Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

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A Fixed Point in the Cosmos

It took several seconds of fishing through pockets for me to find the metal cigarette case gifted to me when I yet lived with Ophelia in Toronto. The moment I pulled it out, though, I reconsidered my urge for this lingering mortal crutch. I had wandered outside for this purpose alone and yet, it seemed now that I was outside, I needed something else. My eyes raised heavenward while I turned the case around in my hand idly.

The stars seemed exceptionally bright, but still my thoughts could not help but to drift to when I was a boy, regarding the heavens from the fields my father tended. In rural Pennsylvania, we were surrounded by nothing more than land, it seemed – expansive as the eye could wander either north, east, south, or west. As such, when my much younger and more alive self stared at the stars, he beheld bright crystals shimmering in the black expanse above him. I have wandered many places and looked to the sky each time my feet have touched unfamiliar soil. Never have I seen the stars so brilliant as I did back then.

Not even with my immortal eyes. I sighed and touched the banister in the front of the estate and wondered why I needed the jewels I once beheld as a little boy. Suddenly, it occurred to me what normally caused my gaze to shift heavenward. I almost spoke the reason aloud. I needed to fix my place in the world once more. Lives were shifting. Things were changing. And there I stood in the epicenter, holding the future in the palm of my hand.

I looked down as though it would be tangible, seeing only my metal case and holding it up as though expecting to see something other than what I normally beheld. Not even the sparse moonlight hitting my shoulders could conjure a reflection; instead, I saw a hint of the house behind me and nothing more. Sighing, I slipped the case back into my jacket and dug my hands into my pants pockets. My feet tingled, the itch to wander around the city aimlessly a real and present one. I needed to make sense of it all; needed to feel pavement underneath my wing-tipped shoes and glance upon the cavalcade of humanity, searching each face for an answer.

What exactly was changing?

My right foot motioned to step from the front porch. It stopped. Lowering back to its position beside my left foot, it stayed in place and my eyes shifted down to where both feet remained. I sighed, staring at the polished black leather what seemed to be an eternity before turning to look at the front door to the house. A frown touched the corners of my mouth the longer I considered walking back into the luxurious home I purchased with Celeste some months prior, but my feet seemed reluctant to head in that direction as well. Yes, I wanted to depart to the streets, but something I once did so regularly by myself seemed so empty spent alone.

I did not wish to walk back into the house. It felt so foreign to me.

Yet, I longed for a companion.

Immediately, an image played out in my mind, as though happening in reality.

Inside my mind’s eye, I saw the front door open. On the other side stood a man a few inches shorter than me, with dark hair and brown eyes. Dressed impeccably, tie threaded in a flawless knot, he wore a suit and a pleasant grin on his face as though he learned a long time ago how to be both amused at the world and so sober minded about it, I envied the care he exercised when it came to evaluating everything crossing his path. Not a word spoken by him was spoken falsely, although each word, I was certain, contained a certain amount of pragmatism as well. The capacity for great emotion existed within his soul, but the control which permeated all other aspects of his demeanor extended to his sentiments. Plainly put, you knew when Victor Mason expressed an emotion of any sort, he meant it with every fiber of his being. The trek from heart to mouth passed through his brain and was heavily scrutinized before making it past his lips.

I reached for him on instinct, my heart and mind not near as capable of holding its desires at bay. Impulse often won out over sobriety in my economy which made me something less of a force to be reckoned with than I could have been otherwise. As such, when Victor walked close enough to me for me to touch him, I did nothing to stop myself from wrapping an arm around him and smiling. He smiled in return and said, “Good evening, my poet.”

“Good evening, maestro,” I said, utilizing the term of endearment which replaced ‘brother’ the moment he became something more than the station Robin occupied in my life. Maestro. Musician… elder… lover. Respected and yet admired; adored. Drawing him close, I placed a kiss on his forehead and shut my eyes, relishing his scent for a few lingering moments.

Everything was different, but everything was blessed.

I saw him wrap his arms around me in return. I heard a conversation commence between us. Our discourse a natural, carefree banter, everything always seemed simpler whenever he and I were together. As though the air around us lost its weight and time itself had no significance. During those blessed hours, it was simply him and me. Nothing more.

Opening my eyes without realizing I closed them, I glanced around the vacant porch and frowned when I saw nothing but the night surrounding me again. The observation left me feeling somewhat emptier. Seeing Victor within my mind’s eye only made me wish to be close to him all the more, but I still had too much rattling through my brain. I turned toward the porch steps again, permitting my feet to move this time and at least descend to the driveway running in front of our house. Once there, I stopped again, hesitating. The world in front of me looked so imposing. So much seemed to be looming in the distance.

Flynn. My split personality, who always seemed to be waiting in the wings to throw a monkey wrench into the works. I sighed as I recalled a conversation between Victor and me only a few days prior centered purely around the assassin. I recall still harboring the ghost of fear after what happened on the veranda that infamous day Flynn and Victor had it out. Lately, it called to question if I could truly stop my alter ego from harming the ones I love. A shiver ran up my spine of unadulterated dread at the thought of what might have happened had Flynn been armed. Victor was the winner of their fist fight. He would not have walked away from a knife match.

The mere notion stopped me dead in my tracks. I clenched my eyes shut and indulged in a deep breath. The fight, the aftermath, and the letter I wrote to Celeste still had not calmed my fears in the slightest. I went to Victor some days after Celeste made the assassin swear not to harm Victor, my own nerves not complacent with a promise spoken from the lips of Flynn. The promises of a devil, only as good as the sin they manufacture. I knew the bastard far too well for that by now.

Sitting with my lover, I looked at him and asked him to defend himself, no matter what the cost. I never spoke the words, ‘even if it means my death’, but they were implied and read loud and clear by Victor who assured me that he would. Now, a few days in the future, I found myself reflecting on that conversation and knew its gravity. I would have never taken no for an answer. He meant too much to me and there were implications to that.

How much did I love him? With all my heart.

How much was that? It was everything.

He meant everything to me.

I permitted my feet to move a few paces forward and indulged in a deep, steadying breath. The stars dotting the sky rained down what little light made it past the glow of artificial city luminescence and for a moment, I wished for a blackout so I could see them more clearly. Confessions surfaced within my psyche, centered around Victor, until I found myself glancing into the well of affection I possessed for Celeste. I was willing to shove Flynn into a corner. I was willing to take a blade by Victor’s hand to ensure Flynn did not end my lover. Even knowing what Flynn meant to Celeste, it did nothing to quell my certainty that I would do anything – anything – for Victor regardless of what that meant.

I had no idea when my loyalties shifted the way they did. I had no notion of how this affected which direction the wind blew yet. I only knew one thing by the time I permitted myself out onto the streets, alone and searching for the answers to it all. My soul found its kindred and I could deny it no longer.

With Victor inside my arms, I held the world. And I was going to have to answer to that soon enough.

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