Circus of the Lost

                                                                       CHAPTER 1

                                                                           Alexei

            I knew I would find her on the swing hanging from the Elder Tree. I made it for her. 

This Elder Tree is a massive live oak, complete with Spanish moss trappings, around which our entire community was built; as we have done, for the better part of a century. Adding the swing made for a very picturesque setting, and the perfect gift for my love.  She was born to fly through the air.

            Katerina and her sunsets.  Her lithe silhouette is a tiny smudge, set against a palette of vibrant colors, dying out on the edge of the horizon.

            My body grows warm, and I feel an almost uncontrollable desperation to touch her.

            The swing begins to sway to and fro, despite the stillness of her legs beneath her, ankles crossed.  She gives the appearance of being involved in school yard games, with an invisible partner.  A beautiful, young girl, unalarmed that she sits atop a swing that moves of its own accord.

            As the momentum increases, she tilts her head back in a hearty laugh, her raven black hair spilling down her back.  She knows that it is me, but she casts a backward glance over her shoulder, smoke gray eyes alight, mouth upturned in a playful smile.  It vanishes quickly, and her gaze returns to observing the final vestiges of day.

            Hands clasped behind my back, I pace around her in circles. “Too soon?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.  “Still observing your Alexei moratorium?”

            When she cuts her eyes up at me, they are cold and hard like steel. And completely capable of ripping me to shreds.

            “It was barely a month ago today. Or have you forgotten?” she counters, her brow furrowed in disdain.

            “Well, it was my father who killed them, which tends to make it a lingering thought,” I quipped.  “But I choose to treat it like all my other repressed childhood memories, and try not to observe the anniversaries of their passing.” I spread my arms wide.  “And with an adolescence that has drawn out this long, I’ve built up quite a reserve.”

            “Alexei,” she exhales.

            “You’re within your rights to hate me,” I say.  “Everyone else does.”

            The hardness of her eyes melts into a liquid sadness.  “I don’t,” she soothes.  “I can’t.  The others don’t either, it’s just,” she falters for a moment, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger; an unconscious habit, when she is nervous or upset.  “When they see you, they see him, and the feelings are still so raw. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

            “Aren’t I?” I chuckle, humorously.

            “Lexie,” she starts.  At the sound of her nickname for me, the swing abruptly stops, completely ceasing its movement.  I reach forward and grasp her shoulders, fingers tingling where they press into her flesh.  Eyes closed, I bury my face into the back of her hair.  The smell, like everything else about her, is intoxicating.

            I feel the painful tickle of an unwanted suggestion in my brain, whispering and urging me to step away:  Not yet, Alexei. Please stop.  So reluctantly, I do.  Despite the fact I am strong enough to resist, it would only result in driving her further away.