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The first thing that Eli saw when he woke up was a white ceiling. For a moment, he thought that he was back in his cell in EON. But then he remembered.
Removing the tracking devices from his flesh with a broken pen.
Working together with Victor to kill Marcela.
His collar, disintegrating.
Dr. Haverty.
Victor Vale.
Sydney Clarke, with a gun.
And then nothing.
…Was he dead?
Eli sat down. He was on a bed, in a small room, without windows. A brown table stood in the corner of the room, next to a small bookshelf. Above the bed hung a few posters. The same ones that used to hang in his room at his aunt’s and uncle’s house.
Because it was something so normal, so expected, so logical, it took Eli a moment to notice that there was no door.
Where was he?
Was this some sort of waiting room, before God would decide if he should go to Hell, Heaven or Purgatory? But why would that be needed? After all, God was perfect. But what else could it be?
Eli stood up and walked towards the table. A little radio stood on top of it. He turned it on. “Silent Night” began to play. He pressed skip.
“You Want It Darker”
Skip.
“Jasmine & Rose”
Skip.
A song that Eli once heard at a bar, loved, and then spent weeks trying to find the name of on Google before finally giving up.
Skip.
Eli turned off the radio, as yet another one of his favourite songs began to play. Next to the radio, there stood a bright red apple. It was so perfect, that it looked fake. Why was it here? Was it some kind of test? Or just a symbol?
Eli noticed that the table had three drawers. He opened the top one. A knife and a gun laid in it. Eli picked up the gun. It was the same one that he had used to shoot Victor Vale fifteen years ago. Eli didn’t know how he knew that. He just did.
In the second, there laid a pen and a book. Eli picked the book up. It looked like one of those old books, brown and thick.
There was something written in golden letters on the cover.
His name.
Eli Ever.
Not the name that his father had given him, the name that he’d been baptised with, the name that Stell had used to address him. No, on the cover was the name that he had given himself, when he was young, dumb, and thought that he could change the world. In some way, he had.
Eli opened the book somewhere in the middle. The pages were empty. He flipped through it. All of the pages were empty. What was he supposed to do with it? Write down his sins? His message to God? Use it like a diary? For now, he put it back and tried to open the lowest drawer, which turned out to be locked.
He turned towards the bookshelf. He saw his biology textbook from college. And the Bible. And some romance novel that one of his girlfriends forced him too read, and that he secretly really enjoyed. He recognised all of the books on the shelf and he remembered that he enjoyed reading them, too.
On the lowest shelf, photo albums stood lined up. Eli opened one of them. It was full of pictures from college. On most of them were he and Victor, laughing. Angie was one some, too. The pictures all had perfect lighting and looked natural, but weren’t blurred. Eli never remembered seeing any of them before, although he remembered the moments that were captured on them.
He opened the second album. The first photo was one of him as a child, sitting next to his father’s dead body. He closed it.
Eli spend the next few (days? Weeks? He didn’t know) listening to music, reading books that he had already read before and looking through pictures. And thinking, of course. He thought about the future and present. What would happen next? Where was he? Why was he here? What was he supposed to do with the book? What was in the locked drawer? How much time had passed since his death?
But he also thought about the past. What would have happend if Victor never suggested that they moved his thesis towards practice? If they stopped after Victor’s failed attempt? If Eli didn’t come back wrong? If Victor didn’t kill Angie? If Eli didn’t call the police? Would they still be friends? Would Eli still be alive? Who knows.
Eli also waited. Although he wasn’t sure on what.
-
Eli was laying on his back on the bed, looking at the ceiling and thinking about how there was no lamp, while “Love Like Blood” was playing on the radio. Just as his favourite lyrics (“Love and hate fight with burning hearts / ‘Til legends live and man is god again”) were playing, Eli heard a voice.
“So you still listen to the music that I recommended to you?”
Eli jumped up and looked around. Next to the bookshelf stood Victor. He looked the way he had back in college, back when he still was healthy and young. He was wearing - of course - black clothes and his blond hair was combed to the back. He looked a bit blurry and see through. A hallucination. A ghost.
