Consequences (23 page)

“At that very moment, I started to understand
the flaws with my beliefs and upbringing. I still believe that
there has to be law, order, and accountability for your kind … but
I have issues with sadists handling the enforcement. The Symboulio
intentionally appoint psychopaths as Timoro, delivering something
similar to an army of barking mad, bloodthirsty murderers bent on
carnage. They don’t ask questions … none of them. The Seers,
Symboulio, Timoro … they just intimidate and kill. Intimidate those
of us in the know, and kill your kind. I never asked to be in this
association; and if I ever try to leave, I will end up like my
family … stiff and forgotten. I will never deliberately take part
in the destruction of your kind … not after watching an innocent
one be torn apart. However, I’ve been taught, all too well, to hate
and fear you … therefore I can’t allow you to stay.” Curiously
there still isn’t hostility in his emotions, just a sense of
unwavering certainty … if I wanted to live, I should leave.

I hear his words and understand what they are
telling me, but his mind and emotions are conflicted. He does
actually believe in the Symboulio’s cause, even though he hates
their methods … that much is obvious. I am fascinated by his
thoughts, comparing the Timoro to a serial murderer with an
insatiable appetite, one who enters a war, in order to kill without
drawing attention to their hunger. I nod, knowing he can see the
motion and understand that I agree with his statement.

Looking into his eyes again, I ask, “Should I
become solid while I leave, just in case there are any other Seers
around?”

“I think that would be a wise idea; there are
a total of ten Seers in Athens right now. We usually have anywhere
from two to seven Seers in major cities at anytime. Athens is home
to more than the average amount right now … discretion on your
behalf would be best. Do you think you could find your way back out
of the city without flying?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to find my way
back to the club where you found me, much less find my way out of
Athens. If you wouldn’t mind, I would really appreciate the
assistance.”

He nods, distracted as he looks down at my
feet. “I don’t quite understand what could possibly hurt you while
you're solid, aside from certain abnormally rare Symboulio weapons.
To be safe, we probably ought to find you some shoes.”

Shaking his head and wearing a gorgeous
smirk, he motions for me to follow him out of the storage area, and
back into the café. We turn left and continue up a hallway that
leads to the loo, and the backdoor of the building. At first
glance, I don’t notice the doorway on the right, until my guide
turns on the light that illuminates a stairway. We silently climb
the stairs, and he acts ignorant to my presence as he unlocks a
heavy-looking door at the top of the landing. Inside I find that he
has led me to his, sparsely yet elegantly furnished, apartment. It
is obvious that he lives alone. I follow him into his bedroom, and
sit down in a buttery-soft leather chair in the corner, all the
while waiting for him to speak to me again. He stubbornly remains
silent as he starts shuffling through boxes on the top shelf of his
wardrobe.

Turning to look at me with a medium-size box
in his hands, he says, “You may want to make yourself solid now, so
that we can see if my cousin’s sandals will fit you.”

I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of
my weight sinking into the lush leather. I let my nerve endings
acknowledge each and every place where the chair touches my body,
until I am completely aware of my solid form. When I open my eyes
again, I blush a little at the expression on my observer's face. He
still sees me as an abomination, but the wonder in his eyes is full
of pure fascination. What a confusing dilemma he must be
experiencing … inherited bigotry versus an enlightening
phenomenon.

He steps forward and sits at my feet, placing
the box down next to him. Opening the cardboard, the first thing to
catch my eye is a thick layer of photographs. Pictures of this
beautiful boy standing next to a slightly younger pair of siblings;
their expressions are bursting with smiles, and I smile back at the
two-dimensional faces. He clears his throat to attract my
attention, and as I shift my gaze I notice a searching tilt to his
head. He is watching me closely as I enjoy his pictures; and I feel
another wave of grief and guilt pass through him as he roughly
discards the photos from the box. Next, he picks up a small rag
doll that has been cherished into tatters, and gently, almost
lovingly, sets it down on top of the pictures. As he sifts through
the rest of the contents, I notice there is a jumbled mixture of
clothing, jewelry, and notes. He finds what he is looking for near
the bottom of the box: an attractive pair of brown leather sandals,
adorned with garnets. Pulling them out, he gingerly slips them on
my feet … they fit almost perfectly, and I could swear I sense
sadness in him as he lace them around my ankles.

