The Knowledge of Love

Chapter 3: Final Goodbyes

Chapter 3: Final Goodbyes“Don't shut me away, my love.”

For the third time in as many hours I woke, searching for the source of Lucas's voice. Sitting up, I surveyed the room carefully hoping and praying that the past twenty-four hours had been a terrible nightmare. A sob rose in my throat, knowing he wasn't there, frustrated that I was imagining his voice in my dreams. I was becoming convinced this was the punishment for my stupidity, that I would be haunted by his calm voice forever and never sleep restfully again.

“Charlotte? Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?” Marianne appeared in the doorway, her face shadowed by the darkness but I knew her pretty face would be filled with anxiety. She and Striker had insisted on staying at the cottage with me after Jerome finished treating my wrist. The bone was shattered but Jerome attempted the Hjördis first, seconding Ben's assistance to wield the powerful item, before resorting to surgery. To his surprise the Hjördis had repaired the extensive injury - other than a slight ache, my wrist was as good as new.

Jerome had been resolute in his insistence of providing sleeping tablets, and wouldn't be dissuaded from his decision. Returning home, I'd wearily climbed the stairs, wanting to sleep in our bed. The shirt Lucas had discarded lay beneath my head on the pillow, his scent emanating from the material provided a small modicum of comfort. Since then, I'd woken three times to the sound of Lucas's voice. Each and every time I checked the mental box where the spirits were trapped. Every time I'd confirmed the box was tightly sealed, yet Lucas was still reaching me.

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I hugged them to my chest, attempting a reassuring smile in Marianne's direction. “I'm okay.”

Marianne sighed, walking across the room to sit beside me. “You should be sleeping, Jerome gave you enough medication to sedate a horse,” she pointed out evenly.

Tears brimmed against my eyelashes and I swallowed heavily before I could speak. “I keep hearing Lucas's voice.”

Marianne's expression crumpled in sympathy. “I know how hard that must be for you. But you surely expected he would reach out to you as the others have done.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek anxiously, glancing away from Marianne. “I've had them shut away. I couldn't deal with the thought of hearing his voice amongst the others, knowing what it meant. That he was… really gone.” When I dared to look up, Marianne's sympathetic eyes brought a fresh wave of tears to mine. “But somehow, I keep hearing his voice. I don't know if it's really him, or I'm just imagining it.”

Marianne sighed, gripping my hands in hers. “I won't tell you what a bad idea it is to keep them hidden away. You know they're the only thing giving us advance warnings, but I can understand why you did it, why you feel you can't cope right now.”

“I don't understand how he could be contacting me. Every time I sleep, I hear him. Everyone else is silent, only his voice comes to me. He keeps telling me not to shut him away.”

Marianne closed her eyes briefly, before meeting mine again. “I can't tell you whether what you're hearing is real, or if it's your imagination, you know that. But Charlotte, perhaps you should see him one last time before the funeral. Maybe it is your subconscious playing tricks on you,” she paused, frowning, “or maybe Lucas is finding some way to reach out, despite your attempts to avoid it.”

Rowena and Ben had suggested I see Lucas before his cremation tomorrow, but I'd rejected the suggestion outright. I couldn't look at him, not when it was so incredibly painful. The thought of standing over him, knowing he would never smile again, never hold me was unbearable. But maybe Marianne was right, he was trying to send me a message. Perhaps he did want me to see him one last time. “All right.” It was still dark outside, a quick glance at the clock confirming it was a little before six in the morning. “Could we go now?”

“Of course.” Marianne stood up, heading towards the door. “I'll ask Striker to arrange it with Jerome and leave you to get dressed.”

I threw the covers from my legs and dressed quickly, slipping into jeans and a sweater. I didn't want to give myself time to talk myself out of it. Pulling on the boots lying beside the bed, I twisted my hair into a ponytail and headed downstairs.

The cobble-stoned streets were deserted in the early morning light as we made our way towards the hospital. Rowena and Ben had been waiting when I got downstairs, silently providing their support. Marianne had linked an arm through mine, with Rowena taking the other side, whilst Ben walked quietly beside his wife. The morning air was crisp and I shivered violently, although it had little to do with the weather and more to do with what I was about to face.

