"Does he need all that light?" 

I stopped a half-mile away from the café. I lived down the road, roughly a fifteen-minute walk from Eternal Blue. Just ahead, I saw the complex I lived in, and could see into the window of the apartment I shared with Nathan. Every light inside was turned on. His shadow sat in the front room, typing away on his computer.

I sighed as I ran my fingers through my dark hair and pulled strands back away from my face. As much as it annoyed me to waste electricity, I couldn't be angry with him.

There was a reason he'd stay awake.

With a deep breath, I finished my walk and ran up the steps to my front door. The doorknob twisted easily with a turn of my hand. He hadn't locked it. As I shut it behind me, he didn't turn to look at me. His glasses sat on top of his brown curls, his nose pressed close to the computer screen.

"You'll be blind before you finish your research, you know that?" I laughed as I took off my jacket, tossing it on the armrest of our couch.

The living room was small, with a single white couch, a coffee table, and a TV mounted on the wall. Nathan's precious computer sat on a small desk near the front door; it was his space and I wasn't allowed near it unless given permission. Adjacent to the living room, separated by a small island, was our kitchen and the doors to our two bedrooms. Mine was open and I glanced over at it, eyeing the darkness inside my room. "Is Luther—"

"Luther's on your bed," Nathan muttered as he slid his finger down his computer mouse, scrolling through the webpage he read. "He's been in there for an hour."

"Hm." I walked over to my bedroom, peeking inside. Indeed, my white cat laid on my bed, nestled between two pillows. I almost smiled but turned my gaze back at Nathan, who hadn't looked at me at all. His eyes were transfixed on his computer screen, as they had been for days. Next to him were two red vials—vials filled with samples of my blood.

"Anything new?" I shrugged away the tightness in my neck.

"No." Nathan pushed his glasses down in front of his eyes. "I keep running into the same brick wall."

I sighed and started coffee. It wasn't for me, but for him. When he finally looked at me, I saw the dark circles under his eyes. His shirt, once tight, hung loosely around his shoulders and stomach. He scrunched his nose as the smell of dark roast filled the room. "Didn't bring me any from the spot?" he grumbled.

"Unfortunately, no," I said as I placed two mugs down on the kitchen's island. "I didn't go to drink coffee."

"Right." Nathan glanced over at his computer.

The webpage reflected on his lenses, and I could make out the blurred images of organs within the human body. Since meeting him and revealing my true nature, he dropped out of school and spent his days researching whatever it was that made me me. Hence, my vials of blood. Nathan had friends in high places—such as hospitals and various labs—and every few months, he'd send them a sample or two of my blood. As much as they inquired about its source, it was strictly confidential—for both sides, of course.

Diseases like mine were the reason he went to med school in the first place; I was the reason he dropped out. Studying me became his life work. I couldn't help but welcome him into my life. It was partly due to me being lonely and never having anyone to talk to. The rest of me craved a family, and he became a younger brother I never had.

A brother that prodded me with needles, observed my every move, but a brother, nonetheless. His humor made it all easier.

"It's been how long? Fifteen years, right?" Nathan asked as he stood from his seat and stretched his arms.

"A bit more, but yes."

"You ever wonder, maybe, she's—"

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. "Don't start with that."

"Come on, man." Nathan stood opposite of me, leaning with his hands against the counter. "I mean, with everything I've learned, it's a possibility."

Everything he's learned. I wanted to throw him across the room.

Every so often, he'd remind me that possibly Charlotte was dead. Through his years of studying me, he learned that death was indeed possible. I could die, just not as he would. I couldn't age, nor could I catch diseases; I couldn't even catch a common cold. According to my blood samples, I was already sick. That was why women died at my touch.

I carried an incurable, fatal disease. Nathan thought it was a 'cousin' to the Black Plague but couldn't name it. The mutation was so far-fetched. The disease, rather than shut down my immune system and kill me, switched it into overdrive.

