An Ever Fixéd Mark (50 page)

“He’s in Chicago indefinitely,” he looked at
the woman, who was holding a book. One of Ben’s books. One of her
books.

“Are you staying here?” Lizzie glared at the
girl, who was wearing a turtleneck.

“I’m staying here until he sells it,” the
boy … he was too young to have such a nice apartment as Ben’s…
looked at her softly.

“How? How do you know Ben?”

“I work for him,” the boy answered
kindly.

“Can we help you with something?” the girl
finally spoke, much less pleasantly than her friend. Lizzie
swallowed hard thinking of her using the kitchen and not keeping it
in the right order.

“I was … I just wanted to talk to Ben,”
Lizzie managed to explain without crying.

“I have to call him later. Is there
something you need me to pass on?”

“Um,” Lizzie bit on her lip, fully aware
that she was just as capable of calling him herself. He was gone.
Gone from Massachusetts. Gone from the city he stayed in or near
for most of his two centuries. Because of her. Because he didn’t
want to see her. “Just tell him that Elizabeth said hi.”

The girl looked at her and then the boy
standing in the doorway with a knowing smirk. Her name meant
something to them. “I’ll do that,” the boy lifted his smile.

“Thanks,” Lizzie swallowed and rushed down
the stairs out into the cold January evening.

Lizzie couldn’t feel the movement of her
legs as she walked into the gym and changed her clothes. She didn’t
remember leaving the locker room and getting on the treadmill. She
merely watched the animation of her mileage go around the virtual
track again and again until her mind was too tired to resist
returning to the boy in Ben’s apartment.

Chicago. He left Boston. For good? No. No,
he left before. He went to France to forget her. Her? Not her…
Lily. Lily was her. He tried to forget Lily. But he didn’t. He came
back for Lily. He would come back for her. She didn’t want him to
come back, did she? She walked away from him. She left him. Not to
choose Oliver. In the end, that wasn’t what it was about, right? It
was about not being with one of them anymore. It was to set herself
free from those monsters.

Then why was she so sad? Why did she go to
his apartment? Was she really that upset by Oliver? Oliver still
wanted her. Oliver still loved her. Would he ever stop loving her?
Would he love her enough to not hurt her?

She watched the virtual track fill into the
next mile marker. It was better without him. Them. She was going to
be all right by herself. She was… well maybe not happy, but okay.
She had her friends. Her family. She was taking good care of
herself. For herself. Not just to become good food.

She picked up her pace as she thought about
the teeth at her neck. Not Oliver’s… that summer night in Ben’s
apartment. Sitting with him on the couch, feeling her pulse.
Staring into his green green eyes as the freckles faded from his
skin. The rapid beat of his heart and the warming of his flesh with
her blood. It was intoxicating in a way nothing else ever was.
Empowering. Thrilling. Would she never feel that way again?

*****

Lizzie climbed the stairs
slowly, hearing laughter and voices from the living room. She
paused at the landing to rest her weary leg muscles and hang up her
winter coat. She glanced into the crowd circled around the room,
blocking the television set. Meg glanced away from the conversation
and waved without interrupting the discussion of Byron’s
Don Juan
. Meg was
hosting another study night, something Lizzie knew she did to
divert her broken heart from Alec. Most of the time Lizzie was at
the gym, but even with her thwarted errand and extra mileage, she
was home early enough to observe the end of the meeting.

Lizzie smiled back at Meg and was about to
turn away when she caught the stare of a student. Lizzie knew she
recognized the young, dark haired woman. She mindlessly returned
the blatant gaze as she summoned the oxygen back to her brain and
memory. It was that young thing who was on Alec’s arm in Starbucks.
The snippy brunette Alec sent to get coffee while he made
suggestive remarks to Lizzie about… Ben.

Lizzie shifted her eyes quickly with the
realization. Was she one of Meg’s undergrads? Did Meg have any
clue? Did… what was her name? Claire. Did Claire remember Lizzie
from Starbucks? She heaved a quick release from her lungs and
headed towards the kitchen.

