Promise

The first time John fell in love, it was in an abandoned building next to the popular pizzeria.

For millennia, the town of Ambe has been his favorite getaway town. It was a miniature settlement with a modest population varying from the original fifty inhabitants to the current three hundred. However, thanks to his everlasting life, he was only allowed to venture to his teeny utopia every hundred years.

It’s been a century and Ambe has turned from a rickety village made of wooden houses into a town made of stout ceramic buildings. John has just returned from visiting the Eiffel Tower in Paris after a police officer vaguely recognized him from a case back in the 1900s (it’s a long story involving chocolate croissants and doppelgängers) and was safe to say surprised by the change the town has gone through. He found the derelict old shack he built years ago in the nearby forest Silva, where a few of his dusty belongings had thrived—a velvet pouch of outdated money, a deteriorating golden watch, a moth-eaten leather journal, amongst many other things. John clasped the ancient watch around his wrist and strapped a knife under his trench coat. He decided to go for a walk around the town to see more of the changes.

All the people he knew a hundred years ago have mostly left. In the home of old Mrs. Richards now resides her grandchildren’s family, eight kids who chased each other around her trampled gardens. Mr. Lee’s bakery is now run by the baby son of the family he once loathed, though he isn’t a baby anymore. Clark has grown into an able-bodied young man with sharp eyes and a benevolent smile. Mary Vell, the young girl who always stared at John with interest whenever he passed by her tiny shack, now resides on a rocking chair telling her grandchildren’s children archaic tales of old monsters of the past in her quivering yet unyielding voice. John made sure to hide his face as he passed by her home, wary that his identity will be unveiled.

When John’s stomach unforeseeably grumbled obnoxiously, a little boy with sharp hearing informed him of a new pizzeria that just opened downtown. Thanking the boy (who introduced himself as Mason), he hurried to the restaurant with a hungry eagerness bouncing on his toes.

The first thing he noticed about the eating place was not about it at all, rather the building on its left. It was a decaying three-story structure with hardly any walls, resting at a cul-de-sac. The silvery paint was chipping off, leaving russet bricks exposed to the outside air. The two wooden front doors were dangling precariously from their hinges as if a tornado had tried to pluck them away but fell flat at its attempts. After scarfing a few cheesy slices, he decided to explore the decrepit construction.

John cautiously stepped into the building, using his sense of sight to make sure that the structure is safe to probe around in. After discovering that the first floor is primarily composed of debris and sediment, he ascended the stairs with a buzz in his heart that he only felt when doing something he felt he shouldn’t be doing. When he reached the landing, his instincts instantaneously lit up like a warning flare. After living on the run his whole life, he could easily identify another human presence in the room. Unsheathing his knife, he held it firmly in his palm as he weaved between the pillars to ambush the cloaked figure sitting in the middle of the level.

However, the figure was just as alert. They swiftly turned around just as John raised the knife over their head. Yelping with alarm, the figure leaped to their feet and scuttled away from John like a terrified crab.

“What are you doing?” a soprano voice squealed. John was startled when he realized it came from the cloaked shadow in front of him. The shadow pulled their hood down, revealing a young female adult with copper skin and wide, intelligent hazelnut eyes. Her umber hair fell in rippling waves that reminded John of chocolate sundae and the ocean. The woman raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Why are you holding a knife?”

John was startled out of his reverie, only realizing that he was still holding the knife threateningly above his head. “S-sorry,” he stammers, dropping the knife back to his coat. He wonders how bizarre he must look in front of her, with disheveled dirty blonde hair and a stubble beard, complete with a graying blue shirt and ancient dusty jeans. Not to mention his tattered onyx coat and the fact that he was wielding a knife just a few seconds earlier. “Force of habit.”

“Force of habit, huh,” the girl scrutinized John with newfound interest. “Who are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

“I… I’m new to town,” John rubbed his fingers anxiously. There was something about this girl that immensely intrigued him, something that ate at his insides and made him regretful that he has never met her before. He looked up at her, eyes shining curiously. “My name’s Jonathan, but you can call me John. I’m sorry for nearly stabbing your earlier.”

The girl took a moment to smile at him, but when she did, it was genuine. Her eyes crinkled like paper and her lips formed a perfect crescent, the kind John only saw when the moon wanes and the obsidian cloak of the night sky is stippled with luminescent stars. He felt something in his stomach melt as she extended her hand for him to shake.

“I’m Faith,” she introduced herself. As John took her hand tentatively, she questioned, “Do you need a tour around the place?”

John knew he needed to say ‘no’, one because he knew his way around town already, and two because he knew being around this girl would be dangerous for his blossoming feelings, but instead, he answered, “Yes.”

