We go to his apartment, of course.
It’s the only idea I have. For almost thirty years, my only window to the outside has been a limited supply of television and movies, and they’re quite clear on the first step: Everyone runs to the guy’s apartment first, and then they make a plan. So that’s where we go. I almost feel guilty for picking the clichéd choice.
The first thing Nathan does when we get inside is hug me. “You’re amazing!” he says, still heady from a brain full of pheromones, dopamine, and serotonin. (You can learn a lot about the science of attraction if you hang around doctors for a few decades.)
I smile, but it’s a sad one. He doesn’t really love me—not with his heart. You’d think it wouldn’t matter, but the empty adoration I’ve forced on him is against everything I stand for. I live for displays of true, genuine love, not this forgery, so I release my hold on his mind and try to bring him back to normal. It doesn’t take long. One moment he’s bouncing off the walls, giddy at just being around me, and the next he’s cooling down, steadying himself against his kitchen’s Formica countertop. A frown replaces the inane grin, and he starts to realize what happened.
“Wait, why are we here?” he says, looking around. He turns to me, eyebrows shooting upward. “Oh, crap, we have to get back to the center! It’s my first day!”
“Well, we kind of can’t do that, Nate,” I reply, hitching my shoulders in a bashful shrug. “Sorry.”
“Oh god,” he says, really seeing me for the first time, putting two and two together. “I kidnapped a patient. I am so fired. Oh, no no no, this is all kinds of fired and sued and arrested and—” He starts heading for the door, but I move to block him.
“Calm down,” I say. “You’re not in trouble. I kidnapped you.”
“What?”
“And I really am a god.” Might as well slip that one in. It’s not like it’s going to make him any more bewildered.
He laughs and holds up his hands. “Sure you are, um, Sara? It is Sara, isn’t it? Why don’t we get in my car and head … out?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not letting you take me back to Inward, Nate. Now, look, what do I need to do to prove to you that I’m a god?”
He pauses for a moment. “Go back to the center with me?” He says it with such hope I can’t help laughing.
“Nate, calm down. I’m not going anywhere until you start taking me seriously.”
He begins to pace. I can see this isn’t exactly what he was expecting when he went in to work today. “Sara, please,” he says. “I need this job, and it’s going to look really bad when they find out I snuck a beautiful crazy person out of the facility, drove her home, and can’t even remember how it all happened.”
He doesn’t realize it, but the little compliment he sneaks in next to “crazy person” really makes my day. It’s hard to look nice in an old T-shirt and a pair of jeans, particularly after decades in a place where the “hairdresser” is more concerned with lice than style and the only makeup is already on the nurses’ faces. I sigh and say, “Nate, I’m a goddess of love. The reason you can’t remember what happened is because I was messing with your head.”
He gives me “the look.” I’m used to it by now—it’s the one that says, Aww, how sweet. You really believe all this, don’t you? To his credit, though, all he says is “I’m not sure how well that’ll hold up in court, Sara.”
That gets him another eye roll. I don’t care how “creative” or “open-minded” people claim to be now. Time was, you could do something inexplicable and tell someone it was the result of divine power, and they’d believe it in a heartbeat. Now they just chalk it up to science and sleight of hand. Or drugs. “Back in my day…” I say under my breath. Well, those days are gone. I have to play the hand I’ve been dealt, and right now that hand thinks I’m adorably insane. I decide to try a different tack.
“Okay, Nate, how about this: I’m going to sit down on that chair”—I point at a metal folding chair next to a beat-up card table—“and you sit on your little futon over there, and I will make you fall in love with me. If you don’t think I’ve done anything after five minutes, I’ll go anywhere you like. Deal?”
He glances at the couch, then back to me. “Deal,” he says, trying very hard to keep his face neutral. It’s clear he still thinks I’m nuts, but at least he’s being nice about it.
He moves over to his futon, sits, and gives me an expectant look. I plop onto the metal chair, lean forward, and begin ratcheting up the affection between us. It takes a little longer than the fire hydrant of desire I unleashed in the parking lot, mostly because I want to leave him aware and in control this time and partly because I’m just plain exhausted.
His eyes widen in surprise and his mouth drops open. He looks at me with a delightful sense of perplexed attraction, and I can see he gets it. I stop what I’m doing to his head. “Apologies sound better with chocolate,” I say, giving him a knowing smirk.
He laughs, seems like he’s about to say something, then closes his mouth and marches into his little kitchen. There’s some rustling, and after a moment he returns with—Yes!
