Eve: A Novel (11 page)

“Is it the same thing as an engagement ring?”

“No.
Engagement
is much too weak a word. Betrothal is a resolute and firm commitment, a declaration of marriage sometimes years before its consummation. This is a ring the groom will give his bride as promise of a wedding.”

“Thank you, Gerald.” He leaned forward to touch her forehead, and though she tensed at the intimate gesture, she allowed it.

With that John escorted the Scholars out of the room. Simon, the last to exit, turned, smiled, and bowed slightly.

For a time Lilly sat quietly and tried to grasp the events of the day, but reflecting only seemed to make her more anxious. She hoped that Han-el was real and close, but that also meant the Angel was probably aware of her deceptions, and the possibility shamed her. Even so, the very thought of any Guardian was a comfort.

Unexpectedly, it also raised a different memory: the face of another man whom she couldn’t quite place.

E
arly
the next morning, as the whispers of sunrise began interrupting the shades of night’s rhythms, Lilly made her first journal entry into the diary John had given her. Invited by its open space, she unloaded parts of her burden and took to writing like an eagle soaring, carried away on invisible drafts into vistas of honesty she had never intentionally explored.

Despite what John says, I don’t really think I am a writer. Ha, here I am already making excuses and I’m the only one who will ever read this.

I don’t know what I am or what is real. Half the time I think I’m crazy and surrounded by crazy people, and the other half I’m just confused and a mess of angry, overwhelming, horrid emotions.

Sometimes, I just want to scream until I can’t. I don’t want
anyone to care, and then I do and that makes me mad, and then maybe I want to die.

Of all the people I’ve met here, I like John the most, but I’m really intrigued by this new guy, one of the Three Magi (I think that’s what they were called in the Sunday school stories, although I’m not the baby Jesus they were looking for). His name is Simon and he’s older than me but closest of anyone to my age. Anita and Gerald gave me a key and a Betrothal ring, but Simon said he would bring me his gift later. I think he just wanted to talk to me alone. I keep wondering about him, like he’s dangerous in a good way.

Yesterday was completely nuts. So much happened I don’t even know where to start. Eve took me to see Adam—it sounds nuts just to even write that—but anyway, we ran into a talking snake that scared the crap out of me. Then the Magi showed up and I saw Letty for the first time. I still don’t know why she is always humming. Then they told me that I’m a Witness to Beginnings. I didn’t tell them Eve already told me that.

I’ve been looking at my arms. Maybe I was a cutter, in the other life. That really scares me too. It might be better if I can’t remember, but I can’t seem to stop the flashbacks or the hallucinations either.

I watch the waves and the tides. It’s like wanting to live and wanting to die, tide coming in and tide going out. Most of the time all I can see is the waves and can’t even tell which tide it is. I wonder if Simon is going to come and see me today? Probably not.

At the thought of Simon she pulled back the covers to examine the foot that was not hers. She wondered about the girl to whom it had belonged. It appeared completely functional, though much whiter than her right foot, and freckled.

Women who were dressed as if they belonged to a religious order soon showed up and assisted her with her morning rituals. They were perpetually quiet and kind and smiled a lot, their presence comfortable and welcome. Then John appeared with breakfast, which heralded the beginnings of real food, though it was pasty and bland. He said her bodily systems were still in recovery. When they finished eating, he left her staring out at the ocean, the magnificent view of shoreline and sand below and, beyond the coastal divide, an odd mix of flora both tropical and northern rain forest.

Lilly then went through her regimen of exercises, contracting and relaxing each muscle beginning with her toes and working her way up her body to her nose. This was something she repeated six times each day between waking and sleeping. With a push of a button she could now change her bed to mobile chair, and even though she felt her strength returning, she resisted the temptation to try and step off and stand by herself. Everything, it seemed, was about timing.