☆

It’s funny how time works. It’s been nearly two years since John first met Faith in the abandoned building, and now they’ve become close friends.

Though John and Faith poked around town frequently, they preferred to hang out in the deserted construction where they first met. It took John six months to tell Faith about his immortality, which infuriated her and caused her to give him the silent treatment for a while. Luckily, there was nothing a warm slice of pizza couldn’t fix. She swore to keep it a secret, but John knew she wasn’t going to blabber to anyone anyway. Though she remained salty at the fact that he chose to wait so long to tell her that side of him, it didn’t stop her from continuously being curious about his past.

“Tell me about the Opium War,” Faith requested through a mouthful of tangy garlic bread. They were having a picnic in the desolate building (which Faith fittingly named ‘Lonely’), seated comfortably on a red and white striped blanket with a basket full of various delicacies. John learns that Faith is a huge fan of garlic bread, but it didn’t stop him from loathing it—what’s so great about garlic? When Faith learned about his dislike, she teased him for being a vampire.

“Why do you want to know about the Opium War?” John asked, sipping a can of apple juice. It was his comfort drink, though Faith found it horrendous. Just one of the many differences they both have.

“My younger sister said it was the topic for her World History class today,” Faith shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

Ever since Faith learned of his immortal soul, she continuously asked about the past. Though John reminded her time and time again that he wasn’t present in all of the major events of history, it never hindered her from questioning the Crusades or the American Revolution. John decided that he liked this curious side of her.

So he told her about the Opium War, or what he knew about it from old friends who fought in it or were witnesses. As usual, he felt the throbbing pang in his chest as he recalled the friends we once had. It was one of the many consequences of being immortal—watching others age and die, knowing you’d outlive them. Sometimes, he felt the same pang whenever he watched Faith like she was going to wither away before his eyes. Her presence and his affection only amplified the pain of eventually losing her.

“Hey,” Faith snapped her fingers next to the shell of John’s ear, jolting him out of his reverie. “What’s up?”

“What?”

“You spaced out,” Faith offered him a piece of garlic bread before remembering. Rolling her eyes, she took a huge bite. “Did the Opium War bring back some horrifying memories?”

“No, I wasn’t even there,” John accidentally confessed, earning a shove from Faith.

“So you’ve been telling me lies?”

He stutter-explained that what he told her were reliable second-hand accounts, but she waved him off dismissively and turned to a new, positive subject. That was what John liked most of her—she always seemed to know when he was feeling down about a conversation.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while,” Faith said, playing with her shoelace as she leans her head against John’s shoulder. His chest swelled and exploded like dynamite at the contact.

“Yeah?” he breathed as he ran his fingers through her locks, alabaster against chestnut.

“Why do you like Ambe so much?” Faith inquires. “There are many places in the world that you could have chosen to frequent often, but you picked our little town. Why?”

John paused. He didn’t know the answer himself, either. The community wasn’t special or anything—they were ordinary townsfolk who sometimes gossiped and occasionally argued over infinitesimal matters, like accidentally baking eight cupcakes instead of four or who forgot to throw the trash. There was always an ambiance around the place that comforts him, similar to a warm hug one receives after going through a challenging time. But he didn’t know how to explain this feeling to Faith, so he said something else.

“I like to believe I’d meet my soulmate here.”

Faith snorts, punching him lightly in the ribs. The movement was hypnotically slow, matching the small puffs of breath leaving her lips. “You’re so cheesy,” she mumbles, fading away.

John held her tight as she snored against his shoulder, dreaming. It didn’t take long for him to drift to slumber, with the last thing he saw before his eyelids fluttered close being the girl he realized he’s in love with.

Alas, life isn’t always so generous.

When John wakes up, he hears two familiar voices arguing outside. Making sure to set Faith comfortably against the blankets, he crept towards the edge of the floor to identify elderly, cranky Mary Vell and youthful, tenacious Clark ambling past, trodding over the blades of grass and weeds.

“I’m telling you!” Mary growls, latching her fingers around Clark’s arm for support. The young man winced as the other’s nails punctured his skin, leaving dents in their wake. “The new visitor—though it’s been two years so I guess he’s not very new anymore—I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before, years ago!”

Ice shot through John’s veins, withering his heart and dampening his forehead. He leaned forward to listen in to their conversation, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

“Maybe he just looks like someone you knew?” Clark offers, face contorted in obvious pain.

“No,” Mary shook her head so vigorously John thought she was going to snap her neck. “I remember him as clear as day. He stayed in Ambe for a while before he left only a year later, right after my great-grandfather mentioned he looked familiar. When I asked him about it, he told me about a man wearing a black trench coat who used to live in Ambe for a while before the people started accusing him of being a witch.” Lowering her voice but still loud enough for John to hear, she whispers, “He doesn’t age. They thought he was immortal.”