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had one of these?” I exclaim, holding out my hands.
“I am very sorry I doubted you,” he says, dropping a Toblerone chocolate bar into my eager grasp. I used to love these things. For some reason, the presence of almond nougat and honey folded into chocolate seems perfectly calibrated to strike at the joy centers of my brain.
“Apology accepted, mortal,” I say with a grin, tearing open the bar and biting off a succulent triangle.
“So you’re really a god?” Nathan asks. “Not just, I don’t know … a psychic superhero or something?” He’s not fully convinced, but at least he’s not rushing to get me into a straitjacket anymore. I can work with that.
“You guys and your fantasies,” I say around a mouthful of chocolate. It’s just as good as I remember it. I decide to count it as an offering in my name, the first in a very long time. “Here, I’ll prove it to you. Get me a knife.”
“Um, pass?” he says with a frown. I wait a moment, then give him an unamused look when he stands his ground. Okay, he may be open to the idea that I’m telling the truth, but part of him is still clearly unwilling to arm someone he met in the loony bin.
“Worried I’m one of those teenybop serial killers you keep hearing about?” I ask, setting the chocolate down and heading for the kitchen.
“Well, no, but—wait. Seriously, you don’t need—!”
“Your skin does look very fashionable,” I say, rummaging through his knife block. “Ah, perfect.”
I pull out a large chef’s knife, noting it’s one of the few things in this apartment that isn’t a bargain brand. I add Takes pride in his cooking? to the short list of things I know about Nathan, then sit back down across from him, grinning as I see he’s gotten very still. “Don’t be a baby,” I say, giving the air a few lazy swipes with the knife. “You should see what I can do with a long sword.”
Before he can react, I draw the blade across the tip of my left thumb. He winces and holds up his hands, saying, “Hey, no! Stop. Don’t do that!”
I just smile and hold my thumb out at him. “I don’t have many believers left,” I say, directing his attention to the injured digit. “But the ones I do have don’t think of me as a goddess with a cut on her finger. So I change to match their beliefs. Watch.”
Hundreds of years ago, the wound would have started to heal before I’d even finished making it. Now it takes almost a full minute. Still, for those who don’t know any better, it probably seems very impressive. Bit by bit, the cut stitches itself closed, a few dainty drops of blood oozing out before it seals itself completely. There’s not even the barest hint of a scar; it’s like the gash was never there in the first place. I wipe the remaining blood on my T-shirt (an act I find vaguely ironic, considering the message on it) and raise an eyebrow at Nathan. “Well?”
“That’s … that’s incredible,” he says, sounding suitably awed. “I mean, you could just be some regenerating psychic superhero, but still. Not something you see every day.” He stares at me for another few seconds, then shrugs. “Okay, maybe you are a god. Whaddaya say we roll with it for now? Hot damn.”
“You’re taking this rather well.”
He grins, eyes alight. “Are you kidding? This is just about every childhood daydream of my generation come to life. So which god are you, really? There’s a way higher chance I’ll believe you now, I promise.”
I barely resist telling him—the urge to gain a new worshipper is so strong—but I can’t yet. We’re not safe here. It won’t take a genius to figure out where I’ve gone and with whom, and telling Nathan all about myself is a long story that can wait for a safer place. I make a little hurt sound and shake my head. “Not now, Nate. I’m in danger. Actually, I think we both are.”
“We?”
“Probably, yeah. Sorry.” I really do feel bad about it; he seems like a nice guy, and not someone who deserves to be thrown into the middle of some supernatural struggle, but much like my past, now is not the time to focus on this. “Someone’s hunting me, and since you helped me get here, I think pretty soon they’ll be after you, too.”
“Oh,” Nathan says, digesting this. Then he laughs, and it’s that crazed sort of sound you make when you’re not sure if you should be amused or appalled. He glances around the utilitarian apartment, at the ID clipped to his waistband, and shrugs. “I have to tell you, Sara, this is probably the best excuse I’ve ever had for taking a day off. The first day of my first grown-up job … and apparently also my last.”
I laugh with him. It is a bit ridiculous. “Glad I could help you play hooky.”
“So, who are you running from?”
No point in keeping him in the dark there. I quickly describe Garen and his nasty organization. When I’m done, Nathan nods and says, “Yeah, I don’t blame you for wanting to get the hell away from that.” He pauses for a moment, then bobs his head as if he’s made some internal decision. “Well, can’t let a nice goddess like you make a break for it on foot. Where do you want to go?”
