The Knowledge of Love

Chapter 2: Sympathy

Chapter 2: SympathyI was surrounded by well-meaning people. Quiet people who talked together in hushed voices, took turns holding my hand, touching my shoulder, patting my knee. They offered cups of tea, glasses of brandy – as if anything could provide solace against the lancing pain in my heart.

For hours I'd sat in Matt and Misaki's cottage, distanced from a continual procession of well-meaning friends who arrived to offer comfort, share their support. It didn't make the slightest bit of difference. Nothing would make this better, nothing could bring Lucas back. Tears filled my eyes at the whisper of his name in my mind. How could I go on without him? How did I find the strength to come to terms with what happened, something which wouldn't have happened if not for my impetuousness?

Matt and Nick brought me here hours ago. Ben returned to the hospital to continue providing support to those who would survive their injuries, comfort for those who had lost loved ones. Epi was here, along with Rafe, Gwynn and William, Marianne and Striker. Rowena was beside me, had been sitting at my side for hours, clasping my hand in hers. Her touch seemed to ground me, stopping me from floating away into the subspace where I wanted to hide from the world. Yet I couldn't let go, needed her cool fingers in mine. It was the only comfort I had.

Every pack leader had been to visit, their body language displaying unease when they'd offered their condolences. People don't like death. People don't like the discomfort of seeing someone trying to cope with grief. There is no comfort in watching others breaking apart, destroyed by pain which amplifies through every nerve, every thought. There are no right words, nothing which will take the pain away. Yet they tried, these virtual strangers, tried their hardest to find something to say which would provide placation to their own terror of how they would feel, if the roles were reversed.

This felt unnatural, surreal. Lucas couldn't be dead.

It didn't make sense.

He was immortal.

The same thoughts swirled through my mind, endlessly, a swirling whirlpool of denial. I nodded to the visitors, unwilling to speak. Unable to voice a clear thought, frightened to speak in case the torrent of grief broke through the walls I'd built – holding the anguish back until I could understand the unfathomable.

We'd spoken about this so many times – my fears about growing old and dying. And yet here I was – the one left behind. The one left to deal with the memories. The ache in my chest would kill me. I didn't understand how we'd made love only hours ago and now he was gone forever. He'd been so worried about something happening to me – how could it be him who'd died?

I hadn't cried since first hearing the news, the tears refused to fall. They were bound together in a lump in my throat, compressed together and increasing the ache in my heart. The pain grew incrementally worse with every passing minute, until I thought my body would explode with it.

I tortured myself – cruelly and painfully reminding myself of what I'd lost. I would never smell his addictive scent again. Never lose myself against his mouth, feel the hardness of his cool chest beneath my fingers. He'd never lay in our bed, holding me against him throughout the night. Never again would he swing me onto his back, race across the land until it felt as though we were flying. He'd never make love to me again.

I stood up abruptly, unable to stand the claustrophobic atmosphere a moment longer and released Rowena's hand. “I'm going home,” I announced, to nobody in particular.

Rowena wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Stay here, Charlotte,” she urged softly. “Or come and stay with Ben and I. You don't want to go back to the cottage yet, give yourself some time.”

Shaking my head, I turned resolutely towards the door. “No, I want to go home.”

“I'll come with you,” Rowena offered.

“No, I want… I want to be alone,” I said. I walked shakily towards the door and slipped through it, heading towards the cottage we'd shared.

Although darkness had fallen, people still wandered in the streets. They glanced in my direction, then turned away, lowering their eyes. I ignored everyone, walking slowly towards our cottage. Our cottage. The lump in my throat worsened, making it difficult to draw breath. My chest wanted to collapse in on itself, close around my heart and kill me. At this moment, right now, I'd welcome such an event.

I slowed as I neared the cottage, dragging my feet now that I was so close. I forced one foot in front of the other until I was turning the door handle, the brass cool against my fingers.

Shutting my eyes, I took a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He was here. Everywhere around me. The slightest hint of his scent lingered and the lump in my throat tightened painfully.

I opened my eyes slowly, flicking the light switch and taking a minute to adjust to the sudden brightness. My gaze drifted toward the couch where Lucas had sat beside me, his long legs stretched out before him.

How could he be dead?

I walked upstairs at a snail's pace, pausing on each step. Dreading what came next. On the landing I turned instinctively towards the bedroom, flicking the light switch. The bed was still unmade, the covers pulled back and the sheets rumpled. Rumpled where his body had lain so close to mine. I scanned the room, pain building with each passing second. A neat stack of his clothes on the chair, waiting to be put away. A pair of his shoes. On the floor his shirt, discarded hastily before we joined the battle. I forced myself towards it and slumped onto my knees, picking it up and holding it against my chest. I lifted the material to my face, smelt the strong aroma of him on it. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply.

The lump in my throat exploded and a guttural scream erupted from my lips, tearing through my chest like a primal reflex of agony. I collapsed on the floor, clinging to the shirt and holding it to my face.

“Charlotte, come on… Charlotte, please don't. Please, Charlotte.” William lifted me bodily from the floor and carried me to the bed. Gwynn lay down beside me, wrapping her arms tightly around my body while I cried endlessly. William slumped at the end of the bed, holding his head in his hands. I knew he was dealing with the same unbearable pain I was enduring. The Tines had known Lucas for a long time, our pain was shared. I was swamped by hurt, drowning under a tidal wave of agony and guilt. It would kill me and at that moment, I wanted to die. Wanted to be with Lucas, wherever he was now.

