She had ripped through her mother’s flesh an entire person— rising from the remnants of her mother’s ruptured body all covered in visceral remains. She had emerged from her mother’s corpse the size of an adult. According to her father, the last word uttered from her mother’s lips was ’Jonna’, the only name she had ever been given. Her mother’s body wilted and dissolved, a pile of ashes teased by the passing wind in the fields she had been born in. Her father lifted her up from the ground and carried her back to the pine and red clay cabin he and her mother had shared for lifetimes.

Jonna woke abruptly to the moon casting shadows over her cell floor. She still owned that cabin, with acres of land shrouded by Georgia woods. The dream was still fresh in her thoughts, her lineage coursing through her veins like accusations. Sleep was always optional. It was something her body could do, when she needed a break from counting the seconds. She didn’t need it, but sometimes, still, she slept.

To evoke a new immortal, one must die. The ultimate sacrifice an immortal parent makes to their child. She had taken her mother’s heart, growing beneath her mother’s skin until she could no longer be contained there, breaking out from her mother’s body like a hatchling shattering the shell it had grown too large for. From that moment on, Jonna had been alive.

Had she been male, she would have taken her father’s heart, instead.

She had only known memories of her mother; memories that marked her mother’s heart deep enough to transfer to Jonna’s body. Playing like movies beneath her eyelids whenever she chose to sleep. The first ten years of her life were the hardest, playing back memories of a woman she would never know. Her father had raised her. Teaching her everything she needed to know before bearing a son with another immortal—a brother that had long left Jonna’s side and was somewhere living his life in Europe.

Her father was Sirrah. Her mother had been Ada. They would both be ashamed of her now. Knowing that she had pulled their kind into the spotlight when they had tried so urgently to stay hidden. For her entire existence, Jonna had veiled her true nature. She had lived lives that passed so quickly and left no marks on the world. She had been so afraid to be discovered for so long that her immortality felt like burden.

She felt like nightmares of her crimes should meet her in slumber—but they never did. She guessed it was because the murders felt justified. To kill someone had been the most thrilling thing she had ever experienced. To feel the life leaving a vessel had given her more satisfaction than any lover ever could. Jonna didn’t know when it had happened, but sometime during her life she had lost it, giving into the urges she’d been told to repress for decades. Immortality doesn’t make you invincible. Pain still hurts and suffering is inevitable. It made her resent the time she’d spent afraid. When mortals had power over her because she lived in their world—because she lived by their rules—because she had to behave. Jonna hadn’t realized she hated it until she no longer participated. Not following the rules was the only reason she was here—in prison.

There were twenty bars stretched across the six feet wide birth of her cell, there was one twin sized cot—too hard to sleep on for too long—a toilet and sink combo that she only used to brush her teeth and wash her face in and a tiny barred window too high for her to see out of. The air was always cold and goose bumped her flesh in a way that made her feel threatened and the sun never touched the floor no matter how much she wished it could. She had paced the small space thousands of times when she felt pent up, enough steps that she could walk it with her eyes closed without bumping into anything. It had been where she lived for 74 years; but never was it home. Prison could never feel like home. She didn’t have comfort here. All she had was time to reflect and books to read, sometimes. When she managed to catch the book cart, squeaking down her cell block to the sounds of quiet requests and the shuffling of feet, she’d pick the largest tome available, and read without stopping—relishing in the escape she found through words. The end would come all too fast, and she would find herself aching for another book to distract her from her boredom.

She got to leave her cell on her yard walks, and three times weekly she would be allowed to shower, late at night with guards at the doors while she closed her eyes under the spray of water pelting her skin clean. The only time she got reprieve from her loneliness was on visitor days, which came biweekly. Murphy came every last Friday, and they met inside one of the conjugal visit rooms. Today was the last Friday of the month, and Jonna wanted desperately for the guard to retrieve her. The moon lit different parts of her cell until it kissed the sun good morning and went to bed, and Jonna rejoiced in the sounds of the keys jingling as the guards walked down the cell block. She stood patiently by her door for their arrival.

The guards assigned to her always wore swat gear; there had only been one time since her captivity that she’d lost it—but she guessed that was enough to put them on high alert. She waited for them to cuff her, and they walked her down the cell block at her sides and in front and behind her, ignoring the whispers from the other prisoners as she passed. The prison block she’d been assigned to housed the most dangerous criminals. The lifers and the death row inmates that rarely got to see outside.

She guessed she was one of those criminals, now.

