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Reminder: This story is rated M and may not be appropriate for readers under the age of 18.

Chapter 10

July 2009

Two bubbles in a crystal bowl appear,

Born separately: round the opposing rims

Each for awhile in a charmed circle swims,

And shuns the other's touch, as if in fear.

A gold-fish rising breaks the mimic mere;

A thwart tide, traversing the surface, dims

The placid water: from the distant brims

The bubbles swept together are one sphere!

They might have perished singly; might have known

Life but not love, and living separate

Have ceased imperfect, sundered mate from mate;

And thou and I have walked the world alone,

And died so, if the strong storm had not blown

That swept us hither on the tides of fate.

BPOV

I set aside the book of obscure poetry by Evelyn Douglas, unsure if reading Victorian sonnets was such a good idea for me right now. Bending down, I grabbed another book out of the box and placed it on the bookshelf in my new apartment.

Sometimes I felt as if I floated through life, finding little meaning in my daytime studies, but taking solace in the arms of my dream lover. Even with this latest change in my life — a research fellowship at the State University of New York at Binghamton — I continued to float along, never engaging much with the people around me, barely leaving an impression in the world outside my dreams.

And I guess I had to admit to myself that was the reason I didn't get a graduate scholarship to continue at Cornell after finishing my undergraduate studies. The competition for graduate fellowships was fierce and, although my grades were perfect, there was nothing else I could offer. My resume listed no organizations or clubs or teams — nothing to set me apart from the other applicants. I could accept it, I guess. After all, I did get a graduate fellowship, just not at Cornell, and I only had to move about 50 miles south of Ithaca to attend SUNY. It was fine. The cost of living in Binghamton was low, and my stipend would keep me in groceries and in this apartment for a few more years. Plus, all my favorite jazz and classical music haunts would be within driving distance. Life would go on, just in a new place.

Taking the last book from the box, I placed it on the shelf and looked around my new apartment. It was hot today — so hot that I was wearing one of the few skirts in my wardrobe, because jeans would just be too much. After spending all morning unpacking, I was ready for a break. I decided to take a walk, explore one of the quaint footbridges that crossed the Susquehanna River, and see what downtown Binghamton had to offer.

It was prettier than I expected, at least in certain sections of town. Although Binghamton was economically distressed, the city leaders had obviously made an effort at urban renewal in the downtown area, perhaps in the hope that the revitalization would somehow extend out towards the more checkered parts of town. As I walked past the Broome County Arena into downtown proper, I looked around for someplace that might have interesting shops. Looking to my left I saw an anomaly — a cobblestone street with streetlamps designed to mimic the gas lamps of the turn of the century. It seemed like a good place to start.

The street was lined with old 6-story brownstone buildings with shops on the ground floor of each, and tall enough to offer shade on this hot, muggy day. Not that shade really mattered — it was overcast again. Shaking my head, I noted silently that I had managed to land in one of the cloudiest regions of the U.S. In fact, Binghamton is the most cloud-covered of anyplace outside the Pacific Northwest — including Alaska. And, just like Ithaca, Binghamton would have the added bonus of snow. Clouds and snow. Way to go, Bella, I thought. You picked the place most likely to give you seasonal affective disorder.

Shrugging off my melancholy thoughts I decided to really pay attention to the stores, to see what was available in my new city. An Italian Deli and a Chinese restaurant held promise. There was also a cute consignment clothing shop and an old plumbing supply store that probably hadn't changed in decades. I turned to look across the street and a genuine smile spread across my face. There, actually next door to each other, were exactly the shops I was hoping for. A music store and a book store.

I crossed the cobblestone street and stopped in front of the book store. Even from the outside, the shop gave off a sense of history — old store and old building and old books gracing its lovely display window. I slowly opened the door and was greeted by the tinkling of soft bells tied to the doorknob. A woman behind the counter looked up and gave me a brief smile, looking back down almost immediately to the book in her lap. A kindred soul perhaps? I felt an odd pull towards her and did an uncharacteristic thing. I paused at the counter, gave her a tentative smile and took a deep breath.

"Hello," I said, initiating conversation. "I just moved to town, and I'm really glad to have found your store. I was hoping there would be a good book store here."

She looked up at me, her oddly colored golden eyes appraising me as if she could reach inside and see my soul. She was striking looking — with pale skin and caramel-colored hair — she almost looked like a heroine out of a fairy tale. My heart stuttered for a second and then calmed just as quickly. What was that about?

