Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  They moved camp usually every one or two days, to avoid trouble with the locals or the police, but they stayed in the general area of Shillingham where Richard had walked out of the forest. They had pin-pointed the probable location of the house on one of Tsuba's maps and Richard was becoming impatient,

  “For all we know she could be long gone, she could be in Australia by now for all we know!” Richard said testily over an evening meal. As was his way, Tsuba thought for a second before replying,

  “Yes, she may have moved on. But we know where the trail starts, it starts at the house, we can always pick it up from there.”

  “No! Yes, I agree, but we've already wasted too much time already, we should strike now! I say we go tomorrow.” Richard spoke forcefully, impatient as ever. And he was surprised at the reply he got from the mild mannered Asian,

  “Okay. As you wish. You and I will approach the house tomorrow, undercover. We will make camp nearby and observe, only observe!…” He stressed the point before he continued, “…I have good binoculars. Then we will return here to make attack plan. Agreed?”

  “Er, yes, great.” Richard's mind went into a whirl, “At last!” he thought to himself. They retired early that night with the intention of making an early start in the morning. Richard's sleep had been relatively peaceful since he'd joined with Tsuba, the series of nightmares he'd been suffering were largely forgotten, which left him totally unprepared, as everyone is, for the next one:

  “Is the blindfold secure?”

  “Yes.” It was pitch-black, he couldn't see a thing, there were girls voices, they sounded familiar but he couldn't quite place them. He tried to move but couldn't, his arms and legs were held outstretched by cold metal clamps around his wrists and ankles. He was on his back.

  “He's moving! Are the shackles on tight?”

  “Yes.”

  Richard felt sticky tape pressed over his mouth, now he couldn't speak. Or scream. He was afraid, very afraid. In the blackness he felt a warmness close to his face, it got hotter. Instinctively his body tensed like a bowstring and he cringed away from the hot something. Then he felt a gentle pressure against his cheek and a soft gush of warm air. He'd been kissed.

  “Goodbye my love.” Said the first feminine voice.

  “Goodbye.” Gently echoed the other.

  He felt himself being carried away as if he was on a plank or board. Then he heard the rolling of waves as if he was on a beach followed by the sound of splashing feet, he guessed that he was being led into the ocean.

  “Farewell my love.”

  “Farewell.”

  Then he was floating on the sea, adrift. The voices had gone to be replaced by the sounds of the open sea, coarse winds and breaking waves. After a time he began to hear other sounds, less wholesome, hisses and gloops surrounded him, he pictured in his mind an army of hungry sea-beasts eager to take a bite out of his warm body. Then he felt cold, with mounting terror he realised that he was naked. Suddenly he was startled as something landed on his chest, it had claws and it pecked him. Soon more creatures arrived to feast on him, he could feel their slimy bodies as they crawled out of the sea and onto his chest. He felt them nipping at him, all over his legs arms and chest. The creature with the claws had moved up to his face and began pecking at his cheek, Richard thrashed about as much as he could to try to dislodge the vile parasite but to no avail, more and then more of them clambered up out of the sea onto his raft covering him, and then more of them piling on top of each other in their desire to get to his flesh. Then he felt cold sea-water flood across the raft, the creatures were sinking it! They were taking him under the sea to feed on him!

  Richard was rigid with terror. The pecking creature was working furiously on his face and had partially dislodged the blindfold, he could see from the corner of his eye, the sea was filled with black slimy creatures all seemingly trying to drag the raft under, he felt water around his face, over his body. The dark sky above him was suddenly shot through with a clear bolt of sunlight, dawn was breaking. The creatures were afraid of the light and doubled their efforts to sink the raft, Richard watched the lightening sky drift away from him as the cold, salty water covered his face filling his nostrils. Instinctively he held his breath, long seconds passed as he realised that the creatures were dropping off him to avoid the sunlight, gradually he started to drift back upwards towards the surface. The raft was waterlogged and he floated with just his face above the surface of the water, his gag had also come loose allowing him to take great gulps of air, the creatures had all disappeared.

  The sun had risen quickly bathing Richard's ravaged body in warmth, he managed to twist his head enough to see down his side, every square inch had a bite or peck mark, the salt water aggravated the soreness and within minutes he could see them all turning septic, they oozed. Richard's agony was complete when he saw the birds circling overhead. Birds like unnatural black gulls swooped around the raft until, as one, they plunged down onto him pecking and clawing his flesh away.

  He felt himself being shaken. By waves perhaps?

  “Oy! Stop a-moanin' an' wake up ya lazy bastard! We need some more firewood!” The old woman kicked him through the fabric of the tent as she went past. Richard sprang up out of the tent and glared at her, Tsuba looked up from tending to the fire,

  “Are you well my friend?” He asked jovially. Richard just shrugged,

  “A nightmare.” He replied dully.

  “Ah, dreams! The window to the soul!” Tsuba pronounced.

  “Piss off!” Richard muttered and headed off to find wood.

