Eve Immortal - Chapter 3: Unrest

My body felt like it was made of lead.

I tried to open my eyes, but my lids were too heavy. My arms and legs weighed a thousand pounds each, pulling me down, immobilizing me. My head was throbbing. All my muscles ached, even ones I didn’t know I had. My ears felt like they were plugged up with water; I could hear the rushing of my blood through my veins in them. Even with my eyes closed, I felt dizzy. I was too sick and nauseous to think about why I was feeling this way; I relinquished any ideas of rousing further and let the heaviness of my body drag me back down into the unconscious bliss of sleep.

 

*  *  *

 

I was walking in a lush garden. Beautiful marble statues of Greek gods and their heroes looked out from behind climbing vines of ivy, their etched-in-stone perfection now succumbing to decay and the wear of time. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow me, watching as I walked along my path, but I wasn’t afraid. I felt their sadness and loss and it tore at my heart.

My path came to a T at a tall hedge wall. I went left on the path, but then paused as I noticed something glinting in the fading sunlight among the dense brush. I reached out and moved aside the dense branches to reveal an old brass handle. I tried turning it, but it was locked. I bent down and peered through the keyhole. I could see a narrow path lined on both sides by green walls of hedge, making a sharp right some thirty feet away.

I felt a strong need to follow that path. I jiggled the handle of the hidden door, but it remained locked and I had no key. I pawed at the bush around it, snapping a twig in my efforts, which quickly grew back twice as thick as before.

“You can’t get in that way,” a voice came from behind me.

Startled, I abruptly turned and stopped short, confused. There was no one there. Just the garden path, the hedge wall, the statues, and me.

“Do you not remember me?” the voice asked sadly.

“Where are you? I can't see you,” I replied.

“But I am here in front of you, Eve.”

I stared ahead across the path, the hedge at my back, into an alcove I failed to notice before. There, smothered and almost completely hidden under a tangle of moss and vines was a crumbling statue of black stone.

I walked up to the statue, curious. “Is this you?” I wondered, but the voice didn’t reply. I reached my hands up and gently uncovered the tangle of leaves that covered most of the statue’s face. When it was free from the brush, I caressed the smooth, cold planes of the onyx face with seeming familiarity. With increasing urgency, I removed the rest of the foliage from the statue’s body, first revealing broad shoulders and a bare chest of sculpted muscle, then a waist that narrowed into thick thighs and carved calves, and finally bare feet planted contrapposto upon its stone pedestal. There were more vines tangled on his back, and as I pulled them away, they revealed awesome outstretched wings. The black onyx shone like it was polished new. I looked into the statue’s blank eyes, and what appeared to be a tear glistened down one stone cheek.

“Please don’t be sad,” I said compassionately. “I’ve gotten all the vines off you, now.” I caressed the angel’s face, and without thinking, stood on tiptoe and kissed its cheek, erasing the tear stain.

The statue’s eyes glistened, blinked, and looked down upon me. “I am not sad, Eve,” he replied. “I am overjoyed.” Stiffly, he stepped down from his pedestal and his stone façade crumbled away to reveal flesh and bone.

"Do I know you?" I asked slowly. I had a odd sense that we'd met before; but I could not place it through the cobwebs that clouded my mind.

"I know you," the angel answered simply.

He then stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms, his giant ebony wings enveloping us both. He held me to him for several moments, as if I’d vanish if he let his grip go. Then, with his wings still wrapped protectively around us, he took half a step back so as to look at me. He took my face in his hands, his flesh still cold like the stone he’d been, and lowered his lips to mine.

 

*  *  *

 

I awoke slowly, groggy and disoriented. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to hang onto the blissful memory of the dream. My body ached for the angel’s touch. My lips burned for his kiss. I replayed the dream over and over in my mind, a deep sense of loss lingering in my heart. So it wasn’t surprising that when I fell asleep again, I dreamed of Rhys.

