A/N: This chapter is definitely an 'M' rating. You have been warned. Thanks so much for your wonderfull reviews. Hey, dominike, where's my cookie?
Chapter Twelve: Never
Michael
"It was Astrid." She says softly. She pulls back from me to look at me. "I heard her reading to Herr Dirnneg in Austrian. Can she write as well?"
"This is all quite unexpected." I look at Therese. In her eyes I see reflected the man she is counting on to sort out this mystery.
She looks away from me for a moment, plucking something on her skirt. "What did Thomas tell you?"
"Thomas was understandably shocked by Victor's notes. I will not lie to you, Therese. Victor writes that he has designs for you." I walk the fine line at the edge of truth. "But," I add, "Thomas said something to me as we parted. He said I was the one who knew Victor the best. And knowing him as I do, from our pursuits and his journal, I have serious doubts that what Victor put in them is the truth."
"What do you mean? That he lied about all of his work?"
"He did not lie in the beginning. His journal from my creation was accurate I believe. But the books that you just found might have purposely been altered." Therese is not as experienced with Victor. She sees a glimmer of what I am hinting at I believe.
"Since you and I have been together, it would be reasonable for him to see that you might try to find his most recent work. I believe that he wrote his last entries with the thought of misdirecting us."
"There is another possibility, someone else knows about the journals. The same person might be the one who gave Astrid the paper with my name, for I have a difficult time believing she knows anything."
Therese
"Shall I ask Astrid what she knows?" Talking to Astrid is like trying to catch a bird in a bucket. Her reasoning flits nimbly from one point to another. It can take her an hour to reply to a question you ask her.
"Yes. I want to take you back to the sanitarium. Tomorrow tell Thomas what has happened, and see if you can talk to Astrid. I'll take you back to your room. It's too cold here for you."
He extinguishes the candles and guides me down the stairs. The cold air hits me as we leave the Abbey. The moon is a crescent, lying on its side like a bowl about to spill. What little snow remains is blown across the grass, hardened into an icy crust. We walk along the edge of the trees to cover our tracks.
He sees me to my window, and helps me climb inside. "Come in," I tell him. I leave him to check the hallway and lock my door. As always, he sits at the foot of my bed and waits for me. I glance at my clock, "It's still early." I hang my coat on a peg on the wall and slip out of my cold shoes.
"Here," he says motioning for me to sit on the bed. He reaches down and takes one of my feet in his hands, rubbing it to bring the warmth back. As we sit in the light of my one small lamp, I begin to feel warm all over.
"Something happened tonight," I say to him, he looks steadily at me. "You were someone else for a while, weren't you?"
"Yes," he admits. "I'm sorry," he stops rubbing my foot; his hand cradles it like a warm living slipper. "Do you trust me, Therese?"
I nod in reply, my voice would shatter under the sudden weight of the emotions I feel. I do trust him. Even though he lost his temper this evening, I feel he would never hurt me. I clear my throat, and speak, "I think I understand how upset you were when things started coming back to you."
He shakes his head vehemently, "That is no excuse for how I treated you. I would never hurt you."
"I know he made you strong, Michael." He starts to interrupt me but I put a finger to his lips, "I know you have been trying to stop the anger. That is what is the most important, that you recognize it and are trying to stop it."
We sit together for a time. "I feel as if you aren't telling me something," I say. "You won't say it will you?"
"Say what?"
"Say that it is time for me to decide." He says nothing as he looks at me. Bless him, he has given me as much time as we both can afford to wait. I don't want to wait anymore. One thing stands between us. "Do you wish to be that man again?"
"No, that life is gone. Even if I were to try to recapture the place I held in that world, I would not be accepted." He spreads his hands, a gesture releasing his hold on something to let it float away.
How can you forget a glimpse of happiness? Can years of living be eradicated by a willful decision? What titanic act will forever close the door against the memory of loving someone? As I glimpsed the specter of the man he once was, my heart realized the loss of my Michael. To my way of thinking, I know how I can keep him.
