by Nancybe

Julia smiled wryly, thinking that she might have to give Willie consulting privileges at Wyndcliffe. Then she turned her attention back to the tortured man below. She carefully made her way down to the beach and quickened her step to catch up to Barnabas. Not wishing to startle him, she called his name, but her words were carried away on the wind.

Barnabas stopped and turned to gaze out at the dark water. At that moment, he did not know where his soul ended and the inky blackness of the sea began. Julia took the opportunity to lightly touch his shoulder.

He turned to her slowly, without surprise, his eyes cast downward. She lifted her hand to caress his solemn face, and found it wet – whether with tears or seaspray she wasn’t sure. In the next instant, she found herself in his tight embrace, the embrace of a man holding on for his life. She could feel the desperation emanating from him, and he held her as if to draw strength from her body as he had drawn blood from others in the past. She knew he had always depended on her strength and providing it had always strengthened her in turn. She had always been a strong person; she had had to be. Sometimes, during her years with Barnabas, she had been frightened and had leaned on him for courage and comfort. But so many more times, he had needed her too, and she had had to put aside her own fears to help him face his.

They stood on the isolated beach for a long time, holding each other, neither speaking. The blackness of the sky accentuated the stars which kept a silent vigil over them from above. The waves boomed like thunderclouds as they crashed relentlessly against the helpless shore, their ebb and flow matched by the rhythmic breathing of the two souls silhouetted in the moonlight. And the pull of the moon on the sea seemed to also slowly pull some of the melancholy from the troubled man who stood on the darkened sand.

Despite her smaller stature, the woman rocked the man slowly in her arms, comforting him, giving him the lifeline, the hope he so desperately needed. And his response to her, his reliance on her strength, gave her hope as well.

The young woman crumpled the letter in her slender, manicured hand with a sound of disgust. A small town in Maine? How the hell did that happen? Why couldn’t it be New York or Chicago? Well, there wasn’t much choice, was there? Just another in a long line of insults as far as she was concerned.

She surveyed herself one last time in the mirror. Green cat eyes returned her gaze as she brushed the chestnut locks which fell in waves down her back. Not bad for a 30-year-old, she thought with a self-satisfied smile.

She picked up her suitcase and headed for the door. It was time to go.

MORE TO COME.

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