The ceiling hovered above me, glowing as the morning light gleamed off the white paint. I stayed under the blankets, unmoving. At some point during the night, I had managed to work my way under the covers, but I didn't remember a single moment past Ezra's silent walk out my door.
I watched shadows drift purposefully across the walls as time-shifted around me unnoticed. I thought vaguely that I should be doing something, but I couldn't remember what. I decided I didn't care. A soft knock on my front door wound its way to my consciousness. Shadows swayed playfully on my walls and across the bed. They were much more interesting than the persistent knocking.
Static electricity flitted across my skin as the knocking grew more demanding. I groaned inwardly but steadily refused to move.
"Kaja," Leif's voice rang out, demanding and impatient. "You can't hide. I can feel you."
My foot strayed to a cold spot on the bed. I enjoyed the contrast from the warmth I had been savoring the moment before and sighed pleasantly.
"I know you have questions," Leif called out stubbornly. "I have answers." Current crackled against my legs, climbing from my ankles to my upper thighs. I groaned as I closed my eyes and threw aside the blankets. The swelling on my ankle had disappeared along with most of the pain. There was only a dull ache when I applied pressure to my foot. I was still wearing my clothing from the previous night. I opened my door.
Leif was alone. I knew he would be.
His face was drawn, haggard but sympathetic. "Thank you," he said quietly after a moment. "Your paper." He handed me a folded newspaper. I glanced at the floor outside the door. I hadn't been home in days. There should have been a small collection of newspapers. One of my neighbors must be taking them.
"I'll make some tea."
"Ezra handled things... badly."
"I should make some tea," I muttered again. "Or coffee. Maybe coffee."
"I know what happened."
"When?" I asked.
"What?"
Sure, he knew what happened, but when? What happened last night or what happened to that family thousands of years ago? Did it make a difference? No.
"When?" I repeated.
"Last night." He sounded confused.
"Tea. Tea would be better. I should make tea."
"Kaja!"
"What?" I looked at him directly for the first time.
"I think you're putting too much faith in the magical healing properties of a pot of tea."
The stereo from a car thumped as it passed by on the street, I felt the sound vibrate lightly across the floor. Suddenly I turned, walked to the bathroom and climbed into the bathtub. I stretched my legs out in front of me, and I settled into the back of the tub.
Leif slowly followed me into the bathroom. He gazed down at me quietly. "Why are you lying in the bathtub?"
I shrugged. "I thought the cold porcelain would feel good."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
A small smile played against his cheeks. "That's about right." He sat down on the edge of the tub, his legs curving smoothly beneath him down the side.
I watched the white tile climbing the wall in front of me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It wasn't my place. But you're right. You should have known. We thought we would have more time."
"How long?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. A few months at least."
"No," I said, barely audible. "How long was he... how many did he..."
Leif bowed his head. His eyes bored holes in the tiles on the floor. "Ah, Kaja. That won't help."
"Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?"
Leif shook his head slowly. "I can't tell you that. Even if anyone knew the answer, it wouldn't make any difference."
I bet the number made a difference to the people he killed, I thought sourly.
"He was... They called him Azrael."
Azrael? There was an entire chapter devoted to Azrael in the manuscript. The paradoxical angel. The angel of destruction. The embodiment of evil. The angel of justice. The angel who receives the prayers of the faithful in heaven and brings comfort to the bereaved. Above all, the Angel of Death.
Ezra was the Angel of Death.
"Tens of thousands," I answered my own question dryly.
The sound of regret and loss crept into Leif's voice. "I won't make excuses or try to make it disappear. It would just insult you, and you won't be able to understand anyway. Not yet."
"Not yet?" My eyes became slits. "You expect me to just forgive and forget one day?"
"Not forget. Understand." He paused for a moment to consider. "I expect one day you will understand better than anyone else in the world."
"How? They weren't soldiers. It wasn't a war. They were people, not cows lead to slaughter. Normal people, living normal lives. You didn't see their faces. You didn't hear them cry or smell their blood." I struggled to keep my voice from going shrill.
"No, I didn't see it. But I watched a lot of villages get slaughtered long before I met Ezra. The English were particularly skilled in that area. I once watched a soldier demonstrate the most efficient way to smash an infant's skull in while standing a foot away from me. I don't imagine it changed much over the millennia."
I closed my eyes and turned away from him. I thought about the squawking baby in my vision. Why kill infants? What purpose did it serve? It ran against every human instinct. I didn't understand it. I was glad I didn't understand it.
