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Disclaimer: All concepts and characters belong to L.J. Smith and are borrowed here for non-profit entertainment.
Rating: PG-13 (Adult content, Language)
Spoiers: Night World Concepts, Daughters of Darkness
"For what could the damned really have to say to the damned?"
-"Interview With A Vampire" Anne Rice
Cafi Dana sat in her place at the head of the circle of chairs. Her chair was the only one with arms; she had never asked, but everyone always saved it for her. The room was brightly lit and impersonal, a borrowed class room at the adult education center. In her mind, Cafi had always longed for something smaller and warmer, with padded couches and chairs, and walls thick enough that she couldn't hear the evening day-care class next door. But this room served its purpose, and that was enough.
She didn't realize the speaker had finished until Paul said, "Cafi?"
She glanced up at the dozen or so people, trying to hide the fact that she had spaced out nearly a half hour before with a smile. "Thank you, Andrea. Would anyone else like to speak before we adjourn for the night?"
She hoped someone would; she hadn't given any thought to that class's assignment. When no one spoke, she rattled off the first thought on her mind. "Okay, then. Over the next couple of days or weeks, whenever you have some free time, I want you to sit down with your journal and write about how your recovery is going. You can make a list of things that have changed in your life, you can talk about how you feel differently, you can even draw a picture. But I want you to sum up to yourself how your feelings about the loses you've experienced have changed since you began this journal. Then, when you're finished with that, take the time to write a few sentences about how you hope your recovery will continue to grow in the future. Okay?"
There were nods all around. "All right then. You all have my number if you need me, and I'll see you soon."
The group broke into polite talking, and Cafi leaned under her chair for the black bag she always carried with her. It was a cross between a purse and a suitcase, and vital to her existence.
"Cafi?" Paul asked, coming over and touching her arm. "Everything okay?"
Paul was six three, blond and brown eyed. Somewhere in his thirties but still all-American. He'd lost his soulmate seven months before in a plane crash. He was by far the oldest member of the group, and had a fatherly way about him that came out particularly with Cafi. She didn't mind, he was a sweet guy.
"Yeah," she told him. "I'm fine. Just kind of drifty."
"You sure?"
She shrugged. Paul always knew a lie when he saw one. "We all go through hard times," she said. "I'll manage."
He kissed her forehead. "If you want to talk, give me a call. Day or night."
"Thanks, I'll remember it."
But of course she wouldn't call. Paul's recovery was too fragile for her to be pushing her own tattered emotional burden onto him.
Besides, she was the leader. She was the one they all thought was so strong.
She didn't feel very strong just then.
She put her coat on and said goodnight to the meeting members. Fourteen people tonight, could be a record. They gathered three times a week at the education center to talk about it all, to hang onto one another and cry and rage and break things. Most of them felt better afterward. The few who didn't kept coming anyway. Cafi had faith that eventually the healing would begin in them.
Of the lot, Cress Horn was the worst off. His soulmate had dumped his and then killed herself, and he had a lot of guilt to work out. Warsj Dysk probably didn't even need to be here; Ana had died in his arms after a long illness, contented. He mostly attended to hand out as much wisdom as he could, and Cafi had to keep on her toes to stop him from preaching all evening. Joel Newman had been without the love of his life for twenty years, he knew the drill and often times exactly what somebody needed to hear. Kerry-Anne Laions had left her soulmate to stay with her husband, Mark, who occasionally came meetings so that he could work on his feelings of jealousy. They always cheered things up, so intense and passionate about each other, and gave the others a little hope that there might be life after paradise. A second example was Ash Redfern, who Cafi had finally talked into coming. He was quiet most of the time, but once in a while Cafi could get him to open up about his past relationship with his soulmate.
They were a close group, the first in the country to offer counseling for "single soulmates." Cafi had gotten calls from all over the world from people who had either lost their soulmates or been unable to stay with them, trying to understand how to move on. Cafi never brushed them off, no matter what time it was or what obligations she had. She knew what it felt like to loose a part of herself.
Walking to her car through the dark parking lot, she stumbled on a speed bump hidden under the snow and fell. For a moment she just sat on the asphalt, letting the wetness soak into her thin jeans. Then she reluctantly pulled herself up and resumed walking.
Her apartment was simple. One bedroom, with a desk in the living room. She had taken her own advice and found a new place after Jeremy died, away from her parents and the house where she'd loved him. Circle Daybreak was in Nevada, she moved a few hours away in Texas where there was a large settlement and people to help.
