Page 23 of Firefly

The grandfather clock tolled five, and Rebecca let out a huff of frustration. He must have traveled somewhere too far to come back. But he would have told her. He would have said he’d be gone.

Wouldn’t he?

She dropped into a chair and planted her chin in her palm. He had disappeared previously. But that was before they declared their love for one another. It wasn’t before we shared our bodies, she reminded herself.

Standing, she pushed her chair back and stormed down the hall of the servants' quarters. Simon’s door was ajar. So he was there and he was avoiding her. She ground her teeth and dropped onto his thin mattress. It whined under her weight, and something hard poked her thigh.

She shifted uncomfortably, and the mattress coil dug deeper. Did he sleep on this mattress every night? On the nights he didn’t stay in her room, she corrected herself. No, he didn’t sleep. He had said so. He merely stored his body on this bed each day until he could return to it.

It was an hour before the sun rose; she could wait.

Rebecca stood and began to pace the small space, wrapping her arms over her chest as she traced a repeated path on the floor. The room was claustrophobic, and the wallpaper was dreary.

Glancing around, she noted no art on the walls or personal effects of any kind. He had lived with them for over three years and it was no more his home than a stranger’s. How did he stand the cramped space? She reminded herself again he only used the room for storage.

It wasn’t a life he’d chosen for himself, though. He was trapped there, just as she was. The difference was that his imprisonment was because of her. He had offered her a way out, told her to go, and all the while, he had been trapped, too.

If she left, if she escaped her father, there would be nothing keeping him there. Alexander would no longer have leverage over him.

But perhaps there was a way for both of them to be free. She bit her lip. For Simon to be free, her father had to believe they had separated. But what would ever convince her father of their separation?

She sat at Simon’s desk and pulled a blank piece of paper from the drawer. Lifting the pen, she wrote:

Simon,

I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I was selfish. I know that now. How can I begin to put into words the pain I feel at your loss? If I had known what Father would do, could do, I would have let you go. Your chance at eternal happiness was snuffed out, betrayed by the person you most cherished. I will carry this sorrow with me for as long as I live. I know these words will never reach you. I know no one can reach you now. You are lost to me, to us all, forever. I shall pray your soul somehow managed to escape this hell you’ve been entombed in—for how long, none of us know. I pray that your soul at least rests with our Heavenly Father and can no longer see what has become of your earthly body.

With love,

Rebecca

On a second sheet of paper, she wrote:

Simon,

Find me, no matter the hour. I have a plan.

Chapter 17

Simon

Simon reached the edge of the estate just before morning. The dim line of pre-dawn light crested the horizon as he slid through the door and dropped three men on the floor.

“Astaroth,” he bellowed, racing past them for his room. The demon appeared in his doorway as he flung himself into bed. “Get them downstairs,” he said, and his last thought was a prayer that Astaroth would do as he asked.

When Simon landed beside the river in the in-between, he searched the misty distance for Elizabeth. When none of the shapes listing left and right appeared to be sentient, he left the river and trudged over dry, cracked earth, stopping at the mouth of their cave.

He swore as he reached it and saw at once no one was there.

“Elizabeth,” he called. “Elizabeth, I need to speak with you.”

No one answered. Rather than risk the foggy abyss, he sat, hoping she would return soon. Time drifted in some unknown pattern as he waited for Elizabeth or the day to end.

When his senses shifted, taking in the surrounding room, he knew something was off. There had been no time to warp the wood before he slid into bed the night before, which meant his body had been defenseless all day.

Sulfur hung heavy in the air, and it wasn’t Asataroth’s.

He sat up, glancing around the space. Nothing was out of order. The pen atop his desk sat in its usual position, along with the three suits he owned, apart from the one he had hung from a peg in the corner.

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