38. American Idiot

As I sighed, my breath formed a misty cloud in the chilly November air of Arizona. The weight of the threats lingering around me made my shoulders tense. I was on the balcony, even if it was cold, I liked to be outside. Some fresh air. I sat at my desk, the wooden surface cool to the touch, as I racked my brain for the best course of action. The faint scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby mug, providing a comforting aroma.

While Wulfe had ventured off to Ireland to assist others, I found myself with some rare free time to focus on this particular problem. It was no easy task, as it had fallen upon me to handle the most dangerous enemies and complex situations. But I was determined. I knew I could do this. My mind quickly pieced together the fragments of information, forming a solid plan.

In an effort to uncover more about the threat, I delved into the depths of the dark web. The glow of the computer screen illuminated my face, casting an eerie light into the dim room. The clicking of the keyboard filled the silence, accompanied by the soft hum of the fan. Simultaneously, my favorite playlist played through the speakers, filling the room with a mix of Finnish, French, and 80s, 90s, pop, soft rock, ABBA songs. The rhythmic thrumming of my finger on the edge of the display matched the beat of the music, adding a sense of focus to my thoughts.

As I scanned the information, this was a new string of medical facilities that I was trying to keep coming after me, furrowing my brow in concentration. I was just looking list that they had gotten from one drug shipment, and there it was. The weight of a secret burdened me.

In that list, one name struck dread in my heart. Carfentanil, a dangerous drug that could render me helpless, had been discovered in the plans against me. It was a weakness I had kept hidden, not even sharing it with Damon or Colin. The thought of anyone knowing about it sent shivers down my spine. I made sure to destroy most of the drug if it was ever found, leaving no trace behind.

With one problem tackled, I moved on to the next, knowing that this, too, would require careful consideration. It was a challenging task, but I reminded myself that I had honed my skills over the course of 130 years. Expertise and experience were on my side, guiding me through the intricate web of challenges that lay before me.

I was uncertain about what would come next. Had Wulfe planned something? I pondered this while realizing it was time for me to eat. Wanting to maintain my shape, I briefly reflected on the lesson I had taught Damon. Was it a wise decision? Would it come back to haunt me? Only time would reveal the answer.

As I completed most of my tasks, the song "I Want It That Way" by Backstreet Boys played in the background. I listened to the lyrics, and once again, they resonated with me. The song spoke of breakups and difficult times, but also carried a message of hope and the possibility of rekindled relationships. Frustrated, I sighed, as it seemed like every damn song reminded me of the challenges in my life, or perhaps it was just my current mood.

Reaching for my coffee cup, I realized it was empty. The same went for my thermos. I needed to go to the kitchen to eat and make coffee, but I had no idea when I would have the time to do so. These problems were so complicated, and it always took me ages to fully address them. I didn't want a temporary fix; I wanted these problems gone for good. But that required effort and persistence.

However, I had time on my side. I had the expertise to tackle these issues. I just needed to focus on the tasks at hand and not constantly dwell on my emotions and relationships, or lack thereof. Lost in thought, I finally entered the kitchen, still contemplating solutions in my mind. I knew that the answer would present itself once my mind had worked through it. Patience was the key.

Opening the fridge, I was surprised to see my shelf filled with smoothies and hearty meals, prepared in Salvatore style. I could recognize the distinctive way he chopped the meat. This was undoubtedly Number One's doing. He had been the one to consistently feed me, and each Salvatore had their unique signature in their culinary creations. But lately, Number One had been distant, clinical even. Perhaps Wulfe had spoken to them, addressing any underlying issues between us.

Taking my meal, I ate, allowing my mind to drift back to that other life. Who was I in that realm? The memories flooded in, and I hadn't shared with anyone just how vivid they were. It was as if I had lived an entirely different existence, with a myriad of memories that I had meticulously examined, trying to decipher their significance.

Had Freya used some kind of magic to access memories from alternate versions of myself? Was there truly a multiverse at play? Was there somewhere other reality with me but without Damon in my life, without love, so I had been a hard, cold, emotionless husk?

Freya had been strong and since she was a black witch, there was no telling what she had done, or had it been, when my powers overloaded that spell. It had maybe pulled some other version of myself; I had so many questions and so few answers. I ate and even it was really tasty and delicious. I did not pay attention to what I was eating and in which order; I sipped my smoothies, and drank my coffee, and Coke, thinking about my pondering all the time. Even it would have no use. It was just who I was, thinking and over-analyzing. 

I had just finished eating and found myself ironically craving a layer cake. As I opened the fridge, the fresh scent of strawberries from the local farm filled the air. Gathering the rest of the ingredients, I vividly remembered that uncertain yet confident feeling I had before Damon entered my life. Breaking the eggs and measuring the sugar, I whipped it into a frothy mixture.

Spreading butter in the pans, I was interrupted by Wulfe's arrival.

Leaning against the counter, he watched me and guessed, "Strawberry and cream layer cake, sugar sponge?"

Nodding, I replied, "I remember making this the first day I met Damon. But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't come into my life. Damon tried to explain that spell to me, but I'm still not sure if it was true. It feels like my power overwhelmed the spell and pulled another version of me from somewhere else. I have so many memories from that life."