 

*  *  *

 

“Come on, Eve! We’re gonna miss our train!”

We had four weeks left of our Parisian summer vacation, and Norah and I had decided to splurge and spend the rest of our meager savings on a two week excursion to England. So far, our trip wasn’t off to a great start. We were currently sprinting through Paris’ Gare du Nord train station, hoping beyond hope that we weren’t about to miss our train. We had been running late from the start, and rather than wasting time (and money), and risk taking a taxi to the station during the morning rush hour, we opted to take the subway, thinking it’d be faster. And it would have been, if the Metro hadn’t unexpectedly stopped in the middle of a tunnel for twenty minutes, leaving us twitching nervously in our seats and cursing under our breath. We had tickets for the 6:45am Eurostar that would take us from Paris to London, and it was now precisely 6:42am. We had barely made it through Customs moments before; the guard almost didn’t let us pass, citing that regulations stated we needed to be at the station thirty minutes before departure, and we were there with less then ten. But I think he took pity on the two panicked young ladies before him, and he let us pass in the end, telling us we’d better make a run for it. And he meant literally run.

The sleek white and yellow train loomed before us and we jumped aboard at the first open door, heedless of the numbered car we were supposed to board according to our tickets. No sooner had we made it inside, than the train lurched forward and began creeping along the track. Norah and I exchanged looks of miraculous relief and we began the arduous task of dragging our luggage through car after car until we reached our assigned seats.

The train was clipping along at great speed though the Paris suburbs by the time we finally fell into our seats, exhausted. Within minutes, Norah was fast asleep in her spot next to me. Neither of us were used to getting up so early in the morning, and while I was definitely tired enough to sleep, I had this inescapable feeling that something was waiting for me in London; that I was being drawn to the city by some preternatural force. I stared out the window as the August sun rose warm and hazy over the French countryside, pondering my future and feeling a strange calm fill me. When the train entered the Channel Tunnel and my scenic view disappeared, I finally let my eyes close; they didn’t open again until we pulled into St. Pancras station.

We disembarked to a gray and drizzly London. We took the Tube to our budget hotel, washed up, and explored the city until it was time to head to the theater. We had tickets to see the stage production of “Blood Brothers” at the Phoenix Theatre. Emily, Norah’s cousin, had seen it with several friends over the Christmas holidays and she had highly recommended it.

“So, what’s this play about again?” I asked as we waited in line outside the theatre. “Vampires, right?” I quipped, making fun of the play’s title.

Norah laughed. “Nah, it’s something about twins being separated at birth and crossing paths later in life. It got rave reviews, but if nothing else, Em said the lead actors are really hot, so at least we’ve got some good eye candy,” she winked at me. “And they sing,” she added, giving me an ooh-la-la sort of look.

Once inside and settled in our seats, Norah poured over the actors’ bios inside the Playbill. “Oooh, they are cute!” she exclaimed as she thrust the profile pictures under my nose. I had just enough time to see that both leads had dark brown hair and that one was cut short and combed forward in a style that reminded me of Russell Crow in the movie “Gladiator” and the other had a mane of medium length waves, before she took the program back. “And check this out: the guy who plays Eddie is leaving next month for L.A. to star in a new Hollywood film adaptation of ‘Blood Brothers!’ That's so cool! We’re seeing him live before he becomes a major celebrity! We are so totally going to see that movie when it comes out!” Norah was twitching excitedly in her seat.

“Ok! Ok!” I laughed. “Keep it down, will you? It’s about to start,” I shushed. Norah quieted down, but when the lead men came out on stage, she grabbed my arm enthusiastically and gave me an overly exuberant grin, her face lit up like a jack-o-lantern in the dim light.

The musical was fantastic, and I should have seen it coming, but when it ended tragically, I felt my eyes well up with tears despite myself. When the lights in the house came up and I looked over to Norah, she was fishing in her purse for a tissue, her face wet and blotchy.