Lizzie filled her water bottle and then
stared into the refrigerator as all her thoughts swirled in her
head. Ben. No, not Ben. Not Chicago. Alec’s little minion. Glaring
at her. How dare she. She was only what? Eighteen. Maybe nineteen.
Lizzie was going to tell Meg. Not that she had much of a right. She
and Meg still didn’t talk much. Things weren’t bad between them.
But they still weren’t back to good.

Lizzie retrieved an apple and shut the
fridge. She was startled to see the dark haired Claire standing in
the kitchen entrance. She offered a short lived smile before
bringing a half full wine glass to the sink to empty it down the
drain. Lizzie soured her lips, wondering which of her bottles Meg
offered that group. Not that Lizzie was drinking any more… but… she
froze as Claire’s dark eyes focused on her once more.

The look was familiar and frightening and
made her think of all the reasons she ran and ran and ran on the
treadmill. Claire was hungry.

“
You don’t like wine?”
Lizzie dared herself the question.

“Not very much, no,” the girl shifted her
lips to a smile of mutual knowledge. How had Lizzie not noticed it
before? In those scant moments of irritation with Alec during a
heat wave? Was Alec one of her sources? She wasn’t eighteen or
nineteen. She had the age in her eyes, age well beyond her skin or
lips or slender figure.

Lizzie felt the movement of her blood flow,
the runner’s high muted by the frustration she tried to rid from
herself. She knew her cheeks flushed with color, revealing the
recognition that increased Claire’s smile as two other students
brought empty wine glasses to the sink.

Lizzie nodded and smiled as Claire turned to
the conversation about Byron’s poetry. She capped off her water
bottle and swiftly exited the kitchen. Did Meg know one of her
students was a vampire? Never mind the association with Alec. Never
mind Alec. Did that mean… did Meg know? Did she… did she know they
were real?

Lizzie paused again in the stair hall,
peering into the living room where Meg was laughing amongst the
crowd rising from their seats. Did she know? Could Lizzie talk to
her when everyone left? Could she… could she tell her everything
about Ben and Oliver… and Lily?

She heard voices moving out of the kitchen
and darted up the stairs. She didn’t want to face Claire and her
hungry eyes. Not with the endorphins still powering the oxygen in
her veins. She slipped in her room and waited for the din of
conversation to die down.

She turned on her computer to distract the
remaining minutes until the students left the house. She stared
mindlessly at the desktop as the voices quieted. She turned away
from her neglected keyboard when she heard giggling come up the
stairs. Meg didn’t ascend the stairs alone. She couldn’t identify
the other laughter. There was no conversation, just the sound of
the door closing and the sudden vibration of music coming through
the wall between their rooms.

Lizzie took in a breath. That was the reason
Meg hosted study sessions with her class at the house. She wanted
one of her students to stay. If she couldn’t be with Alec, Meg was
going to be him.

It wasn’t… no, it couldn’t be… Claire… who
went into that room. It wasn’t the vampire. That girl, woman, thing
wouldn’t have come into the kitchen with that knowing look if Meg
was her source. Right? Lizzie felt her head swim. Too many
thoughts. Maybe she made it up. Another dream to distract her
conscious from the fact she never told Meg about seeing Claire with
Alec that summer day at Starbucks. A distraction from the more
depressing reality that Ben moved away and left Boston. He left
her.

She turned back to her idle computer screen.
She pulled up the Internet and went on Facebook. She didn’t visit
as frequently since Ben stopped being a part of her life. She
didn’t take down the pictures of them together. She didn’t want to.
She didn’t know if she ever could. She looked through her friends
list and was relieved to see Ben hadn’t deleted her. Not that it
mattered. He never went on there. But just in case he broke his
routine, she clicked on his profile.

He was on recently, accepting friend
requests. She saw a few comments from a pretty redhead named
Cecilia. She was the CEO or whatever of the Chicago clinic. The
comments were relatively harmless. A few notes of appreciation for
all his work… and delight in his relocation to Chicago. Lizzie
looked at his info page. He changed his current location to
Chicago. Nothing else changed. He didn’t have a relationship
status. He never did.

