Evelyn’s body rose into the air as if scooped by a giant hand into the cloying darkness. She floated again like a bubble in an endless velvet envelope. Her arms lashing out in fear-ridden desperation, she found herself plastered against Zarkisian’s chest, her arms wrapped around his neck.
“You’re back,” he observed and let her slide down his pants front to her knees. “I trust your stay was educational.”
Am I really back? Evelyn looked around Zarkisian’s apartment and shook her head. OK, it seems that way. She peered up at Zarkisian who eyed her with amusement. “Yes,” she admitted, squelching a spark of animosity. Don’t forget what happened to Akbar. “How long was I out this time?”
“Five minutes,” Zarkisian responded. “Maybe ten.”
Evelyn’s mouth twisted into an “Oh” of mistrust. “I was clinging to you all that time?”
“Your legs twitched a lot,” Zarkisian said in a glib voice. “I didn’t want to you to injure yourself. Think you’ve learned your lesson?”
Evelyn scanned her messy blouse front. That must have been while I was toting boards. “I think so,” she said, straightening her blouse. She rose to her feet, and ran a shaky hand through her hair. Subterfuge. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
“No fooling around then,” Zarkisian declared. “You give your permission for Rupert Albrecht to ask for Miriam’s hand in marriage?”
Evelyn gasped. What can I do? “I guess so,” she murmured.
“Hardly an enthusiastic answer,” Zarkisian objected, his triumph incomplete. “Your daughter stands to become a foremost member of the royalty in the kingdom of Hayastan. Say it with some vigor.”
“Yesss,” Evelyn hissed, her self-control slipping. Don’t betray your true feelings. And sighed a less rancorous “Yes.”
“All right then,” Zarkisian responded. Annoyed but mollified by gaining his desired result, he peered about the room with the air of a weary bartender announcing last call at a huge wedding party. “That’s about everything,” he concluded and reached inside his sport coat. “I can call—”
Something seemed different about Evelyn’s host beyond the fatigue lines around his eyes. Weakness? “May I ask you something, Basil?” she inquired with a curious tone. He feels as powerful as a dead battery. Sending me twice to Dakhanavar may have drained his energy. “Does Miriam become royalty when she marries Albrecht? Or after the End Time?”
Zarkisian’s eyes slitted and he removed his hand from inside his jacket. “Who told you about End Time?”
“Akbar Akban,” Evelyn replied, seeing Zarkisian’s discomfiture. No reason to lie. “He and a thousand other blue demons were all building rolling platforms for it.
“That imbecile,” Zarkisian muttered, his face a tired mask. “Where did you see these ‘platforms’?”
“In a valley among the volcanoes of Dakhanavar,” Evelyn answered in an innocent voice. He doesn’t look or feel so dominant anymore, so powerful. Her eyes glimmered, suffused with the sudden insight. Because I’m not a threat to him anymore? “You haven’t answered my question, Basil.”
“End Time, any time,” Zarkisian spluttered. “Spring time, June time, marrying time,” he droned in irritated singsong, tugging the tip of his beard. “What does it matter—the result’s the same.”
“Is it?” Evelyn asked, maintaining her naïve tone. Don’t give him an emotion he can feed off. “Is it the same? Or does the status you claim Miriam will receive depend upon Angra Mainyu defeating his brother?”
“Of course, it’s the same,” Zarkisian retorted.
“Really?” Evelyn persisted and fluttered her eyes to embellish her projection of innocence. “How?”
“It’s a fait accompli,” Zarkisian responded. “One goes with the other as soon as the End Time arrives.”
“When Angra Mainyu defeats his brother,” Evelyn added, completing Zarkisian’s thought. “But what if he doesn’t?”
“That would be impossible,” Zarkisian declared, his brows twitching with shaken conviction. “Much time and much planning have made the result inevitable.”