“Ok, that was just too sad!” she complained as we left the theatre. “I mean, it was really, really good, but so sad. Come on,” she added, grabbing me and pulling me across the street. “I need a pick-me-up.”

I let her pull me into a quaint pub half a block down the street. She strolled over to the bar and confidently ordered two pints, then, as a side thought, added two Cornish pasties to the order.

“I hate drinking on an empty stomach,” she shrugged, as if she needed to explain herself. We took our drinks to a small table in the front corner of the pub near a bay window that overlooked the street.

“So, what’s a pasty, exactly?” I asked, a little wary. I hoped it tasted better than it sounded. After two months of gourmet French food, my palate had gotten a bit spoiled.

“Didn’t you ever read ‘Harry Potter?’” she asked sarcastically in return.

“Yes, and I didn’t know what they were talking about then, either,” I replied, perhaps a little more testily than I had intended. “Not everyone is as well travelled as you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll like it,” she promised, waving off my indignation good-naturedly. A few minutes later when our food was served, I learned that a pasty is a lot like a calzone, only with a flakey pastry shell. Ours was filled with beef, diced potatoes, sliced carrots, onions and seasonings. It was like a pot roast dinner in a Hot Pocket, only without the overly-processed ingredients and indigestion that came with the cheap microwaveable American version.

We ate our food, drank our beer, talked about the play, and commented on the people that passed by on the street outside.

“So, what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?” I finally asked, popping the last bite of pasty into my mouth and brushing the crumbs off my hands. I had been gazing out the window when I spoke and when Norah didn’t immediately answer, I turned to look at her. “Norah?...Norah?” I repeated, a little louder when she didn’t still didn’t reply. She had her beer in her hand, but she had paused with it half way to her lips. I followed her gaze to a group of young men and women standing just outside the pub. Several of the group broke off, waving farewells, and the rest came clamoring inside.

“"Oh. My. God!” Norah suddenly exclaimed in a loud whisper, her eyes wide as she reached across the tiny table and clutched my forearm dramatically.

“What?” I asked, not at all alarmed. I turned around in my seat, scanning the pub to see who or what could have caught her attention. Knowing Norah, it could have been anything from a cute little puppy that snuck inside to a raging fire behind the bar.

“Don’t look!” she cried dramatically, and I instinctively diverted my gaze to something innocuous; which happened to be the cardboard coaster my drink had been sitting on. I found myself staring down at a voluptuous blonde in pigtails holding a pint of foaming beer in each hand. “Over there,” she stage whispered to me, her eyes not moving from her target, somewhere across the room. “Oh my god,” she repeated. “It’s him! It’s Rhys Wood!”

“Who?” I asked, looking up from the coaster and staring at her completely dumbfounded. I wasn’t aware that she knew anyone who lived around here.

Norah tore her eyes away from whomever she was ogling and gave me a look. “Rhys Wood,” she hissed at me, clearly annoyed. When I failed to respond, she rolled her eyes and fished in her purse for a moment, finally pulling out the Playbill from the theatre. “Rhys Wood,” she repeated, opening the program under the table and pointing to the headshot of the handsome young man with short hair. “You know, Eddie,” she emphasized.

“From the play? Really?” I asked, more interested now. “Where?” I craned my neck to get a better look around and Norah smacked me on the arm. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t be so obvious!” she hissed. “He’s at the bar with those other guys.” She gave a quick tilt of her head in their direction. “I think the whole male cast is over there!” she added excitedly. “Oooh, I think I see the guy who played Mickey, too!”

Trying to be subtle, but feeling rather obvious all the same, I scooted my chair around the table for a better viewing angle. It was easy to pick out the group of fifteen or so rowdy young men clustered at the bar. The guy I assumed was Rhys was standing in the middle, his back against the bar as his companions jostled around him, laughing and thumping him on the arm, patting him on the shoulder, or mussing his hair. Laughing good-naturedly, he dodged a few of his friends with one hand out and attempted to flatten his hair back down with the other. He called out over his shoulder to the barman and a round of drinks was ordered to the great pleasure of the crowd. When everyone had a mug in their hand, the guy closest to Rhys raised his up for a toast. “To Rhys!” he shouted in a deep voice.