She saw the option to send a message. She
clicked it and opened the window. She watched the cursor blink, not
sure what to say or how to begin. What could she say? Please don’t
move to Chicago? I just met a vampire in my house? Come back to
Boston to be with … someone who didn’t have enough self control to
be faithful to a man who loved her for two centuries? Maybe… maybe
Ben didn’t want to be near her. Maybe he realized it was best for
them both to be separate. He moved away. To Chicago. To a redhead
named Cecilia.

She was tired but felt agitation in her
limbs as she shut off her lights and tried to close out her
thoughts with music from her computer. She couldn’t run more miles
at that hour to shake the anxiety out of her head. She would go for
a long run the next day. Along the Charles. He wouldn’t be walking
there. Not in the middle of the week. Not… not when he was in
Chicago. But she would run. She would run all the thoughts and
agitated energy into the ground.

She ran. She kept running. The music on her
iPod pressed her forward in a rhythm as steady as her heartbeat.
She had her back to the Museum of Science and kept running,
running, running towards the Mass Ave. Bridge. The people on the
path were a blur. The river faded into the gray mist of the
clouds.

It started raining. Softly at first and then
suddenly a downpour. Her clothes soaked through. But she kept
running. She wouldn’t run on the grass. She would slip on the mud
and hurt her ankle. Ben wouldn’t be there to take her home. It was
a long way back to the train. A long walk back to the kitchen with
its warm fire and Annie’s fresh bread. She wasn’t hungry. She
wanted to keep running. She saw a path of white rose heads leading
her out of the yard. There were more and more and more all the way
down the path to the marsh. She ran to shelter herself from the
rain, where the green eyes turned and smiled in expectation. She
didn’t hesitate and kissed him. He unzipped her sweatshirt and then
she was lying on top of him in the library. She felt his heartbeat
slowing underneath her own. She felt the vibration of its rhythm in
her bones, as it reverberated from the walls, the music in the
walls…

Lizzie opened her eyes and adjusted to the
sound of her walls pulsing. Her playlist ended, leaving vacancy for
the iambic vibrations of Meg’s music to occupy her ears. Like the
feel of a rapid heartbeat and increasing warmth of skin against her
skin…

She shut her eyes again and tried to quiet
the fury of her senses, but was unable to find ease to relax back
to her subconscious. Lizzie opened the door into the dark and empty
hallway. She went down the stairs and found her way in the
blackness to the dining room. There was a half a bottle of wine
left at the bar. She poured a glass and felt it immediately warm
her veins.

She sat in the chair where she faced Ben and
dared him to prove he could drink her blood. Where he looked at her
with sincere green eyes. The green eyes that were waiting for her
in the rain… the rain… the marsh… the water. The book under the
water. Why did the book fall under the water?

Chapter
Thirty-Two

Lizzie pulled her sweater as the board
member and his wife walked away from the reception table. She knew
the black cardigan hid the features of her dress, but it was cold
so close to the outside door. Most of the guests arrived, allowing
Lizzie to put the remaining seating cards into a neater
arrangement.

“Hi Lizzie,” Dr. Chiang approached the table
with Gerard Fulton.

“Good evening.”

“You know Mr. Fulton,” the blue eyes smiled
at Lizzie as she indicated the familiar donor. “I have some more
guests coming shortly. But I suppose we should get to our table
before they start serving dinner.”

“They just began the salad course,” Lizzie
felt herself fluster. Was it because of Dr. Chiang? Or was it
Lily’s deference to a Fulton? “I believe you are sitting with
Richard. Table 6.”

“Thank you, Lizzie,” Dr. Chiang’s smile was
too warm to justify the intimidation. She watched the pair enter
the reception hall, wondering if Gerard was as smitten with Dr.
Chiang as Richard. Even Lizzie was awestruck by her beauty in a
brilliant blue gown. It made her black sweater feel even
frumpier.

Lizzie took out her phone to fill the next
lull that descended into the lobby. She pulled up her text mailbox,
which was cluttered since before Christmas. Her most frequent
correspondent was Nora, with unrelenting invitations for dinner, to
which Lizzie often found the excuse of training to decline. She
deleted Nora’s most recent text, as well as Meg’s inquiries to her
arrival home, all the way down to her last text from Ben, saying
his flight arrived. She didn’t want to think about him. She stared
at his number and wondered if she should erase that from her phone.
She couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not yet.