Then black despair, the shadow of a starless night,
was thrown over the world, in which I moved alone.

Percy B. Shelley ( 1792-1822)

************

Her mind kept drifting in and out, like moving through clouds of patchy fog. From quiet contentment one moment, which felt, strangely enough, unfamiliar . . . like wearing a pair of new shoes that didn't quite fit . . . to a vague distant memory trying desperately to reach her mind . . . disturbing . . . yet comforting, like old sneakers.

What is HE doing here? They told her he might do this, because she had loved him once. Damned if she could remember. If he knew they were watching the apartment, why did he come? He knew the directive. Was he trying to get her into trouble? I'll ignore him. Maybe he'll go away.

**************

She's wearing my old shirt . . . His hand still clutched her beautiful soft hair, as she brushed away from his touch . . .

Each muscle taut, every nerve strained, against the attack of cold fear . . . more threatening, than he had ever known . . . Like shattered glass, realization was breaking his heart, into a thousand pieces . . . His solemn eyes, struggling to remain dry, could only watch as his world fell apart . . . and she kept painting . . . painting. Should he try and roll up the sleeves? . . .

No.

As he stood quietly and pushed her hair back . . . her paint-covered hand, that always loved to play with his lips and chin, continued to push the damned roller . . . and with each rise and fall of her arm, he could feel her heart drifting further and further away from him, just beyond his reach. He felt loneliness and despair, sharpen its bitter edge, even before he asked.

" What did they do to you?"

"Nothing."

As he clenched her wrist, until she finally dropped the object of her attention, his mind was being forced to suffer the truth of the implications, his heart refused to accept. He held her tightly, so he could search her face for a whisper of hope that would keep his soul alive. She had no choice but to look into his eyes, which tried to hold on and bring her back to him, in their silent language she had always understood. . . . Please, come back to me, he prayed, no matter how far away you are. I'm here. I'll always be here. Always loving you . . . But the spark of love that had always burned so brightly in her eyes, held . . .

"Nothing."

When his eyes, shining with tears, finally held hers for a moment, and his gentle lips kissed the soft warmth that had always been eager for his passion, a spark of brief hope had entered his heart, and he thought there might still be a chance he was wrong. Then she quickly drew away from him, as from a stranger.

She could only remember, she didn't love him anymore.

Agonizing heart-break, beyond any grief he had ever experienced, made the nightmares he'd slept with through the years, seem like pleasant dreams in comparison.

They had considered death a possibility . . . to share their love, to fulfill a dream . . . and only hoped, that if that was to be their fate, they would be laid side by side, and covered with the same soil. But this . . .

He couldn't even begin to grasp the scope of its meaning . . . Not here . . Not now.

He couldn't breath, trying to hold back the weight of heavy tears, as pleading words were crushing against the back of his throat. But he knew neither would serve a purpose now.

After he closed the door behind him . . . hands, that never before fumbled . . . covered his face, and the dammed tears, poured unrestrained, into his trembling hands.

As he drove to his loft, trenchant hatred, so deep and powerful, their enemies would never escape from, was only overshadowed by his once in a lifetime, infinite love for her . . . Blinding tears distorted the familiar roads, and he blamed himself, whispering over and over again, "What have I done?. . . God, What have I done?" . . . . "I should have set her free." He wanted to die, but knew he couldn't leave her on this earth without him.

In his loft, everything looked exactly the same. The chimes were still hanging, the tea kettle was on the stove, their blanket from the cozy farmhouse in Belgium was folded neatly over the back of the sofa . . . It staggered him, as he held onto the back of the kitchen chair, which supported all of his weight. His muscles, usually solid and strong . . . were limp, powerless. Their love, though unexpressed for a time, had never been fragile, and had weathered many storms.

But this . . . He had never faced the world alone as he did now, without her love.

He finally pulled out the chair, and heavily sagged into the seat. He buried his blood drained face into his folded arms . . . Wracked with sobs, wishing he had her shoulder to cry on . . . he tried to push the heart-wrenching scene from his mind, realizing that death would become an option if he didn't . . Instead he remembered the last time they had been together . . . .

Searching for the thread of hope that had woven their lives, and their love, into the same fabric.

**********************************

" Dark approach granted." He heard the words that started his heart pounding in his chest.

