The Cost Ch. 01

I find it hard to believe, looking back, that I could ever have wanted this for myself. But I did, and it is for that fact alone that I am still here. Old, but always new. I have lived for a very long time now and I have tired of my existence for the majority of it..

I look in the mirror as I am oft to do. A glance only, but it is enough to tell me what I already know. Nothing ever changes there. I took so much joy in the fact that the years did not touch me in the ways that they do others, when I was younger. I still look young, this is true, but it is certainly not a word I would use to describe myself without adding the word "seeming" to it.

My hair is a very dark brown, worn short and slightly mussed in keeping with the current popular fashion of my apparent generation. My skin is unlined, always tan, and my body is slim, though toned and strong. I don't have to do anything to keep my body fit, although I do, if only for the pleasure it gives me and to pass the time. My height was remarked upon in my early days at 5'8". Back then, I was considered quite tall. Of course now it is only considered average. My mouth is wide, my lips generous and full, and my nose is proportioned well with the rest of my face. When I smile, and I've been told that I have a "killer" smile, my cheeks dimple slightly. My jaw line and fore head give my face a strong appearance. Many over the years have considered my eyes to be my most remarkable feature, a color so dark as to appear black from far off. Looking closer, flecks of a brown, almost honey, color can be seen in the irises. My gaze has always had an intense, penetrating feel that has only grown greater with the passage of time because of the depth added behind them. I appear to be twenty years old, but upon looking into my eyes, most add anywhere from five to ten years to that. I know that I cut a striking figure, though to be honest, it is a fact I have long since taken for granted.

And why shouldn't I take it for granted? I know that regardless of what happens, my appearance will remain basically unchanged. I can cut my hair and it will grow back in the same way that it does for everyone else, but I could stab myself in the heart or slash my wrists open and nothing will happen. As soon as I pull the knife from my chest or when I am done drawing the blade across my arm, the wounds will close as though they never were. If I were to be shot in the head, the bullet will remain there for a moment before my body begins to expel it, and when the bullet is pushed out, the hole will close. All of these things have happened to me, some on more than one occasion. I have even been crucified twice. The short of it is this; I cannot die. Not for any reason, no matter the cause.

Yes, I have tried to kill myself. My first attempt was about eleven hundred years after my birth and my reasons were simple. I had grown tired of the loss associated with my immortality. I only tried once more after that attempt, but as I am not fool, did not attempt it again knowing that it would be futile.

Do not misunderstand, I do not consider myself depressed. No one alive truly knows me well, but the people that I meet and acquaintances would not describe me as a sad person either. Like anyone else, in this respect, I feel the pain more than I do most days and it becomes too much. Now, I just seclude myself until I come out of it. I am not a freak who enjoys inflicting pain upon myself.

I just didn't know it would be like this when I started down this road.

I write all of this now and I honestly do not know why. I do not know who will read it, if anyone even will. I feel a change coming. I feel it strongly and perhaps that is the reason why. Thousands of years have passed since this all began and I have learned to trust strong feelings like this. Or perhaps it is simply because I want to and that has always been reason enough for many of the things I have done.

Over the many years I have accumulated a great deal of wealth. I own many homes and at present I reside in Birmingham, Alabama. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Truthfully, I find that I like it here. The people are polite and I enjoy the weather. I purchased a nice house in a rich little neighborhood. It is not as opulent as many of my other homes, but I like it. My neighbors are nice, not too nosy, and it is close to many nice shopping areas. I have been here for almost five months and, so far, have found little to complain about.

I stand in the magazine section of a Barnes and Noble in one of the aforementioned shopping areas; this one called "The Summit". Why it is called that, I do not know. It is not on a particularly high hill. It has more than a few nice stores and restaurants though. I select a magazine purporting to have the latest gossip on an actress whose work I enjoy and head to the coffee shop section of the bookstore to purchase it and a large soy milk vanilla cappuccino. Caffeine, like many other stimulants, has little to no effect on me, but I enjoy the taste of the drink. Few things have an effect on my system. I can drink a fleet of sailors under the table and I could ingest every cleaner under the average kitchen sink and remain undisturbed. Except for the terrible taste left in my mouth. I was in a weird mood one day and thought it would be amusing to try it. I knew nothing would happen. Well, I figured nothing would happen.

