"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease."
-John Keats, "Ode to a Nightingale"
Judging by the look on her face he knew it would be a while until he once again could be welcomed into her heart. But God how hard it was to speak, to breathe to sleep knowing that only a wall divided him from her. It wasn't wallpaper-covered structural component of this large stone house that stood imperiously between them—no, it was rather the massive stone and steel barrier she had constructed around her heart and soul, of which he was strictly forbidden to enter again.
Vanessa came and went almost like a holy ghost. No sound but the slight ruffle of her skirts that more resembled the gentle blows of wind against the leaves of a full bloomed tree. Their eyes hardly ever met anymore. She avoided entering certain rooms when she knew he was in them, she never joined them for supper anymore... or even breakfast. Only when he began taking his meals separately in his bedroom could she then be seen dining with Sir Malcolm and occasional visitors. When it so happened that he stumbled into her in the kitchen or in the library, she was quick to escape him—a sly little fox. A sly and angry little fox.
She had reason to want to run away from him—hate and ignore him. Afterall, he had abandoned her all alone here—selfishly—hadn't he? And he regretted it with all he had, not just because of her and how no longer they were friends (and that something more neither of them could label), but because of all the physical pain and heartache he had been put through. Most nights he couldn't sleep—either plagued by beautiful, nude images of her or monsters and bloodbath, the torture he had gone through while incarcerated... the numerous medical experiments that had slowly and venomously almost robbed him of his life.
He knew that if he allowed her to look into his eyes—not that she would—she would be able to see and perhaps even feel all of what he had went through. He had walked straight into the lion's den, straight to his demise. He was no David though, blessed by the God almighty—he was only Ethan Talbot or Ethan Chandler and everyone he had ever loved in his life were gone. She had turned her back on him—it pained him more than all of those methods of torture put together—it bittered his tongue and was a constant punch to the stomach—but she was gone from him as well.
So one very early morning he decided to gather his few belongings and leave before the first rays of sun would invade her bedroom. He did not want to disturb her any further.
He had looked into a small little house in the country side with ten acres of wilderness and plenty of space to raise a horse in and plant himself a garden. She had taught him in the moors. Never had he thought that the simple act of dirtying his hands in the earth and allowing life to bloom from below would be so gratifying. The small house needed many repairs—the roofs, the holes in the wooden flooring, the walls that needed to be plastered and painted, the chimney that needed cleaning.
His little house kept him busy and despite the solitude that sometimes seemed to suffocate him and all of his hopeless longing for her—he was content. The full moon no longer bothered him—he'd learned to control his animal instincts by eating appropriate foods days before the transformation, certain prayers, certain chants, certain herbs. He taught himself to not feed on people, especially the little ones and when utterly necessary, he feeded on his own animals.
As winter came and went again, covering his small bit of land and nearly completely camoflaging his little home—he could barely believe that it had been a year—a year since he was taken to America again—a year since he had for the first time left her behind.
He bid goodbye to Anthony Lloyd, his kind neighbor who sometimes traded goods with him and passed the gate into his property. His dog lay there, faithfully at the door of the house, big blackberry eyes staring back at him loyally and affectionately and as Ethan came inside, the animal followed, going straight to his favor cushion on the floor in front of the fire. Smart dog, Ethan thought and shook his head, about to pull out a cigarette of haxixe from inside his pocket and light it.
"Who knew you'd be the domestic type..." he heard the feminine voice say, approaching him from behind, probably from within the mirrors.
His dog began to bark incessantly and when he tried to approach her for an attack, with the wave of a hand she flung him forcefully against a wall. The dog fell beated and unconscious to the ground. Ethan for a moment couldn't breathe, staring at his four-legged companion.
He turned around to face her—her cool dark gaze. Hecate Poole.
"Get the fuck out of here." He said, his voice low but full of venom.
"Now, now Ethan, he's just an insignificant little dog—you are so much more, so superior, my love... If only you knew how much power you could hold within your hands, how much we could take and rule together—the most powerful—" Ethan pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at her.
"You are going to fucking leave and never return or I promise I'll fucking kill you, even if I fucking damn my soul forever!" He was furious and the very presence of the woman who had been crutial in the attempts of hurting his beloved... It rose deep within him all of the resentment he'd been carrying for so long.
Whether Vanessa Ives wanted him or not, he would always be on her side. Because that is what it is to be in love.
She left, through the mirror, a flicker of anger in her dark eyes. He wasn't stupid, she would return. Bad luck for her then.
He turned around and crouched next to his dog—Jude was what he'd called him. He grabbed a clean cloth and dipped it into alcohol to clean the pup's wounds and then went out to the garden to fetch the appropriate herbs. Vanessa had taught him well, he had her to thank. Jude would be all right, Ethan knew he'd be.
…
Spring arrived at his home with the blooming of the flowers and the trees. He was grateful for the sunshine they'd been getting the past few days, for it allowed him to properly paint the windows and door. He'd chosen a bright red. It was a color that always reminded him of her. The life and death of blood, the ruby hues of her clothes, the crimson of her cheeks when she laughed, was embarassed or felt cold. The passion that she had within her, that had elicited a passion within him as well. Red because it was the color of love and God, did he love her... even if she no longer loved him.
"Mr. Chandler!" He nearly fell with the high-pitched shouting of his neighbor's wife. "Your clothes are washed and pressed, sir!" She said with a grin, a few teeth missing in her mouth. Crinkles in the corner of her bright hazel eyes.
"Thank you Mrs. Lloyd. Do you think you can leave them inside?" She nodded and did so. By the time she came out of his house again, he pulled some money out of his pockets and handed it to her.
"A little extra for Sarah and Jimmy's birthday... Get them a treat." She smiled thankfully and nearly bowed to him.
"Oh thank you, thank you Mr. Chandler! And Jimmy will be here soon to help you mend the fences!" She hurried off and he chuckled to himself.
…
He finished his works for the day and lay on his sofa, exhausted and full from his supper. Jude lay at his feet, fully cured and lazy as always. No matter how tired he was, he couldn't come to shut his eyes and sleep—not when he couldn't stop thinking of her and his heart wouldn't stop beating so fast.
…
The following morning he heard a knock on his door and there stood Jimmy with several envelopes for Ethan and carrying a plate of cake.
"These arrived for you at the post—I passed there earlier with papa when we were delivering the milks. Lots of letters for you, Mr. Chandler. Oh, and thank you for the extra money. Mum bought us some sweets and baked a cake, she asked me to bring you a slice." Ethan welcomed the boy inside and thanked him.
"Thank you Jimmy. I hope you had a pleasant birthday." The boy nodded and sat shyly across from the American.
"Can you tell me again what it's like in the wild west where you come from, with the cowboys and the indians and the sheriffs?" Ethan chuckled and nodded.
"How about tonight after dinner—I have to read through these first." The boy smiled brightly and nodded excusing himself.
…
Ethan could barely believe what he'd read. She was on her way here from London. Something must be horribly wrong.
