Haunting Echoes

One look at Michael, however, made it all worth it. He was radiant. She didn’t think she had ever seen a happier man. When they stood together at the altar, he had stared at her with so much unadulterated love and joy that she didn’t understand how it could possibly be directed at her. He hadn’t cared what church they were married in. Throughout his lifetimes, he had practiced in different denominations, some not even Christian. All he cared about was being wed before God.

 

“What are you thinking about?” The shine in Michael’s eyes hadn’t dissipated after the ceremony. They strolled hand in hand, taking their time making it back to their room. Tomorrow, they would have to leave.

 

“How happy I am. How I wish I could give you more, that this could be the start of a long life together.”

 

Michael’s hand gripped hers tighter. “It can, Amaia. Believe.”

 

She tried, but she felt the same. Shouldn’t she feel different? What was the big deal? A few words muttered and then all was fine for Michael’s conscience? She couldn’t pretend to understand it, but she would at least try to have faith that this would work to save Michael. Nothing else had.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 47

 

 

Baden, March 1823, 1 year, 11 months later

 

 

Amaia stared through the window down at the street. Michael slept on the bed behind her. She spent a lot of time alone with her thoughts. She had never fully comprehended how much time humans spent asleep. Such precious time. They always longed for more of it, but each night they slept so much of it away. This morning, plenty of thoughts plagued her mind. Their lovemaking was incredible, but she knew it was only going to make his death more difficult. Every time they exchanged energies, he gathered more of her to take with him to the grave.

 

During the day, she believed. During the day, she had as much faith as a being unaccustomed to the feeling could muster. She tried to not only put on a brave front for Michael, but to actually believe that he wouldn’t die this time. Or, more accurately, not die so young. At night, though, when he slept, sweat cooling on his body, and she floated down from whatever heights he had sent her to, during those lonely hours until he woke, she worried, gave in to her natural fears and what her intellectual mind told her would happen.

 

Did Michael actually believe? He made it seem so easy. He was as sure of his plan to cheat death as he was of everything else in his life. When he was alone with his thoughts, behind the strong fa?ade, did he actually believe it? Sometimes Amaia felt so small, like the mortals she often mocked. What was so different about them except that she would be on Earth longer?

 

“Good morning, beautiful.” Michael’s voice was thick with sleep behind her, but distinctly happy. She always knew that, come morning, Michael would save her from herself. He was her salvation and damnation wrapped up in one.

 

“Good morning.” Amaia went to the bed and plopped down beside him, tracing her finger along his chest, watching the gooseflesh rise in her wake. She never heated her skin when they were alone. In private, she didn’t feel the need to pretend to be something she wasn’t. She was secure in the knowledge that he loved her authentic self. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“Quite well.”

 

“Good.”

 

“And what were you thinking about so intently this morning?”

 

“You don’t want to know.” Amaia rolled onto her back, only to have Michael wrap his arm around her and pull her close.

 

“Yes, I do. You can tell me anything.”

 

Amaia sighed. She didn’t want to ruin the time they had left. “You don’t have much longer.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Amaia’s eyes snapped to his. “Don’t, Michael. Don’t insult me like that. This is hard for me.”

 

“And you don’t think it’s been hard for me all these years? I can’t bear the thought of leaving you. But that’s not going to happen this time. You must believe that.”

 

“I try, Michael. I just wish I knew.”

 

“That’s impossible. We can’t know. All we can do is hope and have faith.”

 

“We could have a plan.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Amaia propped herself up on her elbow. “A plan for what we’re going to do if you die. If this doesn’t work, Michael, I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me the next time.”

 

“Don’t be absurd, Amaia. I’ve tried living without you and gained no satisfaction. I would be happy to die a hundred more deaths if it meant living a hundred more lives with you.”

 

“You came with me this time without really knowing what it would be like. Now you know. If you die again, you’ll leave this life of constant running. You’ll enter a new life that may be much better. At least it will be more peaceful. Realistically, I can’t expect you to keep entering a cycle where you have to spend your adult years running for your life.”

 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 

“It’s approaching. Fast. You only have a few days.”

 

“If we make a plan, will you promise me you’ll push it from your mind and enjoy the next few days with me?”

 

“Yes, I promise.”

 

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