Same As You

“That’s not the one.”

Claire had forgotten the many times she had heard him say that, so she turned to the nearest piece of furniture thinking of a random number to keep her mind in place. She thought of twenty two, the same as the date in which she died long ago.

“Pray tell, then, what is the one supposed to look like?”

After twenty minutes roaming between the maze of wardrobes, Claire got dizzy from the smell of wood coming from the ancient furniture around her. They looked the same with their walnut colors and decaying doors. If they have been made for one sole purpose, why must they go to every antique store, opening each and every door from every wardrobe they find, only to dismiss them later?

As usual, he provided her with no answer. She backed away when she felt the texture of his coat as he turned his back to her, raising his arm to adjust his ridiculous hat to hide his features from the young lady that walked past him. The girl looked away in disappointment, Claire noticed it by the way she was left with nothing but a glimpse of his woody scent.

She had also lost count of the many times his height forced the ladies to look his way whenever he entered a place, always trying to peek behind the sunglasses and black hat that covered his fluffy hair. At least it’s been a while since anyone tried to ask his name. Claire used to believe that wearing expensive suits was only to show off his arrogance, but people think of him as a dangerous man to approach him.

It is best to avoid facing him, rather than find yourself unable to flee from his gaze.

Claire hurried her little feet when the rattling echo of his steps sounded distant, walking past the wardrobes as if she were lost in a big city. She found herself back at the front windows of the store and stood next to the door, staring at the plaques from both cops that came out of the police car parked at the other side of the street.

The two men laughed in relief as they entered a restaurant. Claire felt sweat in her palms thinking she would barely have enough time to get her tiny legs to cross the street and grab their attention, considering the door bell of the store rang every time someone entered. She wouldn't reach the other side of the street in time, not without him pulling her from the neck of her sweater, leading her down the street like a useless toy.

She gasped and shuddered when a robust hand fell on her right shoulder, as he whispered: “It’s not dinner time yet, Claire. We still have two more stores to check. Don’t even think about it.”

She felt his last words heavier even after he lifted his hand and rushed to open the door for her to leave first. Clarie walked past him crestfallen, peeking at the inside of the restaurant, hoping the cops will notice their presence, that they might sense the urge to get her away from the man that walked behind her. What difference would it make anyway?

Jude was the name that the man behind her once bore, though he called himself something else nowadays. If only names had the power to change the person that wore them.

He found Claire three days ago, playing hide and seek in the corn field with her older brother. The heat of spring rushed its way through their bodies, forcing them to stop running and hiding to refresh themselves with homemade lemonade. She expected to find their mother on the porch stairs, but when there was no sign of her, Claire thought maybe she was still in the kitchen, cutting lemons in half.

Their laughter faded when they crossed the threshold. It was too hot to remain inside with the windows closed as they were and the absence of their father’s radio buzzing through the walls. None of them waited for their children and something reeked in the air that forced them to cover their noses.

Her brother called for them with no answer. It was not until both heard rattling sounds from upstairs that his curiosity turned into action. Claire brought her legs to follow him, unable to tell him they should be anywhere but there.

He stood at their parents’ room, finding balance with both hands against the threshold.

Blood had been spattered over the walls and the wooden floor, having stained the white sheets of the bed in which their mother rested in eternity. Their father was closer to the door, he must have attempted to run away from the executor, but unlucky he was like most before him. The axe was still embedded in the back of his head, eyes and lips partly opened, but not a sound escaped his lifeless body.

The sunrays never lighted the room for before the window stood a figure almost thrice the height of her brother. A cry came from his direction, forcing them to think of their baby sister crying in the arms of the stranger.

“You murder!” cried her brother with teary eyes, raising his tiny fists to the stranger man, kicking him with all his might to let go his sister.

Claire should have warned him that the intruder felt no pain, yet she was too stunned to speak. The other child retreated when the stranger turned to face him, with no hood and no glasses to hide his appearance.

In other times, there would not be a reason to run from Jude, with his youth preserved as if he had been in amber, with his sharp jaw and high cheekbones, and eyes greener than the corn field. However, the child staggered before his presence, tripping with the body of his father, unable to stand up again.

