Nymphaea

Chapter 3: Investigations

As it turned out, Julie had already guessed that Stephen was thinking about splitting up. She couldn’t stop herself from crying but she didn’t blame him. He was even allowed to hold her hand and console her. It was an awkward situation and yet it was everything he had wished for.

After he had spent a night on the sofa, Julie asked him to move out. She explained that of course they would bring up Melissa together and that he could see his daughter whenever he wanted but she needed space to get accustomed to being single again. Of course, they could keep their break-up secret until they had adapted to the new situation.

Although he didn’t feel good about leaving Melissa behind, Stephen was relieved. He was free. He wasn’t forced to feel bad every time he thought about Ayve. He didn’t feel guilty about stealing Julie’s time, Julie’s chances. Of course, Melissa would constrain her, but she could still find a good man and have a career if she wanted.

Ayve.

He moved into a hotel for a time until he found himself a small apartment near Julie’s to make it possible to see Melissa spontaneously.

The next weeks were dedicated to even more intensified training. After overcoming this private obstacle, it felt almost easy gaining his third title as world champion (although it was still hard work). He grew more confident in every aspect.

*

Stephen stood under the shower. The water was turned as hot as bearable. It poured down on him, touching him like two warm human hands, embracing him like a warm human body.

Human, eh? Was Ayve human at all? Stephen had dreamed of him. His nipples were still hard. And so was his sex. He touched it. Yes. Let me feel you, Ayve. I’ll do anything.

He sank down and leaned against the ice-cold flagstones. Firmer. He pictured Ayve that night half a year ago… It didn’t take long until the white milk shot out and was immediately washed away. A feeling of loneliness soon swallowed the small wave of ecstasy.

*

He went out for breakfast. His fridge was empty since he had returned from Sheffield only last night. He stepped directly into the trap, having to shake many hands and autograph a few napkins, before he was left reasonably alone (apart from a few stares).

So, decision time again, right? No matter what, he had to make up his mind. He couldn’t go on like this. Fine, of course, he could, but he had no masochistic notion. He was not going to sit this out passively; he needed to do something.

Only, what was this something supposed to be? He had already asserted that any attempt to forget Ayve had failed, hadn’t it? So, what was left but finding him?

Apparently, another question was, what Stephen would do when he had found him. But at this moment, the more urgent question was, how on earth could he find Ayve? He didn’t even have a surname. Let’s face it, he didn’t even know how to spell “Ayve”. That name was pronounced with a strange rough, throaty sound at the beginning. Eastern European languages knew such sounds yet there was no way in the English language to write that name down as it was spoken.

His father, however, must know a way to contact him or at least to contact somebody that knew how to reach him. He called him spontaneously on his mobile phone.

It took a while to get to the topic. His father seemed to have discovered his sense for family issues, asking all kinds of questions concerning Melissa and Stephen’s career and so on. Stephen did him the favour and answered most of them patiently, hoping to have that favour returned by receiving a positive response to his question.

No, his father did not know Ayve’s full name. Stephen made no remark. How could anyone say he worried about security and then hire somebody without ever asking his full name? Goodness.

At least he had kept the telephone number. Stephen was told that this was the only way to contact this organisation. To his father’s knowledge (and he did not value that very high) there was no address, no official bureau.

Stephen dialled the number. A young woman answered immediately. “How can I help you?” she asked in a polite manner, giving neither her name nor that of her organisation.

“My name is Stephen Donaghy,” Stephen replied. “I…” Well, how could he express that? “Until five years ago one of your… members was assigned to guard me. I would like to get in touch with him again, but I have no contact details. Could you help me, please?” Stephen was nervous.

“Well, sir, we don’t keep any contact details either. Our ‘members’, as you called them, come and go as they please and choose their tasks themselves. Maybe you can give me the name of the person you are searching for? I could ascertain whether that person is visiting us regularly or currently fulfilling a task and contact them to learn whether they wish to speak to you as well. Subsequently, you could call me again to get hold of the information I have obtained.”

