Love's Journey

         "Good-bye my Fancy! Farewell dear mate, dear love. I'm going away, I know not where, or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again. Good-bye my Fancy.
W.W."
         William Walters sighed as he put his pen down and looked at what he had written on the table. As he walked away, he saw what was going to happen tomorrow afternoon: Fancy sitting down at the table, waiting for him to get there, and as he didn't show up, she would look down at the message he had written and finally realize that he was never going to show up.
         He hoped that she would always remember him and remember what could have been. He also hoped that she would eventually move on and make her own life. Maybe, if he somehow returned, they may be able make a life together.
         He walked outside to the black car that was waiting for him, got in and took one last look at the lit window of the one person who could keep him there, and also the one reason he had to leave.
         While the risk existed, he could not stay.
         As the car pulled out of the parking lot, a young woman by the name of Francine "Fancy" Robertson woke up with a startled cry of "NO!"
         Her roommate Angie, who was studying at a desk across the room from the bed, jumped and said, "What's wrong?"
         Fancy sat up in her bed and said, "I-I don't know, I feel like I just lost something."
         Angie thought about it for a moment and asked, "Did you do your Chemistry assignment for tomorrow?"
         "Yes, and anyway, that's not the type of loss I feel." Fancy sighed and said, "I feel like a piece of my heart was torn out."
         Not knowing what to say, Angie said the only thing that made sense to her: "Sleep on it, I'm sure you'll figure it out tomorrow."
         The next afternoon, Fancy went down to the basement where she and William would always share lunch. She wondered why William wasn't already there, since he lived right down the hall, then her eyes caught some freshly written words on the already scarred wooden table. She read William's message and felt the rest of her heart follow the little piece that left the night before. She cried.

         It was a deep forest in what most people would call the middle nowhere. It was a place that very few even knew existed outside of Geography class. It was the last place you would ever expect to find a person. Yet, nestled in a small dip between the roots of an ancient tree, laid a man dressed in camouflage, writing in a journal, his head popping up at the sound of slight rustling sounds caused by forest-dwellers. Here's what he wrote:

Day 259:
         I've been here for almost 9 months, not that I know where here is. The only thing I know about here is that it is a forest in a temperate climate with trees of many varieties. All I can do is lay low, avoid patrols, and stay alive. The only tools I have to do that are skills that they taught me and a laser pistol that they provided for me. I also don't know who they are.
         I'm not sure why I keep a journal, since nobody will ever read it.
         If I ever get home, I will warn everybody not to visit the site, skepticsalert.org. I visited it and I became trapped in a web of, well, secrecy. This type of secrecy is the type that makes you afraid to even think about it, but I still do, because whenever I think about them I think about Fancy.
         I hope Fancy is happy, because it doesn't look like I'll ever get to see her again. If anybody ever reads this, I would wish that they would tell Fancy that I miss her and that I will always love her. I hear a patrol coming, so I must go.

         The professor sat at her desk, grading the midterm exams that her students had just taken. She gets done with the exam by one Francine Robertson and looks at it with amazement. How she could get such a good grade with the problems she had, especially the fact that her boyfriend disappeared near the beginning of the year.
         If it was just that he ran off with another girl or he transferred to another college, then there wouldn't be near the emotional difficulty. As the case was with William Walters, he was apparently planning to leave for a while and actually left her a note saying that he was going to miss her. The professor had William in a class and found that he was always a reliable person and to just drop a girlfriend like that would be unrealistic for him. For a few days after he had left, the professor was fully prepared to give Fancy time to come to terms with her grief, but she always came to class. In fact, her work improved over the first week. The professor puts Fancy's exam aside and reaches for the next one, amazed at how resilient some people can be.

         It was another day in the forest, colder than most of the others, when a small parachute dropped a package onto the sleeping form of one William Walters, who came awake with the slash of a knife that he had been holding onto in his sleep. When he came fully awake, he opened the package with a similar slash of his knife. He looked at the papers and pictures found in the package, memorizing every detail, while fingering the small radio beacon they included in the package.
         Satisfied that he would not forget anything, he tears up the papers, pockets the transmitter, and begins writing in his journal:

Day 586:
         Today, I received my orders. They contacted me and gave me a definitive target, the leader of the enemy. I now also have a good reason to write in this journal. They said that they would give this to Fancy. I'm sure they will edit this, so all incriminating evidence will be removed.
         There is only one thing that I would like to do more now than hide this journal under these tree roots for them to find. That would be to hand it over to Fancy myself.
         I see a plane flying overhead, a plane with very special markings.
         I know what I'm about to do will rid the world of a great evil, but I'm not doing it for the billions of people in the world, I'm doing it for my Fancy.

         William, man of about average appearance, stands up from the roots of a tree, where he just stuffed a small journal. Taking one last look at the spot, he hefts a small, odd-looking pistol and marches in the direction of the fading sounds of an airplane engine.
         Even though his face looks perfectly calm, inside, his heart is raging tears of grief and loneliness for the one girl who he had truly loved and who also, most likely, thought he was dead.
         With every step he took, one word was going through his head:
         Fancy

One month later:
         It was a warm fall night, just past sunset, when a black car drove up in front of Frees hall at Doane College. A man with a scarred face, a slight limp, and a haunted look in his eyes stepped out. He was carrying a small tattered journal.
         He walked up to the entrance and punched in a number on the call box. When the person responded, he spoke a few words and waited.
         After a few minutes, a dark-haired woman opened the door and looked at the man, who handed her the journal. She looked at the front cover of the journal, then she looked closer at the man. Suddenly, she burst into tears and threw her arms around him in a long-awaited embrace. William steered the sobbing Fancy back into the hall and into the rest of their lives.
         All those reading this are probably wondering what was written on the cover of the journal, here it is:
         "I'm back"


Author's Note:
I know this story is not perfect, so I would gladly welcome any suggestions for improvements.