Page 58 of Eternal Obsession

Looking at Alex, the guilt weighed heavily. His clothes and skin were filthy and his hair disheveled. I had to take care of him, make it up to him.

But this was not enough.

Alex had lived a life of solitude for two hundred years. I wondered how he would ever forgive me, for I would never forgive myself.

First I endeavored to clean him up but soon realized there was no electricity within the castle. I guided Alex outside. Stripping both myself and Alex naked, I waded with him into the water until we stood waist-deep and then scrubbed him with ancient soap until he was clean again. I wrapped him in a towel and provided fresh clothes.

Lying upon our father’s old four-poster bed, the mattress having disintegrated and leaving nothing but a wooden frame, with Alex resting his head upon my lap as he used to do in years gone by, we enjoyed the closeness we had once shared as if nothing had ever changed.

We spoke tirelessly, sharing stories of our adventures, laughing at each other’s exploits. As only Alex could, he awarded no blame to me for being away. Instead he melted against me, helping ease my interminable guilt. Alex questioned me relentlessly, seeing the modern world through my eyes. I was a little more familiar with the twenty-first century and had even learned the skill of driving.

“I have a silver Jaguar,” I said. “I can’t wait to take you for a spin.”

“So much has changed.” Alex sighed.

“Why did you never leave St. Michael’s?”

“For the longest time, I was nervous I’d miss you if you⁠—”

I bit my lip, as though that may quell this irrepressible guilt.

“Then,” Alex continued, “I kind of enjoyed my own company.”

“I . . . let you down.”

“When you left I had time to think about a lot of things. I should have seen through him. I should have sensed he was manipulating me.”

“I should not have left the castle,” I said. “It was my duty to fight at Father’s side. Looking back, it felt right to guide Orpheus away, but he pulled the oldest trick in the book when he divided and separated us. That’s why he⁠—”

“He hasn’t won. I just don’t understand why he hated me.”

“We do not think like him because we are so removed from his world. How could you have suspected? We were sheltered from all things of this nature. Father should have been clearer. Shoving a book at me didn’t cut it.”

“I tried to keep this place up but after a while I lost the will,” Alex said.

“Who cares about the dust? Still, it might be a good idea to refurnish the place, modernize it perhaps.”

“Does that mean men will come here?”

“I can deal with them.”

“We will need money.” Alex stretched.

So many artifacts here were priceless. There were so many remarkable pieces we could sell. We could restore the castle with a quiet, steadfast respect for every stone and story it carried. “We can sell one of the paintings, perhaps two.”

“Yes, let’s start with the Joseph Turner.” Alex remembered how Orpheus had once admired the artist’s work.

“So we must find an art dealer.”

“Let’s do it!” Alex sat up.

“Sounds good to me,” I said, and from out of my jacket pocket I pulled out my mobile phone.

“You have one?” he asked curiously.

“You can have it after,” I said, smiling and searched online for a local art dealer.

I dialed the number and waited for an answer.