Stephen’s heart beat faster with excitement. “Yes, that would be marvellous,” he responded. “I am looking for Ayve. I’ve last met him maybe eight months ago, but we didn’t keep in touch, unfortunately.”

The lady at the other end of the wire was silent. “Excuse me, mister; did you just say ‘Ayve’?”

Stephen raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Ayve. Tall, long black hair, rather closed kind of personality. Ayve. I don’t know his surname.”

“I am sorry, I am just astonished. I didn’t know someone like that works here…”

“What do you mean?” Stephen asked uneasily. Was she telling him, Ayve had not been sent by this organisation? That he was a liar, an impostor?

“Well I mean,” she answered, “usually only youngsters work here, but Ayve is… a legend…! I wouldn’t dream about meeting him… But I talk too much. I am not allowed to give away any internal information. Where did you meet him?” That lady was curious.

But Stephen had better things in mind than gossiping.

“Excuse me, do you mean he hasn’t been visiting you lately?” he demanded to know.

“No, sir. I regret to say I have worked here for three years now, and I have never laid eyes on him.”

“So you won’t be able to help me contacting him?” Stephen concluded.

“You’re right sir, I cannot help you.” The lady seemed disappointed that he hadn’t told her more.

“Thank you for your efforts.” He hung up.

He bit his lip. He could have sworn out loud. How could he find someone who apparently did not wish to be found? Not even his own people knew anything! Ayve, you egomaniac! Couldn’t you have played with someone else’s cock that night? What had she called you? –A legend…! Stephen paid that a bitter smile.

*

Stephen tried to spend as much time as possible with his baby-daughter the following weeks. Alongside his other obligations, he took walks with her, read stories to her, changed her diapers… she was the one thing he had in life apart from his career, but a career didn’t smile back.

He also saw Paul a lot, to prepare for their exhibition or to have a nice evening in a pub.

After one of those evenings, he walked home alone, when about halfway there, he was addressed by an elder man. Late forties, Stephen guessed. He introduced himself as employee of the Secret Service and requested that Stephen answer a few questions.

Stephen was disconcerted. What did he have to do with the Secret Service?

The man asked him to discuss that in a nearby restaurant. Stephen was assured that it wouldn’t require too much time and he was not the target of any investigation.

When they had settled down and ordered a cup of tea each, the man started explaining. “Mr. Donaghy, to be frank, we accidentally overheard one of your telephone calls last week.”

Stephen was not amused. “How can you accidentally overhear a telephone call? I thought you needed a wire tap for that? And that surely needs an official permission?”

The man raised his hands in a repelling gesture. “Mr. Donaghy, we did not tap your telephone wire. We overheard a conversation you held via mobile. We were observing somebody else in the café you took your breakfast in and witnessed both of the calls you made, to be precise.”

Stephen leaned back. “And why would my private calls be of any interest for you?” he asked sceptically.

“Sir, the purpose of those calls, to refresh your mind, was to contact a person we are very interested in finding, as well. The government is presently researching the nature and history of these beings that you have contacted. Regrettably, we have not been able to establish a connexion to people of that… kind, race or whatever they might be… that were old or experienced enough to provide us with reliable information.

In fact, you are the first person we meet who has obviously had any contact to one of those elder beings. Up to now, all we have had were rumours.”

Stephen cut him off. “To shorten this, as you very well know, I do not have any idea how to reach him myself. Our last encounter took place months ago, and I am certain by now that he objects to ever seeing me again. I do not believe he wishes to talk to you either. And before you ask,” he reacted to the look on his opponent’s face, “I doubt I have heard more than fifty words out of his mouth in my whole life. I have no information for you whatsoever.

Now I am going home. Good day to you.”

Stephen was not held back when he left the restaurant.

If anybody had asked for a rational explanation why he had ended the meeting so rashly, Stephen wouldn’t have been able to give one. He had… yes, what had that been in him? It had felt like panic. Something in him had been stirred. Stephen had not wanted to talk about Ayve. He had not wished to remember him. Of course, he did that all the time, but talking about him would have given his memories new life. He had not wanted that. Moreover, he had not been interested in being caught stammering in case he was asked about the nature of his relationship with Ayve.


