And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.’”
“Lovelace?” she had whispered.
“Yes. Written while he was in prison.”
“When you’re free, you can write poetry for me.”
“I will write you books full of poetry—when I am free,” Stefan had promised, knowing that he couldn’t write even a simple sonnet properly. He was trying to keep Elena from realizing that he was going to die before she arrived—even given the boon of her tears.
But Elena had rescued him from the very brink of death. And she had never again referred to his promise, and he had never written her as much as a couplet.
* * *
Something round and wet fell on the back of Elena’s hand, which Stefan was holding. He looked down at his own tear without recognition.
I’m going to have to take Lovelace from her, he thought, his heart pounding in slow, sick beats. I’m going to have to remove the poet’s name and works entirely from her mind, most carefully, most thoroughly. Not to mention taking away the concept of astral projection. Why does it matter so much, though? I’ve had to destroy so many cherished memories already.
Somehow, taking away the gift of Elena’s tears was worse than anything else he could think of at the moment. That gave him the strength to do what he had to. He sat with narrowed eyes—dry eyes—and destroyed the end of every neuron chain in Elena’s mind that led to the poet, or “iron bars” or the tears that she had shed while she was out of her body.
Just another brick in the wall between you and your damned demon lover, he thought to Elena, not swearing, but stating a fact about himself.
It took him over half an hour of delicate tinkering, but at last he was satisfied that Lovelace was gone, that the prison was gone, that astral projection was gone. Stefan continued on his search and destroy mission for another hour, while the neuro-virus worked side by side with him.
At last, he withdrew from Elena’s brain and scanned it at ultra-high-speed. When he was done he nodded emotionlessly. Everything was stable. He’d accomplished his goal.
He had removed every trace of memory of Stefan Salvatore from Elena’s mind. As far as she was concerned, he had never existed.
Now he could release the red-haired man he had Influenced in the ED and allow him to call Elena’s Aunt Judith.
And now there were phone calls he himself had to make, to Elena’s friends who deserved to know what was happening. He pulled out his mobile and in a tight voice said, “Bonnie: dorm.”
* * *
Bonnie and Meredith arrived amazingly quickly. It was the first time Stefan had seen elegant Meredith walk into a building looking rumpled. She had clearly thrown on the jeans and violet top she had worn the day before and had only taken a few swipes at her dark, shoulder-length hair. Moreover, there was a pallor beneath her perfect olive complexion and her dark gray eyes were wide with barely-controlled fear.
Bonnie, on the other hand, looked almost disturbingly neat. She was wearing an unwrinkled apple-green sweater that complemented her strawberry curls perfectly, and, Stefan remembered, had answered the phone after a single ring without sounding sleepy at all.
Bonnie might be a problem, Stefan realized.
Still, he kept to his plan and drew Meredith aside first. “I want to ask you something,” he said softly as they moved away from Bonnie and Elena. “But we need complete privacy . . . in here.” He nodded at a dark and empty room ICU room he’d noticed a few minutes ago.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened to her?” Meredith said in a low voice.
“I’ll have to whisper,” Stefan said, hating himself. He leaned forward as if to whisper in her ear, and at the same time gently took hold of her left shoulder and right upper arm.
Then, with a swift dart he bit her like a snake. Meredith automatically brought up her knee and simultaneously wrenched her arm free to throw him in a martial arts move. But as the first spurt of her blood hit the roof of his mouth Stefan was Influencing her, calming her, forcing her to relax. Physically strong as she was, she never stood a chance.
When she became still, Stefan set loose his neuro-virus in her head.
As the virus began its work, he moved cautiously around in Meredith’s keen and organized mind, handling some of the more delicate erasures himself. For Meredith, Stefan Salvatore was melting into non-existence.
“Sit down on that chair,” he commanded her softly. “and just keep quiet until I tell you to wake up by using your full name. If you understand, acknowledge by speaking your full name.”
“Meredith Teresa Consolacion Maria Sulez.”