Consequences (25 page)

I lay my head back against the padded
headboard and run my fingers through Dimitris’s hair, while I
daydream about Christopher. His strong jaw flexing when he becomes
nervous or anxious, the long lean muscles in his arms straining as
he climbs the rocks on one of our hikes … oh, but mostly his eyes:
full of light, and life, they shimmer similarly to the iridescent
reflection of a rainbow on the water. I slip into dreams of his
embrace, and his warmth drives me to want to taste his kiss just
one more time. The desire to have him here with me is almost too
much to bear, until I feel the pressure of his lips against
mine.

Groggily I mutter, “Christopher? You’re
here?”

Something is wrong; as reason slowly returns,
I remember where I am, and more importantly that Christopher can’t
possibly be with me. I open my eyes to find that I’ve fallen
asleep, and slid down the headboard, finally coming to rest
repositioned on Dimitris’s chest, with my arms around him.
Blushing, I look up to see an amused and surprised smile on his
face.

“Ellie, you are a very beautiful woman, and I
would be a fool to ignore a kiss like that; but for some reason, I
don’t think that was meant for me … who is Christopher?”

“Oh, Dimitris … bloody hell! I’m sorry!”

Feeling more humiliation than I thought was
possible, I quickly retreat from the bed and proceed to trip over
the door jam. Landing square on my bum, I feel like crying, until
Dimitris’s laughter drags out a giggle of mortification. I don’t
know where the laughter comes from. It must erupt from someplace
where the embarrassment takes refuge, in order to hide from shame,
but that doesn’t matter as the tears roll down my face and I gasp
for air, laughing hysterically.

Dimitris leans over the edge of the bed and
holds out his hand. I grasp his fingers and the intense feeling of
understanding and consideration stops my giddiness. His eyes are
soft; and even though his smirk is mischievous, he is offering the
help of a friend. Intermingled with the friendship, I can feel a
new appreciation for me as a human, not just an ethereal creature,
but a woman. His eyes are opened up even further by the passing
recognition that I might be someone with whom he could have a
relationship. Inside that realization, there is a hint of
disappointment at the fact that my heart obviously belongs to
someone else.

He slides off the bed, and while still
holding my hand, he lifts me off the floor. Then leading me into
the kitchen area and seating me at the table, he turns to make us
breakfast, without saying another word. After setting water on the
stove to boil, Dimitris adds a splash of vinegar to the pot; and
then, in a separate pan, he starts frying some pork in olive oil.
Grabbing a bag from a cupboard, he pulls out two large rolls that
look a bit like bagels. Slicing the bread in half, he browns them
in the pan with the pork. Then pulling the pork and rolls out of
the olive oil and setting them aside, he folds egg yolks into the
cooled pan. As he adds other ingredients to the quickly-thickening,
bright-yellow paste, I look at the sauce and recognize it as
hollandaise. Swiftly, at the same time still stirring the
hollandaise, he gently breaks eggs into the boiling water. On two
plates he layers the rolls with the pork, poached eggs and
hollandaise. Then unceremoniously set the plates on the table;
given the gourmet meal now in front of me, I have to snicker at his
presentation.

“I love eating … I don’t know how I survived
without tasting and chewing for almost seventy years.”

Dimitris looks confused for a second and then
starts laughing, “Um Ellie, I hate to break it to you, but most
people wouldn’t survive seven days without eating more or less
seventy years.” He shakes his head and continues to smile, telling
me I had better eat up.

After finishing breakfast, I tell Dimitris
where I am supposed to meet Cassandra. Again, I watch as a sense of
wonder passes across his expression: not only is Cassandra real,
but so are her children. All of the times he’s read Homer, the
times he’s taken part in conversations about history existing in
every corner of Greece, it has never really occurred to him that
some of the rumors and lore might be fact, instead of legend. The
reality that the twins are in Sparta, resting, unheard of, for so
many years, simply adds another level of amazement to his
perception of history.

“Ellie … would you mind if I came with you to
meet Cassandra?” I can sense the eagerness, and nervousness, buried
in his words.

