The truth was that this name, Logan, was music to my ears, it was the name of that soldier who’d saved me a long time ago, from myself, mostly. And I discovered over the years that the feelings I had for him at that time never seemed to fade. They were not as strong as what they were then, but definitely still there. And that man looked so much like him now that I thought about it, the same expression in his eyes, the same hazel in them, the same feeling of security I had when I was around him. And that could explain why I had that strange feeling when I first caught sight of him on that street. For me it was as if Logan was back for me, though I knew it was impossible, for Logan had gone a long time ago.
Now, he had a name and it didn’t matter who gave it to him, and I selfishly and foolishly hoped he’d stay here with me, forever.
Days became weeks and weeks soon became months. Two months with Logan, teaching, correcting, encouraging and falling madly in love with him. But there was no way I could confess him my feelings, not with what he was living.
One day as he read a news paper, his face became paler than death itself. I rushed over to him to see what caused him to shock and saw the macabre picture. A dead man lying in front of some kind of enormous box surrounded by water tanks that contained corpses. All the corpses had the same features, the same as the man lying on the floor at their feet, like doubles. I hardly contained a cry of sheer horror as realization hit me like a ton of bricks. They all looked like Logan, exactly the same features; everything was terrifyingly alike about them all. The article didn’t read much about the discovery in England. But we were in the United States, in Colorado Springs, how could such a thing happen? Were they all brothers? What happened to them? And were they really linked to Logan? They were drowned in water tanks and one of them had been shot in the chest according to the pictures. Just like Logan had been, but the difference was that Logan was still alive, sitting right beside me, miles away from what was displayed on the grayish pages. I instinctively reached out for his hand and started to press it into mine like to make sure he was really there with me in that room. His face turned even paler when he lifted his gaze to meet mine.
“What if I was one of them? What if I belonged with them?”
“How could it be possible? It happened in England, this is completely impossible!”
I was trying my best not to shout out my fear and pain at him. His frightened silence was his only response. Something was happening in him and I could sense it but I couldn’t name it right away. A kind of need I supposed considering the look on his face. He needed to know. And this article maybe was the key to whatever questioning he started to form in his agitated mind. I also knew that very minute that I was on the verge of losing him, that he was going to chase those ghosts until he even lost himself in the search. I knew it from the despair that was now written all over his handsome features.
I couldn’t let him go, yet I knew he couldn’t avoid leaving. My heart tightened alarmingly at the thought of losing him but it was so selfish to want to keep him for me, wanting to steal him away and keep him here safe with me in this house, forever. It was so selfish and foolish too. Then he said the words I didn’t even dare to wish he would say, but he told them.
“Come with me” he said. It wasn’t even a question. It had to be a dream because I launched myself in his arms, crying uncontrollably.
There we were, on a boat to England sailing to unknown answers. Holding his hand, I watched the coast shrink until the land that saw me growing up became a memory. I felt the urge to cry again at that moment, I needed to hold someone close to my heart to fight the fear that was building up inside of me. Logan held my hand tighter sending a wave of sweet reassuring warmth through my whole body. Maybe he was afraid too. It took me all the strength I no longer had to remember that all of this was not about me, but about him.
Love…
This feeling was starting to burn and hurt like nothing else. Closeness no longer bearable made me weaker everyday but I couldn’t let go, not just yet; because it wasn’t about me.
London was a dark and dirty city even in spring. I believed all great cities shared the same fate. Logan hadn’t spoken much during the whole journey, drowned was he in his thoughts, not even giving me the chance to talk to him or ease his troubled mind in any kind of way. Stepping down from the enormous ship we went on the search of a place to stay for the next few days we were about to spend there. I had to change a large part of my savings to accomplish this despite the fact Logan was against my spending a penny for what he saw as a rather personal quest. But I’d made a secret promise to myself when I saw him that fateful day in the dark corner of a street lying lifeless; I promised I’d take care of him in any way I could. I knew he quite disliked it but what we were about to do involved spent money in some extent.
