AUTHOR'S NOTE: And so... I'm back. I'm still ridin the Harry Dresden high, which makes everything more enjoyable, and so I thought I'd try to squeeze out another chapter before going to see the lighting of the Christmas tree and the fireworks tonight at our City Center. Not sure it'll happen, but I sure do plan to give it the old college try! Now, to revisit one of our friends who we haven't heard from in a while... Read, enjoy, review, fav, follow... Much love! ~ Billie
OLIVER
I straightened my tie and looked over my shoulder to Amelie, who was still holding the remains of the mad man. I had tried to get my hands on the box more than once today to see what was left of him, but Amelie assured me it was nothing more than ashes. I asked her if she was certain they were his actual remains, but it had just made her angry.
Still, something felt wrong. I should have been happy the creature was dead. I had planned to do him in myself. And yet, there was a part of me that felt... conflicted. Certainly Myrnin was no friend of mine, and yet, some part of me insisted that he was invaluable to the safety of the town. It seemed I had forgotten that fact at some point. Never would I have planned to dispose of someone as important as the town's gatekeeper without a plan for who would be his backup.
The thought was worrying. I remembered a snippit of conversation - or perhaps simply a dream - ...And then, perhaps he will suffer a tragic accident within his lab... But I was not the sort of man to act on the fancy found in a person's dreams. Was I?
As Amelie stood behind me, adjusting her hat and veil of mourning, I stared at my reflection once again in the window. Am I so weak as to behave as if my dreams have true importance? I looked at my face. There was a pallor there that I had not noticed before. I thought back on the dream I must have had. Who had been speaking? Not me, a woman.
Amelie? No. The voice was similar, and yet different. I thought back to the other important decisions I had made over the past few months. I had been so impulsive recently. That was not me. I had fired Eve as a matter of spite. And though I was certainly well-versed in spite, that was never my primary motivation for anything. And, it seemed, though the townsfolk certainly hated the girl and her "husband's" relationship, it seemed they hated waiting for coffee even more.
Since firing her, I had received a number of complaints about wait times and employee incompetence. Even some of those who had been most vocal about her "immoral behaviors" were asking where she was. And yet, I hadn't called her to ask her to come back. And that wasn't me. Though I would be loathe to apologize, I had always done so when I was proven wrong. No matter how bitter a taste it left in my mouth.
I seemed to remember a voice there, too. Certainly it would be so much easier if the girl and that troublesome child of Amelie's were out of the way. Permanently. The same voice. But certainly not the same dream.
And then there was the pressure I had placed on the blood bank to lower the Glass boy's blood allotment. It wasn't something I would do. Certainly I was opposed to the idea of their marriage being seen as something worthwhile, but the Founder had yet to pass serious judgement. And as she had yet to determine her exact stance, it seemed unlikely that I would make my decision without first seeing her stance. It would not do well to distance myself from her affections at this time.
In fact, the more I thought of my behavior as of late, the more I began to wonder what was going on. These dreams... I thought back. Nothing. I focused again on the sound of the voice as it - she - encouraged me to make decisions that were not sound decisions to be made. The harder I tried to remember, the more they seemed to slip and slither away, like serpents. My head began to hurt as I continued to push against the... something... that was in my head, blocking my memories.
That was unacceptable. Nothing would be in my head unless I allowed it to be there. I was a warrior in my living days. I am a warrior still. I am not to be trifled with. Pain has no meaning when it comes from weakness. It is only something to fight against, to become stronger than. And so, despite the pain in my head, I pushed harder to remember. To... remember the dreams.
Were they dreams?
Or were they real?
I thought I remembered a wrist. Small and delicate, much like Amelie's. But not Amelie's. I remembered the salty-sweet taste of blood. But it wasn't Amelie's blood. Amelie's blood moved me in a way this blood didn't. Amelie's blood built me up, made me stronger, made me a better... man. This blood, it tore at me, it took away my will, my strength. It made me weaker. It made me nothing more than... a tool. A tool to be used by someone who wielded power over me. I had been used as a tool when I was alive. In my undeath, I had sworn I would never be forced to do anything against my will again. I forced myself to think, to remember more.
"Oliver?" Amile had noticed something was wrong in the set of my muscles. Perhaps the way my shoulders hunched.
"Amelie," I whispered. "Help me... Help me remember..."
I heard Amelie gasp as I turned to face her. The box of her dear friend's remains fell to the floor, but the lock stayed latched. Disappointing, I thought.
"Oliver!" Amelie cried as she rushed toward me. "Your face!"
Now that she mentioned it, my face did seem to be wet. Certainly I wasn't crying, as my vision wasn't blurred. I blinked and when I opened my eyes again, things had taken on a decidedly reddish hue. I lifted a hand to my face. When I pulled it back, there was blood on it. My blood. It appeared that I seemed to be bleeding from my eyes and nose. Now that I realized it was happening, I could feel it dripping from my ears to land on my shoulders.
And yet, I had to remember. I had to. Not only for myself, but for my Founder, my lady, my queen, my lover. And as she ran across the room to me, her face full of fear - as I felt my knees buckle and saw the world tilt as I collapsed - I realized that she wasn't just another woman. And that I could never truly harm her, despite my own ambitions.
I was trapped. I would never be the crowned leader of Morganville. I would never rule alone. To rule alone would be to go back to the Oliver I used to be - the one who had come sweeping into this town a little over two years ago, seeking nothing but power. To rule alone would mean going back to being the Oliver who didn't know what love was. And in that moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, as I reached my trembling hands out to the woman who now owned my heart, I desperately hoped I would never again be alone. Her fingers touched mine, and I prayed to a God I wasn't sure could still hear me that she would still be with me when I awoke.