Jerome came into view, his face twisted with grief. He sat down, taking my hand in his. “I'm so very sorry, Charlotte.” His voice wavered, the very words causing him pain. Jerome, who'd fixed me over and over again couldn't fix the one person I couldn't live without.

I cried interminably – when eventually the sobbing eased, numbness took over. Gwynn continued to lay beside me, her arms like a protective blanket. Marianne arrived, held my other hand. Striker and Holden stood in the doorway, faces solemn. William remained frozen, still curled over with his hands cradling his head.

“I need to look at that wrist,” Jerome announced.

“Not now.” The pain was barely noticeable, swamped by the misery in my heart. “I'm okay.”

“You're not okay,” Jerome argued, “and it's extremely swollen.”

I knew he was right, but I didn't care. What did it matter? What difference did it make? All the same, I knew it would make Jerome feel better, give him something constructive to focus on. He looked exhausted, shattered. He and Lucas had been friends. He was grieving Lucas's death, as acutely as I was. “Fine,” I agreed hoarsely.

Jerome stood up. “Come to the hospital. I'll need an x-ray to ascertain the extent of the damage.”

We walked through the quiet streets towards the hospital, Jerome, William and Gwynn, Striker and Marianne. Holden had slipped away quietly, offering me a tense goodbye. The streets were silent now, the majority of houses in darkness. The pall of smoke drifted over the sky above us from the funeral pyres, obliterating the stars. I shivered a little, despite the coat Marianne had helped me shrug on.

“Why did he die?”

Jerome inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as though he couldn't bear to think of Lucas without feeling pain.

“The vampires are immortal,” I pressed, turning to Striker. “Lucas told me the only way you could die was to be torn apart and the pieces burned. Why did Lucas die? Why didn't he survive?” I needed the answer, had to understand how Lucas could be killed by Archangelo's spirit orb. It shouldn't have been possible; I couldn't understand how it happened.

Striker shrugged. “I don't know the answers, Lott. I wish I did.”

“The orbs are made of pure energy. Obviously we don't understand the fundamentals of what's involved, but we can safely assume there's some sort of electrical energy,” Jerome explained.

I nodded, silently agreeing with his suggestion.

William spoke up. “Charlotte, even we vampires don't understand why we continue to exist. Our hearts don't beat, we don't breathe. Nothing in our bodies remains the same as it would if we had continued as humans. Yet the electrical impulses that occur in the human body continue to occur in a vampire's body, allowing us to walk, to talk. To live.”

“That's why we can only be killed by tearing our bodies apart, burning the pieces,” Marianne added. “It destroys the electrical impulses that allow us to exist.”

I stopped walking. “So… what are you saying?”

Jerome stopped beside me, thoughtfully running his fingers across his jaw and I waited as he composed his answer. “I can't tell you exactly why he died, Charlotte. I wish I could. The closest guess I can give you is to suggest the electrical energy in the orb short-circuited the electrical impulses in his body.”

I considered this explanation for a few seconds, closer to reaching an understanding. “Why didn't the orb I used kill Lucas and William in Puckhaber?” I demanded abruptly.

William shrugged. “Perhaps because it was the first time you'd used the ability; the orb didn't have the strength of Archangelo's.”

“So… you're saying any one of you could be killed by an orb?”

William glanced toward Jerome and Striker, saw their silent assent and nodded heavily. “I believe so.”

I chewed my lip, contemplating the horrendous implications. “I could lose all of you. One by one,” I stated flatly.

Marianne rested her hands against my shoulders. “Charlotte, don't think like that. It will only make it worse. Lucas,” her brow furrowed as she vocalized his name and she swallowed hard. “Lucas, myself, Striker – we all knew what we were getting into when we decided to fight the Drâghici. We're only immortal because in the right circumstances, we can live forever. Given the wrong circumstances, we're just as capable of dying as you are.”

Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin determinedly. “Then you should leave. Every one of you. Go away and hide somewhere, somewhere you can be safe.” My voice broke and I inhaled unsteadily. “I want you to leave.”

“We're not going to do that, Charlotte,” William rebuked me gently. “This is as much a war for our survival as it is yours.”

“I can't be responsible for you,” I whispered. “Lucas is dead because of me. I won't be responsible for your deaths too.”

“Don't you think for a minute that any of this is your fault,” Marianne warned me, her head tilted at an angle as she gazed at me. “Lucas knew what he was doing, he knew the risks he was taking.”

Wrenching away from her grip, I turned and strode rapidly down the street. “Lucas came after me because I was i***t enough to think I could take on Archangelo! He wouldn't have been out there if it wasn't for me!”

Striker caught me, grabbing my arm and catching me against his chest, holding me while I sobbed. “Lucas did what he had to do. We're all doing what we have to do, Charlotte. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself.”

“But it's my fault,” I moaned against his shirt.

“None of this is your fault. It's the fault of the Drâghici, Archangelo, Alberich Bran,” William responded quietly. He stood beside us, his expression solemn. “You didn't throw that orb at Lucas. You didn't plunge that knife into Conal. You didn't send demons and vampires to kill people. They did.”

I slumped limply against Striker, guilt creating an ever-widening chasm thought my soul.

“Charlotte, don't let this overwhelm you with negative feelings. You need to turn those emotions around and use your energy to confront the truly guilty in all this,” Gwynn urged.

I straightened up with a heavy sigh, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. What they had said was true. It didn't make me feel better - but it was true. Archangelo had done this. Archangelo had killed Lucas.

And he would pay.