A/N: Yeah, I update a lot if you hadn't already noticed. I try to write at least one or two chapters a night and get them posted. Hopefully I can keep this going. Well, I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. I think it's just one of those things you have to get through to keep the story going. Yeah, that must be it. ((sigh)) Well, on with it...
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"Death is the only inescapable, unavoidable, sure thing. We are sentenced to die the day we're born." –Gary Mark Gilmore
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Chapter 12
In Which Death Is Inevitable
"Jack?" Cappi called, knocking on the front door of the old Porter house.
"Jack?" she called again. No answer.
She had already knocked several times and was starting to get rather aggravated with Jack's lack of answer.
"This is stupid," she sighed.
She turned to leave when she heard a loud groan come from inside the house.
"Jack?" Cappi called once more.
"It's open," she heard him mumble.
She grasped the doorknob and pushed the rickety door open. She was greeted, upon entering the house, by the sight of Jack lying face-down on the sofa. There were beer bottles strewn all over the room and a bookshelf had been knocked over, leaving books scattered across the floor. Also, sometime during the night, Jack had stripped off his t-shirt and jeans, leaving him clad in nothing but a pair of dark green boxers.
"Well, this is lovely," Cappi muttered to herself.
She closed the door and crossed the room. She stood over Jack with her arms cross, tapping her foot loudly.
Jack looked up from his pillow and smiled at her sheepishly.
"Ugh, this is ridiculous," she said, pushing Jack out of her way, eliciting a groan from him, and plopping next to him on the couch.
He smiled at her again and placed his head in her lap.
"Ugh," she said again, "How much did you drink?"
Jack just shrugged. "Not much," he lied, but the empty bottles were quick to give him away.
"How old are you again?" Cappi asked sarcastically, pushing the hair out of his eyes.
"Eighteen," he replied, grinning.
Then, without warning, he leaned up and captured her lips in a rough kiss.
"Jack!" Cappi shrieked, pushing him away, "What the hell was that?"
He just shrugged again and put his head back into her lap.
"God, Jack, what am I going to do with you?" she asked, stroking his hair gently.
He shrugged once more and snuggled closer to her.
"Come on," Cappi said after a few minutes, "You take a shower, and I'll fix you some coffee."
"I don't have a coffee machine," he said, standing up.
"Well, then I'll go get you some," she replied, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
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An hour later, Jack was fairly sober, dressed, and sitting in Cappi's car ready to go.
She drove him down Main Street, giving him as much of an overview of the last one hundred years as she could, with Jack stopping her every now and then to ask questions. He was constantly adding his own memories of places to her stories about how they had changed since 1901.
At noon, they stopped for lunch at a small restaurant in the center of town. And afterwards, Jack had Cappi drive him out of the heart of town, down the winding country roads to the cemetery.
"I don't see why you wanted to come here," Cappi said, slamming her car door impatiently.
"Where's your family's plot?" Jack asked, ignoring her agitated tone and heading to the cemetery gates.
"This way," Cappi said, moving in front of him.
She led him through the front gates and to the left. After a short walk, she stopped in front of a fenced in plot, opened the gate, and entered.
"Here it is," she said, glancing around nervously.
Cappi didn't like cemeteries—never had, never would. They held an air of mystery and intrigue she didn't care to investigate. And the foreboding since of doom that lingered there always seemed to cling to her clothes and follow her home.
Jack read each tombstone carefully before he found what he was looking for. He knelt in front of the grave. Cappi watched cautiously. Only when she noticed the name on the tombstone in front of Jack did she know why they had come.
Elizabeth Marie Thatcher
7 September 1884 – 21 March 1952
"Perhaps even these things, one day, will be pleasing to remember." –Virgil, Aenid
After a long while of just sitting and staring, Jack stood and headed for the gate.
"Are you okay?" Cappi asked tentatively.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said.
"Are you sure?" she questioned.
Jack nodded, "She was happy, right? I mean, she got everything she wanted, right? A husband? Kids? Death?" When he spoke the word death, his voice rang with venom.
"Seems that way," Cappi said, "But Jack, listen, there are other girls out there. I mean, come on, there are lots of people who would give their right arm for immortality. Why don't you fall in love with one of them?"
He stopped dead in his tracks and reeled around to face her.
"It's not that easy," he said through gritted teeth.
"Well, it can't be that hard, can it?" Cappi asked, "I mean, millions of people fall in love every day. Why can't you?"
"Me? Me! Fall in love? Are you mad? I'm not going through that again. Besides, you can't just choose to fall in love. You can't choose anything in life."
"Sure you can," Cappi said, "I mean, look at you. Think of all the things you can do with your life. You've got eternity."
"It's not that easy," Jack said again.
"Well, why the hell not?" she asked, raising her voice slightly.
"Because death is inevitable. No matter who you are," he whispered.
Cappi just sighed. By now they were at the car, and she felt it would be best if she didn't push the matter any farther.