"You're going to live a very long time, Kaja." He stretched out his legs. "I don't understand your ability, but I'm sure it will only get stronger. You are going to see plenty of our lives. Everyone's life. Ezra's life and everyone you meet, including mine. And there is a lot from my past I'd rather you didn't see. There will be a great deal you will wish you didn't see. Some of it will horrify you. I wish there were a way to make it better for you, but you know there isn't."
Leif's version of a pep talk was debilitating. He wasn't pulling any punches or trying to paint the truth into a different color. He was brutally honest and direct; in a small way, I was grateful for that.
"How long have you known?"
"Many lifetimes."
"You were able to accept it?" The idea seemed preposterous.
"Life was different then. Ezra was different then. Everything was different. Violence and death was part of life, expected even. Entire villages were destroyed, and the people were slaughtered or sold into slavery. They prayed to the gods every day it wouldn't happen to them, but they weren't surprised when it did." He cocked his head to the side. "The world was different but not very different. Not at all."
He continued without taking a breath. "We watch the same thing over and over. Every generation cries how the world is being destroyed, swallowed by the violence that gets worse every decade. At the same time, they shudder at the very notion of the monstrous violence of the ancient world. Do you think the world is less violent today than it was during the days of the Pharaohs or the Romans? Or is it more?"
Leif leaned closer to me. "The world never changes. There isn't more death and destruction in the world now, just more people. Death touched the lives of everyone, but that doesn't mean there was more or less of it. Today, when real deaths happen to real people, it happens to other people in other places. And yet entire villages are slaughtered even now. The news and media outlets are marred with stories of death and destruction.
"Your generation is both fascinated and appalled by the Romans and their games, isn't it?" Leif nodded to himself. "You love it, and you hate it. Gladiators fighting in hand-to-hand combats to the death, brute strength mixed with sweat and blood as crowds watched and cheered their deaths. The idea horrifies you, doesn't it?" I gave him a tiny nod.
"The Romans, the Phoenicians, the Assyrians, the Spartans they would have been just as horrified by the violence we enjoy as entertainment today."
I shook my head, "What do you mean?"
"Film, television, video games... we love our violence. Our lives are saturated with it. Wars, serial killers, gang battles, alien invasions. People cheer, they gasp, they cover their faces, they hold their breaths terrified and excited. They even pretend to be the killer themselves. And every year the demand for it increases."
"But none of it is real."
"Exactly. The ancient world lived with violence. They killed for their food and they watched people die. Yes, some of it was for entertainment, but it was entertainment that served a purpose. Death was real, it was visceral, and it was meant to teach. People learned from it. That is why they would be appalled by this world's preferred brand of violence. It's not intended to teach. Nobody learns from these deaths. It's purposeless."
My mind was racing.
"Real death isn't part of daily life here, so we revel in the imaginary. Does that make violence today better or worse than it was then?"
"Neither. But, it doesn't make a difference."
"To what Ezra did? Who he was?" I didn't answer. "No, you're right, it doesn't. The world doesn't change, only our perceptions of it. Being immortal doesn't make us immune from that. The Ezra we know isn't the man he was then. And Azrael wasn't born the Angel of Death either. He was a man."
I leaned my head against the wall behind me.
"You know Ezra must have been at least two thousand years old before he made his first kill. Give or take a few centuries. I was fifteen years old the first time I killed a man. I still remember what it felt like to watch him die. You need to prepare for the day when you will see it for yourself."
I must have looked stricken. Leif didn't back down. "We are Avati. We watch civilizations rise and fall. We have all killed. One day you will too."
Neither of us spoke for a couple minutes. Leif was patient as he allowed me to absorb everything he said. He was unabashed and unapologetic in his bluntness.
"Please go, Leif."
He reached over and lifted my chin to make me look directly at him. He grinned playfully, as only he could. "You have all the time in the world, Ma biche."
He walked casually to the door and left without another word. I sat up and turned the hot and cold taps on all the way. Hot water surged from the faucet with an explosive current and lapped over me. The tub was more than halfway full before I stood up and yanked my shirt over my head, dropping the sodden clothing onto the floor.
I breathed deeply as I watched pillars of steam undulate hypnotically around me. Droplets of water slid haltingly down the tiled walls. My emotions railed inside me. Anger, frustration, fear, longing, despair, excitement... I couldn't catch hold of any single emotion for more than a few seconds. Revulsion mounted as I thought of my vision of Ezra. And I still wanted him desperately.
Ambivalence was clawing at me.
Electricity skipped across my scalp as the smell of ozone wafted around me. The current moved down to my back, wrapped around my entire body at once when it moved beneath the water. Interesting.
"Just leave me alone, Leif," I muttered softly under my breath. The binding quickly disappeared, and I sank my body deeper into the water.