The wind, an almost bruising force on his face, assaulted his eyes. His lungs were burning, and his mouth so dry, it tasted of parched sand, as he sped down the treacherous, dark road . . . driven by desperation . . . trying to close the distance and space that separated them.

"We have one hour." His hand touched the inside of her thigh, and even through her mission gear, his need for her was already aching as it swelled . . .I'm so sorry . . . he wanted to say . . . Only an hour . . . Her lips were so soft, as his tongue entered her warm mouth, but he pushed away, and held her wrists back from him.

Their eyes met . . . she read his thoughts, and he knew she understood, as they removed the black cloth that separated their flawless bodies, already awakened to each other, and longing to be bared and joined in love. Time was their greatest enemy now. How do you make an hour last forever? Say everything that's in your heart, share each other's love, hold them in quiet contentment in the aftermath? The cruel hands of time move swiftly when you want it to stand still, yet each second holds on desperately to itself, when scourged by grief.

Her soft fingers entwined firmly with his, as she led him down the darkened hallway, while his other hand held her bare shoulder. She pushed the creaky door . . . opened it wide . . . and smiling mischievously, stepped quickly out of his path, so he could focus his eyes on the surroundings already familiar to her. As his eyes adjusted to the dim room, he stood staring at the carefully prepared bed, with the lanterns arranged at its four corners, that she had made ready for them, while she waited.

She dropped to her knees on the edge of the bed, and as a radiant smile touched her face, handed him the matches. Her teeth held her lower lip captive, as she watched intently while he struck the match along the floor. A sweet sigh of relief escaped her lips, and then a smile lit up her face again. As he lit the lanterns, a golden blush covered her beautiful body. Animated images . . . . inspired by the reflection of the moons brilliant beams, as they glistened off the waves of the distant glassy sea . . . silently rustled among the shadows and glowing lamp light.

She was as excited and full of love, as an innocent child would be, if a puppy, with a big red bow around its neck, had been placed in her lap. No complaints, no disappointment . . . only acceptance with the surroundings, that would enable them to consummate their absolute love for one another.

As they held each other tightly, he looked deeply into her enormous blue eyes, that sparkled with love for him. His expression revealing deep thought, as he studied every feature of her face in the golden light. His eyes closed against the emotion of the overwhelming love he felt for her, which, as surely as the river runs deep and flows to the sea, nothing could stop its current, the course was decided and clear. He didn't know exactly where it began, probably over a cup of coffee, but he knew it had no end.

" What are you thinking?" she whispered.

He opened his lips, but no words would pass through the aching lump in his throat. How could he possibly answer the question?. . . In my heart, you're my best friend, my lover, my wife, the mother of my unborn children, my soul, my heart-beat, every breath I take. . . . How could he put all that into words, with so little time. Love? . . . No. It was so much more.

He understood perfectly now, that the greatest love of all, is not when you love someone because of who they are, but in spite of who they are. He'd had to make decisions that no matter how necessary, had and would continue to hurt her. Although it was something he couldn't change, her disapproval tore his heart apart, and made it impossible for him to ever be her hero. He knew she would always love him unconditionally. A bittersweet love that didn't require explanations or forgiveness, even though he had asked it of her often enough. But no . . . he would never be her hero. He had once considered her his weakness, but in truth, she was his strength . . . and he had discovered, through the years, that selflessness, which defined the majestic glory of heroism, belonged to her alone.

" It's nothing," he had answered, when in truth it was everything. But they didn't have time to talk about it tonight. . . . Did they?

*********************************

He had been a man of few words, for as long as he could remember, but he had changed. Instead of the quiet isolation he had always lived in . . . his inner thoughts and feelings, that he had guarded so carefully, and never before trusted in anyones care . . . were exchanged as they'd laid their hearts open to each other more and more. It was a small simple miracle . . . to really share his life with someone . . . for the first time in his life

Why hadn't he taken the time to tell her all that was in his heart that night? He knew the answer . . . he assumed there would be another time, another place, another tomorrow. Just like he'd assumed she would always love him. Would it have made a difference? Maybe not to her right now, but it would have meant everything to him. Then again, it was just like him to make her wait for an answer. She was just as patient that night as she had been all those years waiting for him to admit his love for her. She had never once, pleaded with him for anything that would benefit herself, although she had often done so for the welfare of others. It was as if she knew that eventually, when the time was right, one way or another her own fate would be decided.

