by Billy London
“I can order food over the telephone really well,” Eva reminded him. She did collect his children from school each afternoon and helped them with their homework, even if it tested her brain to the point that she wondered how she managed to get an A-level.
She spoke to Gabriel every day, and all he needed to know was that she was staying with her sister for now. He was duly informed of Matthew's mutterings in the background whenever he noted that Eva was still in his home. Gabriel had asked with amusement, “Why doesn't your brother-in-law like you?”
“I'm a visible reminder of what his wife could have if she opened her eyes and realized what a prick he is.”
She went out with friends she hadn't seen since she’d bounced off to New York, and they partied harder than she ever had. Dancing past three in the morning to Lil Jon was so much better than sleeping pills. It also meant that she had to go shopping to replace the wardrobe that was cordoned off by whatever evil was plaguing it. There never seemed to be any peace. She wanted so much to spend some time on her own, but she was scared. The papers did report that a girl died in her flat, and linked it to what happened at school. Jo took the hint that if her parents ever found about it, Jo would never see her children grow up.
During one attempt to make something to eat, her niece popped up at her hip. “What's up?”
“Daddy said some girl died in your flat and that's why you won't go home.”
“Your daddy's a cunt,” she muttered.
“Daddy's a what?”
“Like a cop,” she said louder.
“Did a girl die in your flat?”
“Yes.” Eva wondered how badly her niece needed a father figure in her life. “But she was very troubled and your mum and I did everything we could to help her.”
“Did she say anything before she died?”
Eva frowned. Six years old had to be the “Evil Dead” phase. “It doesn't matter. Look, shall I give up on this salad? Let's order something from that Italian down the road.”
Her niece grinned. “Mummy says you'll never get married if you don't know how to cook.”
Eva snorted. “Amazing Mummy managed it given the slop she cooks.”
“What's slop?”
“Stuff that pigs eat,” Eva answered cheerfully. “Come on. We can watch whatever you like on DVD.”
As Eva dialed the Italian restaurant, she realized that she couldn't stay here forever. Obviously she'd talk a little too much sense into her sister's children and Matt would swap his sleeping tablets for anything that would end her life faster.
***
“Well I guess I miss my baby.” Gabriel's voice should have set all the telephone wires in the country on fire.
“Oh my god. Are you coming home?” Her hand curled around the newspaper in front of her involuntarily.
“She gets lonely without me.”
“You can't sing to me. It's not fair. When are you back?”
“I'm at Heathrow now.”
She grinned up at the sky. “I am beyond excited.”
“What are you up to, Angel?”
“Looking for studios.” She heard him pause. “What?”
“Move,” he said bluntly.
“Gab...”
“Please. For the love of God. Move. Even if it's to Southwark. Move. Away. From. That. Man.”
“I love that flat. I love the view. I have a mortgage!”
“Move.”
“You keep saying that, but you're not offering any solutions.”
“Move in with me, get a priest to spiritually cleanse the place, sell it.”
“I can't just move in with you!”
“Why not? You're going to anyway.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Eva rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I'm supposed to be staying in one place. Not running.”
“You're not running, you're making a decision to be with me. While you're still mentally stable.”
She gave a mocking laugh. “That's debatable.”
“I know, given your past actions.”
“Hey!”
“I'm agreeing with you. That's something a smart live-in boyfriend would do.”
“What else have you got to sell?”
“Other than a psychotic-free building? I have an east-facing house. Lots of floor-to-ceiling windows, so plenty of natural light. I have more music than iTunes. I can cook. I can shop, put the toilet seat down and I know you need a secret stash of cashew nuts.”
“Who else is going to join your list of goods?”
“Just you and me. And an account with Ocado. What do you say?”
“I think you're rushing ahead of me.”
“Why don't I get a car to you, let you have a look around to see if it fits your artistic temperament?”
She kept hearing east-facing house. Light, light and light. Yes, it was North London, but it was free from over-curious progeny of her sister and her brother-in-law's less-than-subtle hints that she had outstayed her welcome. “I'll have a look.”
She heard the grin in his voice. “Nice doing business with you. Let me get this sorted for you. Okay, Angel? I'll see you at home.”
“I can't wait,” she admitted.
***
The car arrived outside her sister's home fifteen minutes after she hung up and she practically leapt inside it. Gabriel's house was in North London, by car a short ten minutes from her sister's home, and as much as she hated to admit it, it was beautiful area. Ah, down the road from a pub the size of a palace, that's my honey. She rummaged in her bag to take note of the address and felt her bracelet in one of the side pockets. It had been there since, well, Lacey-gate. Putting it on by herself would be completely impossible, so she tucked it back inside her bag.
The driver opened the door for her and helped her out. He handed over a key and a card. Thanking him, she watched as he gave her a brief nod and disappeared. She opened the card which said: Welcome Home Angel. After she opened the front door to the clean white-walled hallway, a woman who had all of three inches on her stormed over.
“No groupies!” she demanded in a heavily accented voice. “No groupies at the house. Out! Out!”