My body couldn't age because my cells never died. If injured, my wounds rapidly healed. My antibodies were the strongest, no bacteria survived in my blood. I was faster, stronger; when excited, angry—or, whenever I felt like it—my eyes became abnormally bright. Nathan blamed that on the electricity produced by the brain because nothing else seemed plausible. Now, what was plausible, were my possible deaths:

Severe injury—be it a stabbed heart or decapitation—would kill me. He also assumed I'd die of extreme blood loss, but never thought of bleeding me out to confirm it. Yet, to think that Charlotte, after contracting my curse, survived over a hundred years with me, only to die of a broken heart—that thought, I couldn't fathom.

I simply couldn't.

The coffee machine beeped, and I felt the sputter of steam near my face. "Cream?" I simply asked to avoid the subject at hand.

"Just black," he sighed as he turned around, leaning his back against the faux marble. I poured us each a cup, leaving his black as he requested. I drank mine the same, with no complaint, unlike the sour look on his face as he drank from his cup.

I chuckled into my coffee and shook my head. "I wish you wouldn't lie to yourself."

He laughed as he walked back over to his computer and hopped into his seat. As if the small remark on Charlotte hadn't happened, he brightened the screen again to point at his notes. "Did you black out today?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't confirm it now, would I?"

"Point taken." Nathan patted his lips. "I can't figure out what it is. We'd need to do an x-ray or something. Maybe you had head trauma?"

"I'd like you to remember you aren't a doctor, and you can't order me an x-ray. Neither can your friends." Laughing, I put down my coffee mug, "Besides, I don't remember ever being hit in the head."

Unless you counted the time Charlotte tossed a clock at my face.

"That's the point!" he exclaimed as he dipped far back in his chair. "You don't remember. I've figured out everything but that."

"Almost everything."

"Whatever, look," he turned his face to his screen, "you have symptoms of dementia, maybe Alzheimer's—I know you don't want to hear it—but with your immune system and rapid DNA strand, it's fucking impossible."

"I'm a mystery amongst mysteries, Nate. We've clarified that."

I finished my coffee before he even reached the midway point of his mug. I placed my cup in the sink, shaking my dark hair with my hands, and readied my mind for a hot bath. That would wash away the thoughts of her and remove me from the never-ending news about my deteriorating brain. It'd been the topic of the week, and of all the minutes I couldn't remember, I seemed to remember each time he brought it up.

"Hell, I know that," he said as I turned towards our bathroom. I could hear him swivel in his chair, his fingers tapping against the side of his cup. I reached for a towel that hung on the door, tossing it on my shoulder as I flicked on the light. As if called, Luther suddenly appeared by my feet and rushed into the bathroom.

"Lamont, question!" Nathan called.

I turned to look at him. "One of many?"

He didn't smile. "Did you make any new friends lately? Any girls?"

I wanted to laugh as I shrugged and leaned against the door. "No, why? Have I got any stalkers?"

"I think," he said.

"Are you sure they weren't for you, Nate? We both know I'd never talk to a girl long enough to invite her home, and we know why. If she's for you, man, I'd gladly leave for a few hours, so you could—"

"No, she wasn't for me. No way."

My heart stopped for a moment. The clock in our living room slowed its ticking until the second-hand struggled to progress. Luther meowed relentlessly behind me, waiting for the sink to be turned on, but I couldn't look at him. My eyes were stuck on Nathan, who bit his lip and averted his gaze. My eyes glowed brightly. "Who was she?" I asked, anxious.

"I don't know." Nathan put his cup down on his lap. "She came knocking on the door looking for you today. Didn't say her name, and I didn't say if you lived here."

"She knew me? Was it Charlotte?" There was hope in my voice.

My mind raced with thoughts. Today was our anniversary. Had she sought me out, looking to take me back? At long last? Oh, to have my queen back in my arms.

"No, it wasn't her." Nathan's brow knitted together in deep thought. "Too young to be Charlie."

I stood straight. "Too young? A child?"