Nothing but gibberish came out of his mouth, for no words were enough to describe the crimes committed by the beast in front of him. Maybe he was trying to call the baby's name right before the stranger snapped her neck in the blink of an eye, shutting her cries instantly.

Claire failed to remember whether her only brother cried or stood to fight death’s impersonator. She only remembers his body lying next to his father’s, his head reduced to scattered pieces of him. The next thing she remembers is her body being lifted by the bloodstained hands that took her family. She kicked and cried as he dragged her to her parents van and drove her away from the farm.

Claire wondered if those policemen had found their bodies already, forcing her mind not to think of them rotting away in the only home she had in a long time.

The second antique store had been unsuccessful as well, and by the time they reached the third store, Claire had forgotten the streets they walked already, leaving behind any chance to bring her family’s killer to justice. When they arrived, the owner said he had some errands to run, but he must have sniffed Jude’s pockets for the man allowed them to wander while he returned.

Alone at last, Claire stayed behind as Jude took off the hat and removed the glasses while he entered the store. He walked around the place avoiding every mirror, or any object that showed the slightest reflection, for which Claire was grateful. She walked behind him, fearful of his steps, avoiding any sound that might disturb him.

“I have a present for you.”

Claire halted, her heart beating with a warning.

He slightly turned to face her, searching for something from the inside pockets of his coat. Not once in nearly two centuries he had shown signs of affection that she froze in aghast, expecting to face him holding a dagger. But soon her racing heart slowed down when a leather-covered book rested in his hand. He passed it to her, not wrapped like an ordinary gift and no title over the cover to give her a clue. Unlike him, she had to use both hands to hold it properly, avoiding his touch every moment.

He looked at her, silently forcing her to look through its pages. She struggled with its weight already, yet opening it almost made her lose her balance. Then she went through the first pages, feeling more pounds laid over her as she struggled to understand the handwriting. It was no ordinary book printed like the ones she owned back at the farm, it was written like a journal, but even the language was hard to translate. However, the symbols in it proved her there was something mystic, if not magical, about it.

“I’m only seven years old. I barely know how to read in this body, and you expect me to translate this?” She asked, thorned as she struggled to hold the book still.

She failed to draw back her words, hindering the peace between them as he leaned to face her.

“I have not waited seven years for you to play dumb with me.” Though calmed, his words felt like a blade pressed against her skin without cutting, yet. “You may change your looks, but you're not as useless as you think you are.”

“You should have ripped me from my crib then, the way you’ve been doing in every other life,” she challenged, with her lower lip trembling before him, “why wait seven years?”

A smirk lit up his wicked face as he steadied again without taking his eyes off her.

“Don’t you miss that old woman kissing your forehead at night?” Claire’s hand stiffened holding the book. “You could have not possibly been pretending you enjoyed playing with that naughty brother of yours. You must miss him dearly.”

“How dare you speak of him after you slaughtered him?”

“You brought this upon yourself. You may look like a child over and over again, but you won’t ever be that innocent.”

“The audacity to speak of innocence when you bring death to whoever meets your eyes,” Her heart was racing at this point, her legs barely keeping her steady, but now that she had the chance to speak of the many times he threatened her life with his mere presence, she would take advantage of it. “Oh, I bet you still think of yourself as a man.”

Jude smacked her face forcing her to drop the book, the floor trembling before her when it fell. Despite the pain, she forced the tears back, grateful that she couldn’t see his palm marked over her cheek. Before she could hide her face from him, he grabbed her by the chin, finding herself trapped in the consuming darkness that he had for eyes.

“You did this, you old hag.” He grinned his teeth, his words at last cutting through her skin. “If I am no man, it is only because of you. I am less, and less of a human, for the only truth is I am the remaining pieces of a mind that once was there. And I can’t lay them to rest, for you bound my body to eternity, so don’t expect a man of me.”

Claire staggered when Jude let go of her, returning his pace as he was in search of a piece of furniture that had been most likely reduced to ashes long ago. By the time he walked away from her, she thought of running away, even if she wouldn’t go that far. She could no longer afford such freedom, having been proved in every life he would find her.

Unlike her, his body had not aged for nearly two centuries. Death would be jealous of him for the wealth he managed to keep, yet they were alike for none had the means to afford love.

