Time moved along on the island and I learned to fill my new role at least reasonably well. 

Elizabeth's steady stream of criticism seemed to be gradually shrinking, or perhaps she was just growing tired of complaining.  I listened to her suggestions and then I decided if I would do what she wanted. 

She spent a great deal of time irritated with me.  I took secret pleasure in her annoyance.

Jack spent a lot more time on the island than he had previously, or perhaps he always had and I had not seen him because I had not been involved in the running of things. 

He was quite entertaining when we were not working, but he was almost as bad of a slave driver as Elizabeth when we were.  I did not really mind.

Pierre and Tara remained much as they were; polar opposites on the verbal language spectrum. 

I invited Alex back to the island for a visit and I was pleased to see him again.  It had not truly been long since we had last spoke, but the events which had happened made it feel like decades. 

We had a good time together and I noticed Tara was watching him with more interest than was strictly normal.

She was pleased when I made him promise to come for another visit soon and equally delighted when I finally remembered to give her the gift I bought her in Paris.

Alicia had returned to her selfish childlike self, but she spent a good deal less time being outwardly rude to me, probably because even the flouncing little fool realized I was now the hand that fed her. 

I was truly grateful she did not know what happened when the likable Alicia was in control, because then she would know she could do almost anything and I would not send her away.  She would know that I was attached to her other self.  I felt it was better she fear me, just a little bit.

Michael had not specified what to do with his ashes, so I took the matter into my own hands.  I spread some of his ashes in the ocean around the island and the other part I buried in the graveyard where his sister and his oldest friend and nemesis lay.

Hollyhocks grew on all the graves in time.

One day, Elizabeth brought to my attention that my old things were still moldering away in storage.  She suggested sending someone to clean it out, but I rejected the idea.  My mind had strayed many times to my family and I knew it was time to return.

I made all the arrangements to go to my old city and I decided to take Tara with me.  When I suggested it, I was surprised that Tara did not want to go.  Her excuses were rapid fire; she was afraid to leave the island, her mother had never left even once, she had to take care of her shop and so forth and so on in a seemingly endless deluge of words.

Finally, I pointed out if she came she would see Alex's country and if she did not go I would have to find someone else to do my hair and makeup while I was there. 

I was not sure if it was the mention of Alex or her possessiveness of her role of taking care of my appearance, but she changed her mind so quickly I almost got whiplash.

Thus we flew to North America and I decided I would decide what I would do when I got there.  All I knew was that if my time stretched out before me indefinitely, I was not going to fall into a cycle of regrets and unfinished business.

When we landed, we went straight to our hotel and I slept and made excuses for as long as I could manage to ignore the fact I was procrastinating. 

I was a bundle of nerves, so I had to force myself get ready to return to my first home.

The hotel was about a half hour from my destination.  Tara fixed a dark blond wig over my naturally brown hair and did my makeup in such a way to give me a subtly different appearance.  I wore high heels and a blouse and skirt she had chosen.  When I looked in the mirror, I could barely see the person who had first defied her father.

To summon my courage, or perhaps as a way to further procrastinate, I walked by my old apartment and then through my old university campus and library without attracting much attention. 

I decided on a whim to stop by Zach's.  I opened the door, feeling slightly nostalgic.  Behind the counter was none other than the Claire who had plagued me so long ago. 

I felt none of my old aggravation when I looked at her.  She was such a petty problem in retrospect.  I walked in and made my way to the counter.

Her eyes widened when she saw me.  "Dylan!" she gasped.  I really was surprised she recognized me but I tried not to let it show.  I had been gone for more than two years now.

As I got closer I noticed her straight hair was shorter and there were a few graying hairs sprinkled through her locks.  I was willing to bet she hated that.

"What was it you said?" I asked innocently.  I did not look much like the Dylan she had known and I needed her not to trust her own memories.

"You're Dylan Langhorne!  Missing, presumed dead!"   Her eyes were still bulging in a comical manner.

Ah, so she knew who my parents were now, I noted. 

It sounded like they all believed I had died.  I had been gone for long enough, I supposed, but I would have thought they would have given me a bit more time before totally writing me off, if only for appearances sake.

