Dawn of Eve

by MJ Howson

  “Growing up, did you see her as a replacement for your mother?”

  “A replacement?”

  “You said your parents spent most of their time at work.” Dr. Cole quietly read his scratchy penmanship to himself. When done, he looked up and said, “Sometimes your parents would get home after you were asleep. So, you had days where you would never see them.”

  “I . . . I suppose.” Dawn lowered her head and stared at her hands. “To be honest, I don’t remember.”

  “Did you resent their absence?”

  “Resent my parents? No. Like I said last time, I was given everything I ever wanted growing up.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  Dawn shook her head and sighed, nervously taking the sapphire pendant around her neck into her fingers.

  “I . . . I don’t understand these questions, doctor. What do these have to do with my depression? My nightmares?”

  “I think your desire for motherhood, and fear of having another miscarriage, is what’s preventing these dreams from going away. You want the nightmares to end, don’t you?”

  “Of course. That’s what brought me here.”

  “So, we need to understand the root cause. Why is this loss, your fifth miscarriage, so much harder for you to accept than the other four?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “It was a rhetorical question.”

  Dawn folded her arms, turned her head, and stared out the window. Her lower lip started to quiver. Dr. Cole instinctively slid the box of tissues to the edge of his desk. Dawn reluctantly took one and wiped her eyes.

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Dawn asked. “To get through my postpartum. I never felt this depressed after the first four. The difference this time is Jacob.”

  Dr. Cole smiled and nodded. He tried to remain calm, but he felt like he and Dawn were going in endless circles. Something was missing. He grabbed a pen and scribbled, Not postpartum?

  “Jacob’s important to you,” Dr. Cole said. “And you want Jacob to be a steady force in your life.” He smiled supportively when Dawn nodded in agreement. “And your childhood–” Dr. Cole’s cellphone began buzzing in his drawer. The buzz set off a reverberation through the entire desk, causing the wooden Trust plaque to resonate. “My apologies.”

  Dr. Cole opened the drawer and glanced at a red-cased phone. The shattered lock screen showed a new notification. The time–11:49 a.m.–indicated their session was almost over. He slid the phone into his pocket.

  “I had a good life, Dr. Cole. I saw my parents at night and on the weekends. Usually. Was my life that different from any other kid with working parents?”

  “Most children don’t have a nanny, a butler, and multiple homes.”

  “True.” Dawn managed a smile and brief laugh. “Okay, so I was privileged.” She slowly lowered her head, her eyes glazing over. Dawn sighed and added, “I loved my mother. My mother protected me. She was my . . . hero.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Dr. Cole smiled and said, “Before our next session, I’d like you to think of two or three really strong memories you have of your mother from your early childhood.”

  “Like what?”

  “Special moments. Perhaps a birthday or holiday.”

  “A birthday?” Dawn’s eyes teared up, and she glanced out the window.

  “What is it, Dawn?”

  “Nothing. It’s just, well, my birthday was Sunday.”

  “This past Sunday?”

  Dawn nodded and began to fiddle with the sapphire platinum pendant around her neck.

  “You should have said something earlier,” Dr. Cole said. “Happy belated birthday. You know, my wife turned fifty-nine last Friday. We . . . .”

  Dawn tried to smile but instead burst into tears.

  “What is it?” Dr. Cole asked. He pushed the tissue box closer toward Dawn. “Why are you crying?”

  “Jacob.”

  “Did he forget?”

  “No.” Dawn grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “He took me out to dinner. It was a lovely night. He went all out, as always. But when I brought up having a baby again, he . . . he wasn’t as supportive as I’d hoped.” Dawn tore another tissue from the box and dabbed her eyes. “Maybe he just needs time.”

  Dr. Cole patiently waited for Dawn to collect herself. The session was ending, and he needed her to calm down before she left. Dawn finally raised her head and stared at him. He said, “I’m sorry the birthday dinner wasn’t what you’d hoped it would be.”

  “Do . . . do you think Jacob needs help?”

  “Help? I’m sorry, I don’t–”

  “Therapy. I think he’s having second thoughts on having kids.”

