The Wicked Garden (9 page)

Eli thought of the family crest at Belshire Castle. He thought of his grandfather, Charles Stewart, who completed their sailing trip, despite his declining health. Then he thought of Gretchel and her bruised body. He closed his eyes, and put his head in his hands.

Eli was a million miles away. “She had problems, Mother. Serious emotional scars.”

“Which begs the question of why you wanted her so badly to begin with. Did you really love this girl or was it just your mission to be her hero? It’s not your duty to clean up someone else’s mess, Eli. Take care of your own. In fact, perhaps you should be evaluating
your
intentions instead of mine.”

“Don’t you analyze me, Mother,” he snapped. “You never even tried to see if she was a descendent.”

“It would have been a waste of time. I have no reason to believe that the she was a descendant of the Solstice Twins. In fact, she fits the description of the first woman in the prophecy so perfectly that she confirms its truth, as far as I’m concerned. But forget about her, can’t you? It’s the second girl, Eli. She’s the one we’re looking for. The second woman wearing that amethyst will be a direct descendant of the twins, and she is the one who will bring you back from this self-inflicted misery.” Diana gave her son a hearty thump on the knee, as if to indicate that his problems were solved and this conversation was over.

“What makes you think the necklace is going to just appear out of nowhere on another woman?”

Diana sighed, exasperated by Eli’s dull persistence, “My theory is that your redhead probably sold it. That amethyst was one of the deepest, purest stones I’ve ever seen. It’s worth a great deal of money. It may have changed hands many times since you gave it to her. I’m sure it’s already working its way back to you. I’m also sure that the next time you see it, you will already be in love with the person wearing it, and then we’ll see the cycle of violence that began with the Solstice Twins come to an end. It’s not just a story, Eli; it’s what I was born to do. I was given a mission, and I won’t stop until it’s done.”

“A prophecy you heard during an acid trip and professional ambition. That’s why you’ve ruined my life, Mother. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

“
The drama
,” Diana cried, throwing her head back and waving him off. “Please. You’re almost forty, Eli. Grow up.”

Eli stared his mother down. “What’s it going to take for you to back off, Diana? I don’t want to hear any more about the amethyst, and I don’t want to hear any more about this alleged second woman. What do I have to do to get that?”

Diana matched her son’s basilisk glare. “Oh, just the impossible. Find that which has eluded my matchless sleuthing skills for the last twenty-five years. You find Carlin Fitzgerald’s face in a photograph, and I’ll never mention the amulet again.”

Eli knew that this task really was impossible, and, in any case, he had no intention of trying to complete it. All he really hoped for at this moment was getting through dinner without hearing about the damn prophecy again.

“Deal,” he said.

“Wonderful, darling.
Now let’s eat! I’m famished.”

∞

After a quiet birthday dinner, Eli and his mother parted ways.
For such a tiny thing, she is sure a huge pain in the ass,
Eli thought.

He was irritated. He didn’t even want to stay the night at the hotel. He wanted to jump
a plane and head back to Oregon as soon as possible. He wanted to get back into his quiet, northwestern bubble and have a good sulk.

After seeing his mother to her room, he got back in the elevator, leaned against the back wall, and took a deep breath. Then a quick shiver ran up his spine. The elevator doors were closing, when a pale white hand poked its way in. He reached out to stop the door from shutting.

“Thanks,” a girl said. She brushed past him, pressed the button for her floor, and pulled a suitcase and herself into a corner. Eli glanced up, and gasped.

The girl was tall. He was six foot five, and this girl almost stared him straight in the eye. She had thick, wavy, fiery red hair that was twisted into a bouncy ponytail. She had milk-white skin with freckles across her cheekbones, a cute little nose, and bottomless gray eyes. She was a younger version of the woman he had once loved—the woman he
still
loved.

The girl noticed him staring at her. Eli saw her bristle, and then he saw her relax. She cocked her head and gazed back inquisitively. “You seem familiar,” she said. “Have I met you before?”

“No. I don’t think so.” He tried to still the shake in his voice.

“That’s weird. You seem really familiar,” she practically whispered, looking him up and down.

He wanted to scream out that she looked familiar, too. He wanted to, but he didn’t.

“What’s your name?” he ventured.

“Ame… with an E. And you are?”

“Eli… with an I,” he replied with a grin.

She snickered. “I like your style, Eli-with-an-I. This may sound really weird, but I feel like I am supposed to be right where I am, talking to you, right this very second. Have you ever had that feeling? Like, synchronicity?”

Despite her height, Eli could tell that she was young. Young, but a precocious thing, just like someone else he used to know. He swallowed hard. “Yes. I have,” he said, barely able to get the words out.