“I don’t see why not … I think Cass might
like meeting you. But I’ll warn you ahead of time, she is very
suspicious of Mortos. In one of her many lectures, she actually
referred to some sort of ‘dangerous humans’ … I’m pretty sure she
was talking about the Symboulio. You may not want to tell her about
your affiliation with the council.”

“I don’t understand … if she knows I’m a
Seer, which she’ll have to if I can see and talk to her, then
she’ll know I’m associated with her ‘dangerous humans’.” Now there
is aggravation and impatience … I can understand being eager and
nervous about meeting a piece of living history, but I am confused
by what I am feeling from him now.

“Dimitris, I know of Seers that weren’t
Symboulio…" Ann's presence flashes into my mind. "You can’t tell me
that every person in Europe with ‘seeing’ abilities is forced to
join them.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m telling you;
join them or die. Talents that occur outside inherited abilities
are very rare; and tracking families is how they always find the
talented. I already explained that the abilities run in specific
bloodlines, it may surface stronger for some people more than
others, but it’s hereditary, and the Symboulio know of every family
with these traits.”

“Do they keep track of all families with
talents, or just the Seer lineage?” I am trying to put together the
questions about my family's background … and finding myself more
and more irritated that no one ever explained any of this to me
before.

“I think they had catacombs full of ancestry
records once, but over time they narrowed down the list to account
for mental illnesses or Seers. A person with our traits, who just
happens to be mentally ill, is at risk of becoming evil, and the
council kills off the family before they can procreate. They keep
track of those talents that are the most beneficial to their cause
… and Seers don’t tend to have offensive powers, so they are easy
to control, thus becoming a primary asset to the Symboulio.

“They always take the risk of aberrations
showing up in the general population, talents forming outside the
known bloodlines. This has been an issue in the past; because they
didn’t have trustworthy means of diagnosing mental illnesses, such
as hallucinating, verses someone who could actually the creatures.
Our history is riddled with special ones, driven mad by our world,
and then they turn to torturing people … ironically, when the
torturers were killed, they would pass into the veil as evil
manifestations of what they once were. I think, maybe that’s why,
the council became so determined to kill all of you, to kill the
anomalies, to kill entire family lines before they could create
more potential threats; they felt responsible to correct past
mistakes. That guilt turned into full-out prejudice, a bloodthirsty
need to cleanse the world. Now that I know you, I’m starting to see
their calling is actually genocide. I don’t blame Cassandra for
being suspicious; she hasn’t survived this long by trusting
blindly.”

Replying bitterly, I say, “And then there’s
the rub, her seclusion was killing her just as sure as the
Symboulio would have. What a sodding, messed-up world we live in,
full of contradictions, loneliness, and death … so much death.” I
feel extremely tired after listening to Dimitris's impromptu
history lecture. I suddenly understand how dimwitted I’ve been for
not listening to Cassandra’s warnings, mistakenly seeing her as
paranoid and unreasonable, with her mutterings about
conspiracies.

My head starts to spin and my limbs begin to
feel incredibly heavy. I ask for some water, and when I place my
lips on the glass, I can feel the pressure and hear the clink of
the cup against my teeth, but I can’t feel the texture or the
change in temperature. My lips are numb, and then the deadened
sensation starts spreading across my face. As my eyelids start to
slide shut of their accord, I tell Dimitris I am not feeling right,
and ask if I can lie down.

Through the fog, I feel concern, and hear,
“What’s wrong? Okay, Ellie … whoa, don’t try to walk on your own.
Come on, let’s put you in the bedroom, you can rest while I take us
to Sparta.”

I think I am mostly unconscious before we
even make it to the bed, because I have the impression of being
lifted off my feet and into a strong embrace. Dimitris's contact
bombards my senses with fear, worry … but most of all, shame. The
next thing I know, I am under warm covers that smell of Dimitris,
and the fog of sleep takes the rest of my mind into dreams.

Yellow and blue swirls are waiting for me,
beautiful, almond-shaped eyes outlined in black and surrounded by
white fur blur into focus as the white wolf nuzzles my cheek. She
whimpers softly in my ear, and tries to nudge me into motion. When
I can’t lift my hand to return her affection, or push away her
nagging, she steps back and cocks her head, studying me. Then,
quite suddenly, she runs off into the mist.