It’s the question that’s been running through my head since we got here. I lean back in my chair and grab for the chocolate again. “Truth is, Nate, I have no idea. I’ve been at the Inward Care Center for twenty-seven years. I don’t have anywhere to run.”
“Twenty-seven?” he barks, surprised. “You don’t even look old enough to drink.”
“I did say I was over a thousand. Not bad for a millenarian, eh?” I say, gesturing at myself.
He taps his forehead. “Aah, right. Goddess. I guess you don’t age.” He frowns as a thought hits him, then gives voice to it. “How come nobody at the center noticed? Your records must have admittance dates.”
I shrug. “I can tweak how people feel about me, like I did to you. Seriously, it’s not like I’m a hazard to myself or others; they wouldn’t normally keep me in a place like that. My butt has ‘outpatient care’ written all over it.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Nathan says. “So you’re on the run, you have no place to go, and, lemme guess, you have no friends to call, since all your contacts are twenty-seven years out of date.”
“Right in one.”
“I’ve got plenty of friends in town,” he says. “And family up in the Maryland-DC area.”
I shake my head. “Can’t be anyone connected to you, either. Nowhere they’ll know to go looking. I need a nice, permanent place to lie low.”
“Permanent, huh? That makes things difficult. I’m your classic starving artist, and something tells me you weren’t drawing a paycheck in the hospital.”
“No, and all my things, well…” It hurts to admit I have nothing left, not even my necklace. If it glitters, it calls to me. I adore bling of all types, the more unique and precious the better. Just a quirk of mine. I have a lot of them, too. As a figment of humanity’s imagination given form, my thoughts, desires, and motivations will always be a little larger than life. “I don’t even have proper clothes anymore,” I finish, looking down at my bedraggled cast-offs. He thinks I’m beautiful? In this?
Nathan frowns. “C’mon, you look great.”
Don’t get me wrong, I still appreciate his words, but I want to feel great. How I think I look is just as important, and right now, outside the Inward Care Center, I’m starting to realize how unflattering this outfit really is.
I think he can tell I’m unconvinced, because the next thing he says is “Well, I can try to get you something on the way to wherever you’re going. I wish I’d kept some of my ex’s clothes, but I, um…”
He stops, and I cock my head, curious.
“Kinda burned them,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
I laugh at that, and he seems grateful my reaction is one of amusement instead of criticism. I don’t think he quite grasps the whole “god of love” thing just yet. I’ve seen every relationship, every kind of heartbreak and affection possible. Even if it didn’t last, I’m just glad he had that kind of connection, that experience. It means there was love and passion there once, and I choose to focus on that. It’s my nature.
“Anyway, you still need to figure out where to go,” he says, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. And he’s right—we’re no closer to a plan of action.
“Okay, so clothes can wait,” I say. “But money shouldn’t be a problem. I might not have glittering riches anymore, but you still have banks, right?”
“Right…” Nathan says slowly.
“Then I’ll just ask for some over-the-counter handouts. I can be very persuasive.” I wink at him. “So that will give me the means to get wherever the hell it is I’m going.”
“Sure is nice to be a god,” he murmurs, thinking. “Money’s no object, then? We could always get you a hotel room somewhere far away.”
I shake my head at that. “Too public. Hotels have a pretty high turnover on guests, and I’d stick out soon enough. I need someplace more secluded.”
“Some kind of cabin-by-the-lake deal?”
This is the part where he finds out gods are rather particular. Oh well. Had to happen sooner or later. “No, no, I need to be somewhere I can interact with people, maybe even gain a new worshipper or two.”
“Wait, so it can’t have too many people because you’re worried you’ll get discovered, but it can’t be empty, either.” He pauses. “Is your true name Goldilocks?”
I like this guy. “Got the hair for it, don’t I?” I say, giving my blond tresses a fluff. “Sorry, but it’s just how I’m wired. If I didn’t care, I could bury myself underground and wait a few years for the heat to die down.”
“You don’t need to eat?”
“Or breathe, or any of that stuff. Immortality and all that. I enjoy doing both, though, so I’d really prefer not to go with the whole ‘shallow grave’ approach. It’s kind of like how you don’t need to have a job, listen to music, or fall in love, but you’d rather not go without.”
“Gotcha,” Nathan says, thinking. “Man, a mental hospital really was a good idea.”