My father probably thought I would not have the courage to leave the city willingly, which I supposed had been true. 

Claire's face was pale and I could not help but feel slightly amused by her reaction.  It was not like they had found my body to confirm my death.

"No, I'm quite sure I don't know who that is," I said, unable to entirely keep my amusement from showing.  "Why do you think I am she?"

"No, you have to be.  You look just like—"  She paused, looking more closely at me.  "Well, I suppose there are differences," she finished weakly.

I smiled indulgently and then scanned the menu.  I commented with slight irony, "They say everyone in the world has a double somewhere.  But regardless of the state of my doppelganger, I at least am alive and I would appreciate a large French vanilla, please."

She looked at me again and then shook her head as if to clear it.  "Right away," she said and then moved off to get my order, periodically sending furtive glances back in my direction.

Finally she brought my drink and I paid with a credit card.  I saw her look at my signature at the back.  It was a good thing I was using a different identity Jack had arranged for me.  Perhaps I should ask him to get me another one in case Claire proved too inquisitive.

"Thank you for coming to Zach's," she said.

"No, thank you," I agreed.  "I must admit myself curious, however.  You look as startled as if you saw a ghost.  Who was that person to you?"  Perhaps she say something interesting.

She seemed to consider my question before she answered.  "She used to work here a few of years ago, until she suddenly stopped coming in.  I thought she was just skipping work." 

I could not help a twinge of annoyance at her interpretation of my absence.  I had been a reliable employee, at least before Michael infected with the vampire virus.

Apparently I hid my reaction well, because she did not seem to notice. 

Claire continued without pausing and picked up speed.  "After a while with no word, our manager called the police.  We didn't hear anything else for a while.  Then a couple of months later all hell broke loose.  Apparently the Langhorne's discovered she was missing, apparently she was the younger daughter of an accomplished surgeon."

I could see Claire was starting to enjoy the telling of the tale.  "A bunch of police and then private investigators came down and inspected everything.  Her apartment had been emptied without a trace.  I'm not certain how was determined she likely dead.  Finally, they held a funeral and put up a memorial in her memory."

"I suppose when there is no body found it leaves everything unfinished, right?" I suggested, trying to sound sympathetic to hide my swirling emotions.

"I guess so.  I just wish I had been nicer to her," she said mournfully.

"You can't change the past," I said gently, almost feeling a bit sorry for her.  There was no point in lamenting silly things she could not change now.

"If I had just known who she actually was," Claire added mournfully.  Any sympathy I had gained for her flooded out of me.

I felt annoyed I had been tricked by her petty regrets.  I should not have been surprised; Claire was exactly whom she had been.  Though my appearance was the same under my disguise, perhaps only I had changed drastically inside.

As I walked out of the store with my drink, I considered Claire was not exactly as she had been.  She was the same person, but growing older.  She seemed more subdued, although it was possible it could be attributed to the shock of seeing someone who looked so much like the missing Dylan. 

If nothing else, her reaction to the old me would be different if I admitted my return.  I imagined she would practically fawn all over me now she knew I was from an important family.

Was that a change?  It was more of a change in knowledge rather than personality.

I got back in my rental car and drove away.  I was rather curious to see my own memorial.

It did not take much research to find out where my memorial lay. 

I remembered well the old church graveyard that Claire had mentioned.  We had not attended, but perhaps they had chosen to bury me there for convenience since it was close to my childhood home. 

I parked the car a few blocks away and walked the distance.

The graveyard was average sized and finding my grave might be a challenge, but I had plenty of time to spare.  Tara was back at the hotel enjoying her first taste of room service and she would have no objection to me taking longer. 

I walked in through the stone gate and started searching up and down the rows.

I found the memorial in amongst some newer looking headstones.  It was odd that there was a marker for me amongst the dead when I was still alive.  Perhaps it marked the death of my old existence.

It looked like the graveyard was getting crowded, there was little empty space left that was not covered in graves.  Convenient for my family I had died to them when I had, I thought wryly.

