Nymphaea

Chapter 10: Don't push that button...

Stephen went down the street, his queue bag on his back, looking forward to calling Ayve when he was back in the Hotel. His mind was flooded by the joy of having defended his place as the top snooker player of the world once more. He had actually skipped the evening-session, winning with a score of 18:6!

The thought of hearing Ayve’s dark voice in a few minutes thrilled him. They had agreed that he would call after the match. An overwhelming feeling of happiness leaked out of his stomach and ran through his entire body. Stephen could not wish for more.

A car was driving slowly next to him. It stopped. Stephen paid it no attention and went on. A man stepped up to him.

“Mr. Donaghy?”

Stephen turned in wonder. Did somebody want to congratulate him?

“Mr. Donaghy, my name is Frank Carter,” a man in his early thirties reached out to shake Stephen’s hand. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Stephen nodded.

“I am scientific employee of the Secret Service and I was wondering whether you would be so kind as to join me.” He pointed towards the car.

An alarm bell went off in Stephen’s mind. “Could I see your ID?” he demanded.

“Oh, of course,” his opponent started fumbling around until he produced one of those plastic cards Stephen had seen a few months (nearly a year) ago. He had silently hoped the investigators had lost their interest in him.

“What exactly is your occupation? What kind of scientist are you? And why am I supposed to come with you, now?” Stephen demanded curtly. He had better things in mind. He grinned inwardly. They would love to do what he was about to, that was for sure – talk to Ayve.

“I’m engaged in historical research. Presently, I’m trying to find traces of… you know, those beings… in history. And, I would like to show you a bit of what I’ve found. Maybe you will recognise something.”

Stephen frowned. “I don’t think so,” he replied, but he followed the man, anticipating that a refusal might not be accepted and also curious to see if he could gain further information.

As he entered the car, Stephen was positively surprised to see that this Mr. Carter seemed to have come alone. That calmed him a little. This man did not intimidate him in the least. He left an impression of nervousness himself, which meant he was not that well trained in fieldwork. It looked as if he were the type of person who brooded over books all day; Stephen guessed he did not have to fear unpleasant questions this time.

They sat down in a hotel room, having ordered dinner at the reception desk already (Stephen was hungry because he never ate much before a match). Stephen would have preferred a more public place to feel safer, but this was Sheffield on the day of the World Championship Final that he had just won. He could not sit down in a restaurant and expect to have a decent conversation today without disturbances.

This Mr. Carter put the envelope he had brought on the table. “It’s been hard work,” he stated. “I spent months searching for hints and finding nothing. Naturally, the problem was that I did not have the slightest hint what I was actually looking for.
Oh, I might add here, I was tasked to find information about this Ayve, that I am informed you have met.” He gave Stephen a curious look, hoping to see a reaction.

Stephen did not flinch.

“There are other teams working to find out more about other specimens or some clearer hint about their nature,” he further explained.

“So, my job was analyzing the data my colleagues, who did the fieldwork, had collected. There wasn’t much, to be frank. We had 230 reports altogether, all from people who had heard of our investigation through this organisation they had founded. Only twelve have had reliable information concerning Ayve. That means they have encountered him themselves or have known somebody who had met him. The latter would of course not be counted as reliable in usual cases, but two accounts included reported meetings in past centuries and seemed too valuable to be ignored.

“Unfortunately, our informants hardly ever surpass the age of two hundred. It seems that many of these creatures literally fade away after a couple of decades or centuries. They don’t seem to be as immortal as we thought they were in the beginning.”

“Have you examined their bodies, undertaken medical tests?” Stephen ached to know, remembering what Ayve had told him before and wondering how that occurred.

“Yes. I’m not involved in that but as far as I’ve heard, they have found no reason why these people stop aging, overcome diseases, and even serious injuries. There was nothing unusual. There is no way to tell one of us from one of them,” Carter stated. “But there seems to be a point where most of them start ageing again and are even more likely to grow ill. It’s inexplicable.” Carter frowned.

“But let me explain how I proceeded.” A nock at the door told them, that this would have to wait. Stephen waited impatiently while dinner was served because he was both starving and dying to hear more.

After a few bites, Carter went on. “Out of these twelve interviewees five had only seen Ayve from afar. They had only recognised him because they had been warned about him and given an explicit description. This description always contains the following features: he is tall, has long black hair, dark clothing and wears a strange ring. I will come back to that later.” He took another few bites and a sip of water.

“Another five had had short encounters with him. In most cases they had spotted him somewhere, had followed and approached him and had been told to leave him alone, usually in a quite polite manner, which is remarkable seeing the last two cases.

“In one of these, a woman reported that she had ‘been reborn’, as some of them call their transformation, two years before the incident. Shortly after her ‘rebirth’ she had met a Celtic looking man who had offered her is company, explaining he was like her, and they had become lovers. Then one day – they had been visiting the Scottish Highlands and her companion had had mentioned to her that he had been born in that area – they were confronted with a strange man all of a sudden. They had been sitting in a pub when he bent over her companion, saying something she didn’t understand. Her companion was only staring at the ring this strange man was wearing. She said she still remembered the intense look of the almost unnatural eyes this man had and that her companion first seemed outraged, exclaiming something that sounded like ‘Ayve’ and then seemed intimidated after this man had spoken. She mentioned a voice filled with hatred.