“To Rhys!” his friends chorused back, raising their mugs high in the air and extending their congratulations, all talking at once.

“Knock ‘em dead, mate!”

“Break a leg!”

“No, break two legs!”

“No, really break a leg, you lucky b*****d!”

“Don’t forget about us now that you’re going to be a famous movie star!”

“Better yet, take us with you!”

“Hey, Rhys, sure you wanna leave us for all those Hollywood snobs?”

“Sure he does; you think he wants to stay here and look at your ugly mug every day when he can party with all those lush California birds?”

“Well they could have at least taken us both,” said a guy with brown wavy hair and I recognized him as the actor that played Eddie’s twin brother, Mickey.

“Sorry, mate,” Rhys replied apologetically, “but I don’t think Hollywood could handle the likes of you!” he added laughing, a glint in his eye.

“Oh yeah,” the actor replied, “how ‘bout you, pretty boy, can you handle me?” he challenged, making kissy faces at Rhys.

“Aidan, my man,” he replied, clasping the other man’s shoulder, “you know I don’t play that way, but if I did, I’d own you,” he finished, to the hysterics of the rest of the group and even Aidan was laughing.

“Anytime you change your mind, pretty boy,” he said winking and slammed back the rest of his ale. “How ‘bout one more?” he asked, shaking his empty mug and the others began chanting their agreement.

“Man, you guys are greedy!” Rhys said laughing.

“Aw, come on, you can afford it, Mr. Hollywood!”

“Not yet, I can’t,” he replied, “and neither can my uncle. Now pay up if you want another,” he insisted, holding his hand out and gesturing with two fingers at the crowd. His friends grumbled, but fished in their pockets for bills and coins that Rhys collected before calling out to the barman. “Yo, Uncle, ‘nother round!”

“Are they paying for this one?” his uncle yelled back jovially from the other end of the bar. “Or is this one on the house as well?”

“No worries! Got the quid here!” he said as he laid the cash on the counter. The barman grunted his approval and began filling new pints from the tap.

A few minutes later, after the second round was drunk, about half of Rhys’ entourage bid him hardy farewells, some throwing an arm around him and thumping him on the back as only guys hug. When they were gone, Rhys and two of his friends saddled up on some barstools, awaiting food, while Aidan and the remaining three guys walked over to the back corner where a pool table sat.

Rhys spun around in his stool and casually leaned his elbows back on the bar, chatting with the fellows on either side of him while watching the others set the table and chalk their cues. “Hey, don’t let Aidan break; he cheats!” he shouted over to the pool players. Aidan replied by making an obscene gesture, and Rhys laughed amicably. Without warning, Rhys glanced in my direction, the laugh still on his lips, and his eyes locked with mine. Blushing, I quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“I’m goin’ in,” Norah abruptly announced.

“What?” I asked, alarmed and taken completely off guard. I could still feel the heat on my cheeks. I risked taking another peek at the bar, and Rhys was just turning around. He had been watching me. My blush deepened and I could feel my whole face turn red.

“I’m going to ask him for his autograph,” she said in a tone that said this should have been obvious. She stood up and threw back the last of her drink. “Come with me. He could sign your program, too,” she waggled her eyebrows at me as she patted her hair and straightened her skirt.

“Norah, no. Leave the poor guy alone,” I pleaded. Stalking celebrities wasn’t really my thing. And I didn’t really want to confront the guy who had just caught me staring at him.

“What, you don’t think he’d love to sign a couple of programs for two young, attractive women?” Norah replied slyly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me out of my seat. I barely had time to reach back with my free hand and snag my purse before she was dragging me across the room towards the bar.