After making my purchase I move out of the way a little so that the next customer may be assisted while I decide what to do. I have been at home alone for the past few days and feel a desire for human contact, so I walk over to one of the remaining tables and sit. It is the weekend after Thanksgiving and many people are out shopping for Christmas, so the bookstore is more than a little crowded. I settle back into the stiff chair that was probably designed to be just comfortable enough to make you want to sit for maybe half an hour but uncomfortable enough to make you want to get up if you stay much longer than that. I begin thumbing through my magazine and sip on my coffee. A few minutes pass and I notice a shadow over the table top.

" Do you mind if I sit here? The rest of the tables are full."

A quick glance around shows me that the tables are indeed full and I look up at the guy. He is well dressed and his voice is kindly, so I nod and give him a brief smile before returning to my magazine. Sharing a table with a stranger is not what I had in mind for human contact, but I see no harm in it and so do not mind.

He puts his coffee and book down on the table and as he sits offers me his hand, "Thanks, man. I'm Shane, by the way."

I set my magazine down, put on a polite smile and take his proffered hand into mine to give it a firm squeeze. I open my mouth to give him a name in return, and as I do, I actually look into his eyes.

His eyes are very blue, a bright color that I can only describe as arctic. They are far from cold though; there is a palpable warmth that radiates from them. Taking in the rest of him, I peg his age to be late twenties, maybe early thirties. He is dressed simply in tan slacks and an open collared blue polo shirt. He is tall, maybe 6'1", and well muscled, not bulky, but athletic. His hairline is receding slightly. Only slightly, but it is still noticeable, and his hair is worn cropped very short. Perhaps he is in the military. He is a very attractive guy, in any case. His eyes are what hold my attention though; they remind me of someone I used to know and care about deeply. Not so much their color as what I see behind them.

I change names like I do clothing and was prepared to give him one of the many that I use. I change my mind though, and give one of my more real names. I've used it many times over the past few decades and I feel like I can call it my own. "I'm Paul. It's a pleasure to meet you, Shane."

"Likewise, Paul. Wow, you have a really strong grip," he says, frowning slightly. He has no idea. I am not a very large guy. I weigh 140 lbs naked but am probably stronger than ten men that are twice my size. I noticed an increase in my physical strength after the change occurred and have only grown stronger over the years. He is not the first to be surprised by how strong I am, though I am usually more careful about showing it.

"Yeah, I'm freakishly strong. Sorry," I chuckle softly.

He smiles, showing a nice row of pearly white teeth. They are likely the product of braces, they are so straight. "Quite all right. I'll just know better than to pick a fight with you." Especially since I would win. "So, where are you from, Paul?"

"I recently moved here from California." Which is true. I still own the Beverly Hills estate, but I needed a change of pace and scenery. Plus, I had lived there for almost twenty years and I did not want my neighbors to become suspicious about my lack of aging. Really, twenty years had been pushing it. I usually change locales every ten years, fifteen at the max. I may return in a few decades. I really enjoyed myself out there. The unapologetic superficiality was rather refreshing. It was nice to always know where I stood. "Is it that obvious that I am not from around here?"

"No, I just thought that I heard an accent when you spoke."

"Really? What accent did you hear?" I ask, genuinely curious. I am a master of accents and can pitch my voice in any manner that I wish, so for him to hear an accent when I do not intend for one to be heard is strange to me.

"French, a little Italian. I don't know, it's kinda hard to pin down because it is not extremely noticeable." I have lived in both countries for extensive periods of time.

"I have traveled around a lot. Maybe that is what you hear," I say.

"Maybe." He looks me up and down briefly, sizing me up.

