending a lot of time together now that she was back from San Francisco, and she had reciprocated the sentiment. A petty part of her hoped Darrick knew everything she was giving up for him; she wasn’t proud of the feeling. “But I promise you a good, long conversation one year from today. By then, I’m sure I’ll need a girl’s night out.”

“I’ll hold you to that. No last minute change of plans!” Meredith chuckled. It sounded a bit forced, but Abby appreciated the attempt. “And I’m going to do my best to keep this secret from Brendan. I’m looking forward to my fancy wedding, and I don’t want him getting any ideas.”

“Like you don’t have him wrapped around your little finger.” Abby smiled, though she was experiencing something much more bittersweet. “I should probably go,” she continued, looking at her watch. “Our bus is leaving soon, and Darrick wants to call his best friend.”

“Good luck, Abby. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * * * *

From his seat across the crowded terminal, Darrick watched Abby talk with Meredith on the phone. It was obvious from her body language that it was an uncomfortable conversation, or at least an unhappy one. He felt guilty about that. He had mentioned that to Abby while driving, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that he could not take responsibility for her actions; her choices were hers alone. Still, he was well aware of what he was asking her to give up.
Eventually she finished and walked back over to the seats they had chosen an hour before, almost collapsing into the molded plastic. She rubbed her forehead with her palm, and Darrick laid his palm upon her leg in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She was silent for a minute or so.

“That’s done,” she finally said in a voice revealing her drained state, fighting to hold in the emotion. “I think she understood, in the end.”

Darrick put his arm around her and she leaned into him, resting. Darrick still marveled at her voice, even though they had been speaking English for the last few hours, ever since they decided it would be better to speak the language of the world in which they had decided to live. Darrick had become so used to speaking Atlantean that he hadn’t realized until then that he had never heard Abby speak another tongue, and the first time she had spoken English he had been taken aback. She was perfectly intelligible, but she had a definite accent, lilting and musical. He had not expected it, and it had brought home to him that his wife, for all her experience with the wider world, was the product of a different culture; Atlantean, not English, was her native language. He had mentioned it, and she had laughed.

“You should have heard me when I first moved to San Francisco,” she had told him. “People had to keep asking me to repeat myself. I had a real problem with word order.” Darrick understood that; Atlantean was a heavily inflected language where word order was much less important. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she still had some problems when she got emotional. He loved hearing her accent, though.

“Are you okay?” he asked her now, after letting her rest for a minute. She took his hand, kissed it, and laid it in her lap with her own on top.

“Will I be,” she replied, and Darrick wasn’t sure if it was a question or a grammatical error. “I want to ask you to stay with me, but I know you want to call your friend. Go, say your goodbyes. Fine I will be until you return.” At least that was unambiguously clear.

With a final caress of her shoulder, Darrick stood up and made his own way over to the phone. According to the station clock, they had about ten minutes before they had to board their chosen bus. Darrick didn’t have much experience with buses and didn’t know how rigorous the schedule was, but he didn’t want to take chances. In fact, taking the bus for an elopement reminded him more of the end of The Graduate than any real-life experience; he could only hope the resemblance ended there.

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 20

Darrick held her motionless for a while longer as the import of her word slowly sunk in. His heart pounded. It had been a stroke of inspiration, a flash of an idea that had sounded better and better to him to him as he had talked it through, but until Abby had said “yes” it hadn’t seemed quite real. A part of him had even hoped she might talk him out of it so that he wouldn’t have to follow through on what was an exciting but increasingly scary notion. But now that she had consented, he felt committed. This was going to happen; his life was going to change. Well, he thought, it was going to change tomorrow anyway. It’s just going to change a bit more than I originally thought. As committed as he was, though, he had no idea of how to go about it.

“So, when do you want to do this?” Abby asked quietly, her head still resting on his chest.

“As soon as possible,” Darrick answered, relieved she had asked a question to which he knew the answer. “Today. Or tonight, I suppose, if we’re going to be sneaking out. Didn’t I say that?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she said. After another second, she pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Can we do that? What about the bond?”

“What are you talking about? We’re already bonded.”

“No,” Abby said, looking increasingly concerned. “Richard will complete the bond at the wedding.”

“What does that mean?” Darrick’s head was beginning to hurt.

“When an Atlantean couple is married, the priest completes the bond between them. My parents say that the difference between a simply matured and a completed bond is like the difference between a dictionary and an encyclopedia. We’ll be united in a way that other couples cannot even imagine. If we just elope, the bond won’t be completed. Can we wait?”