“The two men had left the pub then and she had been told to stay behind. She never saw her companion again.” Carter waited to let this sink in.

Stephen had no idea what to make of this. That could mean anything.

“That alone does not say much, of course. But the other incident is clearer, although maybe harder to believe.

“This time, two men had joined with each other, only as friends or so the interviewee said. They had been travelling together and had just arrived in Japan, in the 1920s, I believe. They had been wandering along the harbour and were just entering the city when suddenly his friend would break down, screaming out in pain. Nobody paid attention. And then, the informant said, he became aware of a man on the other side of the street who stared right into their direction, motionlessly. The interviewee reported that he had pleaded for help but the man only paid him an indifferent look. And I don’t need to repeat the description of that man, do I?”

Stephen had ceased eating, uncertain what to make of this information. The thing that really had caught his attention was ‘nobody paid attention’ to a man screaming out in pain…

“The outcome of this was a dead body lying on the street eventually. The interviewee reported that only after this man on the other side of the street had left did pedestrians react. He was sure his companion had been killed by this man.” The historian looked at Stephen.

Stephen sat with his arms crossed, seriousness in his face.

“You’re not convinced,” his opponent diagnosed. “Let me finish then.

“Concerning this ring… The first story about a native Scot and a ring shaped like a blossom – that was the precise description of it – rang a bell.”

Carter pulled a photograph out of the envelope. He showed it to Stephen.

“This is an early medieval painting. Not very beautifully done, nor very well kept but it is the only one that still exists carrying this theme.” It showed a warrior of old times, Celtic in appearance, on a field of victory holding an item up that was hard to make out.

“This is a scene of an old myth that is long forgotten. There are only a few early writings about it. These writings tell a story about the leader of a tribe of the Picts, the people that used to live in Scotland before the Anglo-Saxon invasion, who had defeated the people of another strange folk that lived in the Highlands. As the most precious prize that he gained, a ring is described, shaped like a foreign plant, made by skilled hands. The stories have it that he wore it on a chain around his neck, careful not to be robbed of it.

“A few years after this victory however, the story says that his son came back from a fight with a neighbouring tribe to find his father and most of his kin murdered and the ring gone.”

Stephen felt strange, uncertain. “So you want me to believe this myth is not a myth but a true story and that Ayve killed all those people just to obtain a piece of jewellery?” he asked. Why did anger rise in him now?

“I won’t say anything of that sort. All I’m telling you this for is to ask, does this Ayve still carry the described ring?”

Stephen lowered his gaze. He had to talk to Ayve. Now.

He got up. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about a ring,” it hurt him to lie this time. Although, as a whole, the stuff he had been told sounded absurd, he still could not help but feel betrayed. After a few months of blindness, due to Ayve giving away a few details about himself, Stephen now realised he still knew… nothing.

He had grabbed his stuff and reached the door before his opponent had been able to think of something to say to make him stay.

*

One ring. Two rings. A third. A fourth. And a fifth ring. Come on, your phone isn’t turned off so you’re here somewhere. Six. Seven. Click.

“Stephen you should calm down. This won’t lead to anything good if we discuss that now.”

Stephen laughed out, filled with adrenaline, an unpleasant feeling this time. “We will discuss this now. In half an hour.”

He named his hotel and said they would meet at the bar.

Ayve sighed. “I know what this will end like.”

Ayve already sat at one of the small tables, a half empty glass containing something juicy in front of him. It was still early in the evening, and they were nearly alone.

Stephen took a place opposite Ayve. “So explain this to me,” he demanded.

Ayve played with his glass. “Ask me and I’ll see whether I’ll answer.” He had regained the old coolness in his eyes.

Stephen smirked. “So we’re back to the old game, aren’t we?”

“You’re the one who started this,” Ayve replied calmly.

“Started what?” Stephen was not keeping his cool.

“Started spying on me and rashly drawing conclusions.”

“This is nonsense. I have not drawn any conclusions yet; I am asking you to tell me the truth.”

“Your tone is pretty aggressive for someone who has not yet made his mind up.”

Stephen shook his head, desperately trying to fight his emotions. “I am only disappointed to realise that I still don’t know great parts of your history and I’m scared of what you’re hiding.”

Ayve smiled. “See? If you really trusted me, you wouldn’t be scared. I gave you reasons – good reasons – honest reasons – why I could not tell you everything. And you accepted that.”

Stephen shook his head again. “Not in the case of acts of violence. Just tell me the truth.”

Ayve put his right hand into his pocket and retrieved two coins. He got up and put them on the table with his left, showing of the ring that glittered yellow in the light of the lamp.

“No. I will not talk about such things in this kind of situation. Your price is too high, Stephen.”

Stephen jumped up. “If you had a clear conscience you wouldn’t have to hide anything.”

Ayve looked right into Stephen’s eyes. “I really thought you were different.” He turned and left.

Not one last glance back.

Stephen let himself fall back into his chair. He was dumbstruck. This was it. He broke out in a sweat. He felt sick. He had no idea what to think now.

It was over. Ayve was gone. For good. He did not know whether he should be sad or relieved now. He did not know whether those accusations were true.

Why to hell could this fucking arsehole not open his mouth? He’d dumped Stephen – just like that. Without a flinch.


***

End of Chapter 10
End of Part I