Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Thirteen

While Liz couldn’t argue William looked well, she still wasn’t convinced that the man she was talking to could be more than two hundred years old. “So she cursed you with long life?”

“Nothing as simple as a long life, I’m afraid, but a kind of immortality. Since that time I’ve been unable to die, either by my own hand or that of others.”

“Did you try?”

“To kill myself? Of course. I didn’t believe the nonsense about a curse any more than you believe me now, and nothing she said had diminished my pain. As soon as she left I was even more determined to finish what I’d started. I put the pistol to my head again and pulled the trigger.”

“Oh my God, you didn’t.”

She felt his grip tighten around her fingers and he frowned, as though reliving an unpleasant memory. “That first time, the pain was so bad I blacked out. When I came around, it was dark and I had the mother of all headaches. I assumed I’d botched the job, so I walked all the way back to Pemberley and fell into bed. When I woke the next morning there was a bare circle above my ear, where the hair had gone, just here.” He tapped the side of his head, a few inches from his temple.

“Perhaps you weren’t as badly injured as you thought.”

He shook his head, a half-laugh escaping from his lips like a hiss. “My head, neck and shoulders were covered in dried blood and my clothes were ruined. It looked like I’d slept on the floor of an abattoir.”

Liz shuddered as she imagined the scene. “That’s not possible.”

“No?” William grabbed her hand, pulling her up with him. In a few steps they were back in the middle room and he sat her on the end of the bed before rummaging in one of the drawers. When he turned to face her again, she noticed a glint reflecting from the pointed blade of a knife.

Gasping, she threw her hands up, adrenaline sending her heart pounding as she looked for another way to escape, even as she remembered the locked door at the top of the stairs. 

But rather than attacking Liz, William turned his left hand palm upwards, his hand clenched into a fist. With a strangled cry he plunged the blade through the middle of his forearm until the point stuck through his skin on the other side, dripping blood onto the carpet. Then, he yanked the knife free and watched the rivulets of red running down his skin.

Liz fought against the suffocation, her head spinning from lack of oxygen. She turned away, her hand covering her mouth; sure she would throw up at any moment.

At once, William was at her side. “Breathe, Liz, for God’s sake. I had no idea the sight of blood would affect you like this.” Tugging open another drawer he pulled out a t-shirt, wiping the mess from his arm. “Look…here. It’s fine. See?”

She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the blood again, but it was right in front of her and hard to miss. A few crimson smears stained his skin, but there was no sign of the injury she’d just watched him inflict. Nothing. Not even a pink line to mark the point where she’d witnessed the knife pierce his skin.

Her first thought was one of relief that he was okay, then gratitude that he hadn’t wanted to attack her. She let out a deep breath as her eyes roamed across his face, looking for some sign that it was all a trick. Then she glanced down at the blade, still covered in blood. There was no way…it couldn’t be true, and yet she couldn’t think of any rational explanation that would fit.
 
“Liz, how do you feel?” He seemed more worried about her than himself.

Running her fingers across his arm, she checked both sides for his injury. She’d seen the knife poking through the skin. “I…you… How did you do that?”