Today, John had another surprise. He succeeded in navigating Lilly’s mechanical chair up a moderate incline and out a door into an open patio above the rooms where she had been healing. For the first time she could feel the air and sun’s embrace without any sense of separation. The space was small and sat like a crow’s nest
atop a mast and offered a stunning panoramic view. He left her to attend to other matters.

A strong rail was all that stood between solid footing and a couple of thousand feet of open space. She opted not to approach it in her chair. Even from her position a sense of vertigo overwhelmed and exhilarated her.

Face upturned, she reveled in the late afternoon sun. A playful wind tugged at her hair, which she had let loose from all ties or bands. In spite of the ever-present sadness, she was almost happy, when suddenly her reverie was broken by the sense of being watched. She flinched. It felt as if a hand of ice had touched hers. Not ten feet away, looking out as she was, stood Simon, positioned strategically between her and the exit ramp.

Tall, slimly built, he was dressed carefully but almost too heavily for the day’s warmth. His white buttoned shirt topped by a scarlet bow tie enhanced his features and dark hazel eyes. Oddly, while the wind swirled around her, it seemed reluctant to approach him. Simon spoke without turning, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I am sorry if I startled you,” he stated. “Don’t be afraid!”

She let herself draw in a deep breath, relieved without a reason. “You did! I didn’t even hear you, at all, and it . . . surprised me, that’s all.”

“I am like that. Quiet, that is. I don’t draw a lot of attention, at least not directly. Where’s the Collector?” he asked, turning with a smile toward her. “I assumed he would be with you, your ever-present guardian.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“It is just as well,” the Scholar declared. “I wanted an opportunity to talk to you alone, if that would be all right?”

Lilly almost let her internal smile play on her lips but resisted. This man was a stranger and she needed her guard in place. But there was an aura of the dangerous and delicious about this one, and it felt good to be sought out.

“That’s up to you,” she offered. “We could call for John to join us.”

It was a game, and she knew it and suspected that he did as well. He smiled and looked away, out in another direction and then back before speaking.

“Lilith . . .”

“Lilly,” she interrupted. “My name is Lilly.”

“Of course.” He pursed his lips. “Regardless, you have been chosen as the Witness to Beginnings, and that is unimaginably significant. I am deeply honored to have met you, no matter what any of the others have said.”

“What others? What have they said?” The flattery she’d enjoyed vanished, replaced instantly by insecurity.

Simon appeared to be embarrassed and quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean at all to cast aspersions. I’m sure they mean well.”

“Who?” she demanded.

“The others, the older ones.”

“What did they say?”

“Well, for example, that you are just a child, which is not at all how I see you. However, they are accurate in pointing out that you are young and lack experience. But that is not the point I was attempting to make. I actually agree with them that you have not yet grasped your singular importance and the significant choices
that lie ahead of you. It is my humble opinion that you are going to need some very real and present guidance.”

“From you, I suppose?” Lilly was irritated at everyone, her general frustrations now finding a focus. Simon didn’t answer.

“Why am I so
singularly important
?” she finally asked.

“Because you have the power to change history!”

The staggering potency of his declaration was almost too much to consider, but his demeanor was as intense as his statement.

“H-How?” she stammered.

“Lilith, you are the chosen Witness to Beginnings. Focus on what you were told last night. As the Witness, not only are you the photographer, you are also in the picture as an active participant and your choices can change everything, everyone’s history.”

Lilly was in such a whirlwind that she didn’t bother to correct him again about her name. What he was saying finally made some sense. There was a purpose to her being here, being the Witness. What if he was correct? By affecting history, could she also change her own? If one altered Beginnings, would one not also change the Endings?

As quickly as the wave of possibilities lifted her, she dropped, the immensity of what she imagined too much.

“I thought I couldn’t interfere,” she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not interfere, participate,” Simon said. He didn’t react to her outburst. “I can help. And God will give you wisdom. Why would God put you in this situation, if only to abandon you to failure? You can do this, Lilith. I believe in you.”

That was the little encouragement Lilly hadn’t realized she
needed, and taking a deep breath, she relaxed into her chair. He took a step toward her but maintained a distance she considered safe.