“Victor” Eli said through gritted teeth. His enemy smiled.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Heaven? Your whole life you have been talking bullshit about god and how you’re fulfilling his will, and look at you now. Stuck in some empty room. Where is your reward for devoting your life to Him? For killing fifty people because ‘He would’ve wanted that’?”
Eli picked up the books that he’d been reading before (Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein”) and threw it at Victor, who didn’t even flinch as the book flew through him.
“I didn’t serve him because I expected a reward! I did it because I love him! Because he gave me a mission!” Eli shouted, trying to convince more himself then the ghost of his enemy.
Victor only laughed, throwing his head back.
Eli took the gun out of the drawer and shot at Victor. You could hear a loud “bang”, but nothing happend. Victor was still laughing and there wasn’t any hole or scratch in the wall. Eli knew that that would happen, of course. He had tried to ruin the room many times. He had tried to slice his wrists and shoot himself. But as when he was alive the wounds would immediately heal, leaving Eli standing in a pool of his own blood, now nothing happend. The knife bounced off of his skin, as if he was made out of rubber.
And even if the weapon had worked, Victor was still only a hallucination.
Despite his reaction when the ghost appeared, Eli was glad that Victor was here. Being able to shout at someone, hearing someone’s voice, made him feel more sane (Which is quite ironic, since hallucinating usually isn’t a sign of sanity). Even when he was at EON, Stell or one of the guards sometimes talked to him. And back then, Eli had hope. He knew that one day, he’d escape. While with the day he was getting less sure if there really was a way out of here.
Sometimes, he even cried.
He watched, surprised, as the tears fell down on the white bedsheets and immediately disappeared. He didn’t expect there to be tears, because all his other body functions such as eating or feeling pain didn’t work. His body was just an empty vessel for his soul.
Ghost Victor didn’t say anything, as Eli wept into his pillow. He only stood there, in the corner. Sometimes he disappeared. Eli always waited for him to come back, scared that he wouldn’t. Which was dumb because he was just Eli’s imagination, but Eli was so, so lost and so, so lonely.
Despite spending most of his life alone, Eli had never felt so lonely before. Probably because he had always had God. He could feel His presence when praying and felt an inner calmness and a hand on his shoulder when he killed another EO. But now there was nothing. Eli had tried to pray countless times, but he didn’t feel as if anyone was listening, he just felt as an idiot who was talking to the wall. Was this how nonbelievers felt while praying?
Despite that, Eli knew that God hadn’t left him. He was only testing Eli. He thought that Eli should spend some time alone. Yes, there was a purpose to all of this. Everything that He did had a purpose.
-
Eli was sitting on the table and reading his math textbook from 12th grade (which was proof of how dreadfully bored he was) when he heard a loud thud. He turned around and saw a man sitting on his bed. Victor. But this Victor wasn’t the same as the ghost one. He looked sickish and older. His hair was messy and thin. He was also wearing black clothes, though.
“Where the fuck am I!?” Victor stood up abruptly and looked around.
“Eli!?” He opened his eyes even wider, when he saw his dead enemy.
Eli just stared at him, not knowing what to do. Why did Victor suddenly look like this? Is this how he looks in the real world right now? Or was this- no, it couldn’t be. But why had this happend? Why was Victor acting surprised? Maybe it really was- but how could that have been possible!?
“What the hell!” Victor walked towards Eli, who was still not moving. He punched Eli in the face. Eli finally awakened from his trance. The punch didn’t hurt him, but he still felt it. He punched Victor in the jaw. They began to fight, fight as they had never before, with only their bare hands and bodies, that refused to bruise. Soon they were on the floor, tearing and punching and scratching at each other like a pair of angry cats. The chair had fallen and books were laying on the ground.
There was no other way for their meeting to go. No matter how much they wanted to talk, how confused they were, their emotions were stronger. Their hate. Their longing. As Eli tugged at Victors blond hair, their faces only a few inches apart, he felt truly happy. This was nice. This was familiar. This was what he was designed for. Only with his hands around Victor’s neck, did he feel as if he knew what he was doing, knew who he was. Only catching Victor’s arm before he could punch him made Eli’s stomach flutter from excitement.