However, two days later he literally ran into that man again. This time, the agent was accompanied. The second man was at least seventy. Stephen did not understand what their purpose in following him was. He had nothing to say.

Nonetheless, he accepted their invitation again. On the one hand, it was smarter to play along than to heighten their interest by repelling them and on the other hand, he might be able to gain information himself. In the end, there had been hints that they had at least interviewed some of Ayve’s… “kinsmen” and therefore they surely knew more about this whole affair than Stephen did. He was curious. He wanted to know what kind of person he had dealt with, no matter if he saw Ayve again or not. With a little tactical finesse, he might be able to feint he had some information they would find useful and would only hand that over in return for answers to his questions. He had regretted overreacting when he was approached by this Secret Service guy first time. This was the second chance he had hoped for.

They settled down in a nice café this time in the early afternoon. It was a relatively hot summer, and the old man pulled a handkerchief out of the front pocket of his grey suit to wipe the sweat off his forehead, before he ordered something cool to drink. The man Stephen had met before was the spokesman.

“Mr. Donaghy, our last meeting was a little short, and although you said you had no information, we would still like to pose a few questions. You see, you might be convinced you know nothing, but sometimes even small details that you do not value might be of importance to us.”

“I see,” Stephen replied. “I have to admit, I was short with you last time, but you must understand: I do not run across Secret Service agents every day. I didn’t know how to handle the situation.”

“Of course we understand that,” the spokesman answered. “That’s why we have waited a few days, so you could become accustomed to this situation.”

Their drinks were served. The old man watched Stephen closely.

“You will understand that the government wants to make sure it can guarantee perfect protection to its people,” the spokesman started to explain his motives after the waitress had gone. “We control all the information about who is living in the country, who visits it. Everyone who stays in the country is bound to the law. Disquietingly, the mentioned subjects fall through the cracks, so to speak. They represent a security lack. Moreover, we are not yet able to ascertain of how many people we are talking about here that do not have any passport or citizenship. Most of these beings that we can locate are still very young and stick to the identity they were born with. They live like humans, go to work, vote even – only that they are not mortal. We register them and ask them to inform us about any changes in their lives. They do not trouble us – at the moment.”

The spokesman took a deep breath and gave Stephen a look that was supposed to say: the following is important.

“What worries us is the unknown number of elder beings that are not bound by the rules of any state. We know absolutely nothing about their values, their powers, their intentions. Do they respect the present order of our state? Do they abide to the law? We urgently need to get hold of this information.” He looked at Stephen intently.

Stephen was impressed. He hadn’t thought about this on such scales. However, this was not the time to sit and wonder.

“So what are they? You only speak of them as ‘beings’ but surely you have a clearer conception of them?” he pushed the information-button.

His opponent sighed and leaned back. “Frankly, we have not. We learned about their existence through a series of coincidences. They do not exactly hide information about themselves, it seems they have no agreement about this, but apparently the elders are less willing to be investigated. All we have is rumours. Stories the young ones pass on to each other. They speak of the elders being able to read minds – a skill many of the young ones already share – to fly, to manipulate people’s thoughts and actions, to know what’s going on at the other end of the world or even to transform their bodies. It all sounds very much as if it was inspired by fiction novels. Then again, these people are immortal. We have ascertained that.”

Stephen didn’t want to know how.

“Interestingly, a thing every person interrogated had in common was a near-death experience. Every single one of them had either had a severe illness, a bad accident or in some cases had even been the victim of a crime with grievous bodily harm. We assume there is a connexion between their changing from one form of existence, the usual human life, to this new. What seems certain to us is that all interrogated subjects have been born into a seemingly normal, mortal human family. In other words, ‘race’, as I tend to call this phenomenon, is actually the wrong word. They are more like some sort of mutation or something. But I am no scientist.”

Stephen had no idea what to make of this information. It was vague and did not give him the knowledge about Ayve that he was striving for. Yet, what had he expected to hear?

