“I’ll just leave the two of you to talk about it, shall I?” said Damon. “Three’s a crowd, especially on this branch.”
Stefan looked at him sharply. “If you have any slightest thought of stopping by the boardinghouse…”
“With Damaris already waiting for me? Honestly, little brother.” And Damon changed to crow form before Stefan could ask him to give his sworn word.
Elena turned over in bed, reaching automatically for a warm body next to her. What her fingers found, however, was a cool, Stefan-shaped hollow. Her eyes opened. “Stefan?”
The darling. They were so in tune that it was like being one person — he always knew when she was about to wake up. He’d probably gone down to get her breakfast — Mrs. Flowers always had it steaming hot for him when he went down (further proof that she was a witch of the white variety) — and Stefan brought up the tray.
“Elena,” she said, testing her old-new voice just to hear herself talk. “Elena Gilbert, girl, you have had too many breakfasts in bed.” She patted her stomach. Yes, definitely in need of exercise.
“All right, then,” she said, still aloud. “Start with limbering up and breathing. Then some mild stretching.” All of which, she thought, could be put aside when Stefan showed up.
But Stefan didn’t show up, even when she lay exhausted from a full hour’s routine.
And he wasn’t coming up the stairs, bringing up a cup of tea, either.
Where was he?
Elena looked out their one-view window and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Flowers below.
Elena’s heart had begun beating hard during her aerobic exercise and had never really slowed down properly. Though it was likely impossible to start a conversation with Mrs. Flowers this way she shouted down, “Mrs. Flowers?”
And, wonder of wonders, the lady stopped pinning a sheet on the clothesline and looked up. “Yes, Elena dear?”
“Where’s Stefan?”
The sheet billowed around Mrs. Flowers and made her disappear. When the billow straightened out, she was gone.
But Elena had her eyes on the laundry basket. It was still there. She shouted, “Don’t go away!” and hastened to put on jeans and her new blue top. Then, hopping down the stairs as she buttoned, she burst out into the back garden.
“Mrs. Flowers!”
“Yes, Elena dear?”
Elena could just see her between billowing yards of white fabric. “Have you seen Stefan?”
“Not this morning, dear.”
“Not at all?”
“I get up with the dawn, regular. His car was gone then, and it hasn’t come back.”
Now Elena’s heart was pounding in good earnest. She’d always been afraid of something like this. She took one deep breath and ran back up the staircase without pausing.
Note, note…
He’d never leave her without a note. And there was no note on his pillow. Then she thought of her pillow.
Her hands scrabbled frantically under it, and then under his pillow. At first she didn’t turn the pillows over, because she wanted so badly for the note to be there — and because she was so afraid of what it might say.
At last, when it was clear that there was nothing under those pillows but the bed sheet, she flipped them and stared at the empty white blankness for a long time. Then she pulled the bed away from the wall, in case the note had fallen down behind it.
Somehow she felt that if she just kept looking, she must find it. In the end she’d shaken out all the bedding and ended up staring at the white sheets again, accusingly, ever so often running her hands over them.
And that ought to be good, because it meant Stefan hadn’t gone somewhere — except that she’d left the closet door open and she could see, without even meaning to, a bunch of empty hangers.
He’d taken all his clothes.
And emptiness on the bottom of the closet.
He’d taken every pair of shoes.
Not that he had ever owned much. But everything that he needed to make a trip away was gone — and he was gone.
Why? Where? How could he?
Even if it turned out that he’d left in order to scout them out a new place to live, how could he? He’d get the fight of his life when he came back— if he came back.
Chilled to the bone, aware that tears were running unmeant and almost unnoticed down her cheeks, she was about to call up Meredith and Bonnie when she thought of something.
Her diary.
In the first days after she’d come back from the afterlife, Stefan had always put her to bed early, made sure she was warm, and then allowed her to work on his computer with her, writing a diary of sorts, with her thoughts on what had happened that day, always adding his impressions.
Now she called up the file desperately, and desperately scrolled to the end.
And there it was.
My dearest Elena,
I knew you would look here sooner or later. I hope it was sooner.
Darling, I believe that you’re able to take care of yourself now, and I’ve never seen a stronger or more independent girl.
And that means it’s time. Time for me to go. I can’t stay any longer without turning you into a vampire again — something we both know can’t happen.
Please forgive me. Please forget me. Oh, love, I don’t want to go, but I have to.
If you need help, I’ve gotten Damon to give his word to protect you. He would never hurt you, and whatever mischief is going on in Fell’s Church won’t dare touch you with him around.
My darling, my angel, I’ll always love you….
Stefan
P.S. To help you go on with your real life, I’ve left money to pay Mrs. Flowers for the room for the next year. Also, I’ve left you $20,000 in hundred-dollar bills under the second floorboard from the wall, across from the bed. Use it to build a new future, with whomever you choose.