Until just as suddenly as he had appeared, Victor was gone. Eli was laying on the ground, his clothes and hair untidy, and holding onto nothing. He stayed in that position for a few minutes, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
The one thing that Eli wasn’t lacking, was time. He spend hours and hours thinking about the visit. He wrote down a list of facts in his 12th grade maths textbook.
1. Victor Vale, the real one, had visited him.
2. Victor was also made out of “rubber” during the visit.
3. He disappeared after around 10 minutes.
He followed the list up by one of his assumptions and theories.
1. Victor just died, and got accidentally placed in the wrong room.
2. Victor died, but got put in my room for another reason.
3. Victor had a near death experience, and got put here for some reason.
4. It wasn’t the real Victor.
Eli crossed option 4 out. He knew that it was the real Victor. The way he moved, his expressions, his fighting skills, the way he looked at Eli. There was no way that this was a mere fake.
-
Before Eli could deduct what had happend, Victor appeared again. This time he didn’t seem confused at all, as he smirked and looked at Eli.
“Well, nice to see you again.”
“Victor…” Eli groaned, not sure what to say. Victor was sitting on his bed again, with one leg on top of the other, his back straight, while Eli was standing next to the bookshelf.
Eli wanted to throw himself at Victor again, but he held back. He really wanted to know what was going on, and Victor seemed to know.
Not sure how to ask, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
“Are you dead?”
“Well… that’s complicated…”
“The fuck does that mean!?” Eli didn’t feel like playing along with Victor’s stupid games today.
“And why would I tell you?”
“Oh my fucking God!” Eli threw his hands in the air, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “Are we really gonna do this?”
Victor laughed. “Shall we fight again, then?”
“I think that we can agree that that wouldn’t really benefit either us. Just answer my fucking questions, and I’ll answer yours, cause I’m sure that you also have some.”
“Well, okay”
Victor explained how since Sydney had brought him back, he sometimes died for a few minutes, and then came back to life again. He told Eli about how pills he took from dr. Haverty had helped to stop it for some years, but he had ran out of them.
He told Eli that 5 years had passed since Eli’s death, and that he had killed Stell. Then it was Eli’s turn to talk. He explained everything that he knew about this place and told Victor about his theories about it.
It felt weird, the two of them talking like that. Eli realised that the last time they had a normal, civil conversation was back in college. He had missed Victor’s snide remarks and sarcastic jokes. And his voice. And the way he looked at Eli. And, well, he probably just missed the company of another person.
Before Eli was done with talking, Victor disappeared. This time Eli was expecting it, and as soon as his enemy disappeared he sighted loudly and stretched. What now? Will he come back? He will. Of course he will.
-
Victor’s ghost didn’t keep Eli company anymore. It wasn’t necessary, as Eli was waiting for the real one. Victor had told him that usually about a month passed between his deaths, although that didn’t mean anything to Eli, since time didn’t work here the same way as in the real world. And even if it did, Eli had no way of knowing when hours or even days passed.
Eli spend a long time thinking about what he’ll do when he sees Victor again. Now that he had his answers, should they fight again? He really missed fighting with Victor. But he missed talking to him, too. Even back when he still had other people to talk with, it was never the same as talking to Victor. Nobody was as smart, funny and sarcastic as Victor. Nobody could come up with as interesting ideas, could say as unexpected things. Nobody knew Eli as well as Victor. The two of them were like the opposite sides of one coin, like night and day, like good and evil. Although, those metaphors probably weren’t very good. Not only wasn’t Eli ‘good’ (even he could admit that by now) those examples were just too simple, too straightforward. There was nothing simple or easy about the two of them. That’s what made it so good, whatever they had. So no, Eli wouldn’t compare them to anything, as they were just Eli Ever and Victor Vale. Though ‘just’ shouldn’t be a word ever used to describe them.
So, the next time Victor ‘visited’ they fought. Tearing, punching, scratching, biting at each other, despite knowing that the ground and their clothes would be clean of blood, that their skin would look just as smooth, that neither of them would feel anything more than a slight discomfort. But it wasn’t useless. They both were used to not being able to fully damage the other, either because they healed or didn’t feel pain. But even this way, Eli could feel Victor’s heavy breath next to his ear, could feel his hands all over his body, could get as close to Victor as possible. Could touch his arms and torso and hair. Could try to hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt him, until it would be enough, until the fire in his chest would die, despite knowing that it wasn’t going to happen. He felt Victor’s eyes on him, filled with the same sensation and hate that he felt. They truly understood each other. This was as close as they could be to becoming one, with their bodies interwoven in a grip of hate, and passion, so, so, so much passion.