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  It was one of those sunny afternoons occasionally broken by freezing rain showers. It was during one of those occasional downpours the Sir Clive arrived at his country house. He quickly disappeared inside leaving the drunken housekeeper, Anjelica, to flounder with his bags. Kelvin Bright eventually appeared, wearing his ‘country gentleman’s’ waxed jacket and hat, to park the car in the garage.

  “You're looking a bit wet, Jelly!” He observed laughing sarcastically. He was actually quite surprised that she wasn't slumped somewhere asleep after having her lunchtime tot of brandy. She laughed with him, looking demented with her hair hanging limp like wet string down her face,

  “Fuck off you fucking little ponce!” She managed to utter before he closed the car door on her. She staggered, dripping, into the house not noticing the gorgeous rainbow that had appeared across the northern sky.

  Inside, she caught a glimpse of the twins curtseying and pretending to smile as they welcomed home their father, even in her alcoholic daze she had time for some sympathy for them.

  “Shame. Poor little bastards. It's not their fault they're fucking mad.” She mumbled to herself while she sought out the brandy,

  “Better have a little one, what with him being back in the house.” She justified a large slug. And then took another.

  *

  Walther's boat, London - 2000

  Susan felt the weight of Walther's pistol, it was heavy and massive in her hand. She remembered the bloody mess the bullets had made of Joan. In her minds eye she pictured Eve's face, without hesitation she raised the gun and fired, there was a satisfying click,

  “It's a very good thing it wasn't loaded!” Walther vaguely chastised her.

  “I'd already checked.” Susan replied, without turning to him she showed a fistful of bullets that she'd removed from the gun.

  “You seem quite relaxed handling that gun?” It was a leading statement.

  “I am…” She answered flatly, “…every girl should have one.” She said it jokingly but Walther could tell that there was a more serious undertone to her words.

  She had spent the night on the boat, in the spare berth, they had talked a great deal and made tentative plans. Walther had told her how he had been working on the engine of the old boat, making sure that it was up to the journey. He had bought provisions to last them for at least a few days and there a
ppeared to be no reason why they could not set off on the following morning. They rose at dawn, Walther smiled as the engine started up first-time, with the sun rising behind them in the east Walther steered the boat out into the early morning traffic of the river Thames.

  Susan, standing behind Walther on the small rear deck, watched as they drifted away from the mooring with a mounting sense of excitement, absent-mindedly touching the thin scars on her cheek. Sipping black coffee as they chugged under Richmond bridge, she watched Walther's face, the lines frozen in concentration, looking every inch the Hungarian nobleman. He had confessed to her last night that he was wealthy, stinking rich even, having inherited an estate and vineyards from his father, he hoped one day to play host to her in his native country.

  “If we get through this alive.” She had told him.

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  Pip and Emm had retreated from the paternal attentions of Sir Clive and hidden themselves in their bedroom. They sat at their dressing table looking at each other in the mirror,

  “I hate him!” One said.

  “I do too!” There was a short pause while they continued to stare at each others reflections,

  “We could kill him.” One ventured,

  “Yes. We could.” One of them fetched an evil looking doll from a cupboard,

  “Madame Pincer would tell us how.” They stared at their customised doll with its miniature home-made knives and scissors until it advised them,

  “Wait till he’s been on the whisky.” Another long pause,

  “Then strangle him with the bell cord.”

  “Make it look like suicide.” Another, longer pause,

  “I think I hate the mistress as well!”

  “And I do too!” Another pause, the longest,

  “No I don't!”

  “Nor I!” Then they crumbled. Hugging each other tenderly while they stared into the mirror and sobbed, hopeless and confused. And looking forward to patricide.

  *

  Kelvin Bright sat in the car that he'd parked in the garage, he was smoking one of the expensive cigarettes that were kept in the car's cocktail cabinet. A day-dreamer and a fool with a nasty streak,

  “You want to watch out for me!…” He said to his imaginary audience, “…I'm dangerous to be around!” He boasted to himself, carelessly stubbing out the cigarette and stealing a few more for later.

  *

  Sir Clive stared into his half-filled crystal whisky tumbler of fine scotch malt. Alone in his Study he was slumped on an antique leather sofa, his thoughts festering. For years he had envied Eve's immortality, he wanted it. And he had devoted almost as many years trying to find the secret.

  He’d gone to considerable expense in making his cellar laboratory secure and fully equipped, installing a mini kitchen and bathroom along with the more sinister accoutrements of dentists chair and operating table. Owing to the number of ‘accidental’ deaths he’d had to entomb several unfortunate victims in one of the rooms, blocking off the dumb waiter and bricking up the doorway, then plastering over it as if it never existed. The only way in and out of the laboratory was through a single door, which he had reinforced with locks and bolts on both sides.

  Over the years he had conducted many bizarre experiments to try to artificially reproduce Eve's mysterious gift, everything he'd tried had failed. He had bought potions and elixirs from all the corners of the world, and of course none of them had worked. He was old, getting older and more desperate. Age, alcohol, senile dementia, and the fear of death led him to contemplate greater and greater extremes.

