The First Male (35 page)

B
efore he could complete a blink, Simon was standing in the middle of his living room when only seconds ago he was in an unknown place with Adelaide. Somehow, he had been transported here, to his home, with a single thought. He remembered talking to her about who he was predicted to become and the carnage he would inflict upon the world. He was overwhelmed by the weight of her words and remembered really wanting to be in the safety and comfort of his home, and then he was standing here.

In his living room.

Alone.

There's no place like home.

He turned his head slowly and looked around at the place, taking time to fully process his surroundings. Everything was exactly the way he left it. The remote control was on the table; a half-empty glass of apple juice sat near it. The pillows on the couch were misaligned, and the stain on the carpet where he spilled cranberry juice a few weeks ago was still there.
Damn, it felt good to be home
. He needed respite from the supernatural lunacy that had surrounded him. He felt safe here, in spite of the paranormal occurrences that continued to plague him.

He sighed.

His apartment was dark and frigid. Cold breezes seeped in
from underneath the door and from the window sill. He had complained about the lack of sufficient insulation but never raised a stink about it with the landlord; never wanting to be a bother to anyone. The entire apartment was deathly quiet, as if it hadn't known life in years. Wintry air embraced him, wrapping itself around him like the chilly arms of a long, lost lover; he shuddered while wrapping his arms around himself.

He moved over to the lamp on the table and clicked it on, expelling some of the darkness; but, shadows still lingered all around. Everywhere there seemed to be shadows; even the shadows had shadows. He then moved over to the thermostat on the wall and flipped the switch. He waited for the heating unit to start its familiar hum, but it remained quiet. He tried again. Still, it was quiet.
Shit
, he said to himself when he remembered the unpaid and unopened gas bill that littered his kitchen counter. He had meant to pay it, but there had been too much going on for him to remember something as simple as a utility bill.

Simon decided to try something. He focused on the heating unit; with a slight tingle in his index finger, he touched the thermostat and heard the unit click on.
This power has to be good for something
, he thought.

His body cut through the stillness of the apartment as he moved about, not sure exactly what to do next. He stepped into the living room and stopped when he neared the window. The heavy snowfall continued, and the land was covered in white as far as the eye could see. Cars parked along the curb were nearly buried by the snow and the street itself was hidden, blending seamlessly with the curb and the sidewalk. Streetlights cast a dim illumination on the abandoned urban block. Outside, all was quiet; the snow had forced people to retreat into their homes.

Destroyer of worlds
. The words kept ringing in his head.
Destroyer
of worlds
. The words taunted him.
Destroyer of worlds
. The words haunted him. All he wanted was his simple life back. He didn't want this power and he had no intention of destroying anything. Then, he remembered the feeling that consumed him in the forest with Franklin and realized that he might be capable of tearing down the world if he had the power; and apparently he did, or at least he soon would, when he
ascended
—whatever that meant—on his twenty-first birthday, which was in two days. He trembled when he thought of what could be. He was more afraid of himself than he was of snakes and shadows and the Shadowman that wanted to claim him.

Simon shook his head and then walked through the lonely house, assessing his imminent fate. Only days ago he had been happy, happy here, in his apartment. He remembered the recent card party Franklin threw with some of his buddies from The Black Cat and the laughter that filled the house that night. Simon won almost two hundred dollars that night. He and Franklin had spent countless nights drinking into the wee hours of the morning, lamenting life and blasting whatever trouble rocked their relationship of the moment; that was before Brooke. Simon's mind was pulled to thoughts of her. Her voice always filled his apartment with such life and love, especially on days when he had been content to keep the curtains pulled to block out the sun. She was often his light. He remembered holding her, and all the memories of their passion confronted him, regardless of which direction he looked in the small space; they had made love all over the place. He could smell her everywhere and, for the first time in days, it hit him hard how much he missed her; it was like one of his limbs had been removed. The pain of her absence had been there all along, simmering just beneath the surface of his extraordinary circumstances. As he stood in the silent room, the pain made
itself known, screaming throughout his body, like a chill deep in his bones. He felt tears welling in his eyes, but he beat them back, unsure of what damage his emotional breakdown would cause.