Her group wasn't terribly well-known--a lot of people still refused to believe that the soulmate principal was back in action--but she felt like she was doing some good. Watching Ivy Fleece break down and cry for the first time since her soulmate's death, and knowing that there were people who would be sympathetic and help her through all the pain, eased Cafi's worn heart. She believed in what she did, for all of them.
Except maybe for herself. The apartment was warm but empty, and she felt a loneliness that had often come to her over the past year. She'd gone through all the steps, addressed all her issues, and still something was missing. Still, something was making her ache like this.
She hung her coat up in the closet and stuck her snowy boots out on the porch. In the bathroom, she began brushing the snarls out of her impossibly thick light brown hair and then gave up and tossed her brush in the cupboard. The bedroom was dark and still as she changed into a flannel nightgown and climbed into her twin-sized bed.
In her entire apartment, there were no pictures of Jeremy. Nothing he'd given her, nothing that held special memories. She'd bought the slender twin mattress to remind herself that he was gone, it was over. Her whole life was different.
She lay on her back under the blankets and stared at the vase of flowers on her dresser. Her parents had sent them last week, to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. "We couldn't be more proud of your childhood," they'd written, "and know that your adult life will be even more astounding."
She'd called and thanked them, tried to sound happy. But it occurred to her now that not a single person had seen the flowers since they arrived. In fact, she didn't think she'd had anyone into the apartment since the summer.
She wanted to mope and wouldn't let herself. Moping was useless. Mourning was better, but not a lot. At least it had a supposed end, a time when things were let go of and moved past.
Uncapping a pen with her teeth, she sat up in bed and flipped a notebook from the night stand open. It was full of pages that had dried crinkled from damp tears, and three years worth of grief and anger had been poured out over the lines. She wasn't surprise to see that there were only four pages left.
Recalling her assignment to the group tonight, she began at the beginning and leafed slowly through the entries, catching a sentence or paragraph where ever her eye landed.
*February 6, 1996: Bought a book today. It said I should write all this down. I'm only listening to it out of desperation and guilt at how much I want to kill myself.
March 23, 1996: He was all dressed up in a suit and he looked so professional that I couldn't get a word out. I'm such a mess and he was so clean and tidy. How the hell was I supposed to pour out my heart to a man who obviously has his life in perfect order.
July 15, 1996: I take it all back, I don't really hate Jeremy. I just don't know who else I'm supposed to hate.
November 11, 1996: I wish the winter Olympics were this year. I hate the way they drag it all out, so you have to keep waiting. Why can't they just do it fast so we can all get over it? Maybe I'm not really talking about the Olympics.
November 19, 1996: Dreamed about Jeremy last night. We were at the bowling alley, and he kept throwing bowling balls at me. I kept telling him to stop, because it hurt like hell and all my ribs were getting broken, but he just laughed. What a shity dream.
December 1: Anniversary. I wanted it to hurt more than it did. Like cosmically, like something inside me would know the exactly one year anniversary, and at that moment one of my lungs would collapse. But I was watching tv and didn't notice the time until it was twenty minutes afterward.
December 25, 1996: Bad day. I watched the Christmas video from two years with him on it. Shouldn't have done that. Stupid, stupid. Just dragging everything up again. Mom yelled at me for it, which I probably deserved. I told her to go get hit by a car and we had a huge fight. Ruined Christmas.
December 31, 1996: New Year's Resolution--Make up my mind. Am I going to live without him or not?
January 1, 1997: I am.
January 17, 1997: Went horseback riding. Fucking frigid outside. The horse tried to buck me off, so the owners gave me my money back. I told them I wanted to start taking lessons, and they said they didn't think I had a real way with horses. I told them if they were any good, they could teach me.
February 14, 1997: Spent the day at the kid's hospital party. Ate chocolate with three girls in the cancer ward. We looked at 'Teen and they pointed out all the guys they thought were cute. They asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said used to but I didn't any more. When they wanted to know what happened, I told them I dumped him. I didn't want to tell them the truth, but now I think it kind of was true.
May 4, 1997: Am I betraying Jeremy by having so much fun? God, that looks even more ridiculous on paper. Of course not.
June 15, 1997: Bad move, went on a blind date. Wasn't ready for that. Accidently ended up hitting him with my car. Robbie talked him out of calling the cops.
July 4, 1997: Went to Circle Daybreak party. Met two guys whose soulmates died. We commiserated, it was incredible. I have to do that again soon.
July 11, 1997: Decided to make it a weekly thing. This week four of us met at a Denny's and talked for almost five hours over cheese sticks and onion rings. They're all guilt tripping themselves, too.
September 30, 1997: Think I finally made peace with my parents. Apologized profusely for all the shit I put them in. Told them I wanted to move out and they got angry. Had to start over again, but got it all worked out.