  “I see.” Dr. Cole leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard. The panic in Dawn’s voice troubled him.

  “Should we bring him in?”

  “Bring him . . . .” Dr. Cole glanced at the ticking wall clock as he tried to figure out the best way to answer her question. The springs in his chair squeaked as he shifted his weight around. “Have you asked Jacob about coming in? Is he open to a therapy session?”

  “Maybe.” Dawn frowned and sighed. “He told me I need to get better first before we talk about having kids.”

  “Do you think he’s right?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Remember, Dawn, you’re still having those bad dreams.”

  “I know.”

  “We need to understand why these dreams won’t go away.” Dr. Cole removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Jacob isn’t in these dreams, is he?”

  “No.”

  Dr. Cole watched as Dawn’s tension uncoiled. He said, “We’ll bring Jacob in when the time’s right.” Dr. Cole smiled and pointed at the plaque on his desk. “Trust me.”

  “Okay, sure.” Dawn looked around the doctor’s office. The walls were covered in diplomas and certificates, as well as several paintings. The bookcases were filled with mostly books and a handful of what appeared to be awards. “Why don’t you have any pictures of your family? Do you have children?”

  “Children? No.” Dr. Cole glanced at his notes from their last session. He said, “Dawn, before you go, I just want to confirm that you’re only hearing the voices in your dreams.”

  “What? Of course. Where else would I hear them?”

  Dr. Cole nodded and made a note that read Voices only while asleep. He then opened his top drawer and removed his prescription pad. After filling it out, he tore the top page off and placed it on his desk.

  Dawn stood up and adjusted her jacket. She looked at the doctor and asked, “What’s this?” She read the prescription and frowned. “Does this replace the other one?”

  “No. This should help with anxiety and even help you sleep better.”

  “Okay.”

  Dawn shoved the script into her coat pocket. She sighed and lowered her head, her eyes filling with tears.

  “What is it?” Dr. Cole asked.

  “All this talk of Jacob . . . . He doesn’t come around as often as he used to. And, well, I . . . I just get so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dawn walked to the open window and looked down at the street below. “I used to spend hours in my studio painting. I just haven’t been inspired lately, And the nursery . . . . The nursery’s so empty. The apartment’s so . . . quiet.”

  Dr. Cole hit the recorder’s stop button. He said, “Dawn, if your home feels that empty, why not get a pet?”

  “What?” Dawn spun from the window to face the doctor. Her furrowed brow and elevated voice made it quite clear she didn’t like his suggestion. “You want me to get an animal?”

  “You’ve seen Luna out front. She keeps Flo company all day. Pets can be very comforting in times like these.”

  “Have you noticed the smell of cat litter in your waiting room?” Dawn tightened the belt around her raincoat. She shook her head and frowned. Dawn marched to the door, stopped, looked back at Dr. Cole, and said, “A cat? Really?”

&
nbsp; Eleven

  Zuni

  Dawn awoke the following morning, relieved to have made it through the night without any bad dreams. She started her Saturday with her usual late-morning routine of taking the High Line to Hudson Yards to get her coffee and pastry. Dawn was disappointed to find Joe wasn’t around. She’d hoped to tell him about her session with Dr. Cole. She shrugged it off and headed south.

  The 10th Avenue bleachers were busy this morning. The shady bench Dawn usually sat on felt too chilly, so she leaned over the railing, taking in the sun’s rays as she scanned the people sprawled out in the stadium seating. A young man was sitting several feet from her, a couple of rows from the windows overlooking the street below. He was tall, young, and fit. His black hair and chiseled features reminded her of Jacob. Dawn began to wonder if it actually was Jacob. The stranger glanced up at her, revealing a frown and no scar across his face.

  While people-watching, something brushed up against Dawn’s right leg. She glanced down to see a black cat making a figure eight around her black denim jeans. Dawn removed her sunglasses and leaned down to pet it, but the cat scampered away, heading south.

  “A cat,” Dawn said. She laughed and pulled her phone from her pocket. “A cat’s not what I need.”

