Authors: Dee Willson
Bryce
takes my hand and leads me to the credenza.
“Close
your eyes,” he says. I do and he places my hands on the credenza. “Everything
has a magnetic currency that pulsates against the magnetic pull of gravity. If
you concentrate, you can feel it.”
I try, but
all I feel is wood grain begging to be touched. And, to be honest, a tad dizzy.
“It’s
quite simple, actually. Every particle radiates at a specific frequency. The
object as a whole need only resonate at the frequency of gravity, 1012 hertz,
or the frequency between short radio waves and infrared radiation, to lose its
weight. So, if you use electromagnetic force to suspend gravity, you can render
anything, even stone, weightless.”
I stare in
awe. “Sure, that sounds simple.”
“It is,”
he says. “Even Einstein’s Unified Field theorized that gravity is really a
frequency. How do you think all those heavy basalt monoliths got to Easter
Island? Nan
Madol
? Stonehenge?”
I’m too
exhausted to comment. My head is no longer working. I wander to the living room
and plop onto the couch.
“I should
call Grams and Gramps, they’ll want to know what happened here.”
I dig
through my purse for my cell. I should’ve called them earlier, but by the time
I had the chance it was almost midnight, and I didn’t want to worry them. There
wasn’t anything they could do from Florida and Gramps has the flu. When I get
their answering machine I leave a message, trying to sound light and breezy,
but it comes off fake. I mumble something about Abby being okay then suggest
they call me when they have a minute. I dread the thought of hitting them with
more bad news.
I’m
putting my phone away when the doorbell rings.
“Who the
hell is that?” I leap from the couch in a sudden panic.
Bryce
closes the space between us in an instant. “Hey, now, relax,” he says, pulling
me close. “I ordered breakfast. You mentioned you haven’t eaten since brunch
yesterday.”
I deflate
like a balloon. He’s right, Abby and I had a late breakfast with Grams and
Gramps in Florida and caught a midday flight home. The plan was to grab
something to eat on the way from the airport.
Bryce
lowers me to the couch to answer the door, returning with a wicker picnic
basket.
“I didn’t
know the bakery had delivery,” I mumble as Bryce arranges the food on a
blanket.
“They
don’t.” He smiles, all teeth, the confession of a rogue. He seems totally at
ease now, as if there’s nothing left he can’t handle.
I wish I
felt the same.
“You will,
don’t worry,” he says.
“Stop
that.” I cringe. Now that I’m wise to this particular talent, I find it
obtrusive.
“Sorry.
I’ll try to respect your privacy.” He smiles, cocky. “Now eat.”
Breakfast
looks yummy and smells even better. I gulp the tea, burning my tongue in the
process, and devour slices of apple and cheese without any recollection as to
how they taste. The only sign I’m content is the rumble in my belly when I reach
for another croissant.
“When will
the caffeine kick in?” I mumble. “I need to get Abby.” I’m holding my face up,
elbows planted to support the weight of my head.
“It won’t.
I ordered decaf. You don’t drink caffeine.” He flashes another naughty grin.
“And Abby is spending the day at Lil’ Monster’s Play House with Sofia and
Nanna. You are going to sleep.”
With that,
Bryce scoops me from the couch without so much as a catch in his breath and
carries me to bed. I don’t have the energy to argue. He carefully lowers me
onto my side, sliding me under my oversized duvet, clothes and all. The quilt
adopts me in a womb of warmth. My eyelids flutter and my breath slows to a
hush, preparing for hibernation. Tender fingertips brush the hair from my face,
pausing to caress my cheek.
“I won’t
leave the house, so only sweet dreams.”
I follow
Bryce’s fading silhouette to the door.
“Hey,
you,” I whisper, my vision descending into nothingness.
Like a
distant dream Bryce rests his body beside mine, tucking me into his form and
wrapping his arm around me.
Serenity
rules my every cell.
There is
nothing to fear with my white knight by my side.
W
hen I wake
I have no idea what time it is. The clock reads 2:15, but I doubt it’s correct.
I roll over and bump another body in the dark.
“Hey,”
says Bryce.
“Hey,” I
breathe. “Is it really two o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Actually,
it’s two in the morning. You slept the entire day and half the night. I think
you were hit with more than you could handle, and your body needed to reboot.”
I can
scarcely see his profile. He’s stretched out beside me, his hands folded across
his chest like a mummy. The blinds cover the windows and only a tiny bit of
moonlight affects the room.
“Are you
still tired? Do you want to sleep more?” He’s speaking ever so softly.
I shake my
head. I don’t want to get up though. I feel strangely at ease considering what
I’ve learned and experienced. It’s Bryce that has me feeling this way, calm.
It’s in the way he watches over me, giving me just enough room to think. How he
stayed with me, knowing the police would point fingers. The way he’s trusted me
with his secrets, his truths. I not only find myself believing his testimony,
I’m attracted to him like never before.
And now,
now I only want to listen to his voice, the smooth cadence of his European
accent.