October 17, 1997: New apartment. I was so busy that I didn't think of Jeremy once all afternoon. I probably shouldn't be writing in this notebook because this doesn't have anything to do with him, but I love this apartment. It feels so mine.
January 5, 1998: Went home for the holidays. Everything there reminded me of Jeremy. Came home feeling all confused and immediately called Colleen. Same thing happened to her. We're both feeling better.
March 16, 1998: Circle Daybreak wants me to write a book. They thing there are as many as two hundred people like me across the world. I said that wasn't a hell of big selling audience, and they said it was more than they were looking at for "Circle Daybreak's Official Guide to Vampirism." I laughed and said yes.
May 31, 1998: My life is so full. I feel like everybody wants a piece of me, and the funny part is that I don't mind.
August 12, 1998: Felt unhappy today. I assumed it was because of Jeremy, because it seems like when I'm unhappy it's always because of him, but it wasn't. Some kind of restlessness. Discontentment.
October 22, 1998: What's missing here? Why do I feel like I'm waiting for something?
November 6, 1998: Cried for no apparent reason. Thinking of finding a therapist. Wonder what the group would say if they knew. Disgusted with myself.*
The phone rang, and Cafi jumped. She rolled over to pick the receiver up. "Hello?"
"Yes, is this Mrs. Cafi Dana?" It was a man's voice, older than Paul's but not ancient. His tone was slightly nervous but kind.
"It's Ms, and this is she. Can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to you for a few minutes, is this a bad time?"
"No, it's fine."
She relaxed into her pillows, cradling the phone against her shoulder.
"My name is Mathias O'Bach, I'm with Circle Chimera in Nebraska."
"Circle Chimera?"
"We're the male section of the witches."
"Oh, yes, I remember now."
"I believe one of your students is Ash Redfern?"
"He isn't a student, no, but I know him. I didn't realize he was involved with the witches."
Mr. O'Bach's voice dropped slightly. "I don't know him personally, but he worked with my son a few days nine months ago. Do you read Daybreak Monthly?"
"Occasionally."
"Are you familiar with the events surrounding Cristona Patterson's healing?"
Cafi frowned, trying to think. "I think I recall reading an article written by one of the witnesses."
"Yes, *Faulty Alliance.* My son, Martin, wrote it. Ash was also present at the time."
"Oh, I wasn't aware of that."
"The reason I'm calling is that during the incident, my son's soulmate was killed."
Now it came back to her, in a quick painful rush. Mona Mastry had called and asked her to come to the bizarre sky-scraper in the middle of the desert. "Yes, I believe I met your son."
"Oh? Marty?"
"Yes, I saw him during the confusion after the shooting."
Mr. O'Bach abruptly switched topics. "I understand you're writing a book?"
Cafi sighed. The book was late and she hadn't even started. "Yes, Daybreak Publishing has asked me to write a method book for dealing with the loss of a soulmate."
"Allow me to make you an offer. Marty hasn't responded very well in the last nine months. The incidents surrounding Shale's death were very painful for him, on multiple levels. His mother passed away shortly after he was born, and I'm not sure how to help him. If you're interested, I would be happy to give you room and board for as long as you like to work with him. Not constantly, most of the time you would be free to work on your book. I just feel that he needs someone here who can understand where he's coming from and give him solid guidance."
"Sort of a sabbatical?" Cafi asked.
"Exactly."
"I would need time to think about it."
"Of course, let me give you my number."
She hung up a few minutes later and scooted back down into bed. She remembered Marty O'Bach as a pale, fragile young man a few years younger than herself, unable to speak or move. The building she'd found him in was a mess with confusion; apparently several people were dead and one had been critically injured. In the midst of that, Marty had been sitting silently beside his soulmate's body, one hand resting on her stomach. That had been the first time Cafi had met Ash, who informed her at the door that he thought Marty had had a stroke.
Ash had been hysterical at the time, as had many of the people running around. Cafi had tried to talk to Marty, but he ignored her. His face was slack and his eyes avoided hers, as if suddenly he was autistic. She had touched his shoulder and he hadn't responded.
These were the kinds of people who took it harder, the ones who just went still when the bond was broken. They healed slower, repressed deeper, ached longer. Cafi had been that way herself, although she never admitted it to her groups. They might be disheartened.
She wasn't surprised that Marty hadn't recovered. It was a hard thing to do alone.
But I did, she thought. I pulled myself through without anyone's help. I'm at the end of the cycle.
She shook her head, too tired to work it out tonight. "I'm miss you," she said miserably to the air, and felt immediately guilty.
Because she didn't mean it.
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