The old man leaned forward. “M. Donaghy, I think it is time now for you to give us a few answers.” His voice was determined. “And I have a question that stirs me very much - how come there are parts in your mind that I cannot enter?”

Stephen gave him a puzzled look.

“Oh, you understood me, I’m sure. I am one of the few human beings that can read thoughts. Not as good as I can read a book but I am capable of seeing images. Pictures that might hint at something of use to us. Surprisingly however, there are parts in your mind that are disguised very skilfully. I feel that there is a certain amount of information but I cannot see it. Am I right to act on the assumption that you yourself do not have the ability of hiding your thoughts?”

Stephen was shocked. “I have no idea what you are talking about!” he replied alarmed.

“I thought so,” the old man stated. “I think you are shielded by an external source.”

Stephen was close to panic. Had the old man just told him that somebody was manipulating his mind?

He jumped up. “In that case, I consider it to be dangerous to give you any information whatsoever.” He left without another word.

The old man turned to his colleague: “He really didn’t know.” He stroked his chin. “This is alarming.”


Stephen raced home. It was a stupid impulse. Of course he wasn’t safer there than anywhere else, but home at least felt a little safer. He called him silently, in his head. Ayve? Ayve! Of course, there was no answer. How absurd was this?

A different idea entered his mind. What if that had been a test? What if the old man had played some kind of trick on him? But what purpose would that serve? Did they regard his panic as proof that he knew Ayve had such powers?

*

He calmed down during the next days. After all, that was part of his profession. As a snooker-player he had to have nerves made of steel. More than once he had had to eliminate a several frames gap to win a match. He was known for his mental strength. So, now he used this ability to solve other problems.

Not that it didn’t freak him out to think somebody was messing around with his mind, but there was nothing he could do about it. He could only hope shielding his thoughts was all this person did and that the person was Ayve.

Stephen really looked forward to the trip to China he and Paul had planned for promotional purposes. China had yet to become enthused for snooker. They didn’t take the whole thing too seriously. It was a trip for fun as Paul would be busy changing diapers for a while after.

Meanwhile, Melissa and he spent his free afternoons in a nearby park, lying in the grass and watching the dragonflies buzzing from one water lily to the other.


Then, just a week before he was to travel to China, Stephen come home from a late practice session, carrying his queue and found the two gentlemen from the Secret Service waiting for him, a corner away from his apartment.

He saw them from afar and knew that they saw him. Nonetheless, he crossed the road to signal them that he did not intend to talk to them. They took no notice. They awaited him at the door. Stephen bet they had observed him since their last meeting. That’s how easy it was to make a successful man like him feel small and powerless.

He stopped a few metres away from them, arms folded, waiting for them to speak.

“Mr. Donaghy, we are aware of your resentment but we need to talk to you about this certain person you had contact with.” The old man spoke this time.

Stephen took a few steps towards them so he did not have to talk loud. He was not going to let them into his apartment. He hoped they hadn’t entered and searched it already without his permission.

“Sir, I told you I had nothing to say. And even if I had, I wouldn’t. I don’t know whether you played games last time or meant what you said but in any case my mouth will stay shut.”

“This is not our foremost concern, Mr. Donaghy,” the old man countered. “We only wished to warn you. Since you strove to find this ‘Ayve’ we wished to warn you that any dealings with this being are potentially dangerous. We have information out of several autonomous sources that this being is indeed literally speaking a killer.”

Stephen smirked. He did not believe any word out of this mouth.

“There are reports of several incidents on which he has killed specimens of his own… ‘kind’.”

“I wouldn’t know what that would have to do with me,” Stephen retorted cynically. He passed the two men and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

“He is also known to have a marked preference for violent sex with males, Mr. Donaghy.”

Stephen tried not to show any reaction when he unlocked the door, although his blood ran cold.

“I hope you know what you are doing, sir. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Stephen turned. He felt as if somebody had touched him right on his private parts without permission. He had to put this to an end. “I have no clue, what kind of perverted game you are playing here but stay away from me, sir.” He entered the house and shut the door behind him.

***