Eva looked down at the little woman. “I'm not a groupie. I'm Eva. Oh hell, sorry, Gabriel calls me Angel.”
The woman's face changed instantly. “Oh, you are Miss Angel. I sorry. So many young fools try to come in. I put Mr. Walker's food in fridge. He will be very late, so relax.”
“Thank you.” She placed her bag on the counter. How different this felt to her beloved flat. The first time she'd gone to bed with Gabriel, they'd checked into a hotel in Mayfair.
She was thinking of moving in with a man she’d had all of one date with. Almost like an arranged marriage. She ran her hands along the counter of the kitchen. A sigh escaped her. If only she could cook, then this would be a cook's wet dream on speed. There was the same sort of peace and calm in Gabriel's home as there was about him, in the simplicity of the design of his rooms, the room that was lined with vinyl records and CDs, the spa of a bathroom, and his Thai temple of a master bedroom. Oh yeah, she could definitely see God if he took her here. Was it intrinsic vanity to play your potential boyfriend's music in his own home? Probably. She had no idea about the sort of music he liked until she saw John Lee Hooker. It wasn't the best idea to get herself all worked up when she had no idea when Gabriel would be coming home. Maybe he'd like it if he came home and found her pleasuring herself. To John Lee Hooker. Fuck it, what else could go wrong?
She tugged at her 'fro. What she really needed to do was paint. And she needed her underwear. She wanted her shoes back. Goddamn, she had the most amazing underwear set sitting in a drawer in her haunted flat. Any thoughts in her head that it was a bad idea were banished. There was no point in fearing her own place. It wasn't the place, it was the event, she told herself. And no way was she waiting to hide behind Gabriel to pack up her paintbrushes and her jeans.
She picked up th
e keys to Gabriel's house, and a glance at her phone warned her to tell someone where she was going to be. Actually, he should be on his way back from the airport now. A brief text to him made her feel slightly better, and she leapt on the tube before he could call her and tell her to not be so thick.
Without taking a breath she walked firmly into the block of flats and entered the lift. She opened her flat door with shaking hands to a slightly musty smell mixed with bleach.
Okay, she thought. Fine. You're fine. She glanced down. Under her feet was a note with her name on it.
Bending down, she opened it. Michael's handwriting. Eva, I'm so sorry about what happened. Please come and talk to me? Michael.
It took her a moment to consider before she was making her way to his flat. There was a chance he wouldn't be there at all. When she reached his floor, his door was slightly ajar. Oh, this is not good.
“Michael?” she called, pushing gently at the wood. His flat was quieter than her own. It was midafternoon; maybe he was working on location somewhere. Calling his name once more, she waited a beat before deciding that she'd have to speak to him another time. Catching sight of a notepad on his kitchen table, she left the door open and made her way over to scribble him a note.
“Little Miss Eva,” Michael called. She whipped around and saw him, leaning on the rails of his bedroom.
“Hi,” she said slowly. “I was just leaving you a note. Why'd you just call me that?”
He gave a mild shrug. “Ironic, isn't it? You're hardly little at five nine, are you?”
For once, Eva took the hint. “I'm going to go. I'll talk to you another time.”
Michael's hands curled around the railing. “Stay.”
She breathed out. “Are you going to stay up there or are you coming down?”
“I think you might understand better if you came up here.”
Placing her bag on the table, she took the stairs to his room. “Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
“Fred Hembry.”
Eva stilled. “What about him?”
“You remember him?”
Eva folded her arms over her chest. “How do you know I even know him?”
“I saw your face when Lacey said his name. So? Do you?”
“Yes,” she said abruptly.
“How?”
His mild tone was really starting to piss her off. “None of your fucking business.”
Michael moved so quickly she barely had time to react. He caught her by the throat and pressed her between the railing and his body. “It is my business,” he said in her ear. “And you need your eyes opened.”
“Get off me,” she warned him firmly, any traces of fear remaining only in her eyes.
A growing redness glowed in Michael's pupils. “Evangeline Mensah, I know what you were crying about in the summer of 1995.” A horrified gasp escaped her throat. He caught her legs in his other arm. “What do you think? A few broken bones? Or just your skull?”
“Michael, don't!” she screamed before he dropped her from the railings. She didn't have time to breathe, to pray for forgiveness, only the rush of air as she sped toward his concrete floors. The wind was knocked from her solar plexus as she landed against hard muscle, not hard floor. Gabriel stood firm, his muscles strained with the weight of her.
“I've got you,” he said simply, before he glanced up. “Dude. That was not cool.”
“Apologies. Remnant of Israel, survivor of the house of Benjamin.” Michael mockingly bowed his head. Gabriel's hands flexed around Eva's body at his words. Michael rested his elbows on the wrought-iron railings. “Are your people still wandering the desert? Still fighting for the Promised Land? Still waiting for the Messiah?”
Gabriel's voice sounded firm and commanding. “Michael, talk to me.”
Michael's face contorted. “You dare not challenge my right. This is mine! Speak to me!”