Clark visibly shivered, though if it was because of the razor nails still digging into his skin or the news, John couldn’t tell. “And you think our newest resident is that same person?”

Mary Vell bobbed her head earnestly. “Yes. You need to find out, Clark—spy on him, threaten him, and he will reveal himself to you. Then report to me.”

“But why? What are you going to do?”

“Turn him into the authorities, of course. If a man can live forever then others should be able to.”

Fear thundered in John’s chest as the duo walked off. The knife felt heavy in his coat pocket as he tore himself away, an escape plan formulating itself in his mind. Before he could scramble down the stairs, a female voice stopped him.

“John?”

He gulps and turns around, facing Faith. Her hazel eyes are wide with fear and shock; John knew then she had heard every single word. He approached her tenderly, caressing the back of her palm with his fingers.

“I have to go,” he tells her softly.

She nods mutely, understanding the stakes. John knew he would forever be grateful for this woman in front of him and for the time they’ve spent together. He felt tears brimming as he swallowed, knowing that he had no time to confess his feelings. He started to depart, but Faith grabbed his arm.

He tried to pull away but was startled when Faith intertwined her pinky finger in his. Startled, he could only watch as her next words tumbled out of her coral lips.

“Promise me,” she said, “that you’ll come back. In sixty years, in eighty years—I don’t care. Just promise me you’ll return and visit me.”

It was not an easy promise, but John curled his pinky around hers. “Promise,” he rasped, voice thick with pain and sorrow.

Faith smiled and reached up to cup his face in her hand. “Don’t forget me.”

“I won’t,” John replies, forcing himself to leave. Faith exhaled shakily as he trudged down the steps. He watched her until she was gone, feeling a piece of his soul crumble.

☆

It’s been seventy years and Ambe has turned from a town of ceramic homes into a sprawling metal city.

Though most of the pleasant town has changed, John still remembers the exact location of the three-story building he hung out in with the girl he loves. It had been reformed into a five-story crowded hospital, filled with familiar yet alien countenances and the zesty smell of lemon cleaners. He strode through the bleach white hallways with a thundering heart, having heard from an old doctor named Mason Hall that Faith Young has been relocated to Room 319.

John managed to sneak in smoothly without having to identify himself, but he found it difficult to enter Room 319. His hands quaked as they reached for the door; his legs shivered as they stepped inside, taking in the cold temperature of the room.

“Faith?”

A wrinkly woman was resting on the bed in Room 319, blinking her sleepy eyes. She craned her ancient neck towards him, as languid as a sloth. Her hazel orbs seem to twinkle with realization as she took him in, paper lips curving into a smile as a single name left them.

“John.”

Though the voice was gravelly with age, it still resonated in the same tune John remembered hearing years ago. He exhaled as he lifted a plastic chair nearby to sit next to her, a silky, immaculate hand sliding into her crinkly, origami palm.

“I kept my promise,” he said.

Faith chuckles. “Lonely looks so different now, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” John agrees, ignoring the sodden pearl sliding down his cheek.

Faith tells John all about her life in those seventy years without him. How she never married but spent most of her time taking care of her sister’s children when she passed. How she helped out in Clark’s bakery and became his best friend. How she never forgot the antique, long-lived man whose company she enjoyed and fell in love with.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, the tears coming in full force.

“It’s okay,” she answers, her hands cocooning his.

John starts sobbing, crying for the lost time they could’ve spent together. Immortality may be a blessing, but for him, it’s a curse; a curse that he’ll suffer through until the Earth fades. Even then, could he die?

“I’ve lived… a long life,” Faith mumbles, snaring John’s attention. “And John, there’s one thing I realized.”

He blinked, not entrusting himself to speak.

“You know, the people of Ambe live ridiculously long lives. Most of us live to see the age of eighty, sometimes even ninety or even to a hundred. Mrs. Vell lived to see a hundred and nineteen.” Faith chuckled dryly at the name of the one who forced John to hide. “I believe… it’s all thanks to you.”

“Me?” John sniffles, wiping his cheeks swiftly.

Faith exhales in response, breaths slowing. “You didn’t remember… how you got your immortality…right? Maybe whoever gave it to you… also gave you the gift… to share longevity… with everyone else you meet.”

“Perhaps,” John shrugs, grip tightening around her fingers. She managed a peaceful smile in response.

“I’ll… see you there, John,” Faith promised, her pinky weakly winding itself around his. She was dying, to John’s grief.

“Promise?” he chokes, knowing it was empty.

“Pro… mise…” she answers with a final, hazy smile.

The machine connected to Faith beeped a never-ending straight line, but John continued to hold her coarse, lovable hands like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.