"Well then, welcome to Binghamton," she offered with a smile. "Feel free to take a look around the store and let me know if there is anything I can help you with. If you don't see what you're looking for on the shelves, we can usually special order it."

Before I could reply, I noticed that the shopkeeper's smile fell into a small frown. Her brows drew down as a puzzled look came across her face. "This may sound odd," she said to me, "but have we met before?"

I looked at her more closely. "I don't . . ." I started to answer, still scanning my thoughts to see if anything rang a bell, but nothing registered in my memory. "I don't think so."

"Of course," she said a little too quickly, as if she wanted to retract her initial question. "It must be my mistake." Despite her words, her glittering eyes stayed trained on me.

I felt a blush spread across my face. I was unaccustomed to being scrutinized so intently. "Right," I said a bit nervously, "I do have pretty common features." I'd certainly always thought of myself as plain. "I'll just browse through your shop then . . . It looks like you have a wonderful selection here."

"Yes, yes," she said with a polite wave of her hand. "By all means, have a look around."

I took advantage of her invitation to shift my gaze and escape the intensity of her stare. Moving past the counter, I felt my blush deepen as I realized I had just made more of an effort at socialization than I had in years. I was glad to be safe among the books and away from her golden eyes as I made my way toward the back of the store.

To a bibliophile like me, the store was nothing short of incredible. I looked up in awe at the old, ornate bookcases. The dark wood had a rich patina, and the shelves had cornices and scrollwork that looked hand carved. A metal track went around the circumference of the room to accommodate a tall ladder that leaned against the far wall. Tapestries hung from the ceiling and featured intricately woven scenes of love and battles, although their colors seemed muted, and I guessed they were very old. Looking down I realized the floor was real marble. It was the most magnificent book store I had ever stepped into, here in this dying city in the middle of nowhere — I felt as if I had stepped into a museum.

Perhaps it is, I thought to myself, running my hands along the spines of books that were a mix of contemporary and old leather-bound volumes sitting side by side on the heavy shelves. Just being here made me feel happy, as if this was a place that I belonged. I wandered through the amazing store and tried to take it all in, each case surprising me with its contents. Browsing here felt like a treasure hunt. It was as if someone took a library from a medieval castle and transported to this unlikely place and stocked it with some contemporary books to lead us off the trail of the truth.

I giggled to myself, realizing how silly this thought was, when I heard a cough behind me. I turned and once again met the eyes of the striking-looking shop owner.

"Wha— How did . . . ?" I stammered, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. She should not have been able to sneak up on me, the floors were marble — I should have been able to hear her.

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't mean to startle you, dear," she said. "And . . . I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I feel sure that I have met you or smel— excuse me again." Her discomfort was making me uncomfortable. She started over, "So, where did you say you moved here from?"

We both knew that I hadn't said where I'd moved from, but I answered her question anyway, curious to see what she would do or say next. "I moved here from Ithaca."

Judging from her reaction, my answer didn't seem to be what she wanted to hear.

"Not from somewhere farther away? Maybe . . . farther west? Your accent is . . . not from the northeastern United States."

Oh, of course. That was it. An Arizona accent tinged with the northwest from my time in Washington. Nothing like they sound around here.

I laughed lightly. "I see what you're saying. Yes, I'm really last from Washington State, and before that Arizona. I guess I sound different than your local customers." I took a deep breath, glad to have solved her mystery, although . . . something about her still seemed off, different. I was going to try to explore it when she spoke again.

"Right, yes," she said with another polite smile, her eyes still studying my face. "That must be it, of course." She turned to head back towards the front of the store, and that's when it hit me. As she spun around she sent a soft billow of air toward me, and I caught a faint scent. Barely there, but if I took a deep breath I could almost taste it. Just the slightest hint of sun, and honey, and . . .

No, it couldn't be.

* * *

I was standing on the sidewalk a few stores down, trying to slow my breathing and calm my racing heart. Not for the first time I wondered if this was a mental illness, or worse, a physical condition . . . What if there was a lesion in my brain, or I had undiagnosed epilepsy? Panicked by the possibilities, even more upset at the thought that any treatment might permanently take away my dream lover, I decided to do one last thing to calm myself — I would check out the music store. I'd buy something good, something soothing, walk back to my apartment, finish making my bed and wait for the night.

Decision made, I squared my shoulders and stepped over the threshold of the music store. But before I was even all the way in the door, there it was, stronger than before, permeating the air. His scent, the sun and honey so powerful I was convinced if I looked around he'd be standing right next to me.