He moved through his bedroom and into the bathroom. When he flicked up the light switch, he saw the ugly black marks, caused by his blood and vomit, that stained the floor. He was repulsed by the sight of it, but stopped cold when he saw a curvy black trail left by the serpent when it slithered hurriedly across the floor and disappeared into a crack. He closed his eyes and shuddered when he remembered the awesome pain he felt when the snake squirmed out of his mouth.
Where was the snake now?
he thought to himself.

As he stood in the bathroom, a familiar scent wafted into his nostrils. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, searching for its source. The scent was like fresh flowers, like lavender—like a perfume Brooke wore. The pace of his heart quickened. He stepped out of the bathroom and moved across the bedroom. As he neared the living room, the scent grew stronger. When he reached the threshold, he peered around the corner, nervously. He gasped. Brooke stood in the doorway that divided the living room from the dining area, at the edge of the room. She had never looked more beautiful to him. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders like ocean waves, and the depth of the smoldering blue in her eyes had never been more mesmerizing. She wore a pink flowing gown, like something a princess would wear. She was resplendent. She smiled at him, delicately. He had never missed her more than he did in this moment. His aching for her was palpable, almost tangible. He wanted to move closer, if only to be closer to her scent, but something held him in place. Something was wrong. Her body was hazy, out-of-sync with the rest of the room. Still, her beauty filled the space, and the longing
he felt for her vibrated in his pants. It had been days since he had felt an orgasmic release, and the sight of her burned deeply within his loins.

“Simon,” she whispered. Her voice fluttered across the room, warming the frigid air as it traveled. When her voice landed against his chest, it took all the force he could muster to keep from running over to her, tackling her and mounting her. His love for her was deep and even though he vowed to never say the word, he felt so weak in this moment that it had already formed on his lips.

But, before he could speak, the image dissipated, like smoke scattered by the wind.

“Simon, Simon, Simon. How I have waited for this day.” Simon flipped around and standing behind him was the man with a face like his—his twin. Simon jerked his body quickly, his feet tangling around each other as he tried to step away. He fell hard against the wall, but recovered instantly and stumbled into the living room. “Don't be alarmed,” his twin said in a calm voice. “I didn't mean to scare you. My name is Eli, but I'm sure you know that by now.” Eli's voice echoed throughout the room. “I've been looking for you, for years,” he said with relief. “My brother, at long last.”

Simon steadied himself and watched Eli, dressed all in black, walk toward him. His long gait was exactly like Simon's, but he stepped boldly, with far more confidence; whereas Simon liked to fade into the background, it was clear by his walk that Eli loved center stage. His stride bordered on being sinister. Eli's presence was formidable and spellbinding. Simon longed for an ounce of the self-assuredness Eli possessed in spades. Simon was simply awe-struck and studied Eli's face; it was his face. Eli's eyes burned with the same intensity as his, but his wavy hair was slicked back and Simon's was in a Caesar cut. They were the same, but very
much different; and, Simon longed to know him. The familial ties that he had longed for all of his life suddenly tightened around his neck. He hadn't felt this sensation with Addie, even though she was his grandmother. He didn't want any of this
stuff
that he had been subjected to over the past days, but he wanted a family. The magnetic pull to Eli was strong, like two halves itching to become a whole. Simon wanted to know him, wanted to be him.

“Oh my God,” Simon said, his heart pounding in his throat.

“No, not
God
. Just me.” The corners of his mouth curled up into a twisted smile.

“But how?”

They took a few awkward seconds and sized each other up, checking to see exactly how identical they were. There was no denying it; they were exactly the same. Same height. Same weight. Same body composition. Same piercing blue eyes and olive skin. “We have a lot to talk about, dear brother,” Eli said, finally breaking the tension. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Uhhh, yeah. I have some water or juice in the 'fridge.”