But perhaps I was being unkind, because it appeared that someone had visited.  There was a potted plant sitting in front of the stone.  It was still alive, so either someone was taking care of it, or it had been a rainy summer.  Or perhaps I was being too optimistic and the caretaker of the graveyard saw to these sorts of things.

But someone had left it there. 

I wondered who it had been.  Was it Arianna, my bittersweet sister?  Or had my mother decided a show of grief was necessary to avoid the judgment of others?  It was unlikely to be my father, for he was as cold and unyielding as the headstones scattered around me.  He shunned sentimentality. 

Maybe it was someone farther afield, from the university or from Zach's. 

Most likely it was my old friend Stephanie or her grandmother, who had helped me out when I had first run away.  I remembered everything they had done for me and I resolved to repay them in some way. 

Perhaps Elizabeth could arrange an anonymous donation.

My attention moved to the headstone. 

It was plain, clearly the choice of my father.  My name was written in somber lettering and the dates of my birth and what must have been an estimation of my supposed death. 

The anniversary of was only a few days away.  There was nothing else to distinguish it from all the other chunks of stone around me, nothing to indicate that they did not truly know that I was dead.

I considered whether I should reveal myself to my family.  Even if I returned, miraculously from the dead, I would have to leave again when my lack of aging became apparent. 

If they did not miss me now, then my continued absence would not bother them.  If they grieved, I would only make them repeat the process again.

I ignored the small, nearly unacknowledged part of me that wanted to see them.  I wanted to see their reaction.  I wanted to know that they had loved me.

Perhaps my only closure with my family could be in accepting that I could not change the past.

I walked away from the grave. 

I would deal with my possessions the next day and then perhaps I might travel with Tara so she and I could see more of the rest of the world.  Perhaps we could even try to visit Alex.

I glanced back and I noticed someone was walking in the general direction of my grave. 

I looked more closely and I saw it was my father.

My first thought, coming from the part of me that still loved him like I had when I was a child, wanted to run over to him and reassure him I was alive.

My second thought reminded me I would certainly have to die again.

I continued to watch him, trying to look like I was simply another person visiting the grave of a lost loved one. 

I moved a bit closer, just so I could see him better.  He looked older, which was normal, but he still looked healthy.  His back was straight and he still held himself with the pride that was so much a part of him.

I had to believe that he was here because he did care, that somewhere in that stiff form he had a beating heart that loved his daughter.  He was not a man to let his grief show, nor would he let it defeat him.  I knew he would survive, even if I returned and left again.

But then he would feel the pain of my death all over again.  His wounds were probably closing with time.  Would I be returning for him or for myself?

When I first left, I would have wanted to hurt him more, but now, I found myself wanting to protect that cold man from further pain.

I made my decision.  I would never know if it was right or wrong, but I would remain dead to them and they would be dead to me. 

I wished they could have more closure, but there was nothing I could do to provide such.

"Goodbye, father," I said and I turned and walked back to the car.

Change is ever constant.  We all change, even though we do not notice it happening in the moment. 

Every second of every day, our position in the universe changes, as our planet turns on its axis, around our sun that in turn hurtles through the universe.

Without our conscious thought or consent, we continually whirl through this great cosmic dance. 

We are never in the same place twice, not in space, nor in relation to the people who surround us, nor even in the sanctity of our own minds.

People are born, people age, and people die.  Those of us frozen in time are ultimately no different. 

Each individual moves in their own way through the maze of life.  We do new things, we have new experiences, we meet different people, and we form new memories. 

Sometimes these changes come without our consent and sometimes the decisions are ours, but we must decide how to play the hand we are dealt.

I have chosen to look ahead with anticipation rather than trepidation.  If it is my fate to become completely focused on something like Michael, let it be something good, let it be an optimistic future.  Although, that may be a bit difficult for someone with my nature, but I can at least make an attempt.

I choose not to be drawn into Michael's endless games of revenge and grief.  I want to drop my chains.  I do want to mourn those I lose, but I do not want that to be all of who I am.

And thus, like Paul, I have recorded all these experiences and these people so that I will not forget.  I will not let them be lost in the drifting snow in my mind; I will not see them washed out and lost in the vast ocean beyond Michael's island.

I choose to remember what I have learned.