I wanted to will my immortality away. The cost was too high. Why would anyone want this? To spend century after century, millennia after millennia eternally frozen while the world around you crumbled again and again. Watching the same mistakes. Making the same mistakes lifetime after lifetime, filled with power but still powerless to do anything about it.
Leif was confident about the inevitability of my becoming a killer. The worst part was I couldn't help to think he must be right. How could I say with any certainty what kind of person I will be in a thousand years... five thousand years? What kind of a world will I find myself facing?
The cost was too high.
I will spend eternity haunted by the past. My past. Everyone's history. Unspeakable horrors. Will I become callous and jaded, matching destruction with harshness? I couldn't will my visions away any more than I could will my hair to turn grey and my skin to wrinkle.
The cost was too high.
I stayed in the bath until the water ran cold. I stood and wrapped a towel around myself then let it drop to the floor. I stayed in the bathroom allowing the air to dry my skin. Adrenaline was thrilling through my blood, making my need to experience each new sensation that much more pronounced, today more than ever.
I left the bathroom and headed toward the kitchen. The need for tea was my most prominent desire now. As the water heated to a boil, I pulled out the newspaper Leif brought in. I scanned articles on the front page before flipping to the next and filled the pot with boiling water and set the leaves to steep. Then I turned the paper over to the next page.
I froze, paralyzed. I stared blankly at the grainy photograph in front of me. My heart thundered against my chest before I was able to move again. The picture was of the flirtatious young man from the café. Danger nudged at me, and I lowered my defenses and allowed the sensation to wash over me. I remembered spittle spraying over my face as his arm pressed fiercely against my throat blocking off my air. I remembered pressing my hands against his face, his neck, and his chest as I tried in vain to push him away. I remember his breath as he told me to hold still and someone else talking to him nearby.
The man from the café was the man who killed me.
But why was he there? Did he follow me? I tried to remember what he had said to me. He seemed genuinely happy to find a free table. Then he asked me to stay for a coffee. What else? Nothing. I remembered I left quickly.
I picked up the paper and read.
Body Linked to Local Murders
Portland police have linked Curtis Pope, 33, a resident of Beaverton, to the murder of two local women. Pope's body was discovered in the early morning on April 12th north of the Ross Island Bridge in the Willamette River. Police officials have been unable to state whether his death was an accident or foul play.
An editor for Zuzu, an independent women's magazine, Pope has been linked to the sexual assault and murders of Lisette Clayton, 22, and Rory Griggs, 27, last year. Both women's bodies had been discovered in industrial districts early in the morning after having been sexually assaulted and their throats cut.
Detective Aguirre, of the Portland Police Department, confirmed witnesses reported a man matching Pope's description leaving with Griggs from Holosphere, a popular club across the river from where her body was later discovered. Portland detectives had been unable to make any headway in either case until Pope's death allowed police to link him to Clayton and Griggs using DNA found on the victims' bodies.
Pope is now a suspect in an ongoing investigation of the murder of two additional victims from Newport three years ago. Newport police were unavailable for comment.
He was dead. A tremendous sense of satisfaction flooded my senses. Vengeance, relief and just the tiniest thread of fear pulled underneath. The fear tingled more as I thought about the women he'd killed and what he'd had planned for me. I hardly remember anything from the attack... his face, his breath and cold metal pressing into my back. Was I pressed up against something? I didn't remember the knife at all. Mostly I remembered feeling helpless and terrified.
I paused as I remembered the feeling of Ezra's hand wrapped around mine after I came back to life. I thought about the guarded expression he gazed down at me. He had that same expression as the first time he kissed me, intoxicated by the smell of anise and sage.
Then my mind strayed to the alternate history Pope had planned. I couldn't stop myself from imagining a knife slicing, burning at my throat and I all but shook trying not to think about the casual way Ezra performed the very same action.
It wasn't the same.
Yes, it was.
The room spun around me, and a renewed sense of satisfaction surfaced as I reminded myself he was dead. I read through the article again. April 12th, months ago, that was the day after I finished the manuscript, the day after I ran into him in the café.
What was he doing in my café? Was he stalking me? I imagined him watching me, plotting, and I felt nauseous. I thought of the way he smiled as he thanked me for the empty table. He flirted with me confidently. I thought of the way his eyes skimmed over my body, and I remembered the sudden chills I got and my hasty departure.
I had to admit it, I was glad he was dead. But how did he die?
Hm, do you think Ezra killed him and didn't tell her about it? Or someone else?
TEASER: "It happened very quickly, I didn't get a strong look at them."
Wonder whats going on here.