"Maybe, I guess. I didn't get that far. I told her I wouldn't buy any cookies and closed the door."

I couldn't stop myself as I rushed past the kitchen, into the living room, and wrapped my fingers around his neck. He coughed as he dropped his coffee on the white carpet, his hands pulling at mine. A part of me wanted to kill him, but I needed him, so I loosened my grip. "Are you mad, man?" I hissed as I pulled his face to mine. "A woman comes looking for me, and it isn't the first thing you say? Today of all days!"

Nathan whimpered as his feet left the ground. "Not a w-woman, m-man!" he choked. "It was a g-girl!"

I let him stand. "Age," I demanded the answer.

"I don't know," he dug his nails in my hand, "s-sixteen, s-seventeen?"

I released my grip and watched him drop into his chair, rubbing away the red fingerprints on his neck. He coughed as he eyed me, both angry and afraid. With a nervous breath, he found his next words. "She said she needed to talk to you but wouldn't tell me who she was. Do you think I'd just let anyone in here? That's why I needed to know if you blacked out."

I rubbed my face, wiped the thoughts of Charlotte from my mind, and replaced them with recent events. I hadn't bumped into a girl. I walked down near the lake, stared at the manors across the water, and made my way over to the café for a drink. Nothing else.

"I don't know any children." My eyes dimmed to their normal blue.

"Well, she knew you."

I felt guilty for hurting him and offered my hand to help him stand. When he took it, I patted his back. "Sorry, Nate," I said with a weary smile.

"Add aggression to your list of symptoms. Jesus Christ."

"In six years, you hadn't figured that out yet?" I snorted. I picked up his empty cup and frowned at the stain near our feet. "Shit. That'll be bitch to clean out."

"She left you something," Nathan said and grabbed my attention again. "It was a book—a journal I think."

The clock's second hand finally moved, and Luther's angry meow intensified. "You think? Where is it?"

He shrugged as he looked at his trembling hands. "I put it in the trash."

"You tossed it?" I went over to the garbage can, only to find it empty. The awkward look in his eyes meant he tossed it, and immediately, I rushed out to the dumpsters we shared with our few neighbors. To my luck, it was only our trash bag inside. I pulled it out, untied it, and thought I saw my life flash before my eyes.

"Charlotte," I whispered as I reached inside the trash for the journal that sat near its top.

I flicked away bits of food as I ran my fingers along its cover. My name was etched into the leather: Lamont. Beneath my name was the year 1838; the year Charlotte and I became one. The journal had been mine, and I left it in the apartment we shared in New York. The fact that it was here in the trash outside my apartment, only meant she wasn't dead. I looked up at Nathan who stared at me with weary eyes from atop the stairs. "Nate, are you sure it wasn't her?" I asked again. He'd seen her pictures, I had plenty.

"Man, I'm sure," Nathan said, his hands on his head. "Unless you were some pedophile freak, it wasn't her."

I glanced down at the journal again. Inside were my words. Days written down, so I'd always remember them.

I remembered when Charlotte gave me the book, declaring it my birthday. "Why would I need such a frivolous thing?" I had asked her when she undid its red ribbon, revealing my name written so beautifully in gold font.

"Why, so you don't forget me, silly. You tend to do that, and I can't be a part of your life that you don't remember. So, humor me, Lamont. Happy Birthday."

My knees felt weak and I leaned against the dumpster for support. Her face flooded my mind in waves that hurt and burned my eyes. To ease the ache, I closed them and took in deep breaths.

"Hey, are you okay?" I heard Nathan ask, but I didn't look at him. I thought of her, and her beautiful smile. I could see her white dress; the same one she wore when I first met her. Her long, black hair blew in the Georgian wind as she blushed at the very sight of me. I wanted to reach out and touch her. I tried to.

Instead, my hand hit the cool metal of the stair rail.

"Lamont," Nathan hissed.

"Fucking shit, Nate," I breathed as I opened my eyes and looked up at him, "I need to find this girl."