Now that she mentioned it, Darrick thought he could remember his mother saying something of the nature, but it had been buried in the deluge of information to which he had been subjected over the last few days. But now that he had been reminded, Darrick wasn’t sure how to respond. He was afraid that, if they waited, that they would never get out. The wedding loomed in his mind as the final thread in the net. But this bond completion certainly sounded important, at least to Abby, which made it important to him. But we have to do this now. If we don’t, if we overthink it, we’ll lose our nerve.

“The bond will still be there in a year’s time,” he told her. “Right now, I’m happy with what we’ve got; it’s already much more than most couples get. I hate to ask you to wait, but can you be happy with what we have for just one year more?” Abby bowed her head as she thought it through as Darrick waited, barely breathing, feeling as though his entire future rested on her decision. Finally, she nodded.

“Very well,” she said. “I can wait a year, for you. For us.” She stayed close to him for a few moments longer, then Darrick could feel her pull herself together, physically and mentally. She stepped back, suddenly all business. Darrick blinked at her sudden change in demeanor, but it wasn’t too surprising. He had seen this mood in her before when dealing with the wedding. Abby could be incredibly pragmatic when necessary, far more so than he himself.

“If we’re going to do this," she began as she started to pace the room, "we have to plan very carefully. We can’t do anything that could allow them to track us, and my parents have a lot of resources and favors they can call in.” She laughed, and it sounded a little bitter. “For all of their talk of the terrors of the outer world, they have no problem with making their own contacts in it when it serves their purposes. And they have the money to make things happen. If we really don’t want to be found, we’ll have to leave our cell phones behind. And no mail, either on computer or paper; it can be tracked. And we can’t tell anybody where we’re going, not even Roger or Meredith. I don’t want to put either of them in the position of having to lie for us.”

Darrick felt a bit taken aback by that. The idea of leaving his parents in the dark was unpleasant, though recent conflicts had made it easier than it would have been. But going without the support of his best friend was almost unthinkable; the two of them hadn’t been out of contact for more than a week since middle school. And Abby obviously shared his unease, her voice dropping when she mentioned keeping her old friend in the dark.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t think of that. Still, we should at least tell them that we are going. They don’t have to know where.” Abby appeared substantially cheered by the comment.

“Yes, you’re right, we can.” The thought re-energized her. “In fact, we’ll use Meredith as our note. Once we’re far enough away, sometime tomorrow, we’ll call her from a payphone on the road and tell her what’s going on. She can tell our parents for us.” She looked pleased with her idea. “Much better than leaving an impersonal note.” She smiled sadly. “And it will give me the chance to say a proper goodbye. You can do the same with Roger." She stopped her pacing as one final idea formed.

“One more thing. I don’t want you to have to work to support me. If we’re going to be spending this year alone together, I don’t want to have to share you with some menial job.” She took his hands in a downright proprietary gesture. “I’ve still got all that money saved up from my parents. We’ll take some of it out and live on it for a year. All cash, so we can’t be found through the bank.”

“Abby,” Darrick protested. “I don’t want to live off your savings. I’m no moocher. I know my mother thought that I could just live off your family’s money, but I want to contribute.” Abby’s grin grew larger, and she gave him a quick hug.

“I know you do,” she said, “and that makes me proud to have such an honest man for my betrothed. I don’t want to live off my parents’ money for the rest of our lives either. But think of this as our wedding gift, my gift to you.” She sighed regretfully. “Since it’s certainly going to be the only one we’re going to get.”

“I’m sorry,” Darrick said, feeling guilty. “This wedding . . . it’s something you’ve wanted for your entire life, isn’t it? And I want you to run away from it. You can still change your mind, you know. I’ll understand.” Abby placed her finger across his lips, silencing him.

“No, my love,” she said, her tone firm. “You’re more important to me. The marriage is more important than the wedding. And I think you’re right, this is what the marriage needs. If for no other reason than Patrick might actually kill you if we stick around.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?” Darrick asked, panicked.

“Probably not,” Abby admitted. “But it’s obvious to me that you’re not happy here, and if we do end up spending the rest of our lives together as Atlantean nobility, it’s probably only fair to spend the first year of it in your world. Think of it as a wedding exchange program. I think the rest of them will understand, eventually, though we might have to do a lot of explaining when we first come back. For the first fifty years or so would be my guess.” Abby grimaced ostentatiously. “So, where do we go?”