********************************

As their lips and bodies took complete possession of the other, they looked into each others beautiful eyes, which only heightened their all consuming passion, as it was aroused beyond the fantasies of dreams. Both tried desperately to hold back the surrender of their inescapable release, which would inevitably and painfully finalize, the pure perfect connection between them. When it became impossible, to withhold the pressure and intensity of their ultimate climax, he remembered thinking that their love went far beyond the boundaries of any other, before God, as together they cried out, and shared in perfect harmony, the weight of his heavy seed that exploded into the heart and soul of her passion.

They clung to each other, as he pleaded with her for more time, before the misery of saying goodbye had to be faced once again.

From the moment she pulled away the impassioned warmth he had been buried in, the chilly air struck him and painfully reminded him of another separation. He walked over and looked out onto the glistening sea. The moon was full and bright as he wondered if any two people had ever endured as much loneliness and pain from love denied them, as they had over the years.

He thought of Lyon. To that night long ago, when he had watched her sleep, in the aftermath of their passionate love . . . never wanting to close his eyes from the sight of her sleeping beside him. As he memorized every detail of her face and beautiful body, that somehow he knew, would forever belong to only him, he wondered if she was dreaming of him as she smiled in her sleep.

From her first day in Section, when truth be told, she had been one big pain in his ass, he sensed his life would never be the same. It was probably because he wanted to strangle and protect her all in the same moment. No one in his life had ever driven him that crazy. Breaking her will was like trying to count grains of sand on the shore. It was as impossible then, as it was now.

The next morning, when he waited for her on deck, he had considered setting her free.

He had the power to do it, but even as he spoke the words, " Let me help you," half- heartedly, he knew he'd find a way to bring her back into Section. His logical mind, at the time, reviewing every possibility, was also aware that they couldn't be together again. When he brought her back into Section, it was a deceptive and selfish decision, but one he would never change.

There wasn't a day or night that passed, he didn't suffer for it. Never a time since, that he hadn't longed desperately for her.

He had played a role, that in spite of all his efforts, and his disciplined nature, time had worn away. And somewhere along the way, he had lost himself more and more to her. Eventually, his mind had turned a blind eye to what his heart was doing.

That early delicate love was in the past. Now the depth of their love had imprisoned them with chains, forged together with the strength that comes from adversity, suffered through years of struggle. A bond that could never be broken.

As she entered the cabin with their mission clothes, he was choked with emotion with all the love he felt for her. When he held her in his arms, he finally asked her, what he always known to be true. For some reason, not really understanding why at the time, he had to hear her say, what she had never told him.

"Do you love me?"

" Yes. I love you . . . With all my heart," had been her answer.

**************************************************

Remembering her words now, his arm slashed out at the chimes that hung beside him. They pealed out in protest as they had that afternoon when they had laughed, made love and had finally gotten around to hanging them.

Why did God give them such precious moments, such a precious love in the first place, only to wrench it away? Take them to the highest mountaintop, then plunge them into the valley of despair. How much suffering was ever going to be enough? He should have set her free.

He remembered how their footprints had traveled side by side in the snow, and realized that even during their darkest hours, they had never really been separated. She didn't know it now, but she was and always would be part of him, and like her shadow, though not always aware of its presence, she would never be free of him.

When he'd pressed her face into his shoulder, in the golden glow of the small cabin where they had shared the depth of their love, her soft lips, that still tasted of him, had caressed his throat, as she tried to comfort him.

"Sometimes from the depths of despair, comes a gift of great joy . . . Promise me you'll accept our fate Michael, or we won't survive this." If this was their fate, she'd have to forgive him someday for breaking the promise she had extracted from him, as he held her in his arms on that rusty old freighter.

He suddenly realized, it was God that had given them their greatest gift.

He left his loft and traveled several blocks, searching for the little church he knew he'd passed and had almost taken shelter in that snow-covered night. He finally found it, and entered the only home he knew love could be found.

He knelt and placed his forehead on his folded hands, and knew he had enough love for both of them right now. As he thanked God for the gift, he made a promise, before he looked upon the face of the devil.

" I won't let them do this . . . I swear it . . . With all my heart . . . She will remember me."

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