I booked two rooms in a nice little hotel near the center of London. The first few days we spent there led us to meet one of the journalists that had written the article. I had to go alone for evident reasons. The man explained that the whole scene had been a mystery even for the police, and that there certainly were more things involved that what they had in hand.
I tried to walk down the streets with Logan to see if he could recall anything and he stopped in front of a theater. Posters were displayed on the walls and as we stepped closer Logan and I both held our breaths. ‘The Great Danton’ was what they read. The man on the pictures was handsome and had charisma; he could have been Logan’s twin brother. The man was some kind of a magician, an illusionist according to the posters, and none of the least. So we entered the richly and heavily decorated place but no soul could be found inside.
“Do you remember something?” I asked with a low shaking voice.
“I came here I think, a long time ago.” Logan said as he put his hand on the marble railing of the main stair well.
And that was true; the place did look familiar to him, he seemed in his element, knowing which door led to where. But nothing seemed to clearly speak to him. Then I tried the police station but they wouldn’t let me see the place where the corpses had been found. I couldn’t tell them I actually was with someone that might be directly linked to the scene. If they knew they would have Logan closed in some prison until they could light out the whole mystery. I couldn’t let that happen. I went back to the journal and tried to find some answers and fortunately enough, the man I first met gave me a name hastily written on a piece of paper. I showed it to Logan later that day but he couldn’t tell me much about it. We searched all the theaters that showed magic shows until we found someone that actually knew the Great Danton. When he took sight of Logan, his heart almost stopped it seemed. He spoke about a mysterious machine and a very dangerous trick. He also added that that man, Danton had died sometime ago and that his ‘murderer’ had been imprisoned and hanged. The man also was a magician and the whole story was enveloped with a veil of mystery that no one had been able to clear. They all were dead and according to him, Logan was the only survivor of a real tragedy. He gave us another name, the name of a man that seemed to have been the closest to that Danton. He also told us that the illusionist’s real name wasn’t Danton but Angier, and that we would find more with his mysterious mentor who was now in the United States.
That night, Logan couldn’t find rest in the bliss of sleep. He ventured himself in a pub not far from the hotel, which I could see from my room’s window. So we had to go back to where we came from. The man at the theater also told us about a mysterious scientist or alchemist as he mentioned; someone dangerous according to him, the creator of that machine Angier used for his trick called “the transported man”. There was another man involved but the man refused to tell us more about him, saying he was dead anyway and that it was no use knowing about him, although I knew that this last man held the key to Logan’s mysterious past in more ways than one. It was already early in the morning when Logan came back. He knocked on my door ever so softly that I had to concentrate to make out the sound of it. I opened and he was there, a strange mix of defeat, desperation and determination darkening his face. He said nothing, he just stood there in the doorway looking at me with haunted eyes, eyes that suddenly had known and seen too much. He slowly extended tired arms and wrapped me in a strength less embrace. Then and there I knew that there was nothing else I could do for him, it was all up to him now to go and chase his ghosts and demons. I knew and I couldn’t oppose, not this time, so I let him hold me, his grip on my body tightening every second sending fire running through my veins. I was burning for him, I wanted to offer him what little comfort I could; I wanted him. But it was wrong and again selfish. I could see he was hurt, and something in me wanted to take advantage of the situation to have him bind to me. But as I struggled over my desire, I sensed him bent his head until his forehead touched mine and a second later, his lips crashed onto mine in a desperate kiss.
Was it what I really wanted? Was I that desperate to live a dream that never came true with the soldier I had loved once and who died because of me? He was so much like him…Would it be the same? Out of grieve now washing over me I broke the kiss, tears streaming down my face, flames of an ancient love burning me alive. And without a word, using all the control and resignation I could muster I closed my door at Logan’s face.
Leaning on it, I could still hear his erratic breath on the other side of the wooden surface, certainly wondering why I had rejected him whereas my body gave clear signals of encouragement. I had probably hurt him at a time he needed something to hold on to, once again my tormented feelings getting me away from doing the right thing, and I hated myself for that.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I rushed over to him to see what caused him to shock and saw the macabre picture.