  Dawn sent a text to Jacob.

  Are we still on for lunch later?

  She waited a bit but gave up and slid her phone back into her black raincoat’s pocket. Dawn finished her coffee and pastry and decided to head further south, in the direction the cat had gone. Perhaps a trip to Greenwich Village was in order. She needed a change of scenery and loved the quirky shops she’d often discover there.

  Just as Dawn reached the end of the High Line, her phone buzzed. She flipped her sunglasses up to see the message was from Jacob.

  I need to cancel. Last minute client.

  Dawn glared at the screen before shoving the phone back into her pocket. She couldn’t believe he canceled on her. Dawn descended the stairs at Gansevoort Street and continued south along Washington Street. This part of the road was devoid of shops and restaurants. The din from the bumper to bumper traffic coupled with the acrid exhaust fumes did little to brighten her mood.

  Just as Dawn reached the Charles Street intersection, the light turned red. She looked up and down the street, wondering if she should wait for the light to change or do some exploring. A familiar tickle around her legs made her smile. Dawn looked down, expecting to see the black cat from the High Line. Instead, a white cat was rubbing its nose against her calf.

  “Another cat? How . . . odd.” Dawn reached down to pet the cat, but it ran off down Charles Street. “Wait!”

  The cat zig-zagged down the sidewalk, circling trees, looking back at Dawn from time to time. Whenever she got within a few feet of the animal, the anxious feline would dart across the street. Finally, the cat ran down a set of stone stairs and came to a halt in front of a wood-framed glass door. Dawn noticed the cat didn’t have a collar. She descended the seven steps as slowly as possible so as not to frighten the animal. She extended her hand, and the cat stepped forward and sniffed her fingertips.

  Dawn found the cat’s green eyes to be quite mesmerizing. Now that she had it cornered, she needed to figure out what to do next. Dawn opened both palms to try and show the animal she intended no harm. The door behind the cat opened, and the animal spun around and ran inside.

  “No!” Dawn stood up. “Damnit.”

  An elderly man excused himself as he walked past Dawn, closing the door behind him. Dawn took a step back, removed her sunglasses, and looked at the entryway in front of her. The sound of chains creaking and clinking overhead caused her to look up. A weathered hand-carved wooden sign hanging above the door swung loosely in the breeze. The dark walnut wood was riddled with cracks from years of changing seasons. Gold-painted letters carved deep into the sign spelled out the store’s name.

  Zuni – Store of Wonders

  A plastic sign on the opposite side of the glass door indicated the store was open. Dawn twisted the door handle and stepped inside, causing a small brass bell to ring.

  Zuni was a drab, poorly lit, compact store filled with stale air. Less than twelve feet separated the entry from the counter along the back wall. The room’s right side had a pair of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with an odd assortment of items, including books, statues, and goblets. A rack of clothing, primarily furs and gowns, was positioned in front of the bookcases. The opposite side of the room included a few different tables with lamps, candles, and more statues. The wall behind it had several framed pieces of art, including tapestries.

  The white cat sat on the back counter–a three-shelf glass-faced display case that ran almost the store’s entire width. The wall behind the counter included a mix of paintings, mirrors, photos, and even a pair of ominous-looking swords. The framed artwork spanned every category, from haunted-looking portraits to nautical charts of the Aegean Sea. The center of the back wall included a doorway with a set of swinging saloon-style slatted wood doors that led to the storage room.

  “Hello?” Dawn called out.

  Janet appeared behind the swinging doors. Only the top half of her head was visible, her thick bifocals dangling from the edge of her nose. Her short frazzled black hair barely reached her shoulders. The baggy black pants and gray long-sleeved smock covering Janet matched the dreary feel of the store.

  “Welcome to Zuni,” Janet said. She pushed past the saloon doors and rested the spectacles atop her head.

  “Hi,” Dawn said. She pointed at the white cat, now sprawled atop the counter, licking its leg. “I’m sorry. I . . . I accidentally let this cat in.”

  “Leo loves to explore the area.” Janet scooped the cat up and nuzzled her nose against his neck. “He always finds his way back.”