Wulfe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and said, "Listen, Damon did not know spells. His theory was completely wrong. Let me explain."

Pausing my work, I asked, "What do you mean? His explanation seemed perfectly logical."

Wulfe hopped onto the counter to sit, just as I added flour and baking powder to prepare the dough.

Dipping his fingers into the mixture, he tasted it and continued, "Think of the spell as making a cake. Freya, with her vision, intended the spell to be a perfect, decorated, and tasty cake. She started layering it, adding elements meant for Salvatore, then Mariella, and so on. It took time and careful consideration of what to include. Sometimes, less is more. But when dealing with individuals like Spike, Angelus, and Drusilla, they had extensive lists of requirements, making it more challenging to manage. It's like stacking all these layers on top of each other, but the cake won't hold without support."

I said to Wulfe, "Well, it's history. Let's move on. No need to ponder about it."

Wulfe replied, "It's not that simple. Listen to me, I am teaching here. The more you put into spell casting, the more layers you need. It requires energy to make them come true. Just like when you add bases to your baking, you need enough energy for them to be ready. But if there's too much, they burn. It's like over-whipping cream until it turns into butter, not whipped cream."

I nodded and said, "You really know your baking. I understand that making spells is not easy, but what's the point?"

Wulfe explained, "Sure, you can bake your bases, cut them, fill them, and stack them. But when you have a vast tower like that, it becomes unstable. Now, imagine your enormous cake as a spell that has been woven and made ready. It looks perfect, but it needs a spark and power. Let's say you put that cake on a rotating stand. Normally, the cake would rotate slowly, and perfectly. But if your power source is too strong, the cake explodes against the walls."

I pondered and said, "Okay, so it might explode, but again, I had a whole new life under that spell. Could I have taken it from somewhere else, like an alternate version of me in another realm?"

Wulfe replied, "Nope, Damon was wrong with his anatomy analogy. You see, you are part of the cake, and you are splattered all over the wall. They took most of you out because your power overloaded it, but it left you with very little. Your human mind can't cope without memories, and with your memory, you are a pretender. Your mind came up with the best possible explanation and made up those memories. They were partly from others, partly from your own memories, and partly from your pretender side, too."

Standing still in the warm and cozy kitchen, the sweet aroma of freshly baked cakes filled the air. It felt like home, with little having changed. Though I had changed, my mind wandered, contemplating the existence of the multiverse.

I turned to look at Wulfe, my eyes searching for answers. "Are there versions of me out there, in other realms, untouched by Damon's presence? Versions that weren't victims of Damien, ones who never became killers. I can't help but wonder, if ghosts can be real, why not alternate versions of myself? And with my strength, I could have potentially torn through the fabric of other universes, into the vastness of the multiverse."

Wulfe looked at me sharply and said, "Multiverse, not sure if it exists or if it does, does it even matter? Now, focus on the future. Forget the spell, or actually, I need to go make you a potion to make those memories go away. You have doubles in your mind, and it's something that freaks you out. Let's make the cakes. I'll soon be eating them, and we'll get over this."

I had no time to say anything as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the distance. My focus shifted to making my cakes, the sweet aroma of vanilla and strawberries filling the air. Lost in thought, I pondered his words and realized the truth in them. I hadn't considered my pretender side. Maybe I should call Jarod. But with Wulfe and Magnum now more present in my life, in our pack, I hadn't found the time to reach out. I suspected Wulfe was jealous, as if everyone in the world envied Jarod.

Determined to push those thoughts aside, I immersed myself in baking. Slicing a big box of strawberries, the juicy red fruit stained my fingertips as I whipped the cream until it was light and fluffy. Memories of past missions resurfaced, reminding me of the times they hadn't gone as planned. Thankfully, no one had died, but I knew I had been a loose cannon back then. Nowadays, I have my guards who helped keep that side of me in check, unless I redirected their focus. Perhaps it was time to assign them proper missions for a while, allowing me to reflect and think freely.

Exhausted from everyone's theories and explanations about the spell I wasn't even seeking, I finished baking the cakes. Just as I was about to spread the cream and curd mixture on top, Wulfe appeared.

He handed me a small bottle and said, "Go to bed and drink this. It'll knock you out soon enough. You can choose which bed to sleep in, though I could always carry you there."

It was a playful game between us, as Wulfe had adopted Damon's possessive attitude, trying to claim everything that was mine, including the bed I preferred. Annoying as it was, Wulfe was irreplaceable, so I tolerated it, hoping that with time, I would grow accustomed to it. Accepting the bottle, I made my way to the bedroom that Wulfe hadn't occupied. His gaze lingered on the bed, a smirk playing on his lips. I changed into a comfortable nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against my skin, and took a quick, refreshing shower.

Emerging from the bathroom, I climbed into bed and drank the potion. Its taste was familiar, triggering a distant memory that slipped from my grasp. As the effects took hold, my eyelids grew heavy, and I could barely whisper, "Bridgette..." Darkness engulfed me, and I drifted into a peaceful slumber, free from nightmares, relishing the blissful moments of the past.