Die for Me

“Okay, I feel a bit silly talking to you like this,” I said to the empty room. “Like in a minute you’re going to jump out of the closet and laugh your head off.”

The room was silent.

Hesitating, I ran my fingers lightly down his cold arm, trying not to recoil at the inhuman feel of his skin. Then, even more slowly, I leaned over to touch his mouth with my thumb. The skin was cold, but soft, and I thrilled at the sensation of my fingertips against his curved, perfect lips. Encouraged, I caressed his thick, wavy hair with my hand before touching my lips very lightly to his own. I didn’t feel anything. Vincent wasn’t there.

“Am I taking advantage of the situation,” I whispered, wondering if he was there to hear me, “since you couldn’t say no even if you wanted to?”

Though the room remained silent, I was possessed by the strangest feeling—like someone was writing on a tablet in my mind. It felt like a great effort was being expended. Like an enormous weight was being shifted. And then these two words slowly materialized in my head: I’m yours.

“Vincent, was that you?” I asked, startled. My body felt like a tree strung with a million Christmas lights that had all been switched on at once.

“Okay, if that was you, it kind of freaked me out. But that’s fine. And if it wasn’t you, then I must be completely losing it from hanging out with a dead guy. Thanks a lot for compromising my sanity,” I said, feigning sarcasm, but badly, since I was shaking.

I could almost feel a sensation of amusement drifting through the room, but it was so feeble that I assumed I was making it up. “Now you’re making me paranoid,” I said. “Before I start doing a Joan-of-Arc-hearing-voices impersonation, I think I’ll work on my history homework.”

Silence.

Leaving the bed curtains open so that I could see him, I went to sit on the couch, digging my books out of my bag and spreading them on the coffee table.

It was then that I noticed an envelope sitting on his bedside table. I saw my name written in Vincent’s beautiful script, and pulled a sheet of thick paper from inside. It was embossed with the initials VPHD centered at the lower edge, and encircled with a border of vines and leaves. Kate, it started.

I’m not always the best at expressing myself to you, so I’m taking advantage of the fact that I will be completely unresponsive when you read this, and therefore incapable of messing things up.

I want to thank you for giving me a chance. When I first saw you, I knew I had found something incredible. And since then all I’ve wanted was to be with you as much as possible.

When I thought I had lost you, I was torn between wanting you back and wanting the best for you—wanting you to be happy. Seeing you so miserable during the weeks we were apart gave me the courage to fight for us . . . to find a way for things to work. And seeing you happy again in the days we’ve been back together makes me think I did the right thing.

I can’t promise you an ordinary experience, Kate. I wish I could transform myself into a normal man and be there for you, always, without the trauma that defines my life as “the walking dead.” Since that isn’t possible, I can only reassure you that I will do everything in my power to make it up to you. To give you more than a normal boyfriend could. I have no idea what that will mean, exactly, but I’m looking forward to finding out. With you.

Thank you for being here, my beauty. Mon ange. My Kate.

Yours utterly,

Vincent

What do you do after reading the most romantic love letter—the only love letter, for that matter—you’ve ever received?

I walked over to the bed and, climbing up onto its high mattress, sat down beside Vincent’s body. I cupped his cold face with my warm hand and then, stroking his hair with my fingers, began to cry.

I cried for the loss of my former life. For the days when I would wake up in my old room, walk down the stairs, and see my mother and father sitting at the breakfast table waiting for me. I cried because I wouldn’t ever see them again, and my life would never be the same.

I thought of how, after all that loss, I had found someone who loved me. He hadn’t said it, but I had seen it in his eyes, and read it in the words he had written. My normal world was gone, in more ways than one. But I had a chance for happiness in a completely new one. A world better suited to science fiction and horror films, perhaps, but also one where I could find tenderness, friendship, and love.

Although I still longed for my old life, I knew I had been given a second chance. It was right here, suspended like a ripe fruit in front of my eyes. All I had to do was reach out my hand and take it. But first I had to let go of what I was grasping in white-knuckled fear: the past.

I was being offered a new life in exchange for the old. It felt like a gift. I felt like I was home. I opened my hand and let go. And then I cried until my swollen eyes drifted shut and I fell asleep.

 * * *

When I awoke an hour later, I didn’t know where I was for a few seconds. And then I felt Vincent’s cold body by my side, and I was suffused with an overwhelming sense of peace that made me feel stronger than I ever had before.

I heard a noise and turned to see Charlotte poking her head through the door. “I stopped by before, but you were asleep. Are you up now?”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up and slipping off the bed.

“Oh, good.” She slid inside and closed the door. “You’ve been crying,” she said after kissing my cheeks.

I nodded. “I’m fine now. But you don’t look so hot yourself.”

Charlotte’s normally radiant glow had turned sallow, and all the life that seemed to be popping and sparking around her before had disappeared. She looked sad and exhausted. “It’s Charles,” she said.

“Still no word?” I asked, pulling her down to sit next to me on the couch.

She shook her head, bereft.

“I’ve tried calling him a million times. I’ve left dozens of messages. We’ve put all the numa-controlled locations under surveillance, have paid our tipsters, and even raided an old warehouse where we thought they might be holding him. And we’ve found nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Not knowing what else to say, I rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“He’s my twin, Kate. We’ve never been apart except for when we’re dormant. I feel like I’ve lost a half of myself. And I’m really afraid for him.”

I nodded. “Vincent told me what he suspected.”

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered, shaking her head.

She leaned in toward me, and I hugged her slender frame against my own.

“Vincent’s been leaving us alone for the last few minutes, but he says he wants to be part of the conversation now.”

“Okay,” I said.

She nodded, listening to him, and her eyes welled with tears.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said, ‘We’re all lost souls here. It’s a good thing we’ve got each other.’”

Vincent’s right, I thought. Even though I’m not a revenant, I fit right in. I took a package of Kleenex out of my book bag and handed one to her.

She dabbed her eyes, and then looked at me, surprised. “Vincent says that he talked to you this morning, and that you heard!”

“So I wasn’t imagining it!” I said, awestruck. “Ask him what he said.”

“He said he told you, ‘I’m yours.’”

“That’s it!” I said, jumping up off the couch and glancing over at his body before realizing for the millionth time that he wasn’t there. “But how is that possible?” I asked her. “He told me once that revenants can only communicate with other revenants when they’re volant.”