The black winged fly swerves in the heat that is accumulating in the room. Its silent buzz is being drowned out by the constant hum of the ceiling fan. Its curiosity steers it in the path towards the twenty-six year old woman that slept in a dead slumber in-between ruffled sheets.
The unwanted guest lands on her cold nose and it begins its investigation of her face. Pale and unusually pretty, Carol's face beams as the sunshine from the Toronto sky lands down on her from her open window above her bed. Heat comes in lazily with the wind, making the lavender-blue curtains ruffle. She twitches and begins waking when the fly has reached her forehead. Her once rosy lips are now pale and her long black hair appears to be breathing as it surrounds her and devours her form.
Across from her sleeping form sits a young man. Maybe young by current standards, but his heart had stopped beating decades before and he had been impossibly lonely. His travelling from England to here had not been a surprise; he had wanted a new life, a new opportunity.
My body is sleeping, but my mind is still awake, not being disturbed by the fly other than several moments of twitching.
I waited for you, the voice is back in my head, for so long.
Am I dead? I ask, eyes unmoving and breathing steady.
No, the voice answers. But you aren't exactly alive either.
This leaves the conversation in silence as my subconscious begins to unmask what the voice is meaning to say. My right hand moves, an involuntary action, but all the same the mysterious stranger walks to my bedside and clutches onto my hand.
"Lucas?" I murmur, how do I know him?
"I am right here, my Carol," he speaks in his accent, and it sends chills up my spine. "You are safe and well, you just need rest."
"Am I not dead Lucas?" I ask, beginning to fight my way through unconsciousness. "Last time I checked, I was taking a swan dive."
My sense of humor is lost on him as he bends over to kiss me, his cold, firm lips on mine. My heart doesn't skip a beat; it doesn't seem to beat at all, so my eyes do justice as they pry themselves open at that exact moment. Lucas moves back and stares at me, unsurprised. I sure am surprised. This man, this beauty is staring at me with a face I had never seen before, love?
"Yes," he answers my silent question. "I have been waiting for a long time."
I sit up quietly, the fly long gone, and reach up to touch his face. It is delicate, yet firm. His eyes give the appearance of age: they act as doors to his history, something that taints him to be this way. They are grey and they study me intensely. His blond hair is impeccably perfect and short and the lips that kissed me, not too long ago, were now traced in a concerned line.
"You waited for me?" I finally murmur, in awe that someone would ever wait for me.
"Yes, for a decade and a half actually." He speaks quietly, but I hear him perfectly. "I began to long for you when you were in the accident with your parents."
I shake my head, something was off with his story, "Okay, first off, I was not with them during the accident and second off, judging from your looks, you must have been around ten as well, that doesn't make sense."
He sighs and holds my hands, which may I say, have the most beautiful nails on them, am I really me? "You were in the accident, but you suffered severe brain damage that led to permanent memory loss. And," he says, obviously preparing for a speech he had planned out while I slept, "I am not typical."
What do you mean? I ask and then realize that I am not speaking.
"I am, well, not human, in the whole scheme of things. Technically, I am dead, as are, I am sorry to say, you." He says, mustering up the strength to look into my eyes.
"You said I wasn't dead, and I am sorry, did you just read my mind?" I ask him, never letting go of his hand, what is with this guy? Why am I so intrigued by him instead of feeling fearful?
"I said that you are both living and dead. There are many of us; we are not the only ones. And the mind reading, well," he moves closer to me and grabs my face in his hands, my own hands feeling oddly empty on the bed covers, "That's how I knew you and I were meant to be."
I stare into his deep eyes that I have a feeling have seen a lot and I ask, nearly breathless, "‘How you knew that we were meant to be’?"
Yes, the voice says again, this time sounding a lot more familiar. If I can speak to you through my thoughts, it means we are connected on more than any physical or emotional levels, we are as One.
If I had a heart beat (that is odd by the way) I know that it would be going pretty fast right about now.
"When I thought that you were going to die in my own hands and I almost didn't make it," His face scrunches up in a pained expression as he grabs my hands again, "A part of me almost died. One thing was to watch you go through years with the loneliness that plagued your heart, but this was all together too painful."
I never take my eyes off of his face, his unearthly beauty captivates me. So I did try to kill myself?
He nods his head and answers, yes.
And you saved me? I silently ask again.
Why? Why would anyone save me? I add the end unwillingly, not wanting him to see my loneliness.
Because I love you. He answers easily, not batting an eyelash as he stares back at my expression of distinct surprise.
I feel no denials or fear as I say, I love you too.
I don't know how or when it happened, but I realize that I truly do love him. My fascination with him goes beyond words, beyond normal human emotions. But, I ask cautiously, how did you save me?
He looks slightly uncomfortable, but says, I killed you, you are alive because I killed you.
The air rushes out of me and is replaced by questions but he shakes his head. No, not now. Sleep. He kisses my forehead, which oddly makes me feel protected and I softly fall back into the darkness, dreamless slumber that had been my surroundings for God only knew how long.