“But not certain,” Evelyn countered. Zarkisian’s self-assurance wavered. It’s in his eyes. She stepped forward and scanned Zarkisian’s face. “It’s possible Angra Mainyu could lose, isn’t it?” she proposed like a defense attorney. When Zarkisian didn’t answer, she added, “More than possible. In fact, none of this—” She grabbed Zarkisian’s elbow and spun him toward her. “None of what you promised will happen unless I comply. Isn’t that so, Basil?”
“Nonsense,” Zarkisian murmured. “Everything will g—”
“And if I don’t comply, none of the rest of Angra Mainyu’s plan will happen either,” Evelyn concluded. “Like some awful nightmare. Miriam’s marriage, End Time, the kingdom of Hayastan—all can never occur so long as I control my psychological conscious—”
Psychology—Victor! Evelyn squeezed the flesh of Zarkisian’s forearm until she felt bone. “Is that why you want Victor, too?”
“What if it is?” Zarkisian spat and pulled his arm free. “What if it is?” he reiterated. “What if it’s all just in your imagination?”
“If it is, you put it there.”
“That I did,” Zarkisian said with a malicious smile, “What are ‘you’ going do about it?” he asked, advancing toward her. “Who will believe you?”
“Somebody will,” Evelyn objected, grabbing her purse and retreating toward the hallway. Where did I lose him? “I’ll tell the police. The government.” Who else? “The CIA—I’ll warn them all.”
Zarkisian’s smile turned condescending. “None of them will believe you.”
“Victor will,” Evelyn warned, fumbling with the doorknob behind her. He feeds off strong emotion. Stay calm. “He knows all about you.”
“Does he?” Zarkisian chuckled. “And what does he know after ten years hiding in the Amazon?”
‘He knows you for what you are—a psychic vampire, a parasite!” Evelyn declared and flung the door open. “The rest I’ll tell him.”
“Go ahead,” Zarkisian mocked. “Nothing you could say would convince him to take us on a third time.”
Third time? “There’s one thing that will,” Evelyn spat, shaking with rage. “If I tell him what you have planned for his daughter.”
Zarkisian’s eyes sparked like flint against steel. “We can’t have that,” he muttered. “Not yet, anyway.”
Evelyn turned and ran toward the elevator. She halted between the two doors and pushed the down button, twice, three times. C’mon, c’mon. Looking back, she saw Zarkisian standing in his apartment doorway, his facial expression convulsed but inscrutable. Why isn’t he chasing me?
The elevator doors opened. Evelyn raised a hand to her temple. The same white beam swept through every recess of her consciousness. Struggling to retain motor control, she found both her legs heading step by inexorable step toward his apartment. Once within arm’s length of her tormentor, Evelyn summoned the scattered shreds of her will power. “What are you going to do with me, Basil?” she asked as if it were a statement not a question. “You can’t keep me in your apartment forever. Somebody’ll notice I’m missing*,” she asserted, tottering, resolve fading. “Then I’ll tell them everything.”
“That’s right, I can’t,” Zarkisian agreed with a grim smile, After Evelyn sagged into his waiting arms, he grabbed her purse from her feeble hand and added, “You won’t be needing this where you’re going.”
*****
“Is she alright, Mike?” the Jamaican EMT driver asked his partner when the latter stuck his head through the ambulance drape. “She acted a little loopy when we picked her up.”
“She’s fine for now, Tosh,” his beefy companion answered. His jade eyes flicked toward rain showering the ambulance windshield. “She’s drinking a bottle of water as though nothing had happened.” His brows furrowed. “No purse, no ID—what do we do with her?”
“Walter Reed’s the closest,” Mike decided and grimaced. “She’s not military personnel, but we can take her to Walter Reed anyway and send a full report to Montgomery County from there.”
Tosh put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the dock. “Didn’t she tell you her name or anything?”
“Just Angra Mainyu,” Mike replied. “That’s all she says.” He scratched his stubbly blond beard in perplexity. “As if the whole world depended on it.”
THE END