She tapped her Ugg-covered foot, while he stared at her in awe. “Are you on Facebook?”

The weirdly quotidian nature of this question snapped Eli out of his fugue state. “No. I’m not really into the whole social-media thing.”

“Oh,” she said disappointed.

Eli nodded his head awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure how to talk to this girl. He was frazzled beyond belief, yet he felt connected to her in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just the similarity; there was something strange at work in the cosmos—or, at least, something strange at work in this elevator.

“Do you go to school at U of I?”

“No,” she said and laughed. “I’m just a junior in high school. I came up with my cousin Holly and my uncle to pick up my other cousin, who goes to school here. Brody’s on winter break, and my uncle won’t spring for a parking pass until he’s a junior. I came to check out the campus. I’m working on a volleyball scholarship."

Eli nodded, but couldn’t think of anything brilliant to say.

“Well, if you ever happen to get into the social-media thing, and should you ever happen to join Facebook, you should add me as a friend. My last name is Shea. Ame Shea. Ame with an E... it’s pronounced
Amy
, but spelled with an E,” she laughed, and the elevator stopped at her floor. “By the way, I really like your curly hair,” she said and reached her hand out to push a loose spiral out of Eli’s face. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t breathe. He
did
know her. He had felt her kick when she was still in her mother’s womb.

The elevator door began to open, and he couldn’t miss his chance to ask, although from the last name he already knew.

“Ame-with-an-E, what’s your mother’s name?”

She shot him an odd glance, and then smiled shyly. “Gretchel.”

Eli’s shock immobilized him. People were coming into the elevator, and they blocked his view. Finally he saw the red hair again. Ame looked back to the elevator and smiled. Eli could only stare speechless and frozen as she waved goodbye.

Eli was, once again, moving while standing still. But he was soaring on the inside, suddenly released from inertia’s cruel pull.

CHAPTER TEN

Oregon, 2010s

Eli woke up nervous on New Year’s Day. He had had the same dream he always had: Him holding out the loving cup to Gretchel while she struggled—and failed—to reach it. In the dream, his mother was pulling him away from Gretchel while a snake wrapped itself around his ankle, fangs bared. As recurring dreams go, this one was pretty easy to interpret, but, this morning, he sensed a new message just beneath the surface—a call for help, maybe?

For most of the past seventeen years, Eli had defended himself from despair with the numbing comforts of habit. Any variation from the routine made him a little anxious, and the subtle shift in his response to this dream was especially disconcerting. Already on edge, he decided to do something he hadn’t let himself do for days: He logged onto Facebook.

Never a fan of social media—his father had raised him to be way too paranoid to share much online—Eli had opened an account as soon as he got back to Oregon from Champaign. The first thing he did was look up Ame Shea and send her a friend request. Eli had no idea how long it was reasonable to wait for a response, but, after a few days with no reply, he decided that he was tired of feeling like a boy who had been turned down for the prom. Hence the Facebook embargo.

He drummed his fingers and cursed his shitty rural Internet connection as he waited for the site to load. His heart was racing. Eli closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Feeling slightly calmer, he squinted one eye at the screen.

Ame had accepted his friend request. Looking at her profile picture, he was blown away again by how much she resembled her mother. It was like looking at a ghost.

He skimmed her status updates, which consisted mostly of typical teenage sarcasm and drama. There was nothing about Gretchel. Then he found her photos. He flipped through several pictures of her with friends, with a guy, playing volleyball, with a white horse…. And then he came to a picture that sent a wave of exhilaration through his whole body.

It was a picture of Ame as a child: curly hair, freckles, and a sweet—if not entirely innocent—grin. She was maybe two-years-old and hugging the legs of a pregnant woman. The picture was labeled: “Mama and me (Mom prego with Zach).” He flipped to the next picture and it was two little redheaded kids, Ame and a younger boy with Gretchel crouched between them smiling her big, beautiful smile.

Eli sat back in his office chair, and choked on his own breath. How he had longed to see her face. The picture moved something inside him. He had been a broken man, but now, if only for a moment, he was healed by her image. He was whole. He could almost smell her, taste her, feel her.... The soft skin, the brilliant mind, the wild eyes, the free spirit, the saucy tongue, the fierce soul. But it was even more than that: It was like he was seeing her again for the very first time.

∞

Carbondale, 1990s

After finishing his second year of college, Eli was looking
forward to spending the summer taking photographs, playing guitar, maybe even joining the crew of a sailboat
.
It was not to be. His father asked him to spend a month or two in Carbondale, keeping an eye on his late grandmother’s home. Peter had turned it into a refuge for college students with creative talent but little in the way of resources.