Michael
She leans into me. Her hand on my thigh, her lips come to mine. I love the way she kisses me, but this time she surprises me by pushing her tongue into my mouth. This gentle invasion makes my blood catch fire.
"Say it," she whispers. Her soft lips brush mine.
My mind empties; I can feel my heart hammering inside my chest. She is lingering close to me and I feel her fingers lightly stroke my neck to find the end of my scar and follow it down through the material of my shirt. Her soft breath moves over my cheek as she raises her face and rubs her nose against mine.
I find her lips and begin a deep kiss; my fingers trace the sinuous line of her spine from her waist up to her neck. I feel tendrils of her hair dropping over my hands, and I realize she has taken the combs out, letting it fall.
Her hands reach behind me, into my hair and she breaks the kiss. She shifts her body, moving her thighs to either side of mine she slides onto my lap. I run my hands down to her waist as she leans back a little from me. "Ask me," she sighs.
Looking at her, she must see the question in my eyes. She kisses me again, her hands working as she does. She pulls back again, and the top of her dress is open. I watch my hand push it off of her shoulders, following it down her slim arms. The light around us highlights her smooth neck, the delicate lines of her collar bones and shades the undersides of her breasts.
My hands move over her. I wish I could sink into her, pull her around me like some warm, comforting blanket and stay this way forever. She moves back, her hands lift my face. I cannot say it. I cannot condemn her to a life with a thing like me. I don't want her to subject herself to my ugliness.
"Michael," she says. Her eyes shine in the light she looks like something from heaven, bright and pure. She holds my face, her thumb brushes the scar as she looks at me. "The man is supposed to ask…" She flashes a brief smile at me.
She kisses me quickly, hard against my lips. "I, Therese," she brushes my lips again, "Take thee, Michael."
I close my eyes. It is hard to breathe, hard to think, I can only wait for her next words.
"To be my husband…"
In that instant, I remember the power of the lightning. The immense power of its touch pales to the bolt of emotion that strikes me now. "Wife…"
My hands grasp her, move over her. I don't know whose hands are doing what, but my shirt is open and I am tugging off her chemise. I lower my head to kiss her neck, and I feel her hands pull my shirt out of my pants. She traces my scar up my torso and I capture her hand as it reaches my neck. Kissing her palm, I feel her tugging the hand away. Her fingers close on mine and she pulls my hand down to the soft peak of her breast.
I am a man loosing myself in the ever deepening well of passion. "Therese." Her eyes are glazed as she looks at me, her lips softly parted. "I will not be able to stop."
She smiles and her hands knead my shoulders, "I don't want you to."
I turn her, following her body down to the bed, my mouth tracing a line down her from chin to her stomach. I pull back long enough to help her out of the rest of her clothes, relishing the soft body that waits for me underneath.
Therese
He lies down next to me. He is so warm, his flesh feels like fire. His tongue finds my ear and I squirm. His hot breath traces over my shoulder as his hands grasp my hips. I brush my nails down his ribs to his pants; I slide a hand inside and find him ready for me. I wrap my hand around him and am rewarded with a moan from deep in his throat.
He leaves me for a moment to remove his pants and I get a look at the sword he is blessed with. I brush my fingertips over him and he grabs my hand, guiding me. We play for a moment and then he moves over me. I am so hungry for this I am nearly frantic, he is deliciously hot as he lowers his body to mine.
With greedy hands, I move to guide him. The feel of him is exquisite. I lose myself in this joining. We begin our mating with long, smooth strokes until our passion builds. I feel myself surrendering to the sensations he is eliciting from me. I roll my hips a little and fall into wave upon wave of ecstasy. I let my body rock with his as he moves deeper and more determinedly. I can feel him draw in a deep shuddering breath and he lets go of his control and completes our act of love.
We lie together panting. He moves to my side. My eyes are closed, but I can feel him looking at me.