“Michael?” Eva whispered. That was not him. That was not his voice. He turned his face to her and screamed.
Gabriel put her down on shaking legs. “Go, Angel.”
She couldn't have walked to save her life. “Come with me.”
“One minute.” Gabriel turned back toward Michael. “What do you want, Michael?”
“Her.” He licked his lips as his gaze fell on Eva. “So much feeling. She's like water. Trickle through everything... Like we did in the old days.”
“Who is we?” Eva demanded.
“The Old Ones. Before the Fall.” The flash of red in his eyes intensified. Eva had reached her limit.
Gabriel hadn't taken his eyes from Michael. “Michael.”
“He's not here,” came a low, animal-like growl.
“I'm not conversing with you, demon. Michael. Michael, don't be scared.”
His face crumpled suddenly. “Make it stop. Please.” An unearthly laugh scraped the sound barrier of the room.
Gabriel put a hand to the small of Eva's waist. “Let's go.”
“We can't leave...” Eva whispered.
“Now.” His voice brooked no argument.
She snatched up Michael's keys and her bag before turning and running out of the flat. Gabriel shut the door and the echoing screaming seemed to rattle the door. The lift was uncommonly hot. Eva tugged at the neckline of her top.
“Aren't you baking?” she asked him.
He looked down at her. “No, Angel.”
“It's just...it's like I'm sitting on a radiator.” She tried to inhale, touching the tips of her fingers to her face. Her skin was scorching. Leaning into Gabriel's coolness, she felt immediately better.
“Thank you for coming to rescue me,” she murmured as the elevator reached the ground floor.
He touched a hand to her forehead. “You're burning.”
“That's probably all you.” She gave a languid smile, as sweat started to bead on her forehead. “Can I make it up to you?”
“Where's your bracelet?”
“In my bag somewhere.” She shrugged, her fingers curling into Gabriel's thigh. He felt so deliciously real, so much better than any sex dream. Michael seemed so far away now. If she stayed right next to Gabriel, she'd stay less like she was about to spontaneously combust.
Gabriel hustled her outside and straight into his chauffeured car. He tapped the glass twice and the car started speeding toward North London. Eva crawled onto his lap, seeking another cooling touch; she needed it from him. Her mouth was suddenly flooded with the memory of how he tasted on her tongue, like salt and sandalwood.
“Whoa, Angel, you need to calm down.” He caught her by the arms and pushed her firmly into her seat. Her hand delved for his belt buckle. “Stop that, you're not yourself.”
She grinned. “Come on, it's like baggage reclaim only naked.” Before she could undo his belt, he'd clicked on her seat belt.
“What the hell, man?” she demanded.
Gabriel was hunting through her bag. Why wasn't he looking at her? Didn't he want her? God, her body was on fire. If he touched her again, it would go away. He removed her bracelet from the small Links pouch and locked it around her wrist, pressing the cross to her vein. It was like being dropped in an ice-cold pool.
“Better?” he asked.
Eva nodded slowly, slouching in the seat. “I don't know what he's done to me,” she muttered.
Gabriel's fingertips traced over the lines in her hand. “Almost home,” he said gently.
Tears started to sting her eyes and she hated herself for feeling once more like that helpless fifteen-year-old girl.
***
He placed a naked Eva carefully into the bathtub. He took the cup and poured the lukewarm water over her head.
“I feel tainted.”
Gabriel winced. “You sort of are. I had a sixth sense that you were in massive trouble.”
As the water coursed over her body, she started to feel more normal. “What did he mean when he called you the remnant of Israel?”
He rested his forearms on the edge of the tub
. “That would because my mother is Jewish. She can trace her ancestry all the way back to Egypt and the slaves.”
She glanced at him. “Did he know that?”
“No one knows that,” Gabriel said quietly, resuming his washing. “Just you and your friendly neighborhood demon back there.”
She nodded to the rows of numbers on his arm. “Is that what those are about? Concentration camp numbers?”
“Yeah. If I ever feel myself getting angry, I remind myself I've got fuck all to be angry about.” He poured another cupful of water over her head. “Feeling cooler?”
Exhaling, she agreed quietly, “A lot.”
“Good. Tilt your head back.” The water trickled through the tight whorls of her 'fro into her scalp. It felt almost luxurious.
“He needs help,” she murmured, tugging her knees to her chest.
Gabriel made a sound in his throat that sounded partway between a sigh and a what the fuck. “You need to stop thinking about him or this isn't going to work.”
“What are you even doing?”
“Cleansing. You're sitting in a bath of holy water.”
She could have asked him where he got it from, but she suspected there were nuns praying for his gorgeous ass who had probably sent him bottles of the stuff to ensure he found his way to the gateway to Heaven. “Like being baptized again. So Michael's place is possessed.”
“It's not a demon attached to a place, it's attached to Michael. And it's very interested in you. You're probably an empath.”
“I'm empathetic,” she corrected, swirling her fingertips through the water.
“No, an empath. About a million layers higher than being empathetic. Just think of all the times when you've looked at a person and had the complete measure of them.”