“Fine!” I hissed at her as I wrenched my hand out of hers. I was embarrassed enough asking this complete stranger for his autograph in front of his friends; I didn’t need to be dragged over like an unwilling child on top of it.

“Excuse me, are you the guys from “Blood Brothers?” Norah interrupted the three men at the bar coyly, holding her Playbill open to the bios page.

“Why, yes, we are,” one of the friends replied in an overly sexy voice as he gave Norah a once over, which she seemed to eat up. The other guy smiled warmly at us, curious, but Rhys, after smiling and nodding politely to Norah, didn’t take his eyes off me. I forced myself to look anywhere but directly at him.

“We just saw your performance,” Norah gushed. “It was so good! And you had me bawling at the end,” she accused, flirting at Rhys.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that. I hope you’ll forgive me, I was just doing my job,” Rhys answered her, but winked at me.

“Oh, no! You were fabulous,” she gushed. “In fact, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind signing my program?”

“Oh, of course,” Rhys seemed pleasantly surprised by the idea and, taking Norah’s Playbill, reached over behind the bar for a pen to write with. “What’s your name?” he asked. She told him, and he scribbled a quick note along with his signature.

“You want my autograph, too? I play the Narrator; my name’s Blake,” Sexy Voice Guy asked Norah and she agreed enthusiastically. “So, where are you girls from?” he asked conversationally as he took the paper from Rhys and signed his name with a flourish.

While Norah chatted with Blake, Rhys had turned to me, reaching out for the Playbill in my hand. “And your name is…?” he asked, his voice low. I finally looked up at him and when our eyes met my world came to a screeching halt.

“Eve…” I replied, the word coming out in a half whisper of its own volition, since my mind had gone completely blank. I could see surprise register in his eyes, the same surprise I’m sure that was in my own.

Over the years, I’d gotten used to the stares and looks of surprise I received when people noticed I had two different colored eyes. I knew others like me existed out there, but I had never met one before. Until today.

Looking into Rhys’ eyes was like looking into a mirror. His right eye was a blue that matched my left eye; his green-brown left eye matched my hazel right one. For what seemed like an eternity, neither one of us could stop staring at the other. Then Rhys finally grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eve.”

 

*  *  *

 

I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t tell how long I had been sleeping, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to wake up yet. I still had the memory of looking into Rhys’ eyes for the first time burning in my mind, and I wanted to hold onto that moment a little longer. A slight, nagging vibration around me had me struggling into consciousness, if only so I could stop the bed from shaking so I could go back to sleep. I struggled to open my eyes but I couldn’t see anything, so I gave up and squeezed them shut. It suddenly occurred to me that I was cold, and a violent shiver ran down my spine. I was the one vibrating the bed. I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball with my arms wrapped around myself to try and keep warm, but the shaking just got worse. I pulled the covers up to my ears, to no avail. My teeth were chattering uncontrollably. My hands were like ice against my cheeks; I exhaled into my fists, trying to warm them at least marginally. I couldn’t even feel my feet. I just laid there in bed, frozen.

Suddenly the covers were gently lifted up and something deliciously hot was placed against my arms. I grasped the bean-bag-like object like a lifeline and clutched it to my chest. I gave a violent shiver as the heat penetrated through the wall of ice-cold skin and began to warm my core. It had the pleasant smell of lavender and rice and it calmed my nerves as I breathed in its heady scent. Then lower down, the covers shifted, and another hot rice bag was placed at my feet. I let out an audible sigh as my body’s convulsing finally slowed down and I was able to stop gnashing my teeth together. I tried to lift my head and look over my shoulder to see who had left this fine gift and to thank them, but it was too much effort and my head fell back against the pillow.

“Hush, hush,” a soft feminine voice from close by whispered into the dark. “You will be warm again soon, so just sleep now. It is almost over, I promise.” The heaviness of a second blanket was added over my existing covers.

I wanted to ask what was almost over, but I didn’t have the strength, and I fell almost immediately back to sleep.