Die for Me

Though I hadn’t known him for long, I felt that if things continued the way they had been I would fall in love with Vincent. There was no doubt about that. And if this were just the starting point, I knew that it wouldn’t be just some lighthearted romance. My heart would be swept away. I was sure of it.

And feeling like that about him, I couldn’t risk the pain of seeing him repeatedly injured, killed, or even destroyed. He had said it was possible: His immortality had its limits. After losing Mom and Dad, I refused to lose someone else I loved.

The old dictum was backward. It should be “Better not to have loved at all, than to love and have lost.” I had done the right thing, I reassured myself. So why did it feel like I had made the biggest mistake of my life?

I wrapped myself in a blanket cocoon and inched deeper into misery. I let the pain consume me. I deserved it. I never should have opened myself up.

Hours later, Mamie knocked to tell me it was time for di

“Can we come in?” Georgia’s voice came from the other side, and without waiting for a response, my sister and grandmother tiptoed cautiously into the room. Sitting down on either side of me, they put their arms around me and waited.

“Is it Mom and Dad?” Georgia asked finally.

“No, for once it isn’t about Mom and Dad,” I sputtered, half laughing, “at least, not just about Mom and Dad.”

“Is it Vincent?” she asked.

I nodded tearfully.

“Did this . . . Vincent”—I felt Mamie and Georgia look at each other over my head—“do something to hurt you?” Mamie said, ru

“No, it was me. I just can’t . . .” How could I possibly explain this to them? “I can’t let myself get close to him. It feels like too much of a risk.”

“I know what you mean,” Georgia said. “You’re afraid to love someone again. In case they disappear too.”

I put my head on Mamie’s shoulder and breathed, “It’s too complicated.”

Smoothing my hair back with her hand, and planting a kiss on the top of my head, she responded quietly, “It always is.”

I bought a bagful of novels at an English bookstore, and then retreated into the dark cave of my bedroom, telling Mamie I was “hibernating” for the weekend. She understood, and after leaving a platter set with water, tea, fruit, and an assortment of cheese and crackers on my dresser, she left me alone.

I spent the rest of my day in someone else’s story. The rare moments that I put the book down, my own pain returned in burning stabs. I felt like a circus knife thrower’s target. If I held my mind immobile, I might avoid being hit by the blades whizzing by my head. From time to time I fell asleep, but was immediately awakened by dark, tortured dreams that, once I awoke, dissolved without a trace.

I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder at times, wondering if I might see Vincent lurking in the shadows. Does he come to see me when he’s volant? I wondered. He could be floating around my bedroom for all I knew. Or maybe not. Maybe it was a case of “out of sight, out of mind” for him, and my outburst had been effective enough to stop him from trying to see me again. That was what I wanted, I told myself. Wasn’t it?

If I let myself think, that would be the end. So I disco

School was a welcome relief. It helped the days pass by in numb monotony. Finally, returning home one day, I realized in a rare jolt of clarity that it had barely been two weeks since I had left Vincent standing in his doorway. It had felt like months. I had been congratulating myself for completing a marathon when I was hardly past the starting line.

As I climbed the Métro steps onto my street, I was surprised to see a familiar figure leaning against a nearby phone booth. It was Charlotte. When she spotted me, her pretty face lit up. “Kate!” she cried, skipping up and leaning forward to kiss me on both cheeks.

“Charlotte. What a surprise!” I smiled, glancing around curiously to see if she was with someone else.

“Waiting for Charles. And here he is,” she said, her eyes fixing on the subway stairs behind me.

Charles walked up, all his limbs intact, looking healthier than ever but in a much fouler humor. He scowled when he saw me. “What’s the human doing here?” he asked.

“Um, I have a name. And to answer your question, I live here,” I responded defensively. “You’re not the only person in Paris who uses the rue du Bac Métro.”

“No, I mean, what are you doing here with Charlotte?”

“I just ran into her. Accidentally.” Why am I making excuses to this obnoxious adolescent? I wondered, a

“I thought that since you ditched Vincent, we’d never see you again.”

“Well,” I said, pasting a fake smile across my face, “here I am. So, Charlotte, it was nice to see you. Gotta go.”

I turned to walk away, but Charles shouted after me. “You just can’t get enough of us dead guys, huh? What do you want now? You want us to save your life again? Or are you going to lead us into a death trap like you did Ambrose?”

“What are you talking about?” I yelled, spi

“Nothing. I’m talking about nothing. Just forget I ever said a word,” he spat. Thrusting his hands into his jeans pockets, he turned and stalked off.

Charlotte looked at me apologetically.

“What was that about? What did I do?” I gasped.

“Nothing, Kate. You didn’t do anything. Don’t worry, it’s all Charles’s problem.”

“Well then, why did he attack me like that?” I was still motionless with shock.

“Hey, do you want to walk down to the river?” she asked, ignoring my question. “I was kind of hoping I’d run across you at some point, seeing we’re neighbors and all. Not that I haven’t seen you around, of course. I just didn’t feel like it was appropriate to run down the street after you.”

“Don’t tell me you were following me,” I said, half joking.

Charlotte didn’t answer, but gri

“What? Have you been following me?”

“Don’t worry, Vincent didn’t ask me to. It’s just that following people is what we do, and when we’re doing it nonstop, it’s hard not to follow people who interest us.”

“I interest you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Let’s see. Well, you’re the first girl Vincent has fallen for since becoming a revenant. Which already qualifies you as fascinating to the rest of us.”

“I can’t talk about . . . him,” I began to protest.

“Okay. We will avoid the topic of Vincent completely. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

“You also interest me because . . .” For once she looked much younger than her fifteen-year-old body. “I had kind of been hoping you would be a friend. Before you left, that is. It’s a bit lonely hanging out with guys all the time. Thankfully Jea

My expression must have been quizzical, because she hurriedly went on to explain. “It’s not like I can go out and make friends with just any human. They wouldn’t understand. But since you already know what we are . . .”

I gently cut her off. “Charlotte, I am incredibly flattered that you want to be friends with me. I really like you, too. But I’m still so upset about Vincent that if I hung out with you and we ran into him, it would be too hard on me.”

She looked away and nodded her head nonchalantly, as if already distancing herself from me.

“I thought you hung out with Charles most of the time,” I said.