“Your
Grams and Gramps called. I told them about the break in and they insisted on
coming home. Their flight got in this evening and they came straight here but
you were sound asleep and they didn’t want to wake you. I promised I wouldn’t
leave you alone and convinced them to take Abby home to get some rest. They’ll
be back this morning. I called a maid service. They finished cleaning so the
house is safe for Abby’s eyes. And your insurance adjuster called, he’ll drop
in this afternoon.”
Bryce
attempts to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt, to no avail. He sighs and
continues with his summary.
“I
apologize for taking the liberty, but I ordered groceries online. They were
delivered last night, so the fridge and cupboards are stocked enough to offer a
few days’ respite. Nanna baked you an apple pie, which is in the fridge. Thomas
came to see you. He wasn’t pleased with me being here and things got a little
out of hand until Grams suggested Thomas leave and call you later. Your cell
has been ringing. A lot. Oh, and I talked to Karen. She’s not happy with me
either. I didn’t want her coming to the house to check Maxi before the police
arrived, so I lied, convincing her you’d agreed to have Maxi come stay at my place
with me.” He groans. “She expects you to call her when you wake.”
“Wow,
thank you. Like, seriously.” Words can’t describe my gratitude. “I can’t
believe I slept through all that.”
I feel
Bryce shrug in the dark. “No problem.”
“Bryce.” I
pause, worried I’m about to ruin the relaxed atmosphere. “How do you
know . . . everything you know? I get that you’re an old soul,
an ancient soul, but I am too, and I can’t do the things you can.”
He rolls
closer and I see the strong lines of his face in the glow of his eyes. The
sight takes my breath away when I realize this is something only I see, the
silver sparks in his eyes. It makes me feel unique, special, connected to Bryce
in a way I can’t explain.
Bryce
hesitates, but only for a second. “I was born and raised, just like you.” He
reaches for my hand then freezes when I entwine my fingers with his.
“You
thought I’d flinch at your touch, didn’t you?”
“Freak,
actually.” He falls quiet for a moment, taking in the sensation of my caress.
“I figured when exhaustion wore off you would . . . I was pretty
sure you’d be . . .” Firecrackers explode in his eyes. “You’re
not afraid of me.”
“Should I
be?”
“No. I’d
give my life for yours.”
I chuckle
at the scope of his declaration then stop when I notice he’s serious.
“Will he,
the lost soul . . . will he return?”
Bryce
stares into the dark, troubled, then shakes his head as if dislodging an image.
“It won’t
help you to worry. I’m here. And few lost souls will disrespect a Keeper.”
“A what?”
He leans
in close. “I am a Keeper.”
I’m lost
already.
“A Keeper.
As in, ‘that one’s a keeper!’” I pretend to hold an imaginary fishing rod taut
with a sizable fish.
“I can see
this is going to be difficult,” he says, deadpan.
I’ll bite.
“What’s a
Keeper?”
“Keepers
are the guardians of sacred mythology and the oldest of souls. The soul of a
Keeper carries memories as far back as time itself, and can recall the
knowledge with the dawn of each new life. We are born knowing our ancestral
history, the powers of the ancients, and we use this information to do amazing
things. We are the scholars and teachers of every lifetime, guarding the
history and knowledge of the human race for eternity.”
Holy crap.
“That’s . . .
epic. I was expecting . . .” What was I expecting? I think I was
leaning toward superhero status, like Superman, or mythical like Hercules.
“You’re an old soul who remembers past lives.”
“Yes. I am
a Keeper, a Librarian of Lemuria.”
“Librarian
of Lemuria,” I repeat, letting the words sink in. “Lemuria, the ancient
civilization. What’s all the hocus pocus for if you’re a teacher and
librarian?”
Bryce
shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I don’t mean librarian in the literal
sense. I’m talking about my mind. I was born carrying knowledge of the entire
human race in my head. Every catastrophe this planet has experienced since the
dawn of man, every civilization to inhabit the Earth. All these experiences are
filed in my mind. I hold the answers to questions that baffle man like,
where
do we come from?
This information is within us, guarded by the Keepers.”
Okay.
That’s big.
“Us, there
are more of you?”
“Twelve.”
“A dozen
Keepers,” I mutter in shock.
“Yes.”
I pegged
him for a one-off, a stranded breed from some alien planet, or a genetic quirk.
I’ve tossed around the idea of an entire race of extraterrestrials that live
among us or some sort of covert government project gone awry. Not one of my
speculations were even close to the mark.
“Let me
get this straight. There are twelve people wandering around who know
everything.”
“Twelve
men.”
“Seriously,
all men?” There has got to be a joke in there.
Bryce
rolls his eyes. “Our purpose is to enlighten, to teach. We help souls, new
souls, old souls, lost souls, people of every race, every culture, from every
geographical region on this planet. Keepers speak in private conferences, we
teach at special schools, and we contribute to writings of historical
relevance. We help scientists, scholars, archaeologists, and historians
discover the truth in digestible doses. We wander, as you say, helping old souls
understand our world, or as usually is the case with lost souls, find the way
to inner peace.”
“All
twelve of you.”
“You seem
to have difficulty with this number. It’s not really relevant at the moment.”
