Page 11 of Eternal Surrender

Mingling our ashes, our destinies. . .

The raw truth pressed in all at once. I was no longer only myself. I was him, and somehow, he was me, our edges, blurred, our selves tangled and inseparable. It was a living nightmare, impossible to accept or believe. Two enemies had become one, and inside me rebellion flared with a terrible exhilaration that collided even as I fought it—fought with everything I had.

I flew into a blinding rage.

Canvasses ripped from their frames; others flung and lay smashed where they’d landed. The small chamber where I’d kept my paints now lay decimated and the vast collection of paintings I’d lovingly crafted over two hundred years destroyed.

Staring at my hands like a madman, guilty of having caused the mayhem, I tried to remember the years of my life and find something good in them. So cruel, how a place can be familiar and yet so foreign; this once sacred room had been my sanctuary, but now offered nothing but grief.

Alex’s long sigh. “William?”

My vision blurred with tears. “That’s not my name.”

Jacob caught up with Alex, and he scanned the mess.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I slid down the wall, pressing my face into my hands, burying my shame, shaking uncontrollably.

And they let me, both of them waiting for my shock to dissipate.

Alex sat beside me, wiping away his own tears. Jacob kept his distance, taking in the room, and though he didn’t glance at Ingrid’s notebook lying discarded on the floor, I knew he’d seen it.

“I suppose we’re doing it your way then?” said Jacob.

I tried to read the truth in their eyes, yet at the same time hoping not to. “Joined as one?” The words tasted foul as I spoke to them.

Jacob’s frown deepened. “Yes.”

My throat tightened like a vice, and I struggled to catch my breath. Alex reached out to comfort me again.

I waved off his gesture and said, “This is worse than being dead.”

Jacob motioned to Alex that he wanted to handle this, handle me.

“He doesn’t remember everything,” Alex murmured.

“But I know who you are.” I threw an angry look. “Brother.” My glare shot to Jacob. “And you’re my son.”

“I am Orpheus’s son,” Jacob acknowledged.

“Everything’s muddled up.” My sob choked me, and I held out my hands turning them around and finding nothing familiar.

“Has this ever happened before?” Alex asked Jacob.

Jacob’s slender arms fell to his side. “Once that I know of.”

“Is it reversible?” The confusion of what I was actually asking sinking in.

Jacob glanced at Alex.

“Tell me,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

Jacob shifted closer and knelt before me with the grace of a priest administering last rights. “There is a real possibility, yes.”

My hands were still shaking.

“William, we’ll talk about this later,” Jacob said, “when you’re calmer.”

“We talk now.” My voice wavered with emotion.