Okay, well I put this chapter off thinking that I might get a few more reviews before I posted this chapter.

I guess I was wrong.

However, I do like this story myself so I will continue to post it as long as SOME people are reading. I thank those of you that DID review. You guys are AWESOME….but so long as we're on that subject I do, however, want at least five or six reviews before I post chapter four. I feel more inspired to write when I think people actually want me to.

Yep.

-Autumn

Night's Eyes

Chapter 3: 1887

"Mum," Anna said, wringing her hands nervously. "We need to talk."

"About what, love?" Silvia asked, her eyes scanning one of her student's portfolios. She was an art teacher at the University.

"Well, there's this guy…" Anna said. Silvia laughed, a silky, musical sound, and pushed her shiny black hair out of her youthful, unlined face.

"Boyfriend?" she asked, a knowing, perhaps even condescending, tone in her voice.

"Um, actually," she started, but her mother cut her off.

"I was wondering when it would happen. You're such a pretty girl, Anna. I was hoping you weren't going to waste it."

"No, mum," the phone began to ring, and her mother's head snapped sideways towards the kitchen.

"I better get that,"

Standing up, Silvia stretched quickly, and rushed into the spacious kitchen, where Anna heard her answer, "Hello? Oh, of course! Yes, yes. Mmhmm, One moment," her head popped into the dining room, where Anna sat alone at the end of the long, cherry wood table spacious enough for about twenty people. "We'll talk later, alright, love?"

Forcing a smile, Anna nodded. Understanding she had been dismissed, she stood, and slowly made her way to the winding staircase.

So elaborate; everything and everyone and everywhere in her life was so damn elaborate.

Her skin erupted in goose bumps as a window suddenly opened, letting in an icy gust of wind. She padded across the hall to the open window; she was so high up…

She could see the lights of London around her, she could feel the almost tangible energy surrounding her. It was a blessing, she knew, to be able to grow up the way she had. Walking down the city's vast streets, through the parks, she had seen the poverty and pain that people less fortunate than her held.

Yet she was so high up…it was so easy; she just had to put her foot on the edge, and with so little effort, it would all be over… she could go on to whatever fate had in store for her…so quick, so fast…

Another burst of cold air pushed her back and she could hear the whispers around her.

Stay where you are.

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why should I?"

"Talking to yourself?" came a harsh voice. She spun around, and let out a breath of relief.

"Adam, you scared me!" she exclaimed. Her fourteen year old brother eyed her carefully, his dark eyes guarded. He looked so much like their father, while she resembled Silvia mostly.

Tall for his age and ruggedly handsome, she knew her brother wasn't nearly as innocent as their parents liked to think. His light golden-brown hair fell into his eyes with a casual elegance, and his jaw was strong. He looked windswept and his fair, prominent cheeks were pink.

His hands were in the pockets of his suede jacket and he stood with his back straight and his head held high; he was arrogant and sure of himself…everything his parents had strived for their children to be.

Annalise, though beautiful, was self conscious and unsure…of just about everything.

"I scared you?" Adam repeated. "I'm not the one standing with the bloody window open talking to myself."

She felt her cheeks flush as she pushed the large window closed and locked it.

"I was just thinking aloud…and I didn't open it. It opened by itself." She glanced at the old grandfather clock as it began to chime loudly.

"Whatever," he breathed, and made his way into his room.

"Bastard," she said.

"I heard that!" he called before turning on the radio. Rock drifted into the hall, echoing eerily around the empty space.

With a shudder, Anna made her way into her room; the house was so large, so empty and cold.

Spacious and decorated by her mother, it was fit for a princess. A large bed made with lavender silk sheets and velvet canopy, it was beautiful. Two armoires and her walk in closet were filled with the finest of everything… Giorgio Armani, Chanel, Blahnik, Gucci, Vera Wang, Coach, Prada and Fendi.

God, how she hated them. All the stupid handbags and heels, all the gowns and long, flowy skirts and button-up shirts. Hats and scarves and feminine jewelry.

Then there was her vanity. It was as broad as it was tall, and the mirrors took up an entire wall, lights connected to it, shining down upon the MAC and Estee Lauder makeup her mother supplied. Rows and rows of lipsticks and nail polishes lined the surface.

A large, intricate Persian rug covered the shiny hardwood of her floor.

She hated that damned rug.

She hated the color and the texture of her sheets.

She hated the bright, cheery pastel colors of her wardrobe.

She hated her school uniform, with its tight, white button up blouse and knee-length plaid skirt and her black tie.

Actually, she liked that tie. It was one of the few black items she owned.
According to her parents, proper young ladies shouldn't wear black. It was morbid and depressing; it was a color that all of the street urchins and skateboard punks wore.