Alone and coherent, but still unable to move,
I can't help but to become scared. Reaching with every ounce of
mental energy I can gather, I call out to Cassandra.

“Something is wrong … terribly wrong! I’m
paralyzed, and every nerve ending seems to be on fire!”

In response, I feel the wolf returning with
the heavy footfalls of a human following close behind. Reaching out
again, I try to contact the approaching mind that can only be
Christopher, “Help me, please!”

I watch as feet drop down to knees, and hands
gently hold my face, forcing me to look up at a mask of fear.
Christopher is swearing, and asking me what is wrong. Silence …
Damn it! Why can’t we hear each other here? Not that I could answer
his muted question, I can’t make my mouth work. My head flops
around in his hands, as if I am a rag doll. Pulling me up into his
arms, he wraps his entire body around my limp form. Looking into
his eyes, I see my own worst nightmare … he thought I was gone from
his world, and my own. Reflected in his expression, I see something
that would destroy me … the death of his reason to exist. I try to
move my eyes … to let the tears, I know were forming, fall …
anything to let him know I am not lost.

I can’t make anything work, I am trapped …
and for the first time since my death, I feel as if I am
suffocating. Rationally, I know I don’t need to breath, but I need
air to scream …I need some way to force the noise out of my vocal
cords; I start to panic. Anguish becomes its own creature as it
races around inside my head, screaming, moaning, crying … then
nothing, just the look of sorrow on Christopher’s face. He is
shaking me, as if he was trying to wake us both from this
nightmare; but the shaking now becomes the silent sobs of defeat. A
hot pain tears through my esophagus and my stomach twists with
violent cramps, brought on by my terror, and my inability to vent
the pent-up screams. I try to calm my mind … as soon as I stop
writhing in my own skull; I feel Christopher’s pain full force.

“Oh dear god, stop … you’re killing me!
Christopher stop … please stop.”

He is too absorbed in the physical to listen
to his own senses … otherwise he would know the truth is, I’m
alive. Frustration at my own paralysis turns into aggravation with
Christopher, for not listening to his own gifts. I can feel nothing
but his pain, and then the frightening reality starts to form in
his mind … he wants to die if he doesn’t have me to live for. I
start screaming and squirming inside again, but nothing happens.
Then I notice a different kind of movement as Christopher’s
companion tries to squeeze in between us.

She is trying to make Christopher let go … I
can only guess she is trying to tell him that I am all right, or at
least, trying to make him use his bloody head, instead of his
heart. As soon as the connection is lost, and I fall from his lap …
the mist vanishes and I am pulled back to Dimitris’s boat.

I can actually feel the weight of the
blankets and my eyes can almost focus, but my body is still
useless. I have no choice but to lie still and try to figure out
what is going on. Even though I am groggy, I know that this isn’t a
normal reaction. I’ve felt the weight of other people’s pain for my
entire life, and it has never incapacitated me like this. I can
only imagine that this is what it feels like to be restrained in a
hypobaric chamber; with so much gravity you can’t make your body
move. Thinking about being trapped at the bottom of the ocean, I
start feeling claustrophobic and need air. Silly thought … I’m
dead; I don’t need air. Realizing the obvious again, I have to
berate myself for not trying to return to the ethereal mist. I
focus on pushing the overwhelming panic back down to my toes, and
try to recreate my ability to travel back into the veil, as I had
done with Cassandra, in Santorini.

Slowing down and trying to find calm, I wait
to feel the movement of the boat on the water. Swaying back and
forth, I send my thoughts back to sitting in Christopher’s arms …
matching his comforting movement of rocking me like a child. I hone
in on his love and almost start to feel myself drifting back, when
I hear Dimitris’s furious voice outside the door.

“No … I will not tell her to re-enter the
demon mist! You have no right to be here … I don’t care what they
heard… ” then pausing momentarily just to explode again “…Bugging
my blasted boat!”