he snapped open the laptop, loaded with every feature he could possibly need or want to do research on the run. As the taxi crawled through traffic vying to reach the airport, Nathan located an unsecured network and punched a name into a search engine. Robert Albright.
A thick knot formed in his throat as he scanned the results. Finally he located an obituary in an Oklahoma newspaper. The world disappeared. The smelly taxi, the frigid air conditioning blasting in his face, the blare of rock music from the next car. He tuned everything out and began to read.
“Robert K. Albright, age 23, a naval officer aboard the USS Arizona, was one of the thousands of heroes to perish in the attack on December 7. Robert was born and raised in Oklahoma City and joined the Navy in spring of 1940. Shortly after, he married his sweetheart, Lillian Howard Burton. Albright’s bride went missing from their Hawaiian home in December 1940. The authorities found no trace of Mrs. Albright and still seek information in this unclosed case. Robert is survived by his parents, Flora and Kenneth Albright.”
The air was too close in the cab, the driver’s whistling too noisy, the whine of the road beneath the tires too loud. Nathan turned his face to the window and watched the scenery flash by, his mind awhirl. Lillian Howard Burton. Lillian Howard Burton Albright. Lillian Howard Burton Albright LeClair.
His fingers flew over the keys, finding another connection and entering that name as an image of her spiraled into view and obliterated all thought. Through the keyhole he glimpsed iridescent, immortal skin. He felt her waist crushed beneath his hands as they tumbled into the feather mattress—the same mattress which graced his antique walnut bed.
When he surfaced from this Vision, he was staring at an article outlining her disappearance.
“Lillian Burton Albright, wife of Navy Lieutenant Robert Albright, stationed aboard the USS Arizona was reported missing last evening by her husband. Lieutenant Albright grew concerned when he was unable to reach his wife this afternoon at the Village Laundry where she worked five afternoons a week. He searched their residence and notified authorities at once. No one saw Mrs. Albright leave her home and she never arrived for work. No possessions were removed from their residence. Foul play is suspected. If you have any information regarding Mrs. Lillian Albright’s whereabouts, please contact local authorities.”
With a snap, Nathan shut the laptop. Possibilities raced through his mind. No possessions, foul play suspected. What had happened to Lillian that long ago day in 1940? More than likely, she had been mortal while married to Lieutenant Robert Albright. After all, he had been mortal. He'd perished aboard the USS Arizona. He'd gone to his watery grave wifeless.
The morning of her disappearance, she had probably been made immortal. On the sidewalk before the narrow, blue bungalow Nathan had caught the flavor of her fear, confusion and loss. Emotions of Making, he knew. He walked the dusty paths of his mind, recalling his immortal birth. Confusion and loss were essential ingredients, mixed with dawn’s growing light and sprinkled with gunfire and birdsong.
He tapped on the window separating him from the taxi driver and asked if he could drive faster. A jet waited, and Nathan needed to board with all haste. I’m coming, Lillian, he thought, gnashing his teeth as the taxi rolled into another traffic jam.
In the surrounding air, he felt her trace. It burned a path to his heart. And no matter what names she had once possessed, he had only one for her: mine.
* * * * *
“Are you okay?” The passenger beside Nathan touched his sleeve.
Still breathing heavily from the image he’d seen, he swung his gaze into a pair of bright blue eyes. No, he thought, Lillian’s eyes are not blue. But the sweater she wore was. Nathan had seen a strong male hand on the small of her back, guiding her into a space
A thick knot formed in his throat as he scanned the results. Finally he located an obituary in an Oklahoma newspaper. The world disappeared. The smelly taxi, the frigid air conditioning blasting in his face, the blare of rock music from the next car. He tuned everything out and began to read.
“Robert K. Albright, age 23, a naval officer aboard the USS Arizona, was one of the thousands of heroes to perish in the attack on December 7. Robert was born and raised in Oklahoma City and joined the Navy in spring of 1940. Shortly after, he married his sweetheart, Lillian Howard Burton. Albright’s bride went missing from their Hawaiian home in December 1940. The authorities found no trace of Mrs. Albright and still seek information in this unclosed case. Robert is survived by his parents, Flora and Kenneth Albright.”
The air was too close in the cab, the driver’s whistling too noisy, the whine of the road beneath the tires too loud. Nathan turned his face to the window and watched the scenery flash by, his mind awhirl. Lillian Howard Burton. Lillian Howard Burton Albright. Lillian Howard Burton Albright LeClair.
His fingers flew over the keys, finding another connection and entering that name as an image of her spiraled into view and obliterated all thought. Through the keyhole he glimpsed iridescent, immortal skin. He felt her waist crushed beneath his hands as they tumbled into the feather mattress—the same mattress which graced his antique walnut bed.
When he surfaced from this Vision, he was staring at an article outlining her disappearance.
“Lillian Burton Albright, wife of Navy Lieutenant Robert Albright, stationed aboard the USS Arizona was reported missing last evening by her husband. Lieutenant Albright grew concerned when he was unable to reach his wife this afternoon at the Village Laundry where she worked five afternoons a week. He searched their residence and notified authorities at once. No one saw Mrs. Albright leave her home and she never arrived for work. No possessions were removed from their residence. Foul play is suspected. If you have any information regarding Mrs. Lillian Albright’s whereabouts, please contact local authorities.”
With a snap, Nathan shut the laptop. Possibilities raced through his mind. No possessions, foul play suspected. What had happened to Lillian that long ago day in 1940? More than likely, she had been mortal while married to Lieutenant Robert Albright. After all, he had been mortal. He'd perished aboard the USS Arizona. He'd gone to his watery grave wifeless.
The morning of her disappearance, she had probably been made immortal. On the sidewalk before the narrow, blue bungalow Nathan had caught the flavor of her fear, confusion and loss. Emotions of Making, he knew. He walked the dusty paths of his mind, recalling his immortal birth. Confusion and loss were essential ingredients, mixed with dawn’s growing light and sprinkled with gunfire and birdsong.
He tapped on the window separating him from the taxi driver and asked if he could drive faster. A jet waited, and Nathan needed to board with all haste. I’m coming, Lillian, he thought, gnashing his teeth as the taxi rolled into another traffic jam.
In the surrounding air, he felt her trace. It burned a path to his heart. And no matter what names she had once possessed, he had only one for her: mine.
* * * * *
“Are you okay?” The passenger beside Nathan touched his sleeve.
Still breathing heavily from the image he’d seen, he swung his gaze into a pair of bright blue eyes. No, he thought, Lillian’s eyes are not blue. But the sweater she wore was. Nathan had seen a strong male hand on the small of her back, guiding her into a space
Similar Books
Lord of My Heart
Jo Beverley
A Love Forbidden
Kathleen Morgan
Solomon Kane
Ramsey Campbell
The Mad Boy, Lord Berners, My Grandmother, and Me
Sofka Zinovieff
The Color of Death
Bruce Alexander
Wicked Lovers 05 Belong to Me
Shayla Black
Lovers of Babel
Valerie Walker
Dead South Rising (Book 2): Death Row
Sean Robert Lang