Darrick blinked, surprised that such an obvious concern had been so far from his mind. He thought for a second, then grinned, almost laughing at his own cleverness.

“Oh, I know the perfect place.”

* * * * *

Late that night, two shadowy figures emerged from the front entrance of the house, moving as stealthily as possible. The night was still, as was every night this far up into the mountains, and they cringed at every creaking step, every crunch their shoes made against the gravel and concrete upon which they walked. Each carried only a couple of small bags, containing what would be the entirety of their lives for the next year. They made their way over to the side building where the vehicles of all the guests were being housed and opened the large door, wincing at the loud sound it made as it slid up and back. They stood frozen for a minute, but after no lights flickered on and no noise emerged from the inner regions of the house, they relaxed and entered. They switched on a small flashlight and quickly located the object of their search, an elegant but spacious four-door sedan resting near the far end. With the touch of a button, the headlights flickered and the doors unlocked, and they slid their bags into the back seat.

“Are you sure that’s all you need?” Darrick asked, looking at the surprisingly small size of Abby’s luggage. Abby made a face at him.

“Believe it or not, Darrick,” she said in mock lecture, “not all women require a fleet of suitcases to carry their entire wardrobe every time they travel. I’m quite capable of packing light.”

“But this is for a year,” Darrick responded. “Are you sure you don’t need any more? Not that I’m complaining, you understand.” Abby shook her head.

“This year is supposed to be a new start for us. I didn’t want to take along a hundred different reminders of my old life. They’ll all be waiting for me when we get back. Until then, I have you, and I can be happy with just that.” She gave him a loving smile, and Darrick returned it, feeling his face aglow. “I do have the important stuff, like the marriage license.” She cocked her eyebrow at Darrick, and he blushed. They had picked up the license a few days before – Atlantean weddings might be secretive, but they were also legal – and had completely forgotten about it when it came time to pack up. He was glad Abby appeared to be a bit more on top of things. He at least had done the research required to know where they could stop along their route to find a judge to marry them, so that at least helped him to feel a little less embarrassed.
They slid into the car, Abby taking the driver’s seat, seeing as it was her parents’ vehicle they were appropriating, and her set of keys they were using. It wasn’t stealing; they would leave it at the bus station and would let Meredith know where to find it when they called her. Knowing that they weren’t actually committing a felony – well, not for more than just a few hours anyway – kept this late-night getaway exciting, not guilty. They looked at each other, excitement mixed with apprehension clear on their faces, and each took a deep breath.

“Are we ready?” Abby asked.

“Let’s go,” Darrick replied, feeling the thumping of blood in his ears. “On to Atlanta.”

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 19

Darrick tried to hide his condition as he walked carefully into Abby’s room, but one look at his face and she knew something was wrong.

“Darrick!” she exclaimed, dropping the article of clothing she was putting away and stepping quickly to his side. “What happened? You look terrible.” She took his arm and led him to the bed, insisting he lie down. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him before she would finally allow him to speak. As much as he hated to alarm her, Darrick was grateful for the chance to lie down; his stomach was still far from recovered, and he had to keep forcing the bile back down his throat as his torso muscles ached abominably.

“It was Patrick,” he finally told her, after catching his breath. “He caught me alone in the Library and got a bit . . . physical.” The memory of it almost brought his gorge up again. Abby’s mien darkened.

“How dare he,” she hissed. “We can’t let him get away with this. I’ll tell Father and get him to put a stop to it right now.” She made to get up, but Darrick caught her by the wrist.

“No!” he said, a little too emphatically, as he had to catch his breath once again after expending it all on a single word. “There’s no point to that. Your parents stepping in will just make him more crafty about the next attack. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think it might have been a mistake threatening him with your parents the last time. Patrick’s a bully, and the only way to respond to that is to take care of him yourself.” Abby sat back in her chair, but looked doubtful.

“I see what you’re saying, Darrick, but . . .” She trailed off, but Darrick could complete the sentence in his head.

“Don’t worry. He just caught me off guard this time. I wasn’t expecting a fist in the gut. Next time, I’ll be more prepared.” Abby frowned.

“I don’t want there to be a next time,” she said. “What if he’s not alone?”