We spend the next couple of hours talking and exchanging stories. I find that I like Shane a great deal already and, in my mind, we are already friends. The saying that patience is a virtue that increases with age is a load of bullshit. The older I get , the more impatient I become. I want what I want and I want it quickly. It has been the cause of some reckless behavior in the past. Sure, if nothing much is going on, I can just sit and be content. I am not fidgety. I have very few wants these days, but they burn very deeply.

I find out that Shane's last name is Moore. He grew up close to Birmingham, but left for a few years during a stint in the marines after which he decided that was not the lifestyle that he wanted and chose to go to culinary school to become a chef. He moved back and is now a private chef for a wealthy family very close to where I now live. His reason for being in the bookstore today is to find a recipe for duck as they are throwing a large dinner party in a couple of nights. He is unmarried and has a schnauzer named Abe. I find his personality to be endearing. He is thirty one and I can tell that he has been through some grief in his life, but this has not destroyed his playfulness. He has a very easy manner about him. I especially like that he is very direct and open. And his sense of humor, while at odds with my own dry and weary sarcasm, almost has me out of my chair a couple of times with laughter. I very seldom laugh.

I decide to give him as close to the truth as I can manage when I tell him things about myself. The age I give is twenty four and I am an investor. The age is, of course, a lie, but the investor part is true. I have invested the majority of my holdings in several offshore accounts under several false corporations. A brokerage firm in New York handles my accounts and mine alone. I pay them greatly for their loyalty and secrecy. I do not tell him how vast my wealth is. I honestly do not know myself, and really, as long as I am able to stay in the lifestyle that I am accustomed, I do not care. All I do know is that it is in the hundreds of millions range.

In general, though, I am very vague about my past. I give him as many specifics as I can without giving away too much, but I know that he can tell I am hiding something. I am thankful when he does not press it because I find that I dislike lying to him. Wow, those pesky morals sure do rear their heads at the strangest times. Normally, I can lie without hesitation or thought and I make no apologies about it. Everyone lies.

I find that we have a few interests and hobbies in common as well. I am delighted to learn that he enjoys rock climbing. This is a favorite past time of mine that I find incredibly relaxing. He tells me of a local boulder field that he frequents.

"The tallest boulder out there is only about fifty feet, so my friends and I don't use ropes, only a crash pad. We just try not to hit anything on the way down if we fall," he laughs.

I join him in his laughter as I picture someone trying to dodge jutting rocks as they scream on their way down. "It has been a while since I have been out climbing. I used to make frequent trips to Arizona and Colorado. They have some amazing rock formations there." I also climbed Mount Everest once, though it was not called that then. I was trapped under an avalanche for days before I clawed my way out. Fortunately, extreme temperatures do not bother me much. I still made it to the top and I consider it to be one of the higher points in my life. Few things are beyond my capabilities, both mentally and physically, but that tested my limits and for the first time in ages, I felt alive. It is a sad thing to have nothing to strive for but still feel the urge to reach out for something. There is a saying that the happiest people are those who have ceased to hope. Those who expect nothing and can never be disappointed. I agree wholeheartedly.

I feel his hand on mine and look up. "Are you all right? You looked like you went away for a sec." His eyes are full of concern and I feel bad for bringing the mood down.

I pull my hand away and shake my head, forcing a smile on my face. "It's nothing. I was just thinking about something." It is a lame excuse, but it suffices because he relaxes a moment later and sits back in his chair again.

My ass is beginning to numb; we are way past the half hour shelf life of these chairs. The stream of shoppers coming in for the After-Thanksgiving sale is still flowing steadily and a look outside shows me that it is now late in the afternoon. I marvel at how comfortable I feel around him already. He truly does remind me of Ash. His quick and ready laugh, the thoughtful pauses between sentences; many of their mannerisms are similar. They look nothing alike physically; in fact, aside from height, they are very opposite. The resemblance is still there, though, and perhaps that explains why I am so comfortable around him. I cared for Ash a great deal and still think of him every day after all these years. It is because of him that I exist as I do now. He made me what I am. I should hate him for making me this way, but as I said before, I wanted this for myself. He never could deny me anything I asked for.

