It was like looking at a photograph of the night we’d first met. He’d obviously drawn it from memory, as the coat I’d worn ended at the hips, not the knees, and my hair had been up, not curling softly around my shoulders. But it was unmistakably me.

I was flattered, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of freak spent time in moony daydreams about someone they’d known for less than two weeks.

But then again, what kind of freak trades their freedom for the life of someone they’ve known for less than two weeks?

Trembling, I pulled the page free from the binding and folded it small enough to fit into the back pocket of my jeans. Something to remember him by, I supposed. Then I tore out a blank piece and started writing.

The first letter I wrote was easier than I expected. My resignation from the hospital was simple, professional and, as it was handwritten in pencil on notebook paper, probably the last nail in the coffin of my medical career.

But it really wouldn’t matter. Nathan was right. Eventually, people would notice I didn’t age. Unlike Nathan, there was no way I’d ever pass for forty. Judging from how often I’ve been carded buying beer, I could barely pass for twenty-one. I’d have to redo college and medical school every ten years just to keep being a doctor. It would be like hell, only worse.

I’d slip that letter under the door of Dr. Fuller’s office before I arrived at Cyrus’s house tomorrow night.

I took out another sheet and began the more difficult farewell.

Nathan,

I’m not going to pretend we’ll ever see each other again, at least not on friendly terms. I’ve decided that the best place for me is with my sire. Please know that while I wish you only the best, I understand you have a job to do for the Movement. I won’t take it personally if you try to follow that assignment through, but be aware that I will fight you with my last breath. No one has the power to decide whether I live or die. If you ever felt the slightest friendship toward me, you’ll forget I ever existed.

Carrie

Ten

Sunset

As much as I tried to ignore what I was about to do, I couldn’t quiet my mind enough to sleep. Instead, I consolidated my clothes into a shopping bag and waited, staring at Nathan’s alarm clock like a death row inmate. Soon, my time would be up.

For a while, I listened to Nathan puttering around in the living room. Though he’d claimed to be set on an evening of reviewing insurance forms and serious concentration, all I heard was the popping of microwave popcorn and Led Zeppelin. He listened to Houses of the Holy twice before I heard the springs of the couch creak as he settled in to sleep.

Ziggy left at about eight o’clock. When I heard him return at noon, I opened the bedroom door and waited for him to notice that I was awake.