“I trust these kids, Eli, but I need you to check on things. If any repairs need to be done, have them done. Make sure the tenants are taking good care of the garden. These kids dance to a different beat, and I have no intention of interfering in their lives, but maintenance is a necessary evil.”

“Why can’t you or one of your assistants do it?” Eli had no interest in wasting his summer mowing the lawn and calling plumbers.

“You need to spend some time in god’s country, son.”

“Which god would that be, Peter?” Eli asked.

“Whichever one makes you feel alive,” his father replied with a cackle.

Eli sighed. His parents rarely asked anything of him, but, when they did, it was always something weird, or difficult, or both. Like the amulet his mother gave him when he graduated from high school. He knew about her research into the Solstice Twins, but he had no idea that he was somehow involved in the prophecy his mother had been trying to unravel since before he was born. Then, all of the sudden, she gives him an amethyst necklace, tells him that he’s going to fall in love with a red-haired girl with deep scars, and instructs him to give her the amulet in her greatest time of need. Other kids got generous checks as graduation gifts. Eli got a girl’s necklace and a predetermined fate.

He had tried to argue that he had free will. His mother told him that fate and free will are not incompatible; it’s just that we don’t remember our agreements with destiny.

His father told him that determinism and freedom are the balancing energies of the universe, constantly shifting in response to the choices we make. Eli let the subject drop. He hadn’t wanted a lecture in spirituality; he just wanted to pick his own girlfriend. But he had taken the necklace then, and he was agreeing to play landlord for his father now.

Peter told Eli that there would be a car waiting at the airport for him. Then Diana got on the phone. “The usual rules apply, Eli. Keep your identity and your background secret. And stay true to yourself. Never forget how important you are.”

She sounded strange—stranger than normal, even—almost apprehensive.

“Mother, do you know something I don’t about this trip to Carbondale?”

“Your father just has a feeling. Be sure to bring the amulet.”

Peter took the phone again. “And I’ll have a package for you. Something I need for you to deliver to my buddy, Buddy.” Eli sighed again. He was still a messenger boy. Always a messenger boy.

“Dude. Welcome to our humble abode.” A tall, skinny kid with shoulder-length, dishwater-blonde hair opened the door of the large, two-story house on Pringle Street. He was half-covered in tattoos and wore baggy shorts, flip-flops, and no shirt. “Another musician. Wicked,” he said when he saw Eli’s guitar case. “I’m Will, and this is Patty.” Will leaned in and whispered into Eli’s ear, “By the way, Peppermint here’s a lesbian and she is
not
into threesomes.”

“Jesus, Will. I’m sitting right here,” said Patty. She set a joint in an ashtray, and shook Eli’s hand. “Nice to meet you...”

“Eli. My name’s Eli."

“Welcome, Eli, and congrats on getting the last room this summer. It’s been a sweet gig so far. I’ve been here three years, and I’ve never seen the owner. As the most senior resident, I’m queen of this castle and I only have two rules: Pay for your weed and honor the chronic couch.” She was a pretty girl with pale skin, long black hair, and a bit of a gothic edge.

“The chronic couch?” Eli asked.

Patty motioned to the battered, sagging floral sofa she sat on. “It’s sacred space,” she said with a not entirely ironic smile.

Will nonchalantly snatched the joint that was still burning in the ashtray.

“So help me, Jesus, I am going to beat you one of these days, Will. Quit mooching,” she snapped, as Will twisted his wiry body around to avoid a swat and motioned for Eli to follow him up the stairs.

“Want some?” he asked, trying to talk and hold in the smoke simultaneously.

Eli shook his head. “Think I’ll wait.”

“Patty’s got some good smoke.” Will opened one of three doors on the second floor. “Here’s your room. That’s the upstairs bathroom. The can’s a little touchy—just jiggle the handle until it stops running. That’s Gretchel’s room. You’re going to kill me for putting you up here with her, but you’re the last one, man, so you’re SOL.”

“Why?” Eli asked.

Will took another long drag off the joint, exhaled, and squinted his eyes. “Because she’s crazy, man. She talks to herself constantly—like, lengthy conversations, like she’s hearing voices and talking back to them. She has nightmares at least a couple times a week, and then screams half the night. You can hear her all the way downstairs. I’ve got to keep a fan and a noise machine going just to get a decent night’s sleep.” Will paused for a moment of reflection. “‘Course the weed helps.”

“Of course,” Eli said dryly, dropping his possessions on the bed.