Tuning into the source of his grief, I ask,
“They passed away, too, didn’t they … your cousins, I mean?”

Nodding and avoiding my eyes, he says, “They
followed me into the crowd that day at the festival. I didn’t know
they were there until I heard Des gasp … when she realized we had
watched the murder of an innocent, it destroyed a part of her. She
was a lot like you; she was not only a seer, she could feel things,
too. The lies we were raised to believe, ate away at her more than
they did her brother and me. We became so much more than cousins
after that day … we became secret keepers. Des eventually found she
couldn’t hide her misery any longer … and with her brother at her
side, she confronted the Symboulio. I never saw them again, and
their sentence, their loss, killed my aunt. Now, I’m alone with
only boxes full of memories that remind me … I had a family,
once.”

I can feel the strings of so many other
stories pulling at his memories of being a “secret keeper” … his
private angst of knowing some conspiracies are indeed real. I don’t
ask for details, I don’t need them … not since I can feel he is
already in unfathomable pain.

“I’m sorry… I still don’t know your name?
Mine is Ellie.” I try to sound casual; try to add a certain amount
of civility to our unusual meeting.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Ellie. I
don’t even know what in the bloody hell I’m doing talking to you at
all. For Des, I will help you leave undetected, but I don’t want to
know about you … and I don’t want you to know anymore about me. It
will be best if we do not care for each other.”

I can’t hold back the acidic giggle that
escapes my lips. How ironic that this boy feels the need to tell me
his deepest, darkest secrets … me, his enemy: the only creature in
his world that might understand his plight. “Well, Love, I hate to
break it to you … but you and I are already chums. How else would
you like to explain our relationship? I’m relying on your kindness
and information, and you are talking to me because of a desperate
need to confide in, and connect with, someone. We are in this
together, so I would recommend dropping your tough front and
accepting me. You never know, this peculiar bond we have created,
might serve to save us both, in the end.”

A glimpse of shock flutters across his eyes
in response to my tone of voice. Then comes the gorgeous smirk
again as he begins nodding his head. “Dimitris, my name is
Dimitris. I think that, perhaps, you are correct … if for no other
reason than I should at least look as if I can tolerate your
presence, as I escort you out of Athens.”

“You are impossible … absolutely, and
inconceivably impossible.”

His smirk changes into a genuine smile, and I
realize that I am not going to be able to continue faking
irritation, as I smile back. “Thank you for allowing me to wear
your cousin’s sandals; they truly are quite lovely.”

With a quick nod to acknowledge my gratitude,
Dimitris speaks in a friendly manner, finally making, and holding,
eye contact. “Well, we should try and get you out of town before
anyone notices what you actually are.”

He moves with the same confidence as before,
leading me out of the café and back onto the street. We decide to
return to the area around the club where we met, in order to give
me the opportunity to collect my bearings, and then we will move
south toward the shore.

Out on the street we continue to converse,
nothing in relation to what I am or who he is … just the simple
small talk of friends. I keep asking him about the music, and the
different instruments that sing throughout the city. We pass by a
restaurant and I am drawn away from his side by the scent of a
scrumptious treat … looking at the plate I try to figure out what
it is. It sits on the dish like a very small head of cabbage, but I
can’t smell the distinctive scent of cabbage. I’ve never been a fan
of cabbage; too many stews as rations during the war, I guess. I
can smell the different spices used in the meat and the leaves look
as if they have been steamed: shiny and slick, with olive oil.
Dimitris starts to snicker and surprises me by grabbing my hand and
guiding me into the restaurant.