  “It's all to do with the brain…” He mused, “…There must be a way….” He tapped his temple, “…If I could only-” After downing half his glass he reached tremblingly for the telephone, dialled the ex-directory number of an old colleague who still worked for the Foreign Office, his call was answered quite promptly,

  “Hello?”

  “Giles old man! How are you?” He exchanged the customary polite nonsenses for a short time before coming to the point,

  “Listen Giles, can you talk? Are you alone? You are? Good! Look, I want you to put me in contact with that Bangkok chappie, you know, the one who supplies the girls. I need a couple of lively young fillies, you know! No, don't ask why, just get them for me!” Sir Clive ended the conversation with a promise to ‘look after’ Giles if everything worked out satisfactorily.

  After downing the rest of his whiskey he made his way downstairs to the laboratory. He'd brought some very special instruments with him that needed to be set up carefully prior to his next experiment.

  *

  Eve strolled aimlessly around the garden, the time approaching midnight, it was quite dark; the only light coming from the house windows. She was abjectly bored, feeling both lonely and ancient. She kicked petulantly at the small flowers and shrubs as she passed them. She knew what she needed and hated herself for it. It was one of those times, which occurred, mercifully for her, only rarely, when she saw herself as a parasitic monster preying on humanity. Many times she'd argued with herself saying that she had as much right to live as anybody else, it was not her fault that she needed to kill in order to live!

  Tonight her sadness was very deep, nothing seemed to please her or excite her any more. She existed merely to survive. Her melancholy reverie was suddenly broken by the appearance of a ghost.

  A small silvery figure danced across the lawn in front of her. Eve was rarely surprised but the sight of the pale creature skipping and scampering this way and that way left her staring open-mouthed, of course she quickly realised that it was Cairo but that did not diminish the sense of surprise and wonder. The sudden thought that Cairo might be ‘growing up’ came as an even bigger shock. She watched, mesmerised, as her daughter drew nearer.

  “Hello mother. What are you doing out here?” Cairo asked cheerfully as she drifted past like a flash of living silver moonlight. The word ‘mother’ hit Eve like a brick. It seemed like only yesterday that she'd given birth to the tiny girl on that tempestuous night in Egypt. And now she was... how old? She could not remember.

  “I've neglected you.” She said simply and sadly, and then the anger came back. She hated herself and everyone else, it was time to hurt again.

  Cairo couldn't possibly have heard her as she cartwheeled around the waterless fountain. She circled and reappeared breathlessly in front of Eve,

  “Have you come to talk, mother?”

  “Don't call me that.”

  “What? Call you what?”

  “You know, mother...” She sneered at the word, adding, “...You haven’t got a mother.” She turned away as if to ignore her but Cairo quickly moved in front of her and daringly placed a cool palm on her mothers forehead,

  “You are acting strange tonight, are you getting sick?” Neither of them had ever known a day's illness. Eve heaved an apparently bored sigh,

  “Leave me alone little girl, I don’t know you.” She tried to be hurtful but Cairo’s spirits were too high to be dented that easily,

  “I don't understand, what’s wrong with you?” Cairo was becoming concerned, her mother appeared to be upset, it was not an emotion she'd seen her mother display before. Eve replied quietly staring into the empty fountain pool.

  “Perhaps I am becoming sick, or maybe just sick of life.”

  “Oh mother! Don't be so silly, you'll always have me to turn to.” At that remark Eve stiffened further,

  “That's just it, foolish girl...” she hissed, “...I won’t! You won't always be there, because one day you will die. Just like all the others. It seems like a long way off now but before I know it you will be a stiff white corpse, like all the others. Everyone dies.”

  Cairo paused in thought for a moment before asking,

  “So how many children have you had then?” Eve paused for several seconds as if stung, then answered in a calm, distant voice,

  “Not that many, not really, when you think of all the t
ime I’ve had. I can’t remember much about them anyway. They all died, I know that much. One way or another, whatever I did, they all died. Just like you will.”

  Cairo paused again before making her reply. She spoke more softly than before as if she was unsure of herself,

  “Maybe I won’t. Do you remember a few days ago when Mr Underhill saved me from those horrid dogs?” Eve looked up, her eyes narrowing, and nodded while Cairo continued,

  “Well, when poor Mr Underhill was suffering terribly from the pain of the dog bites... I could feel something. I started to feel strong. Somewhere inside me I felt good. I can't explain it. But when I moved away from him the feeling became weaker, it almost made me want to hurt him some more. It was very hard to resist-” Cairo trailed off, unable to explain herself. Looking up she saw her mother's face lit up briefly by the light from an upstairs window, her expression a terrifying mask of pity and shame.

  “It appears that the curse is complete.” Eve whispered the words.

  “I'm going to be like you aren’t I? Aren't I mother?” Cairo moved closer, taking her mother by the arms and gently shaking her. Eve recoiled angrily like a startled cat.