Murphy would be waiting in their room—ready to catch her up on affairs and give her something to tide her over. And for nearly thirty more days she would await his return. It had been that way for almost ten years, since Murphy had found out she’d went off the handle and came in search of her. When the door to the room opened, Jonna heard his heart beating immediately, strong and steady and distinctly his—the sound like a chanting hymn to her longing ears as the guards removed her cuffs and closed the door behind them. The heart of an immortal beat loudly in the presence of another, the only proof that someone like her was near.

Murphy hadn’t changed a day in the last century. His dark curly hair was full of shine and swept backwards into the sharp incline of his neck. His brown eyes were searching hers in earnest—making sure she was still all there—making sure she hadn’t completely lost her mind. She enveloped her friend in a hug, long and full, until he pulled away to look at her.

“You look tired, Jonna…”

She smiled silently and sat on the freshly made bed beside him. He hadn’t meant her appearance; he was noting her demeanor. The dullness of her skin, the lack of luster in her hair.

“I’ve been sleeping too much actually—dreaming is the most entertainment I get here. How are you?” Her voice felt foreign to her in its disuse.

Murphy shrugged at her. “Bored, as usual. Trying to find things that still feel fulfilling. How does it feel to be so close to leaving?”

She shrugged back at him—she hadn’t thought about freedom yet. It would only make her days longer. “I’ll be ready when the day comes. How is everyone?”

Everyone had only included their circle of friends that had managed to remain through the years. Other immortals and a few humans that associated with them. Murphy looked away from her, his heart quickened in his chest and she had heard it—hesitation.

“What?” The word came out more like a growl than a question as Jonna tucked her unruly hair behind her ears.

“Marcus and Danielle have decided to produce a child.” Jonna sighed at his answer, but nodded at nothing in particular. “Rita is dying of some old person’s disease… she can hardly remember me when I go to visit.”

“How far along are they? Will I get to say goodbye to Rita?” Rita was an employee of one of her immortal friends, a human entrusted with setting up bank accounts and laundering old money for them.

Murphy shook his head. “One of them will be gone by the year’s end. You’ll get to meet their child, and the doctors have decided that Rita doesn’t have long to live… she’s ninety-six, after all.” Humans died all the time—it had been one constant change in Jonna’s lifetime. Rita had been full of youth when Jonna had been sent to prison—only twenty-two if she was remembering correctly. She changed the subject.

“How is my house? Have you been caring for my cat?”

Murphy smiled at her this time, “Of course I have! And your garden. It’ll be ready for you when you arrive. Your cat had kittens, they don’t wander often, but there are three of them, all ugly shades of orange and one of them has no tail—I’m still not sure how Tabby is still having litters, the old bat.”

She chuckled, the sound a stranger to her own ears. Murphy always found ways to brighten her day. Jonna’s ears picked up on the skip in Murphy’s heart then, quick and quiet—but noticeable. She didn’t have to ask her next question, because Murphy sobered and decided to explain before she could.

“They’ve been asking about you. Darius and Elizabeth. They want to know what you’ve told the police… if they know who you’re affiliated with. I told them I would ask… but they just want it dealt with.”

She nodded, staring at the cement brick wall across from her. Darius and Elizabeth were Forevers… people that had never given life to children; people that had been here from the beginning of their kind. Jonna hadn’t told warden or the scientists about anyone else. But Darius and Elizabeth wanted to make sure they were safe… that Jonna hadn’t done anything to threaten their people. She hadn’t… but she was tired of worrying about who knew and who didn’t and the secrets she had been told to keep.

“I honestly don’t give a flying shit about what they expect. And tell them just that.”

Murphy’s smile was big enough to sate her anxiety over the matter. She had nearly a year to think about how to appease them—or avoid them. Hopefully that would be enough time. She leaned into Murphy then, her lips aching to touch his—her body suddenly aware of what she’d been missing for the last thirty days. Murphy was never a constant lover—she preferred women—but he could never leave her aching for intimacy. He kissed her back, his eyes fluttered closed and his hand reached into the mess of her hair, pulling her closer by the nape of her neck. She could hear his heart kick—faster and faster to the motion of their movements; his breathing tickling her upper lip in the process. She settled her hand against his heart as he lay her down, taking his time to explore her body.

Living forever was more than endless days and countless tomorrows. She had been born at the height of her existence, when her body was ripe and beautiful. Her senses were sharp, and mind unhindered by age, tragedy and mental illness. In all the years she had lived, some of her happiest moments had been with another. Smelling, touching, tasting—feasting on the reactions her body made in the throes of ecstasy. Reveling in the emotions of elation, adrenaline, and exhilaration. Getting lost in something else... someone else.