“How do
you know the exact number? What happens when one of you dies or reproduces? Can
you make babies? And if you guys are all over the world, how do you keep track
of each other? Do you mean that there are twelve of you right now?” I’m
animated, hands flying this way and that.
Bryce
chuckles, adjusting his position. He smells like soap and apples. It’s
distracting.
“I’m
trying to tell you what we do, and you’re hung up on quantity. There are twelve
Keepers. There have been twelve of us since the dawn of man, and there will be
twelve of us tomorrow, the day after, and a million years from now. We stay in
touch like everyone else does. We don’t just die, and yes,” he stops to catch
his breath, “we reproduce.”
“You can
make babies.” I have no clue why I grab hold of this tidbit of info.
Bryce
flashes two rows of brilliant white teeth. “We quite enjoy it, actually.”
My throat
runs dry. For the first time since waking I register the close proximity of our
bodies and that we are in my bed. In the dark. Alone. The ceiling fan softly
swishes, giving rise to stray hairs but offering nothing to buffer the heat
radiating from his skin, warming me like a fire. I kick off the covers, piling
the duvet between us. He spies my wall of down, my defense, a rue smile on his
lips. I swallow the lump in my throat and change the subject.
“You said
you’re immortal—”
“No, I
said ‘we don’t just die.’ Our soul returns to experience another lifetime in
another form.”
Something
awful occurs to me. “So, this lost soul, he could hurt you, kill you, the
physical you?”
“I
suppose.”
“You suppose?
What does that mean? You either die or you don’t.”
Bryce
rights the blanket wall I’ve flattened. “If you held a gun to my chest and I
let you pull the trigger, the bullet would pierce my heart, leaving me to bleed
faster than I could heal.”
“So, you can
die.”
“If I
choose,” he says, shrugging.
I growl,
frustrated with talking in circles. “What do you mean, ‘if you choose’?”
“I’m
strong, fast, and smart. If you stood before me with a gun, I’d have many
options. I could run, actually disappear from your line of vision. I could
remove you from my presence, physically. Or I could convince you to turn the
gun on yourself, with or without the use of my voice.”
“Shit.
What the hell happened to free will?” I mutter.
“Lost
souls aren’t the only ones who can manipulate a person’s right of choice. It’s
an option we use out of desperation, one we don’t take lightly, and it comes
with consequences.”
I think
about this for a moment. “How do you die then?”
“Old age.
Most of us wish to grow old and die when our current bodies have lived enough.
Occasionally we die by accident.”
“All those
super powers and you can be killed in an accident?”
“We’re not
perfect. We can be caught off guard and not react quickly enough. It doesn’t
happen often, but history has examples. A few Keepers have voluntarily ended a
lifetime due to an overwhelming loss. Again, it’s rare, but it happens.”
Before
Meyer died, I never considered ending my life, even when times were tough. I
suppose I didn’t think about it after either. I could never leave Abby. But
there were moments I wondered what it would be like to put less effort into
breathing.
“You elect
to die of old age,” I say. “Does this mean you can choose not to?”
“We can
delay the process of cell breakdown, of age, but we can’t stall it indefinitely.
There was a time when every old soul could do this, could live for years beyond
today’s standard, but the power has been lost to all but the Keepers. A Keeper
is born knowing who he is, where he’s from, and what he must do. We are guided
by our parents, our fathers, generation after generation, and taught how to use
the knowledge and power we are born with. At times this can be an overwhelming
burden.” He accidently topples my barricade to sweep the hair from my face. “To
help, we are able to slow the learning process, extend time. Coupled with a
skewed grasp on maturity and responsibility, we sometimes linger, living off a
natural high and relishing in life’s perks.”
This
explains Bryce’s promiscuous tendencies. It also reminds me of Thomas’s warnings.
I look at Bryce’s hand only an inch from my chest and wonder how it would feel
on my bare skin, how I would feel if he were to touch me.
Bryce
coughs and rights the covers.
I smile.
That’s
what you get for intruding on my thoughts.
He ignores
me. “Some think it’s for the best. Just because we are capable of suspending
time, doesn’t mean we should. In fact, very few Keepers opt for more than one
lifetime. I don’t know any willing to experience the loss of more than one
generation of loved ones. That and society changes too much to adapt. Most of
us do, however, choose to halt the aging process at some point.”
I think of
all the folklore surrounding gifts of eternal life: sacred peaches, the
fountain of youth, the Holy Grail. I study Bryce’s hands. They are flawless and
strong.
“How old
are you?”
“I was
born to Lina and Renault Waters thirty-four years ago.” He pauses to
investigate my expression. “I had a great time in my twenties. How many people
can say they celebrated their twenty-first birthday eight times?” He flashes a
devilish grin. “Based on appearance, you might think Thomas is my older
brother, but he’s actually my little brother by two years. Thomas looks older
because he settled sooner, only staying three extra years in his late teens.”
Even though
I comprehend what he’s saying, I’m shocked to hear a personal example. I think
of Bryce and what I know of Thomas, and as inconceivable as this is, it
actually fits.