Jerome met us at the hospital steps, alerted to our arrival by Striker who leaned against one of the colonnades nearby. Jerome had taken an opportunity to change, his shirt clean and devoid of Conal's blood, but his face was gaunt, dark circles marring the skin under his eyes. It was apparent he'd been on duty all night.

“I think you're doing the right thing,” Jerome informed me gruffly. “I know it hurts, but it might provide you with some closure.” He turned and limped down the hallway, dimly lit by early morning light and our footsteps echoed hollowly in the silence. Jerome paused at a door on the right, opening it and flicking a light switch to reveal a set of stairs leading down. We followed behind, Marianne and Rowena providing support as I started to tremble uncontrollably.

We walked along a second corridor, then Jerome stopped in front of a closed door at the very end. “I'll bring him out. I don't want you going in there.”

I was all too aware of the implication – we'd suffered large losses in yesterday's battle – and they would be lying in the room behind the door, until their cremations tomorrow. For a moment I wondered how many were suffering the same loss I was, how many were grieving for loved ones killed during our latest battle, before my sorrow overwhelmed me again with thoughts of Lucas.

Jerome pushed open the door and stepped inside, Striker following closely behind. Marianne led me to a chair against the wall and I sunk onto it while we waited. Glancing nervously around the unadorned corridor, I wondered what this basement had been used for before. Was it servants' quarters? Or kitchens for whoever had lived upstairs, long ago? Or was this area new, created by Nememiah for casualties he'd expected during this war? Not for the first time, I cursed my role as an Angel child. It had brought nothing but heartache to myself and everyone around me.

The door swung open and Striker stepped out, rolling a gurney through the doorway with infinite care. I stood up, nausea and anxiety roiling through my stomach in equal proportions. Jerome was pushing from the other end and the two men stopped the gurney before me. Tears filled my eyes as I surveyed the body, draped by a large white sheet.

Lucas was under there. My Lucas, who would never smile again, never laugh, never hold me in his arms and kiss me until my heart pounded and my knees weakened with love and desire.

Marianne and Rowena gripped my arms, staunchly supportive as I stared at the gurney, trying to prepare myself for seeing him. It was impossible, nothing could prepare me for the finality of seeing Lucas this way.

A sob escaped my throat, tears running down my cheeks as Ben touched for my shoulder. “Do you want to see him, Charlotte? The decision is yours.”

I found it was impossible to speak, my throat filled with the same painful lump as before, even worse as it threatened to suffocate me. I nodded hesitantly and Jerome carefully drew the sheet back from Lucas's face.

He was perfect. No injuries marred his handsome face, no wounds from the battle were visible. To all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping. Except that he hadn't needed to indulge that human necessity. He'd never had reason to keep his eyes closed the way they were now. I ached to touch him, hold him against me and I tentatively raised a shaking finger to caress his cheek. His skin was icy, much colder than normal. Tears filled my eyes, blurring his image and I wiped them away, wishing with all my heart that he would open his eyes and look at me. I wanted to see his eyes - the glorious midnight blue I adored - to see the flecks of silver whirling, like lightning in a darkened sky.

But that would never happen again.

The finality of his death hit like a blow and my knees buckled. Ben caught me in his arms and held me while I sobbed.

“Don't cry for me, my Charlotte. I will be with you always, as I promised you.”

Hearing his deep voice, I knew it was futile to try and keep him locked away. Lucas had somehow broken through the barriers, could reach me in spite of them. I released the spirits from their confinement, felt the soft flutter as they filled my head with a steady hum of gentle noise.

“You left me, Lucas. I can't bear it.”

“You're strong, my Charlotte. Stronger and braver than anyone I've ever known.”

“Not without you!”

“Charlotte, you were always strong. With or without me by your side, that strength remains.”

“I can't do this without you. I can't!”

“Charlotte, you can and you will. I'll be with you here, guiding you, helping you.”

“It's not the same.”

I could almost hear a smile in his voice. “No, it's not the same. I yearn to hold you against me, to feel the softness of your lips against mine. There is nothing I can do to change what's happened. But I've left you something to remind you of our love together, to remind you of what we've shared.”

My gaze came to rest on my hand, resting against Ben's chest, where Lucas's ring still circled my finger. His ring would always be there, a reminder of how much he'd loved me. “I love you, Lucas,” I whispered aloud, my face wet with tears.

“And I love you. For all of eternity, and beyond.”