We continue to talk for a few more minutes but I can tell that the conversation is beginning to wind down. He looks at his watch. "I can't believe we've sat here talking for almost two hours. I wish I could hang out longer, but I have to get back to my employer so that I can have their evening meal prepared by seven."

I nod my head and stand, grabbing my magazine. I am a touch sad inside, but I cover it well this time and he does not notice. My God, I miss him already. I think I may have a crush, and at my age. The silliness of it makes me smile. "I should be going as well. It was a pleasure to meet you, Shane Moore."

"Absolutely. Hold up for a sec and I'll walk you to your car." He walks over to the register and pays for his book. Since I am not eager to part with him just yet, I wait. I don't have to wait long. Every register is open and the lines are moving quickly.

He smiles as he walks back toward me with his bag in hand. "Okay, you ready?"

No.

I nod my head and he turns for the exit. I fall in beside him and have to resist the urge to reach for his hand. We reach the door and he pushes it open and waits for me to pass before he lets it go. This simple act touches me for some reason.

As we step outside, I pull my sunglasses from the collar of my sweater and put them on. The air is dry for Alabama and unseasonably warm. Neither of us are wearing coats nor do we need them. I nod my head in the direction of my car, a brand new Porsche that I purchased two months ago. I tell myself that I do not care for material things, and really, I don't. However, I do enjoy my luxuries and make no apologies for them.

When we reach my car, he whistles softly. " I'm so in the wrong line of work. " I hope he does not think me a materialistic snob. For someone who does not want to occasion comment, I really walk a thin line of it flaunting my wealth like this.

"It has its shitty moments, trust me. In any case, you enjoy doing what you do, do you not?" I ask.

He smiles again. Such a happy person. "Yeah, I really do."

"Then that is all that matters. I would much rather be doing something I enjoyed." I say.

We stand for a moment in silence, knowing that it is time to go. He looks at the sun just over the trees for a second before turning back to me and speaking, "I'm really glad I met you, Paul." He pauses and looks at the ground, taking a deep breath and looks back up. "I don't usually walk up to strange people in a bookstore and start talking to them."

"I know." I take off my sunglasses.

His eyebrow goes up. "Really. What else do you know?"

He is asking if I know that he is gay, and yes, I do. You don't live for thousands of years without learning how to read people and my skills in that department are damned near empathic. I hold his gaze for a moment before raising my own eyebrow in response. I smile slowly and say nothing. He understands my meaning and releases the breath he was holding, relaxing visibly. "You knew the entire time?" he laughs. I just continue to smile and nod my head.

"Well, then that really makes this next part a hell of a lot easier." He shakes his head, still laughing. "I would love to see you again. Are you free tomorrow morning? Say around 9:00?"

My grin grows wider. "No."

His eyes widen and his smile falters and then disappears altogether. "Oh, okay. I. . ."

"Will 8:00 work for you? That would be better for me. That way we could grab breakfast, perhaps." I do so enjoy playing with people.

His eyes light up and he throws his head back and laughs, "Yeah, 8:00 will work just fine, asshole. You don't like making things easy, do you?"

I unlock my door and sit down. I look up at him, the sun right behind his head, and speak seriously though I am still grinning like an idiot. "I have found that the things that I have to work for in life are the things that I appreciate the most." I reach over into the glove box and pull out a pen and a pad of paper. I begin writing my number down. "And nothing is ever easy."

He shakes his head, laughing softly, "This is true. So I guess I'll have to stay on my toes around you."

I finish writing my number down and stand, reaching down for his hand. "No. I imagine that eventually you will find your way onto your back." I place my number in his hand with my left and with my right I grab the back of his head and pull him down to kiss him softly on the lips. I do not make it a lingering kiss on purpose. As I pull back, I notice the wondering look on his face. He does not understand my last comment. I laugh, a deep throated chuckle. "Call me in the morning when you wake and we will plan out the day in more detail." I get into the car again and put the key into the ignition, turning it. Pushing down on the brake, I put the car in reverse and look back up at him.