Michael
She smiles lazily. There are small tendrils of hair curled near her neck. I brush one aside, staring at it as it curls around my finger. She is so beautiful. She has offered me the most precious gift and I am a man once again. I am transformed to something beyond this untidy heap of flesh and bone. Now I am a man, a husband, a lover, a protector.
Moving a hand to her stomach I wonder if what is in Victor's journal about us is remotely true. Is there another being even now between us? "I love you," I plant a kiss on her temple.
She joins her hand to mine. "I love you." Wrapping her in the sheet, I hold her as we drift off to sleep.
I sleep fitfully, my dreams are chaotic. I walk the sanitarium. The doors all swing open as I pass. From somewhere I hear the crying of a child. Searching the rooms, I pass like a ghost, glancing at the sleeping people as I search.
I come to the north room, the door is closed, but a tongue like fire slides along the floor from under the frame. I reach for the handle; it is hot under my palm. Grasping it quickly, I snatch it open. A burst of hot air flings the door towards me as I stagger back. The searing heat pulls the air from my lungs and I gasp.
Inside the room is a vision of hell. Smoke unfurls along the ceiling, fires flare along the walls. Suspended above the table are the two spheres. From them an ominous hum emits; the sound sets my teeth on edge as I take a step into the room.
There is something lying on the table. Along its form, long metal pins stand, pinning it down like a captured butterfly. I see blood coursing down the legs of the table; my stomach revolts at the smell. I want to back out of the room, but I hear the piteous cry of the child.
I know this is a dream, but I am still torn between leaving and finding the source of the cry. I do not want to see what is on the table. I look at the floor as I advance. My foot slides in the blood and I must make a grab for the edge of the table to keep from losing my footing. The table is hot and sticky. I feel things under my fingers; ropes of flesh and strings of wet soft objects that smell awful. The bile in my stomach creeps up my throat as my hand rests on a hand. It is cool to the touch, the fingers clenched into stiff claws.
I hear the whimper again, and turn to look.
The thing lying on the table is a mass of torn flesh. Exposed organs quiver wetly under the light that pulses from the spheres. A bolt of lightning slams into the room, I cover my ears quickly with my bloody hands. Sparks explode off the spheres above me creating a hail of stinging needles that burn where they fall on me. Their path around me sheds light on the unmoving figure. The bones in it gleam white like grinning teeth.
Cradled in the lower body is a sack that moves. Inside it I see the shape of the baby. It writhes; arms appear to push against the sack. I fear the small thing is trapped, using one of the pins from the body; I prick the edge of the sack. The baby's head pops through, its gasping mouth sucking in air.
I push the soft bloody womb off of the child, and lift it out. It is still attached to its mother by the cord. I use the pin again to rake over the flesh until the cord drops away.
I cradle the poor tiny thing against my shoulder, moving towards the door. I am jerked to a stop when I glance down into the open eyes of the flayed body on the table. The eyes are blue.
"Oh Christ." I jerk awake. Looking about the room, I am still with Therese. She lays breathing lightly in her sleep. I lay my head down again and pull her closer to me. "Never," I swear softly to the darkness. I would willfully murder every living person in this building than allow this to happen to my wife and child.
Victor may kill me. The darkness of death holds no mystery for me. But I would rather send my own soul to hell than allow him to hurt Therese. She did not ask to become a part of this tale; she is here because I found her.
Therese
I wake a number of times during the night. I am not used to having someone with me. The weight of his body creates a low spot in the mattress of the bed, and I have rolled into it. Snuggled up against him I feel warm and safe.
Sometime near dawn I feel him pull my body close to his. The hair on his chest tickles my nose. I lift a hand, lightly running my fingers along the scar that nearly cuts his torso in half. Lower, I caress him and his body responds quickly, preparing for me.
Michael
We have made love, but I am a man and I want more. Pushing aside the sheet, I roll her onto her back. Once again we perform the most intimate of dances between a man and a woman.