Of course, Adam was aloud to wear it. Nearly all his clothes were a dark color; Silvia said it gave him a mysterious, important aura.

Frustrated, she threw a pillow at her door and sank down onto her bed.
"Such contempt for someone so young," came a soft whisper. She looked up and gasped.

"What-you." She breathed. "Who are you? Why are you stalking me?"

He raised dark eyebrows at her, and pushed thick, shoulder length hair out of his face. "I do not stalk; I observe." He said finally.

"How did you get in my room?" she asked breathlessly.

He shrugged, and sat on the edge of her bed, folding his pale, long fingered hands in his lap. "I have my ways," he said softly. "Why is it you have not screamed for your mother, who is reading her volume of Edgar Allen Poe for the hundredth time, or for your brother, who is simply across the way? Why have you not picked up the cellular phone in your purse right there?" he asked, nodding his head to her Coach wristlet.

She stared at him, mouth agape. "How-?"

"I told you, I like to observe." His cold, icy blue eyes raked over her, drinking in her appearance. "And you, Miss Bouvier, are as interesting a subject I could find." He spoke slowly, deliberately. His deep voice, a Scottish lilt to it, was simply tantalizing to her ears…

He was strikingly handsome, though in a most morbid way, with his white skin and dark hair and clothes. His eyes were entrancing.

"What is so interesting about me?" she asked.

The corners of his lips twitched, but he did not smile. "You are mature not only in body, but in mind," he said. "You are wise beyond your years; you see past the illusions of grandeur that your ignorant parents have placed in front of you. The way your mind works is fascinating. You do not wish for death like most do…you simply wish for not an escape per say, but for something different, a new life, do you not?"

"I was you who didn't want me to jump." It was not a question; it was a statement.

"Of course. I wouldn't want such a beautiful young woman to waste herself."

She snorted, not caring how un-ladylike it was of her.

"So you claim to just be 'observing'? I wouldn't call following me to and from school, when I shop, when-"

"When you sit on the swings in the park and read. Your favorite is Romeo and Juliet-not the short version. You enjoy reading the actual play. You've read it countless times, and you know it word for word, yet the ending still brings tears to your eyes." He paused, and she saw the smug glint in his steely eyes. "Refer to me as a stalker if you must. I will, however, deny it. I give you your privacy when it's necessary. I do not watch you shower, I do not watch you dress or undress…though I will admit it is extremely tempting."

She pulled her legs up and sat Indian-style on the bed as she regarded him curiously. "Why me, though? And… who are you?"

"I've already told you why. You are a most intriguing young woman." He paused. "My name is Adrian Moore. I was born in 1887 to Sean and Leslie Moore in Stonehaven, Scotland."

Brow furrowed, she shook her head. "It's not possible…that-that would make you-"

"One hundred and ten years old, yes." He said.

"Not possible. You look no older than, perhaps, twenty-five. Maybe, maybe thirty, but no older."

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, and it chilled her to the bone; there was no humor in it. "I was twenty-seven when I suffered my mortal death. It was 1914." He paused, yet did not let her speak. "I was sick; I was deathly ill. My wife tried to help me, yes I said 'wife'. I was married and had three children, two of which have passed on. Both my daughters, Emily and Mary. My son, William, will be next. He is in his mid eighties now, and he is as old and feeble as I think he can stand to be.

"Now, as I was saying. I was horribly ill…my wife, Elizabeth," a spasm of emotion crossed his face. "She did all she could to help me. Three wee bairns to take care of, one whom she still had to nurse, and she still was always by my side. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. I didn't deserve her."

Anna was listening intently. Did she believe him? She didn't know. What, exactly, was he, if not mortal? The pain in his voice was real; she would and could not deny that. She waited silently for him to continue, but he seemed lost in thought as he stared out the window from his spot on the bed.

He sat so still, unblinking, that had she not known different, he would have looked like a statue carved of marble. The only thing that looked alive on him were his eyes, which, though they did not blink, had emotions dancing within them.

Eventually he shook his head as to clear it. "I must go," he said, standing up.

"What? No, you just began-"

"I shall finish the morbid tale of my life another night," he said, walking to the glass doors that opened to her balcony. He pushed it open silently. "I will come back, don't worry. Now, however, I must take my leave." He looked over his shoulder, and his piercing eyes met hers. "Goodbye, Anna."

"Annalise," she heard her father calling from the stairs. "Adam! I'm home. We're going out to dinner,"

"Goodbye," she whispered. She quickly stood up; they were so high up, surely he wasn't going to jump? Right as she came to the door, she saw his dark figure leap off of the balcony. "No!" she cried, and ran out, looking at the ground beneath her, and all around.

There was nothing there.