She got lost in Murphy’s kisses quickly, and their clothing fell to the floor in quick succession, her hands braced his chest as he lay atop her. Jonna missed this connection—the feeling of skin on skin—of rushing hearts and heated flesh under her fingertips. Sex was the only drug that affected her—her body immune to narcotics and intoxicants just as it was to disease. She was glad that Murphy always gave in to her, he had always known the right notes to hit.

Today was no different.

***

She and Murphy had made love on the hard bed in the conjugal visit room—because they could—and she had been sated since. He had kissed her goodbye and hugged her close before leaving, promising her another visit. She had been returned to her cell after their tryst, with the smell of him lingering and the phantom feelings of his fingers tracing patterns over her skin.

If Jonna were anyone else, she would have gone crazy already.

But she was Jonna, and she’d lived through worse things than this. She’d long ago learned how to deal with madness. She’d been born innocent, and then, she had become a slave, a victim, a prostitute, and now, a prisoner. In one way or another, she had never been free. She had known what insanity felt like. She had known what forever felt like. She had died many times before… if only figuratively. Her body had renewed each time—and through pain she had been reborn, a little bit more unhinged each time. It had gotten easier then, to know that she could start over. That the next time could be easier, better, somehow. Each time she had been wrong. She didn’t want to be those versions of herself anymore. She wanted to live freely and do as she pleased and enjoy her immortality.

Why live forever if she couldn’t live as she pleased?

She didn’t want children of her own. Or at least, she hadn’t lived long enough to want the end. Her mother had been nearly 500 years old when she gave birth to her. She had lived long enough to know all she needed to about life. Jonna had only lived long enough to know that she wouldn’t stand to be a nobody anymore.

It was always so tempting—talking to herself. It was easy to get lost in own her thoughts. She had no neighbors next to or across from her. No distractions to pull her from the monotony of her incarceration. She had no one to write letters to or no news to catch up on. All she had to pass time was memories and books. And once a month with Murphy. She missed so many things. Her memory kept them distant from her when she needed them most. She missed the smell of warm rain on red clay; the tickle of pine trees to her senses. She missed sunbathing by her garden after getting her hands dirty. She missed music… Gods, did she miss music. She had lived such a simple existence until she’d been arrested—until Renee.

She never really thought about Renee’s murder; or the murders leading up to it. Her crimes of passion seemed only a small detail in their history. She thought more of the impression Renee had left on her; the absence she left behind in Jonna’s life. Renee had been her longest human lover to date. She had met her near New Jersey, years ago, in a dark and smoky bar by a seldom travelled highway exit. Jonna had only gone there to meet Murphy, for some show he had been a part of, another pipe dream he wanted to follow to gratify his boredom. Renee had stumbled from the bathroom and right into her, her thick, obsidian hair tumbling into her eyes as her hands reached out to stop herself from falling. Jonna had smelled the liquor through her pores, and before she let the girl go, she caught the glint of cocaine on her sweaty upper lip. Jonna remembered the first smile Renee had thrown at her, sly and mischievous and beguiling.

It had been the only time Jonna had let Renee walk away from her.

She wound up finding her again and claiming her on the dance floor, the shitty music of Murphy’s band playing with the strobing red lights. Jonna had no magic. She had lived and learned but there was nothing special about her existence. She had no seductive prowess or abundance of allure—no coveted voodoo that would ensure her way with things. But on that night she had never felt so drawn to someone else. She had never felt so tempted by someone so mortal. By the end of the night she had asked Renee home with her. Jonna tossed the girl her only helmet before taking her home—to the two story loft Jonna had bought decades before, a grungy building of brick and steel that contradicted her unhealthy need for constant sunlight.

What started as a one night stand had escalated to all the things she knew she shouldn’t do. And she and Renee travelled months together to the next party, the next show, the next bender, the next drug. She didn’t take many human lovers. They asked too many questions, demanded too many answers. She usually kept it brief, and casual—it was easiest to avoid the heartache of their dying. Renee had been the second human being to know of what she was. And for the longest time, Jonna had believed she could keep her secret. She’d been wrong, of course.

Jonna shook the thoughts from her head. Think about something else…

The sound of the book cart stole the moment from her before she could dwell in it. She gathered the last book she’d finished, ready to escape her cell with someone else’s story.

***