Waindale

fifty-two. i'm here

In the middle of the library, I lay flat on my back and stare up at the intricate ceiling. Crown molding and other carvings rope along it like white vines and knot together at the center point of the roof. Aimed directly underneath it, I close my eyes and recall what I read in one of the many books I've studied from my father's collection. I couldn't find any information about teleportation or any sort of traveling similar to the mysterious vanishing he does, but I did read about astral projection, and if there's a possibility of seeing Adam again, I'm going to give it a try.

I let a wave of relaxation wash over me slowly from my feet, up my legs, over my torso, down my arms and through my neck until lastly, my face relaxes as well. With steady, deep breaths I feel myself sinking into my mind, drowning until it feels like my body is melting into the floor. A sense of isolation takes over, and after a moment or two, I decide to peek. The desire to see Adam is present in my mind, and when I open my eyes, I see him sitting on the edge of our bed, bent over and exhausted. I blink then blink harder.

I peer to my feet and see that they are on the ground, but I can't help but doubt that they actually are. If I've done what I think I've done, I should be on the astral plane—the world between the physical and the spiritual, as described in the book.

He can't see me or pick up my scent, and this goes both ways, yet, despite this, my eyes begin to fill with tears. I hurry to him and fall to my knees. I touch his legs, but he feels nothing. "Adam," I whisper, "I'm here."

He suddenly stands and walks to the window. I watch his back tense as he looks out into the night, maybe searching the trees for any sign of me. The bedroom door opens and I instinctively scramble up and step back against the wall. His mother comes into the room. He turns to her.

"I had Yuke put away the leftovers if you want to eat later," she says, her face forgiving and sympathetic.

Adam says nothing.

"I know you want to go out again tonight, but you have to get some sleep, Adam. She would want you to rest."

He clenches his jaw. His eyes subtly find her reflection in the glass of the window.

Ester sighs. "She's with her father. She isn't lost in the forest—you won't find her out there."

"You know nothing about him," he says.

"I know. But maybe I could if you would explain it to me."

He swallows. He hardly considers this before telling her to leave him.

She knows about my father then. Well, not much about him, just that I'm with him. Adam must have assumed that he's taken me.

Ester closes the door as she steps out of the room. I linger from the wall and near my weary mate, hating the fact that he's tiring himself out, needing him to snap out of it so he can sleep and eat and function. But I know the feeling all too well. It's not something you can simply snap out of. It consumes you until your bones are licked clean.

"I'm going to get back to you," I promise. "I-I just don't know how to without putting you in danger. I don't know how to escape him. He's everywhere, all the time. He has these plans for me, and I know there's no way out, no way out on my own."

Still aware that he can hear none of this, I tell him, "The baby is safe. My father said I can keep him, but I can't get him to you. I just—I don't know what to do. I thought I could save you, but look at you. I don't even know how long it's been; I don't even know where I am."

Adam wanders from the window and stares down at our bed with hatred. It mocks him.

"Please lay down. Try to sleep, for me," I murmur. I get onto the bed and lay in my spot, praying that somehow he'll sense my presence and lay down too. When he sits, I bring my hands to his shoulders and pull him. He comes back, and through the eyes of someone truly there, it simply appears that the poor guy is finally giving in.