Then Victor was gone. It could have lasted for only a few minutes. Or maybe they had been fighting for hours. Eli didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Either way, it wasn’t enough. Either way, it was too much.
Eli’s heart was beating so fast, that if he had been mortal he might have thought that he was having a heart attack. He had totally forgotten that he still had a heart beat.
Wow. That was… wow.
-
After those visits followed many others, in which Eli and Victor fought and talked. Sometimes they ignored each other. Sometimes they just stared.
It must have been around eight visits since the first one, when Eli was sitting by the table, looking at the empty book with his name on the cover, “Together Alone” quietly playing in the background.
“What is this?” Victor, who had just appeared, asked, leaning over Eli’s shoulder.
“Empty book. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it”
“Can I see?” Victor asked, already picking up the book. He examined it from all angle’s, his eyebrows furrowed as he was thinking. It felt as if they were in college again, and Eli had asked Victor for help with a difficult question. (Which didn’t happen often, since there weren’t many questions that either of them would have a problem with).
“I think that you should write down your life story in it” Victor said, finally giving the book back to Eli.
“Yeah, but what if that’s wrong? What if I’ll ruin my only chance at doing this right?”
“You still believe in that God stuff?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Then do you think, that after all this time, He would abandon you simply because you guessed wrongly what some stupid book is for? If whatever you write is wrong it’ll probably just disappear. Or you’ll get a new one. Or maybe you’re the one who has to decide what it’s good for, maybe no answer is wrong”.
“Right…” Eli stared at Victor, his eyes wide open. Whatever he expected his enemy to say, it definitely wasn’t this. “That was surprisingly… helpful”
“Oh…” Victor looked at his hands, seemingly as confused by what he had said as Eli.
Eli turned his eyes towards the book in front of him, and he heard the bed crack as Victor sat down on it. They were quiet for some time, both lost in their thoughts. When Eli finally turned to look at Victor again, the blond man was already gone.
-
Eli didn’t remember why the fight had started. One of them had probably said something dumb again. Or maybe there wasn’t even a specific reason. Either way, they were fighting again, when it happend.
In one moment, their faces where only a few inches apart, as Victor pinned Eli to the ground. And then, somehow, their lips collided, teeth jamming against each other. Eli was so surprised that he didn’t move at all for a few seconds, forgetting his surroundings. He felt as if he was out of his body, floating in the air, and the only part of him that pulled him down to earth, that was still alive, were his lips, pressed against Victor’s.
The kiss - if one could even call it a kiss, their lips were barely touching - continued for way longer than either of them would have allowed, if they were in their right mind, that is.
And then Victor pressed harder. Eli loudly breathed in through his nose and then opened his mouth. Victor took advantage of it immediately and pushed his tongue inside Eli’s mouth.
And then they were really kissing. Mouth against mouth. Tongue against tongue. Skin against skin. Victor pulled at Eli’s locks, while Eli’s hands traveled all over Victor’s back, his nails trying to tear his rubber-like skin open. They were gasping for air, pressing their bodies as close as possible together. Yet it (whatever they were doing) wasn’t really “sexual”, it couldn’t be described as being a product of mere arousal. It was a mixture of want and hate. Of passion and violence. Though, were those two really all that different?
As soon as the first shock had passed, Eli wasn’t surprised or repulsed by what they were doing. “This was bound to happen. Of course it was” he kept thinking, more surprised by the fact that it hadn’t happend any sooner than that he was currently making out with his sworn enemy.
Then Victor was gone. Eli was left alone again, laying on the ground, like he had so many times before. Yet this time it was different. He stayed on the ground for an embarrassingly long time, lips red and swollen from the kiss and hair and clothes untidy. He kept playing what just had happend over and over in his head, still feeling a shadow of Victor’s lips on his, of Victor’s skin under his fingers.