“So, what do I do now?”

Simon took another step closer. “We must get you to the Vault. It seems to be the key. My advice, for now, is trust your own instincts. You have been chosen because of who you are. The right choices will arise from your knowing who you are.”

“Simon, my past is all a fog most of the time. I have flashbacks, but they’re almost always terrifying.” Even as she said it, Lilly realized that she was already allowing this man into places where no one else had been invited. “How do I find out who I am?”

“That, young woman, is why I brought you
my
gift.” And with a flourish, Simon withdrew from somewhere in his coat an elaborately framed mirror with an artistically crafted handle.

“It’s beautiful.” Taking it, Lilly laid it on her lap. “Where did you get this?”

Simon hesitated, a fleeting look of grief momentarily darkening his eyes. “It belonged to my wife.”

“Your wife?” Lilly felt a rush of compassion for this man and was also repelled by the thought of such a gift. She tried to hand it back. “I can’t take this.”

“But you must!” insisted Simon. “My wife . . . my wife is in a much better place. If she were here and knew who you were, she would want you to have it. Please. This is no ordinary mirror. This mirror reveals the truth, if you know its secret. Legend says that its power of reflection comes from the very first pond into which Adam gazed and saw his own face. Please take it.”

Lilly hesitated, realizing that she hadn’t seen her own face
since arriving at the Refuge. Even in the archives of her memory there wasn’t a face she was certain was her own. Lilly glanced at Simon, who nodded, encouragingly, so she lifted the mirror and peered into it.

Nothing. It was only a moving cloud of gray, shifting as if blown by the wind around her. She looked up at Simon, confused.

He smiled, playful and gentle. “I told you it had a secret.” Reaching out, he put his hand on hers and turned it upward. His touch was cold, but in a way that was bracing against her sun-heated skin. It felt good and she didn’t pull away.

“See this brilliant red stone?” he asked, and she inspected it more closely. “The one here where the handle meets the frame. When you put your right thumb on that stone and raise it to your face, this mirror will reveal the truth of who you are.”

She moved her thumb over the stone.

“Before you do that, I must warn you.” His voice was firm, his manner focused. He placed his hand strategically over hers. “This is not a painless process. You will see the truth, which can be very difficult and troubling. But you’ll only fulfill your destiny if you commit wholeheartedly to believing what you see.”

At that moment a shadow passed across them and Simon snatched the mirror from her hand and thrust it inside his coat. A massive eagle flew by, not a hundred yards away.

“Simon, what’s wrong? It’s just an eagle. Biggest eagle I have ever seen, but just an eagle.”

“It is a thief!” he said. “They look to steal reflections for their nests. Those creatures make me nervous.”

They watched the wind rider disappear into the distance before Simon slipped his gift back to her, his eyes still fixed on the sky.

“You must be on guard and keep it hidden. It is for you and you alone, a gift commensurate with your unparalleled importance.”

He turned and again smiled, his intensity replaced by cordiality. From another pocket he pulled a cloth bag. “Here. When you place the mirror in this hood, both will be camouflaged by whatever they touch.” As he lowered the gift into the cloth, both vanished, not entirely but almost. Against the sky it looked like a barely shimmering but warped window. He placed the bag on her lap and it absorbed the colors of her blanket, blending in completely. The only indication of its presence was its weight.

Lilly reached out and squeezed his hand. She felt conflicted, both repelled and attracted to this Scholar’s words. The ease that she took for granted with John was absent, but in its place arose an entirely different spectrum of emotions. How was it that she could feel both scared and intrigued, hopeful and tentative? Simon brought up all these feelings and more.

“Simon,” she began, “thank you. There are some things I need to tell you . . .”

Lilly intended to confess to this man everything she had hidden from the others, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the sound of whistling could be heard approaching from below. She turned toward the doorway to see John arrive, shielding his eyes as he left the darkness of the building.