“It’s a damn shame too, because most of the time she’s cool as hell. She’s an amazing artist. And gorgeous—rockin’ bod, legs that don’t quit…. Oh, and she’s like a Gremlin dude—do
not
give her booze. When she’s drunk the bat-shit level increases dramatically.”

“Got it. A noise machine, weed, and no booze for Gizmo.”

“Attaboy. Come on, dude, I’ll show you Pan’s garden and let you meet the wild woman—at your own risk, of course.”

“Of course.”

As they made their way to the garden, Will continued to give Eli a tour of the house. He had no way to know that Eli was familiar with every corner and cabinet. Seeing his grandmother’s house filled with strangers made Eli miss her terribly, but he couldn’t hold back a grin when he saw the statue of Pan that had watched over the garden since before Eli was born. Penelope had been a religion professor, and Greek mythology was one of her great passions. The other was her garden, which Eli was pleased to see was still flourishing despite her absence. Her prized roses were particularly lush.

“This is where we get a lot of our food,” Will said as he gestured toward the neat rows of vegetables and herbs that took up most of the backyard. “It’s hard work, but it’s worth it. All three of us are paying our own way through school, so this place has been, like, a lifesaver, man. Gretchel claims to be an expert at canning. She’s just a sophomore, so she has to go back to the dorms in August, but she said she’ll come back and help with the fall harvest. We’ll see.”

They followed a narrow stone path leading back to the greenhouse. Will hesitated before they went in. “Now, don’t get sucked in by her looks, ‘cause when she starts screaming tonight, you’ll feel like strangling her.”

“She shot you down, didn’t she?” Eli asked.

“Took an arrow to the chest first day she was here,” Will concurred. “She said I was too tame for her wild heart. Can you believe that shit? Me, too tame?” Will shook his head. “Of course she’s probably right, freaking nutcase.”

“Of course.”

When he opened the door to the greenhouse, Eli saw Gretchel bent over a sink. She was barefoot, wearing faded, old Levis that were ragged at the bottom with a Grateful Dead patch on the butt saying
We Will Survive
. Her shoulders and forearms were covered in a field of freckles. She wore a gray tank top and no bra, which revealed every detail of her full chest. Her dark red hair was pulled up in a messy pile on her head. She was extremely tall and toned, and the most beautiful thing Eli had ever seen.

“Hey, Red. This is the new roomie, Eli,” Will called.

Gretchel wiped wet hands on her jeans. When her eyes met Eli’s she gasped. Eli understood. It was like lightning had struck between them.

None of this was lost on Will. “Why did I bother?” he asked himself as he relit the joint and walked out of the greenhouse.

It seemed like an eternity before Eli could speak, but he forced himself to make words. “I’m Eli, but I guess you know that already,” he said, feeling completely tongue-tied.

“Gretchel,” she said, holding out her hand, “but I guess
you
know
that
.” Their hands were caught in a time warp. After a moment, her fingers loosened and slid along his palm as she let go.

They left the greenhouse, and he took a seat next to her under a big oak tree.

              “What are you going to school for, Eli?”              

             
“Photography,” he smiled.

She smiled back at him, showing a perfect set of white teeth. “You have my stamp of approval, which I’m sure you’ve been waiting on,” she laughed. “I’m an art student, currently having a love affair with botanicals. How do you feel about getting your hands dirty, Eli?”

“I’m really good at getting my hands dirty.”
Doofus!
Eli thought to himself. But Gretchel just grinned.

“Good. This is Pan’s garden and we mustn’t anger him, lest he slip into our rooms in the dead of night and ravage us silly. He won’t hesitate to take a man in bed, Eli. Just warning you. Though he took me once as a young girl, and I rather enjoyed it,” she smiled and tapped an index finger to her lip. “On second thought, maybe I
shall
anger him.”

Eli laughed and shook his curly mane. He liked this girl’s style. “I’ve tended gardens all my life. I think I can appease the great god Pan.”

Gretchel took his hands in hers and looked them over. “Yes. I can see that these hands have played in the dirt quite a bit. This is good. We all need to get our hands dirty to stay connected to the Green Man and the Mother."

“The Mother? As in Gaia?”

“Yes, but not just Gaia. I think there are lots of mothers or goddesses that go by different names, but they’re all just a manifestation of the same Great Wild Mother—the feminine energy of the universe. Maybe the goddesses we know are like her children, an extension of herself. And we’re her children, too: creative energy birthed from the womb of the Goddess and shaped into carbon-based matter. I was raised to see the Mother as a whole, but also as a triple entity—the maiden and crone emanate from the Mother as the source of all life.