He didn’t know what this meant for them. What they were. What they felt. His emotions surrounding Victor had always been complicated. They couldn’t be labeled as “hate”, “like”, “envy” or any other simple emotions, that children learned about in school. No, Eli had learned, that instead of feeling many of those emotions, or a mixture of them, he only felt one. One that was confusing and always changing. One that was so diverse, that was just so much that he would be okay of it was the only thing he’d ever feel.
And after all, they were in a place separated from time, the earth and other people. In this world only the two of them existed. There was no need for such human stuff as definitions and labels. They were the gods inside of their own prison.
So, it happend again. And again. And again. Sometimes the kiss would be harsh, teeth and tongues pressing against each other in the middle of a fight. Sometimes it was gentle, like a break from their usual interactions. Most of the times it happend during fights (both physical and not) but sometimes Eli would bend over and give Victor a quick peck on the cheek mid-conversation, or Victor would play with Eli’s fingers, while looking through a photo album. Sometimes they lied next to each other on the bed, listing to music (of course Victor always had something sarcastic to say about Eli’s favourite songs), their fingers interwoven.
It felt as if Eli’s existence was split between the times when he was with Victor and when he was alone. He found himself longing for Victor’s company at all times. Being alone was like a rehearsal, while being together was like the grand show.
Eli had started writing in the book, just as Victor had suggested. He wrote both the events of his life and the thoughts he had, the feeling he felt, back when he was alive, and now. As the amount of empty pages became smaller and smaller, he wondered what would happen once he filled the book.
With each one of Victor’s visits, he could see that he got older. Eli didn’t dare to ask him how much years had passed since the first visit. Time scared him. It was too bizarre, too unknown, too dangerous. Every time Victor left, he feared that he wouldn’t come back. That he would be stuck here for eternity while fuck knows what happend to Victor. He felt as if he was going crazy. When he voiced this thought to Victor, the blond man only chuckled.
“Oh, but you have already always been crazy. We both have” he said. Eli couldn’t argue with that.
-
At some point, everything started blurring together. Eli wasn’t sure who said what, where his body ended and Victor’s began. He lied on the bed. The ceiling was blurry. He was in college. He was in his childhood home. He was at the EON. He was 12. He was 21. He was 87. He was in love. He saw something black on the ceiling. Could it be moving? Was it a fly? A fly! How wonderful! Then there was a hand, stroking his head. Was it God? Victor? That seemed to be the only name he still remembered. VictorVictorVictor. When he repeated it many times, the word seemed to lose it’s meaning, and he realised that it was nothing more than a sound coming out of his mouth. But was it really a sound? Was it louder then his thoughts? Who decided that? Black ink stains on his sheets. Dark red, contrasting with the white bath. His heart, still beating, held by a gloved hand in front of his face.
Eli still wrote. Maybe. Somehow. One day, when the last ink drop fell on to the last page, and the brown haired boy closed the book for the last time, it disappeared. The posters on the wall followed. And the books on the shelfs. Then the radio, the chair, and shelf itself, until he was left floating in an empty space. Eli looked up, an nowadays always present empty look in his eyes. What would happen now? Would he simply cease to exist? Would the book be the only trace left behind of him? He didn’t ask any of those questions, as he couldn’t ask anymore. As he looked at his hands, that where slowly disintegrating he thought that it was nice, that he got to disappear. That it was the end. That all in all, it was a good ride. The last thing that he saw was the face of a man, about twenty, his blond hair combed to the back, a self satisfied smirk on his face and icy blue eyes that seemed to look straight through Eli. It was a beautiful sight. Eli couldn’t have asked for a better last sight. And just like that, he was gone.
And maybe it was good, that it all ended this way. Maybe human souls aren’t able to handle feeling that much, going through that much. Maybe they have a due date. Maybe “everything” isn’t good for you. Maybe rather than leading an miserable, immortal life, it’s better to experience love, hate, pain and happiness in the short time that we’re originally given. To die a peaceful death and stay only a memory, for people - who just like us - will soon die. Until the only one who can remember us is God (whatever god even is), until he can read about our lives, as if it’s a novel, and think “yeah, that was a beautiful story.”