I spun around, leapt back through the door and ran out to the sidewalk, nearly stumbling into the street — just managing to stop myself as a silver car came speeding around the corner. I barely kept from falling in front of it.

Overwhelmed, I wanted only one thing in that moment — to go home, back to the safety of my apartment. I ran until I felt my lungs would burst and the muscles in my legs would cramp to the point I wouldn't even be able to walk, but somehow I made it without stopping.

Back in my apartment, I fell to the floor, exhausted and at the limit of my emotions. It felt like something was taunting me, constantly dragging bits and pieces of my dreams into real life, just enough to keep me from successfully separating them, leaving me so off balance I could never get a firm handle on what was my dream and what was not. The only constant was my raging desire to find him, to find a man exactly like him, to make my dream lover a part of my real life. And all these pieces of my dreams intruding into reality did nothing but force the realization it was unlikely to ever happen. With that thought, I covered my face with my hands and cried deep, despairing sobs.

I curled up, still there on the floor, and wrapped my arms around my knees and shuddered — emotionally spent and intellectually numb — until the world fell away and I felt myself slipping into the welcome oblivion of sleep.

"What's the matter love?" he whispered as his strong arms enveloped me, pulling me into his lap as he sat down on the floor. I couldn't look up, all I could do was bury my face into his chest and cry, breathing in his scent as if it would save me from drowning. I was overtaken by a need so urgent that it surprised me, but I could not deny it. Bringing my face to his, I kissed him hard. My hands moved up to his hair and I pulled his head closer to mine. I wanted to feel his nose bang against my own, I wanted my tongue as deep as it would go within his mouth. I needed to feel him. Here.

I'd never felt an urge so raw. I wanted him. Here. Now. I unfastened his pants and shifted my position so that my legs were wrapped around his waist. I was grateful I'd worn a skirt today. I didn't bother taking off any of the rest of our clothes, there was no time. My desperation would not wait. Need ruled my actions.

I could tell he was bewildered and surprised, but ready and willing to do whatever I wanted. Still half crying, I brought our bodies together and started moving on top of him. Here. Yes. Hot, quick, urgent. His reached his hands around to my backside and held on tightly as I set a frenetic pace.

I wove my fingers into his hair and pulled slightly, tilting his head back. I put my lips to his ear and said in an almost growl, "Damn it, why can't you be here?" He moaned and moved upward. Yes. Here.

"I'm right here, love," he said as he wrapped one arm tightly around my waist and moved a hand up to my shoulder, pulling me down to him.

A sob escaped my throat. "But you're not," I choked. "You're not really here. I want you here. With me." Our rhythm grew even more urgent. Here. Yes.

He tightened his grip on me and started kissing my neck, licking the muscles and veins there. I felt a growl rumble through his chest and vibrate through me, all the way to the point where we were connected. "You are everything to me," he said. "I want you all the time."

"Then come and find me," I said in a strained voice. The sensations were nearly overtaking me now. Here. Yes.

A powerful physical and emotional rush surged through me, and I felt so weightless and formless that I had to cling to his shoulders to keep from falling over. He laid me back on the floor and ran his fingers across my cheek, and leaned down to whisper something in my ear . . .

A sharp rap at my apartment door woke me. "Ms. Swan? Ms. Swan, are you there?" I heard a voice from the other side of the door. Startled, I stood up, straightened my clothes, and in a daze walked to see who it was. Looking through the peephole I could see the lady from the property management office. She seemed to be holding some papers. I opened the door.

"Oh, good, you're here," she said in a rush. "Finding everything all right? Getting unpacked okay?" Without waiting for my answer, she held out the papers. "Listen, would you fill out these forms and drop them by the rental office when you can? You need to make a record of the current condition of the apartment. It's all self-explanatory, just go around every room of the apartment and jot down any damage that you see, sign the form, and drop it off tomorrow, okay?"

I nodded my assent, and with hastily muttered thanks, she was on her way. I closed the apartment door and turned back into the room where I'd just been with my dream lover.

What had he said before I woke up? I closed my eyes in concentration and tried to reach back to him. Slowly but surely it came to me, and his whispered words rang through my heart, clear as a bell . . .

"Yes. I will find you. No matter what it takes, I will find you, my love."

A/N Ain't a'gonna say more except, thank you for reading and reviewing! Come join us on Twilighted[dot]net forums, Alternate Universe, as we jabber. Songlists for each chapter can be found under Lilliput's profile.

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