Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended here (?). So basically, I own nothing. Don’t sue. K? The mood of this fic is the complete opposite of EDEN. You may also want to read First Contact right after this to learn more about the character introduced to this story.

That's For Remembrance
By Imzadi


The first stars were twinkling in the sky as he climbed the small hill to where she was waiting for him. He thought to himself, as he did every time, “Why am I doing this?” But he knew the answer. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. Nowhere else he could be. He clutched the bouquet of roses tightly in his hand and walked the last few steps. There she was; there she would always be. The beautiful marble angel kept watch over her grave, and the weeping cherry tree scattered blossoms on it. He paused a second before going to the little bench he had had placed there. At least the groundskeeper was earning his money. The grass was freshly mowed and there were fresh flowers. She would have loved this place.

He sat heavily on the bench. Actually it was more as if his legs had given way under him. Hot salty tears began to fill his eyes. Blinking them back, he whispered, “Why? Why did you have to leave me? God, I need you so much!” But of course he knew that this was not her choice. THEY had killed her, and he would make them pay if it was the last thing he ever did (which, he knew, it probably would be). It was just a matter of making a plan. But that was the hard part. However, it would happen, and they would suffer for what they did to her. Again the tears started to well up, and again he blinked them back.

Once there were happier times. Once she was his, with her beautiful dark eyes and blonde hair, her smile, her laugh, her soft white... I have to stop this!!! he thought. I need to concentrate on the plan. Not only had they killed her, but they had made her suffer terribly, and he hadn’t been there to help her. He had been decoyed away. When it was too late, he had found her. At least he had been able to tell her one last time how much he loved her. She was his life, his soul. He remembered a verse from the Irish poet Conrad Aiken:

“Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate. All that was once so beautiful is dead.”


Unbidden, the tears came to his eyes again. He blinked them back. He knelt and placed the roses on her grave. Then with his index finger he traced her name. Now the tears would not be denied. They ran down his face. Burying his face in his left hand, Lindsey MacDonald wept.

 

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