Prologue Part 1
Today I met a man out in the garden. We never have any visitors out here in the country, so at first I thought he might be lost. He looked rather surprised when he first saw me. His posture kept shifting as though he were excited and on his face there was a large, almost nervous, grin. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch, the other was a deep brown color. He opened up with an enthusiastic "Hello!" and reached his hand out to shake mine.
"Hi..." I answered rather low, not too sure he heard me speak. The hand lowered soon after. His presence caused great stillness in me. "Can I... um, can I help you?" I stammered for a moment before taking a deep breath. Surely, the man could not hear me speak, as I was far too quiet. "Is there a reason you´re here sir? Are you lost?"
He looked perturbed, almost hurt even, as though I´d struck him physically. "You mean," he started, "that you don´t recognize me?"
That was a strange question. Was I supposed to have? I slowly shook my head, that no, I had not recalled being in his presence in the past.
"Oh," the man´s face contorted, trying to think of something else to say no doubt. My answer might have angered him, but it was the truth. And there we stood, out on the lush green grass, the wind a faint breeze, the sun high in the noon sky. Not a word was said. Then he straightened, and his smile returned. "Well that´s fine then, it´s no problem!"
He didn´t appear to be too sure of himself despite his joyous energy, like he was trying to pick his words carefully. I didn´t know how to approach the matter, choosing instead to stay silent and stare. It must have been awkward, but I couldn´t form words. His hand reached out and lingered there once again and I did nothing.
There was an atmosphere around this person that illuminated the familiar. Yet there were no familiar memories nor thoughts. I couldn´t tell what is was, but I felt like I knew him, even with my lack of recollection. Though I would not say this aloud.
But he was an odd man, very odd. His clothing was black – a tight black shirt, a black belt holding up his nicely fit black pants, and black shoes on his feet – which struck me as unusual, because it was the end of spring. On the waist of his pants there was a weapon. A long sheathed sword. It didn´t strike me as out of place or odd as there was a symbol on his eye–patch that I recognized as military. However military often carried guns, not swords. But it remained unimportant. I could not shake the nerves that caused me sweat as though I were in a sauna.
"I´m Alexander," he said. That name struck no familiarity, and immediately after introducing himself he had my hand in his. Perhaps it was the sudden heat that swelled in the air, but I hadn´t even seen him reach for my limp arm. He shook my hand in his larger one, and there was a tingling on my skin, almost ticklish. I remained as I was, entranced by him, like a stone.
More out of manners than anything else I then replied, "William, I´m William," and cleared my throat. The name caused another contortion of the man – Alexander´s – features. He appeared to know me, or implied it, despite my utter lack of memory of him.
If only he had known... but maybe he did. Maybe he knew more than me.
A strand of long brown hair hung over his face, the rest was combed back nicely, slick. It drew attention to Alexander´s eye, and I could not look away.
"Excuse me, Alexander, if you don´t mind my asking – where did you come from?"
"Oh! I´m just visiting. I came in through the back. Buffy let me in."
That surprised me even more. It was unlike Buffy to let anyone in her home. She´d taken such good care of me in exchange for only my friendship. The girl´s a sweet soul, but on more than one occasion she´s been nothing but cold to anyone but her dear William. And this man, this Alexander, caused such fondness in her that she willingly let him into her home – our home? I had figured he wandered around from the front and stumbled upon me as he searched for aid. Nothing is ever locked around here, unfortunately. But seeing as we live out in the middle of nowhere, and that the chit and me can both hold our own, it´s never been too important to lock things unless either of us required privacy.
"You know Buffy?"
"Yes. Me and her, we go a long way back."
This connection between Alexander and Buffy, combined with these mixed emotions traveling through me, added to my intrigue in this person.
My legs were shaky and the longer Alexander was near the more weak I became.
Then, suddenly, his arm came around my shoulder and he chuckled. Any other situation when a stranger approached me as quickly as this I would have pummeled them to ground without reason for my action other than I felt the impulsive instinct to defend. But with Alexander I nearly tumbled over to the ground. This stranger had a hold on me that I could not explain, like witchcraft, he had me in a spell. I looked over at him, the sweat beading down my sickly pale face, and saw his smile for the first time up close. My heart froze in my chest and at that second an ominous death came over me. It was dreadful and delightful simultaneously.
His small chuckle grew and his hold on my shoulder increased in pressure. "Let´s talk," he said and guided me down deeper into the garden, as if he knew the path better than me.