“I think he will be,” Darrick said. “Before, when he only wanted to intimidate me, he brought a bunch of people with him. But I think he would rather deal with me with his own two hands. And I’ll be ready.” The bed was helping; the pain in his gut was slowly receding. He took Abby’s hand and gave it a slight pull, a silent invitation to join him. Within a few seconds, she was curled up at his side, careful not to disturb the bed any more than necessary.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” she whispered in his ear.

“I’m sorry your brother’s such a bastard,” he responded. “You’ve had to deal with him for a lot longer than I have. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. Right now, you might be the only bright spot in my life.” He told her of the argument between he and his mother that had led to this situation; by the time he was done, his ire was once again raised, but at least his stomach was feeling much better.

“I understand how you feel,” Abby told him once his story was done. “My parents and I had several fights when I told them I was going to leave. Admittedly, they couldn’t hold the threat of noblesse oblige over my head, but they did tell me all the horrible things that could happen to a poor, innocent Atlantean girl off by herself in the City of Sin. All ridiculously overblown, of course. I mean, I only spent my first week walking the streets as a crack-addicted hooker.” Darrick chuckled, which felt nice even as it hurt slightly.

“I thought the hookers were all into meth these days?”

“See, that’s how bad I was at it. I couldn’t even manage to get hooked on the popular drugs.”

Smiling, Darrick pulled her closer, running his fingers through her long, dark hair, marveling at its smoothness.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” he said idly. “My mother must have been particularly lucky on the day she picked you. You’re perfect for me.” For the first time in days, he felt a perfect peace, happy to stay in this moment forever. His eyeslids started to drift shut.

“Well, that’s hardly a coincidence,” Abby said in a playful tone. “That’s what the bond does.” Darrick reopened one lid.

“How do you mean?” he asked, mildly confused.

Abby propped herself up on one elbow to get a better look at his face.

“You mean, no one ever explained the bond to you?” She looked surprised.

“Not in detail, no,” Darrick said, “but I figured it out. It makes us fall in love when it matures, right? I have to admit, I was a bit disturbed by that at first, but it didn’t take me long to realize that we’re so right for each other that it would have happened anyway. The bond just got it started a little quicker is all.” Darrick felt disquiet beginning to grow in him, disrupting that precious peace he had held for such a short time. “You mean there’s more?”

Abby nodded. “The bond does more than just make us fall in love. The bond shapes us over our entire lives, molding our desires so that we will see our bondmate as the perfect partner. It also changes us so that we each become the ideal mate for the other. It’s a complicated process, and I haven’t studied it in depth, but the bond changes both who we are and what we want so that we will be as compatible as humanly possible.” Darrick’s sense of peace was shattered completely, and he sat up, wincing only a little bit at his body’s protestations.

“You’re telling me that the bond actually changes us?” he asked. “That I’m a different person than I would have been without it?” He tried to keep his voice level, but some of his anger must have come through, for Abby only nodded in response, her eyes wide with concern.

Darrick felt overwhelmed with this new information; so many things he had heard since arriving – little snippets of conversation, minor statements which had confused him – now all made perfect sense. How Patrick could blame him for his sister leaving home, how Abby could wonder if Elizabeth or Patrick were responsible for the prejudices and attitude they both shared. How his mother could claim that all Atlantean marriages were happy, were perfect. It all snapped together in his mind, leading to one very disturbing conclusion. Suddenly, Patrick’s physical attack was as nothing next to the sense of violation he felt now. I was afraid before that Richard might have been messing with my mind. Now I know that he’s been doing it all my life! How dare they?! They’ve played with me like I was some toy to be bent and shaped to their will. How can I be sure of anything anymore? Everything I think or feel might only be because of their magic? Am I even a real person anymore, or just an automaton? He got out of bed and paced the room, trying to drive down the rising panic he was feeling.

“Darrick,” Abby said, her voice showing her own concern, “please speak to me. You look horrible. Tell me what you’re thinking. I thought you knew this already.”

Darrick looked at her, now sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked fear on her face, and his heart melted. The anger was still there, but he couldn’t direct it at her. He still loved her, no matter what. Maybe he should be angry about that as well, but he couldn’t manage it. She looked too vulnerable, too precious, to ever hurt. He sat down in the chair she had pulled up for herself and took her hands in his own.

“Please don’t be afraid, love,” he said passionately. “I’m not angry at you. You aren’t responsible for any of this. You’re as much a victim as I am.”

“Victim?” Abby said, appalled. “You think we – the two of us together – are some sort of crime?” Now she sounded a bit angry herself.

