It had been ten years since the last time Mark saw her, but all that fell away in an instant. The random motions of the crowd had, just for a moment, left them in perfect view of each other, and to Mark, that moment felt like ten years of ice water rushing into his veins. Her hair, that perfect platinum blonde so close to white that it seemed to gleam. The ice-blue eyes...he actually flinched when she looked at him, like she'd cut into him with a whip. Skin as pale as alabaster, paler than her white leather outfit even in the middle of summer in DC. And that smile. That smile was the worst part of it all. She didn't have it at first, but when she saw him, when she recognized him, the sides of her mouth curled up in just the faintest smile of triumph. He heard the cracking of thick glass, the voice--you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead--remembered the smell of rain and blood. It was all he could do not to wet himself. He knew for a fact he'd never be able to run if she came for him.
Then the bustle of the crowd swallowed her up as if she'd never been there at all, and he felt motion returning to his limbs. But he knew now. She wasn't dead. Mistress Eva. Oh, god. He pulled out his cell phone as he started walking as fast as he could away from the spot where he'd seen her. It only took a moment to dial his home number, but every ring seemed to take forever. He kept expecting to feel a hand on his shoulder, hear that soft voice saying, "Broken to My will..." Ten years, and it felt like it could have been ten seconds.
Finally, Erica picked up. "What is it, honey?" she asked with a trace of amusement in her voice. "Not going to be late, are you? Because if you miss--"
"She's alive, Erica." He was talking too loud, too fast, but he didn't care who heard. "I saw her. She--" you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead-- "You were wrong. I saw her and she saw me. Lock the doors, Erica. Lock them and..." Oh, god, she'd have my keys if she gets to me, she'd be able to get right inside the house... "Lock them and hide in the bedroom. Shove something in front of the door. Something heavy. Don't let anyone in but me, and, and even then, don't trust me. You have to be ready to hurt me if I try to hurt you. Promise me, Erica. Promise me you'll stop me if I try to hurt you."
Erica didn't sound frightened on the other end of the line, and that frightened Mark even more. "Honey, calm down. It couldn't have been...Eva. Even if you're right, and I didn't--" --you can fight it now, you bastard, i think she's dead-- "Even if she's alive, that was ten years ago, and thousands of miles away. She wouldn't come here stalking us, not in the middle of Washington. If she was going to do that, she'd have done it years ago. You must have been mistaken."
He was out of the crowd now, heading for his car. He swung his head wildly around, almost tripping over his own feet as he tried to keep a complete lookout, but he didn't see any sign of her. "Do you really think I could forget her? Five days, Erica. If you'd been there, you'd never forget her either. She's alive. She saw me. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was just coincidence that made us bump into each other, maybe she'd just been waiting for me to win an election. But she's back. We both have to accept that before she finds us. Now lock the damn doors, get into the bedroom, and wait for me. I'll be home in three hours." He hung up without another word.
Ten years ago, and it felt like it could have been ten seconds...
*****
Mark Sandhurst and Erica Sandhurst. Six days into their honeymoon on St. Vincent, and this was the first time they'd even left the hotel room. He grinned. He'd been doing a lot of grinning lately. "We should at least go out onto the beach once," she'd said. "People are going to ask a lot of questions if we come back from a tropical island and don't even have a tan."
He'd brushed her strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes and grinned roguishly. "Then maybe we'll have to tell them some answers."
She'd laughed, but they wound up heading down to the beach anyway. It was a good idea, too; he was already learning that she had great instincts. It was a good trait for a lawyer's wife. And who knows, he thought as he walked over to the bar, a good Congressman's wife as well?
The bartender gave him a faint smile of amusement as he sat down on one of the barstools, but her eyes were unreadable behind John Lennon sunglasses. She looked a bit out of place for St. Vincent's, he thought idly. It was the hair, so blonde as to be almost white. Made her look more Nordic than tropical. "Two rum and cokes," he said, pulling out a credit card.
"Certainly, sir," she said in a clear, melodic voice. "No sex on the beach for you, then?"
He looked back across the sand to where Erica lay on a beach towel, soaking up the tropical sun. For a moment, he wondered if the bartender was flirting with him. Barking up the wrong tree there, he thought. He already had the most beautiful woman on the island. "Just the rum and cokes, thanks." She nodded and got to work, and he got back to staring at his brand-new wife.
She actually had to tap him on the shoulder to give him the drinks. "There you are, sir. And congratulations on your recent marriage."
Mark gave a little start. "How'd you--?"
The bartender smiled. "You're not the first newlyweds I've seen out here. Enjoy your drinks."
Mark thanked her, left a decent tip, and took a sip of his rum and coke before starting the walk back. He literally could not remember a time when he'd been so happy. He just seemed to be floating the whole way. In fact, it felt like the world just seemed to be moving in slow motion. Everything just felt so perfect, right down to the slight breeze across his neck, and the gentle warmth of the sun, that it felt like this whole day had frozen in time, just for him. Frozen, and...
***
He didn't even remember dropping the rum and cokes, or falling over. It just felt like one moment he was on the beach, in the warmth and light, and the next, he was somewhere else. Someplace dark.
But everything still felt like it was moving in slow motion. His head felt light, like it was in danger of falling off if he moved it too fast. Everything felt muddled. He'd had clothes on when...when...it was hard to process time. Thinking felt like too much effort.
"Hello." He looked up. Everything seemed hazy, and his eyes had trouble focusing, but it looked like the woman from the beach was talking to him. She wore a leather outfit now instead of the light dress she'd worn on the beach, but she'd kept the same creamy white color. "Mark Sandhurst, recently made junior partner at the prestigious law firm of Hawthorne and Blake, and a rising star. They're saying you could be President in twenty years, Mark. I always wanted a President." She leaned down and caressed his cheek, and he shivered at the intensity of the sensation.
"Recently married, although I'll admit I haven't paid much attention to your beautiful wife's talents. I'll need to get that out of you before we're done here." She focused her eyes onto his. They were the most beautiful ice-blue. He felt like he couldn't look away. "But where are My manners, Mark? I am Mistress Eva. Your Mistress." She laughed. "And here I bet you thought you'd be a Senator before you had a mistress."
