Page 51 of Never Quite Gone

Leave the mysteries for tomorrow.

But in the chapel below, my brother kept his vigil. The brother who moved like he'd fought a thousand battles, who loved with fierce desperation I couldn't understand, who watched over us with eyes that had seen too many endings.

London, 1650

The plague doctor's mask felt suffocating in the summer heat as I made my way through London's cramped streets. Normally, a lord shouldn't be tending to the sick himself, but something about the physician working in the poor district had drawn me here - like a hook behind my ribs pulling me inevitably closer.

“You shouldn't be here, Lord Blackwood.” William Rivers' voice carried no surprise as he materialized from the shadows. The merchant's influence had grown considerably in recent months, though something about his bearing spoke of older power than mere commerce could explain. “The fever district is no place for nobility.”

“And yet here you are.” I studied him in the dim light, trying to understand why this merchant felt so familiar, so trustworthy despite our brief acquaintance. “Always appearing when needed.”

“Someone has to watch over things that matter.” His smile held secrets as he fell into step beside me. “Especially when noble lords are drawn to things they don't understand.”

The narrow street opened into a makeshift hospital - an old church repurposed for healing. Inside, Dr. Elliot Crow worked with quiet efficiency, his hands moving with knowledge that shouldn'texist in this primitive age of medicine. No plague mask covered his face despite the risk. Something about the way he touched the sick made them heal faster than any medical knowledge could explain.

“The Church is watching him,” Rivers said softly. “They don't understand how he saves so many. Think it's witchcraft or worse.”

A chill ran down my spine despite the summer heat. “They wouldn't dare-“

“They're sending investigators tomorrow.” He produced papers with practiced ease. “Unless someone with proper authority intervenes.”

I studied the documents - royal pardons, letters of protection bearing signatures that would have taken months to obtain. All dated perfectly, all exactly what we needed.

“How did you-“

“I have my methods.” Rivers' eyes never left Eli as he worked. “Some things are worth any price to protect.”

The way he said it made my head ache with almost-memory. Like I'd heard him say similar things in other times, other places. His presence beside me felt both new and ancient - a stranger who somehow knew exactly what we needed before we needed it.

“My lord?” Eli's voice pulled me back. He'd finished with his patient, hands steady despite hours of work. “You shouldn't be here without protection.”

“He has protection,” Rivers said quietly. Something passed between them - recognition that shouldn't exist, trust that felt older than this brief acquaintance.

I watched them carefully, trying to understand why everything about this felt like echoes of older patterns. Why my heart pulled toward this common physician. Why this merchant moved like he'd orchestrated this meeting across lifetimes.

Later, after Eli returned to his patients, I cornered Rivers in the church's shadowed alcove. “Tell me the truth. Why are you really helping us?”

For a moment, his careful mask cracked. I saw someone ancient and tired, someone who had watched this scene play out countlesstimes before. Someone who loved us enough to reshape reality itself, though I wouldn't understand that truth for many lives to come.

“Because some things matter more than power or position,” he said finally. “Some bonds transcend time itself, though you can't remember why yet.”

The summer night pressed close as we left the makeshift hospital. Through the windows, I could see Eli still working, his hands moving with knowledge pulled from lives he couldn't remember. Rivers watched him too, ancient love and pain mixing in his expression.

“Will you tell me someday?” I asked quietly. “What you're not saying? Why everything about this feels like remembering something I've forgotten?”

Rivers' smile held centuries of secrets. “When you're ready to understand. When you're ready to remember everything.”

CHAPTER 17

Everyday Spaces

The bell above La Colombe's door chimed exactly as I remembered it. I froze just inside, realizing too late that exhaustion had led my feet down familiar paths. I hadn't been here since the accident – couldn't face the baristas who used to greet us by name, the corner table where Michael would spread architectural drawings across worn wood, debating renovation plans over cooling coffee.

The morning crowd pressed around me, but I couldn't make myself move. Everything was exactly the same – the copper espresso machines gleaming in early light, the chalkboard menu with its artistic flourishes, even the peculiar way sunshine caught the glass pastry case. Only Michael was missing, and that absence felt bigger than the entire space.

“Their Ethiopian roast is still excellent,” Alex's voice came from behind me, gentle but grounding. “Though I've had better.”

His unexpected presence should have felt intrusive in this space that held so many memories of Michael. Instead, it somehow made breathing easier. Like having a witness made the moment less overwhelming.

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