As we sit down and are presented with menus,
both Dimitris and I decline the list of choices … I know what I
want. Looking up at the waitress, I point to the plate that I was
studying earlier, and ask if I could please try that. She nods and
turns to Dimitris, I can understand enough Greek to know he is
having the same.

After she walks away, I look mortified at my
new friend, “Oh Dimitris … I don’t have any money.”

“That’s all right; it will be a pleasure to
watch you eat for the first time in who knows how long.”

“I had eggs and blueberry biscuits just a
little over a year ago, thank you very much.” I don’t add that they
were dehydrated eggs cooked over a campfire … that didn’t matter,
Christopher had made them for me, and I had loved every bite.

“Only a year? Cor, I thought you were much
older than that.”

Blushing a little; I confess that those eggs
were the first meal I’d had in almost seventy years. Dimitris’s
laugh is rich and authentic as he repeats, “Yes, it will be a treat
to watch you eat some real gourmet Greek food.”

“What are we having? I don’t think I
recognized it … but it smells wonderful.”

“It is wonderful; dolmathakia is a Greek
treasure, endeared as much as fish and chips, wrapped in the
newspaper are in England. I ordered quite a bit more than what you
saw on that other plate … we’re going to make a feast of it.”

He smiles as the plates are set in front of
us, and I start to moan mmmm. Picking them up with a fork he
explains what they are as he sets them on my plate. “The longer
ones here are vegetable … stuffed with eggplant, zucchini, and
tomatoes wrapped with tender, young grape leaves. These round ones
have rice and seasoned, ground lamb. They’re both steamed with
olive oil and lemon. Here, try dipping them in these … this one is
unflavored yogurt, and this one is a mixture of egg and lemon
sauce.”

I can’t speak because I am afraid I might
start drooling … so I eat. I try everything, and decide I like the
lamb and rice the best. Dimitris sits across from me with an amused
expression, only nibbling on his small portion while he
watches.

He continues studying me quietly until I
completely clean off the plates, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen
anyone eat that much in one sitting. I think, perhaps, you need to
bulk up like a bear before winter … you never know when you’re
going to eat again.” He snickers at my lack of restraint, but I can
feel a genuine calm settle over him as he jokes.

“Watch yourself, Dimitris; I think you might
be starting to become fond of me.”

He smiles, “You do have an undeniable charm
about you, Ellie. I don’t know if fond is the right word, but it is
more than simple tolerance now.”

We finish our meal with a couple cups of
sweet, creamy coffee, and a bit more small talk. He pays our bill,
and as we start our walk south again, I notice a distinct change to
our pace. Strolling slowly enough to look into the patios as we
pass, Dimitris initiates conversation and leans into our exchange,
at times, even brushing shoulders and arms. He is actually enjoying
my company; and not surprisingly, I am taking pleasure in his as
well.

After reaching the dance club, he asks if he
can continue escorting me to the waterfront … to make sure I don’t
get lost along the way. And then he laughs at his lame excuse,
finally saying it is hard for him to openly admit that I was right;
we are becoming chums, and it isn’t such a terrible thing.

As we start to leave the more densely
occupied areas, our conversation begins turning to more secretive
topics. In murmured tones, we move closer to each other, so that we
can hear the other person speak without misunderstanding. I’m sure
at that point, we look more reminiscent of a romantic couple than a
guard ushering a criminal out of the city limits. I can feel the
confusion flowing out of Dimitris every time his hand touches mine,
and my breath blew across his neck as I whispered answers to his
questions. He was bewildered, not over our intimacy, but because of
the ease of his own acceptance of my friendship. These are the
innocent movements shared between friends, but every touch seems as
taboo as if we were forbidden lovers. I can hear the thoughts
ringing through his mind with every contact … he hasn’t been this
nervous and awkward around a girl since he was a teenager.

Finally deciding that his anxiety doesn’t
have anything at all to do with the fact that I am female, he
becomes certain that his unease is coming from the feeling that he
is starting to care deeply, for an atrocity. He voices the
conclusion to his internal dilemma in no more than a whisper, “They
are wrong about your kind … not all of you are evil.”