  “Oh! He’s yours. What a relief.”

  Dawn watched Janet and the cat bond. She shook her head and smiled, wondering if Dr. Cole was right.

  “My name’s Janet if you have any questions.”

  “Dawn. Thank you.” Dawn looked into the display case in front of her. The top shelf was filled with ornate pewter tableware. “This . . . this is an interesting store. What exactly do you sell?”

  “Hopes and dreams.”

  Dawn raised an eyebrow and asked, “Excuse me?”

  Janet lowered Leo to the floor and watched the cat disappear beneath the swinging doors into the back room. She turned to Dawn and said, “I collect spiritual and mystical items from around the world. My buyers often come in seeking answers or desires. They tell me of their losses or dreams. I can usually find something special for them.”

  “Really?” Dawn studied the case a bit more before walking over to the rack of clothes. She pulled out a wedding dress. The lace was yellowed and frayed, and the silk beneath was littered with minor stains. “So, if I bought this wedding dress, would it get my boyfriend to marry me?”

  “Not that dress.” Janet stayed behind the counter but walked closer to Dawn. “The bride who wore it was murdered by her husband. Turn it around.”

  Dawn twisted the dress so she could see the backside. A deep rust-colored stain bled from the shoulders down to the waist. Slash marks covered the gown near the zipper. She looked at Janet and said, “Is . . . is this blood?”

  Janet nodded.

  Dawn shoved the dress back onto the rack. She looked at her hands and began to wipe them against her raincoat. Dawn asked, “Why would anyone want a wedding dress from a murder victim?”

  “The woman who wore it had changed her will just prior to the wedding, cutting her future husband out of everything. She was wealthy. Her husband was a gold digger. He killed her, thinking he’d inherited a fortune. The bride’s spirit possesses the gown.”

  “That’s, uh, quite the story.”

  “Everything in here has a story to tell.”

  Dawn shook her head and began to study the items on the bookshelves. From her point of view, it all looked like useless junk. She shook a snow
globe and watched the white flakes spin wildly around a sunken sailboat. A life-sized black iron mask with Native American features seemed to stare back at Dawn as she ran her fingers across the rough edges. Next to the mask sat a palm-sized porcelain dragon with gold-painted claws. Dawn resisted the urge to touch it, given how delicate the piece appeared. A dreamcatcher, adorned with black and turquoise feathers, hung nearby.

  “What are your hopes?” Janet asked. “Your dreams?”

  “Dreams?” Dawn chuckled. “Try nightmares.”

  Janet snickered briefly but didn’t reply. Instead, she simply studied Dawn, noting her reaction to each item that she inspected.

  Dawn went back to the counter near Janet. The shelves in this section were filled with jewelry. Black velvet cloths displayed pendants, rings, cufflinks, tie clips, earrings, and brooches in all types of jewels and metals. Dawn found the pearl earrings quite attractive, but she reminded herself she already owned several pairs. She nodded to Janet and made her way toward the other end of the counter. The contents of the last case caught Dawn by surprise–row after row of knives, guns, and other weapons.

  When Dawn got to the end of the counter, she looked up. A doll was sitting on the corner staring directly into her eyes. The porcelain figure sat just over a foot high with its legs sprawled out ahead. Dawn ran her fingers across the doll’s intricately sewn ruby red velvet dress. A single rhinestone lay at the end of each fold along the bottom seam. She found the doll’s face mesmerizing. Its sapphire blue eyes matched the pendant from Jacob. The hair was a bundle of copper curls, topped off with a red silk bow. Painted red eyebrows, dusty cheeks, and petite pink lips popped from the doll’s white face. Dawn tugged on the figure’s wavy silk-like locks.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t have Eve,” Janet said as she made her way closer.

  “Eve?” Dawn snapped her hand back in shock. “Why . . . why would you call her Eve?”

  “That’s her name. I told you, everything in here has a story.”

  “Oh.” Dawn moved closer to the doll. Its tiny hands felt so fragile in her fingers. Eve’s feet were covered in pristine white leather shoes. “Is she made of porcelain?”