“Thanks. They’ll probably be watching them now, though,” I say, feeling a little dejected. I’d been rather proud of the scheme, back when I committed myself. Now that path is closed to me. The next time I see Garen, a chair’s not going to be nearly enough to satisfy my bloodlust. I eat another piece of chocolate and contemplate murder.
“Old folks’ home?”
“Boring.”
“Island resort?”
“Not bad, but dangerous if they find me—I’d have nowhere to run.”
He snaps his fingers. “Hey, are you against hotels because they get a lot of visitors, or because you’d get noticed more easily in a place like that?”
“Not following.”
“What I mean is, are you okay with getting lost in a crowd?”
“Oh. Well, yeah, of course I am. Gods are pretty social by nature. We like being around you little dreamers.”
“So a lot of people is a good thing, so long as you don’t get noticed?”
Where’s he going with this? “That’s what I’m saying, yeah.”
“Then how about a theme park?”
A what? Geez, when was the last time I went to one of those? Maybe that World’s Fair back in Chicago? How long ago was that? “You mean the places with roller coasters and rides and such?”
“Exactly,” Nathan says. I give him a puzzled stare, not feeling up to speed just yet. “This is Orlando,” he explains. “It’s practically the tourist capital of the world. Get a job working at one of the parks, and they’ll never find you.”
I like the “never being found” part, but I still feel like I’m missing the full picture. “Okay, but where would I live? They close eventually, right?”
“Employee housing.”
“Worshippers?”
“Several million starstruck, impressionable children a year.” He holds up his hand and begins ticking items off on his fingers. “Safety in numbers, anonymity like nowhere else, and believers aplenty. Beat that.”
I get it now, and he’s right. I love this idea. The only way Garen could have found me the last time was through my files; a patient who’s been claiming she’s a god would probably raise a few red flags. I can start all over in one of these parks—a new life in the most unlikely place.
“Nathan, it’s perfect,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
He shares in my joy for a moment, then something clicks behind his eyes. Slowly but surely, his smile fades. “Wait. ‘Let’s’ … as in let us?” he says in a wary voice.
I fight to hide a grimace as I realize just how much—intentional or not—I’ve asked of him with that little word. “Oh. Yes…?” I say, feeling awkward.
“I mean, I want to help, but, um, all of it? Together?” he asks, clearly uncomfortable with the drastic pileup of change my presence will bring. “This isn’t just a road trip anymore, is it?”
I shake my head sadly. “It’s a new life, Nate.” I’m really starting to like this guy, but I don’t want to rip him out of everything he’s built here (not that it actually looks like much) or endanger him more than I already have. Seriously, divine follower isn’t the safest of career picks. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. It might not be too late to act like we never met. I could knock you out and leave you in the bushes back at the Inward Care Center. Tell them I stole your car—I can probably teach myself to drive again—and that will be the end of it.”
Nathan considers this for a moment, looking around his rental apartment as he does. The place isn’t exactly a disaster, but it’s obvious a guy’s been living here alone. Mail is piled on the counter, plates are climbing their way out of the sink, and the carpet’s begun to gather a nice collection of stains. I can sense the conflict taking shape in his mind, fear of the unknown warring with the thrill of adventure, disenchantment with his current lot in life, and, to my embarrassment, a little leftover adoration for yours truly.
“Screw it,” he says at last. “You know why I needed that job? Because it’s the only one I could get. Nobody’s hiring Web designers fresh out of high school, and it’s not like a degree will do me any good. My girlfriend’s gone, my mom kicked me out as soon as I graduated, and my friends are all in college or busy getting jobs wherever they can, too.”
He looks me in the eyes and smiles. “Following a goddess … That’s pretty much like following your dreams, isn’t it?”
A silly grin creeps across my face. “The wildest ones, Nate. Bring whatever you need, and let’s start that new life.”
He nods and begins dashing around his apartment, gathering his most important possessions. It takes a depressingly short amount of time. Minutes later, we’re back in the car, pulling out of his complex’s parking lot and heading for the highway. As the place disappears behind us, I feel like I’m waking up. I should have done this years ago. Leaving Inward isn’t as scary as I thought it would be—it’s more like I’m coming out of retirement, shaking off three decades of dust, and taking the first steps down a new path to glory. It’s definitely not what either of us expected when we got up today, but somehow, I think we’re both happier for it.
The future calls to me, and for the first time in years, I don’t know what it holds.