By the time Claire pulled herself together, she picked up the book, then she went after Jude only to find him facing backwards a light wooden wardrobe, its panelled doors wide open to show the shelved, worn out interior. The ugly part were the two large mirrors hanging from each door from the inside, the reason why Jude’s shoulders shivered, hiding his face with his hands.

Claire had forgotten the body and face she once had, but so did Jude, even though his body would never change the way hers did.

There were carved holes resembling caves where the greenery iris of his eyeballs once stared at her, shadowed by his sunken cheekbones and pale skin that it was hard to think of him as a living being. His lips were still smooth with the texture of a rose, but who would want to kiss him?

Even death abandoned him, for he was slowly rotting away without being buried.

Everyone would see his one true face but Claire. She was the only one who could still see his eyes, as green as the canopy of trees, the shape of his eyebrows and his lively cheeks. As long as he didn’t look himself in the mirror, before Claire’s eyes he was still the man she once fell in love with.

But she could love him no more.

When he stopped aging, she died.

It was as if she had the longest dream, until she found herself trapped in someone else’s body. It took her long to realize her body was no longer her own, but her mind was still alive. She thought maybe she had been given a second chance, to make things right for once, but soon after, Jude found her and killed her. Then she was born again, only to be found and killed by him once more. It went on and on, as Jude rejoiced for every time he took her breath away, and because death was ineffective for her as it was for him, he made sure she never lived again.

“Is that the one you’ve been looking for?” Claire mocked.

Jude was careful showing his face again.

He turned to face the mirrors behind him, withstanding the nature of his body. Claire tried to look away from his reflection, but she was locked by the darkness in his eyes, fearing she might not find the light again, if she looked away.

“Do you ever think that I have been nothing but fair to you?” He inquired.

“Should I be grateful, then? For tearing apart every being that I ever loved? For disposing of every body I have ever owned?”

“We found ourselves bound to lives we were never meant to have, living as long as we have.”

“There is no excuse for the lives that you took!”

“Neither there is for the one life you took.”

“You were supposed to be faithful to me!”

Claire hated how fragile she looked in the body of a child, the way her voice wrecked at the end of her sentence. She looked away to hide her emotions from him.

“You asked for love where there was none to offer.” Jude said, almost compassionate. He, too, looked away from the mirror, closing both doors of the closet, so he conceded without making peace with his curse. “The marriage was arranged for the sake of both of our families, and I was willing to commit, but I could have never offered you my heart when it belonged to someone else.”

And yet, such marriage never took place.

Before her long awaited day, she found out about his affair with a girl of lower range. Blinded by treason and humiliation, Claire swore she would never be insulted again. She found a paper that read like a curse, to seal her spoken words, uncertain of the power it held. She had no expectations, but then she got to witness Jude’s misery, losing himself when his lover met him with rejection.

Claire would call it victory, for she claimed she wouldn't rest until his downfall, yet she failed to understand why his heart kept beating, holding the remains of his decaying body. Until then, he is meant to find her in every life.

And in every life, Claire tried to break their curse by her own means. Love would never bind them, for she cast it out of him, forcing him to watch his lover love and die for someone else. Jude lamented every day his lover spent in eternal rest, for he would never be next to her.

Now Claire lacked the power to redeem herself. She was doomed to be Jude’s companion in his everlasting search, even if she thought it meaningless.

Next to Jude stood a second wardrobe similar to the previous one, but with its large doors above two drawers, carved cherub heads and diamond shapes in the front. She walked past Jude to the doors, but hesitated to open it when she heard him say, nearly pleading:

“If you won’t let me live, at least bring death to me.”

She rested her forehead over the wooden doors, taking a deep breath before surrendering to her long awaited defeat.

“I understand I am the one to blame.” She confessed. “This is all my fault, but I beg you to understand,” Jude was already staring at her when their eyes met, for once agreeing to one thing. “I don’t know the means to undo this.”

He offered her no answer. Jude stood next to her, gently pulling her aside, making Claire believe her words didn’t reach his ears.

He traced the details with his hands, wavering to open the doors. At last, Claire saw two little angels were carved inside, their mouths almost touching in a long awaited kiss. Below angels, the initials of his lover were still legible.

There was no doubt now that death would never take Jude’s hand, but it didn’t matter though, for no one would take him away from his one true love.