Eli looked at him playfully. “I was hoping for something with a little more . . . kick.”

“Shit. I'm sorry. I have some vodka in the freezer.” Truth be told, Simon craved something far stronger than juice, too. He needed something with some fire to calm his nerves.

“Now you're talking.” Simon moved around Eli and entered the kitchen, but when he looked toward the refrigerator Eli was already in there staring out of the window at the snowfall. Clearly, he had the same ability to travel as Simon did. Simon didn't show his alarm. Instead, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out two glasses.

“Look at this beautiful storm,” he said reverently. “I wonder if it will bury the world.”

“Let's hope not.” Simon opened the freezer door, pulled out the very cold bottle of vodka and poured more than a healthy amount into each glass. “Do you want some juice or something to mix it with?” As soon as he asked the question, he realized how silly it must have sounded.

Eli grabbed the glass off the table, but a rough cough rose from his chest and threw him off balance. He grabbed onto the kitchen counter for support.

“Are you okay?”

Eli didn't respond. Instead, he reached over and grabbed the roll of paper towels that sat on the counter. In the midst of a cough, he ripped one from the roll and brought it to his mouth. When he was done, he wiped a trace of black mucus from the corner of his mouth; it looked to be the same substance that came from Simon when he vomited the snake. Eli tossed the towel into the trashcan.

“You need to sit down.”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.”

“I said I'm fine,” he snapped. He grabbed his glass from the counter and raised it. “Here's to us, brothers. Reunited at last. Let our reign begin.”
Reign
. Simon didn't like the way the word burned across his ear, but he raised his glass anyway, clinking it against Eli's. They each took a long pull from their cups and the cold burn from the vodka instantly warmed Simon's chest. Eli finished his drink in a hurried gulp and poured himself another.

“Let's talk.” Simon watched Eli stroll into the living room. “You can't know how much effort and time we've put into finding you. You were well-hidden by the witch's cloaking spell.”

“The witch?” Simon asked as he rounded the corner and entered the living room.

“Adelaide. Our dear grandmother. The one you
freed
.” Eli's tone soured when he spoke of Addie, and a flash of something malevolent swept across his eyes. “I assume she used some trick of the mind to get you to free her, but I won't dwell on that. What's done is done. I would, however, like to know what she told you about us, about me.”

“Nothing. I mean, not much. I left before we finished talking. I had to get out of there; I wanted to come home.”

“Good. You shouldn't trust her. She's a bitch. And a liar.” Eli lowered himself onto the couch, taking his time to make sure that he was comfortable. He crossed his legs at the thigh, fully ensconced in the comfort of the chair. “You know she's the one who kept you from us, right? She's the one who ripped you from the loving bosom of our dear mother. This hard life you've had,” he said as he looked around the room with disdain, “is all her fault. You could have been basking in luxury, in paradise, had it not been for her.”

Simon felt heat building in his chest. “Is that true?” Simon wanted to trust him, but he tread lightly. He was wise enough to know that truth changed, depending on the storyteller. Was he to put his faith in Addie or his brother? He didn't know. He didn't know either of them; both gave him reason to pause. As he listened to the slick words that oozed out of Eli's mouth a warning sounded in his heart, much as it had when he listened to Addie. He wanted to trust Eli. After all, weren't they the same?

“I wouldn't lie to you, brother.” Eli sipped from his glass. “Oh, she also killed our father. Burned him alive.”

“She said he died in a car crash.”

“That much is true, but she probably left out the fact that
she
caused the accident. When he didn't die upon impact, she set loose a fire that utterly consumed his body—turned him to ash
right there in the street. Oh, the stories I could tell you about dear old grandma.” Eli spoke so casually about the death of their father that it was eerie. The heat continued to build in Simon's chest. He didn't know what to say or do. His thoughts were convoluted and erratic; there was simply too much to process.