“No!” I mean, not exactly. I mean . . . I’m not sure how to say it.” Darrick stumbled over his words, frustrated, not exactly sure of the emotion he was feeling or exactly where it was directed. “Doesn’t it bother you that your mind and your heart have been . . . tampered with, not just recently but over your entire life? Do you think anyone has the right to do that, even if the results are good?” Darrick looked deep into her eyes, but Abby averted them for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Then she seemed to make up her mind, and turned her head back to face him.

“Do they have the right to do it?” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But every parent attempts to shape their own child; ours just have more direct methods than most.” She looked unsure at her last statement. “I suppose that doesn’t necessarily make it right. But I do know that it’s our experiences, at least in part, that make us who we are, and we don’t get to choose those. And, Darrick, I like who I am. I’m happy with myself, and I would not be the person I am if it weren’t for my bond to you. Do you think that you would be a better person without me?”

“No, no, I don’t,” Darrick admitted, “but the ends don’t justify the means. They can’t. Look at Patrick and Elizabeth. Did the bond do him any favors, or did it twist him into a monster?” The grief on Abby’s face made Darrick very quickly regret that he had chosen that particular example, as apropos as it might have been. “Abby, they don’t have the right to mess with people’s lives like that.” His earlier argument with his mother popped up in his memory. “It’s just one more example of how they want to control our lives, but we can’t let them do it. We have to be our own people, first and foremost. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“I do, Darrick,” Abby said. “Why do you think I left in the first place? But I don’t want out of our bond. Do you?”

“No, of course not!” Darrick responded. “But we can’t let this continue. If we don’t do something soon, they’re going to have our entire life plotted out for us, with no room for escape. I want us to live our life, Abby, not theirs.”

“So what do you think we should do?”

Darrick could tell the question was real, not rhetorical, and it wasn’t one he was quite ready for. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out on the mountains in the distance. Their majestic peaks called to him, singing of the beauty of independence and freedom, an independence that felt increasingly out of their grasp. His thoughts circled and circled, never quite finding a resting place, never quite settling on a solution, much as they had earlier in the Library. After a minute of this, he felt Abby’s light touch on his shoulder, then she settled into the crook of his arm as they gazed out the window together. Her presence calmed and centered his mind, and an answer crystallized, appearing fully formed. It was bold, under other circumstances almost inconceivable, but it offered a way out, if Abby would accept it.

“We leave,” he said. “We disappear. Get away from all of this and go live our own life of our own choosing. We’ll get a judge to marry us and make our own home in some city far from here, with no contact with anyone Atlantean.” Abby looked at him in absolute surprise, and Darrick felt a little surprised at himself, but the more he told of his idea, the more it solidified in his mind’s eye. “No one can know where we’re going, and we can’t let anyone know we’re leaving. They’ll only try to talk us out of it, or use methods stronger than that.”

“I can’t do that to my parents or my friends, Darrick,” Abby said with a shake of her head. “I can’t disappear without a trace. That would scare them to death.”

“We’ll leave a note or something telling them we’re eloping,” Darrick responded, warming to his topic. “Not enough so that they’ll be able to follow us, but enough for them to know we’re okay. We just can’t let them trace us.”

Abby was still shaking her head. “Darrick, think about what you are saying. You’re proposing we drop our entire lives and families and start somewhere completely new. What about your schooling? You still have two more years left. Are you just going to abandon it? And I don’t want my parents to live the rest of their lives never knowing where I am or how I am doing. Surely you feel the same about yours. Darrick, I understand what you are feeling, but this is no solution.”

“No, you’re right,” he said, realizing the import of what he had been suggesting. “I wouldn’t want to do that to my family either. But maybe it doesn’t have to be forever. Give me one year. One year to ourselves, one year away from all these obligations and duties. One year we can just be free. I can take a year off from school, get a job to support us. You can be the artist you want to be, and I can be your adoring husband. We’ll be like a million other young married couples just getting started, with nothing in the world to concern us except each other. Then, after that, we’ll come back and see where to go from there. Is that something you can do?”

Abby was silent for a long while, but Darrick could read the struggle on her face. He knew that she had loved her two years on her own, and though she didn’t regret coming back for her wedding, she had wanted more. He also knew he was asking her to turn her back on everything she was raised to think, even if only temporarily. He watched the two forces struggle in her eyes, and saw the decision made. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close as she whispered her conclusion.

“Yes.”