The Sidewalk Cafe - Washington, D.C.
Rather than approaching Dr. Morgan directly, Ernst exited the hospital, ordered a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe, and patiently waited.
Hours slipped by. As the evening shift ended, Ernst saw his target.
Dr. Morgan emerged from the sliding glass doors, accompanied by an elderly woman.
They shared a quiet, profound intimacy.
The woman hesitated before taking his arm, eventually allowing him to guide her down the sidewalk.
"Things are getting interesting," Ernst mused, taking a slow sip of coffee.
Despite the ravages of time, Ernst recognized her.
She was the young nurse from the German concentration camp in 1945.
Thirty years had aged her into an old woman.
Beside her, her husband remained a man in his prime.
It was the classic tragedy of immortality.
Ernst dropped a few bills on the table and discreetly trailed them.
He followed the couple to a quiet, upscale restaurant.
With a subtle weave of localized perception magic, Ernst slipped inside completely unnoticed.
He watched them eat.
Henry Morgan gazed at his wife with a heavy, familiar sadness.
Despite Henry's subtle attempts to age himself with makeup and styling, the vast physical difference was impossible to hide.
The lingering, confused stares of the other patrons weighed heavily on the room.
Henry feared the societal pressure would eventually crush her spirit.
Henry sighed inwardly. To the room, she looked too old for him.
In reality, he was over two hundred years old.
Finding Abigail in this long, strange lifetime was his greatest joy.
But the clock was cruel.
His melancholy was abruptly shattered when a young man pulled up a chair and sat directly at their table.
"Apologies, sir," Henry said, suppressing a flash of annoyance.
"This table is occupied."
The stranger didn't blink.
"Dr. Morgan," Ernst said, his voice flat and clinical.
"Do you feel the pain?"
Henry froze.
"Watching the woman you love age and wither, while you remain permanently frozen in time," Ernst continued smoothly.
"Immortality is a blessing to the ignorant. But for you, it is a curse. You cannot endure this agony much longer."
Henry's face drained of color. Abigail gasped softly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Henry retorted instinctively.
He kept his voice low, his eyes darting to the neighboring tables.
"Speak louder," Ernst smiled comfortably.
"Show them you aren't afraid."
"What is your game?" Henry hissed.
"You're going to cause a scene."
Ernst waved a dismissive hand.
"Do not worry about them. You could scream, and they wouldn't notice."
Henry looked around. The waiter was pouring water at the next table.
The couple across the aisle was laughing.
None of them were looking. They were entirely oblivious to the tense confrontation.
"Who are you?" Henry demanded.
With over two centuries of experience, he recognized a true anomaly when he saw one.
"My identity is irrelevant," Ernst replied.
"I am interested in the dark magic binding your soul. And I can solve the... age problem between you and your wife."
"We don't need your meddling," Abigail interrupted fiercely.
She stood up, gripping Henry's hand.
"We are leaving."
Abigail was sharp. She knew people didn't offer favors for free.
She was terrified Henry would accept a demonic bargain just to save her.
"A fiercely loyal woman," Ernst chuckled.
"Congratulations, Doctor. But her patience is fraying."
Ernst leaned forward.
"Every day, she endures the whispers. The stares. People assume you are her son. Eventually, the shame will force her to leave you. And that day is coming faster than you think."
Henry stopped dead. He had already half-risen from his chair.
Ernst's words were a surgical strike to his deepest insecurity. He had felt Abigail pulling away recently.
Henry gripped his wife's hand, pulling her back.
"I'm sorry, Abigail," Henry said, his eyes burning with desperate resolve.
"I cannot lose you. I need to understand this. We can't keep running."
Abigail looked into his eyes, saw his absolute determination, and slowly nodded.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Ernst offered a slow, mocking applause.
"A truly touching romance. Let us find a quieter venue."
Ernst extended his hands across the table.
Henry and Abigail exchanged a tense glance, then reached out and took his hands.
A violent, silent whirlwind collapsed the space around them.
The three figures vanished instantly from the crowded restaurant.
No one screamed. No one dropped a fork.
Ernst's localized illusion had seamlessly patched the visual gap in the diners' minds
- - - - - - - - -
Pocket Dimension
Henry and Abigail opened their eyes.
They were no longer in Washington D.C.
They were sitting in a stark, smooth-walled, windowless room.
"We have plenty of time," Ernst said, settling into a chair across the small table.
"Take a seat."
Trapped in an impossible space, Henry and Abigail sat down defensively.
"Tell me the origin of your immortality," Ernst commanded.
"I have analyzed your temporal signature. It is a highly abnormal resurrection loop. But magic demands equivalence. The more you die, the steeper the cost."
Henry sighed heavily. There was no point in lying to a being that could warp reality.
"Over two hundred years ago," Henry began, his voice distant.
"I was the heir to the Morgan family empire."
Ernst raised an eyebrow.
"The Morgans? American banking royalty. Impressive. Go on."
"My father wanted me to inherit the business," Henry said bitterly.
"I wanted to be a doctor. We fought all the time."
"To break me, he forced me to serve as the ship's doctor on one of his new ventures: a slave galley bound for the Caribbean."
Ernst chuckled inwardly. A classic tale of aristocratic rebellion.
"There were hundreds of slaves in the hold," Henry said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"I couldn't stand the cruelty. One night, I stole the keys. I unlocked their chains."
"I was caught by the ship's guard. They shot me and threw my body overboard."
Abigail gripped his hand tightly.
"When I woke up, I was floating in the ocean, completely healed," Henry continued.
"Every time I died after that, I returned to life in water."
Henry looked down at his hands.
"When I finally returned to America, I learned the truth. The ship had gone down in a storm shortly after the mutiny. All the slaves perished. It was my fault. My reckless rebellion killed them all."
Henry's eyes glistened with two centuries of accumulated guilt.
Abigail rubbed his shoulder soothingly.
Ernst looked at the immortal doctor and let out a long sigh.
Henry was a genuinely decent, agonizingly naive man, shouldering the weight of a tragedy he didn't understand.
"Alright, I have the picture," Ernst said, leaning back.
"Let me start with some good news."
"You carry that guilt for nothing. Those slaves didn't drown."
Henry's head snapped up.
"If I am reading your magical signature correctly," Ernst explained, "they staged a successful mutiny, seized the vessel, and established a hidden colony."
"They survived," Ernst stated flatly.
"And they likely built a shrine to you."
"Wait... they lived?" Henry shot up from his chair, his voice cracking.
"They survived?"
The deaths of those hundreds of souls had been the defining agony of his existence.
"Of course they lived," Ernst scoffed.
"Otherwise, who do you think is paying for your resurrections?"
Henry froze.
"What?"
"Magic is transactional, Doctor," Ernst lectured coldly.
"Among those slaves was a master of witchcraft. He cast a resurrection spell on you as you died."
"But true immortality requires a staggering battery of magical energy. It requires faith, and it requires blood."
Ernst leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Henry's.
"Only a tribe of fanatical believers could sustain that spell. Every time you die, the universe demands a life for a life."
Henry stopped breathing.
"Out of twisted, generational gratitude, they sacrifice themselves for you," Ernst revealed.
"Every time you put a bullet in your head or jump off a bridge, an innocent soul in that hidden tribe bears the cost of your death."
The blood drained entirely from Henry's face. He collapsed back into his chair.
"So that's how it works," Henry whispered in absolute horror.
"I wish I had never known."
He looked at Ernst, his eyes wide with desperate pleading.
"Can this curse be broken? It is a horrific injustice to let others die for my mistakes."
-------------
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