“You're upset. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have stopped by.” Orrin turned to leave, his face a little flushed and his hair and shirt clinging to him from the deluge outside. He was holding a bedraggled bunch of flowers in one hand. He turned quickly back, passing the bouquet to a stunned Ivy. “I almost forgot, these are for you. And this.” He pulled Ivy's music player from his pocket. The earphones were wrapped around it in a neat bundle. Orrin placed it in Ivy's free hand, leaving her skin tingling as he stepped back. “You left it on the grass and then I ran into Jayne in the car park as I was leaving. She said it was your birthday today. She gave me your address, sort of insisted actually- didn't think you'd mind. But I can see that you do, so I'll just, I’ll go. I'm so sorry to-”
“No!” she spluttered. “Sorry, Orrin please stay a minute, you’re drenched.”
“It’s lashing out there,” Orrin shrugged.
“Come in,” Ivy said. “Really, I don't mind, you caught me by surprise that's all.”
“I keep doing that, don't I?”
“It does seem to be your thing.” Ivy stepped back, turning the slim case of the music player over in her hand and Orrin followed her into the lounge room. Ivy looked at her books spilling from the coffee table and photocopied notes strewn on the floor as if she was seeing them for the first time. “Sorry it’s so messy-”
“It’s nothing to the mess I’m making on your carpet,” Orrin said, apologetically. It was true. Water was dripping from his shirt to the floor and his shoes had left mud puddles beneath him. He sneezed violently.
“You’re freezing,” Ivy realised. “Let me grab you a towel.” She disappeared up the hallway for a moment depositing the soaked flowers on the kitchen bench, and then returned with a towel, almost tripping through the doorway in surprise.
Orrin’s wet shirt was already draped over her old oil-heater, leaving him in an undershirt that clung a little too perfectly to his chest. His muddy shoes were neatly beside the front door. He seemed entirely at ease with his state of undress and if he noticed Ivy’s flushed cheeks and slightly manic grin, he didn’t mention it.
Instead, Orrin turned to her incredulously as she passed him the towel. “Are those human skulls?”
Ivy smiled self-consciously and followed his gaze back to the overflowing bookcase against the wall. Twelve macabre looking skulls peered down from the top shelf.
“Yes, well no, they're casts actually,” she said. “Australopithecus africanus, Homo ergaster, Homo habilis, Homo floresiensis and a few modern primates and other hominids. They're exact reproductions of fossil finds. I use them for my research from time to time. Mostly, I just love looking at them, to be honest.” She bit her lip at his wide eyed expression. “A little creepy to non-anthropologists I'm guessing?”
“No, not creepy. Just…unexpected.” Orrin raised an eyebrow and offered a grin. “Okay, maybe a little bit creepy.”
Ivy laughed. “You're lucky I donated Lucy to the archaeology museum then.”
“Lucy?” Orrin gave a puzzled smile.
“An articulated skeleton of Lucy, the first nearly complete afarensis fossil found. She was 3.2 million years old. Well, not my copy of course, but the original Lucy. She used to hang in the corner there with a wig and robe on.” Ivy watched Orrin's eyes widen, amused. “I'll admit it was a forced relocation on my part. She caught me off guard when I was sleepwalking one night and scared the hell out of me. I do miss her though.”
“I won't even pretend to understand that sentiment, although-” Orrin feigned concern, “I'm sorry for your loss?”
Ivy laughed. “Thanks. And thank you for the flowers too.” She wandered toward the kitchen, Orrin trailing her. “Can I get you a drink then?”
“Thanks, sure, whatever you're having.” A minute passed in silence while Ivy busied herself with coffee to avoid staring at the half naked man drying his hair in her kitchen. It’s been way too long. She looked up to find Orrin studying her cello.
“So that was you playing before then? I thought it was the radio.”
“You heard?” Of course he heard. “I was just practising.”
“Will you play for me?”
“Hell no.”
Orrin's mouth opened in surprise and Ivy's skin suddenly felt like fire.
“What I mean is,” she stammered, “I don't usually play for anybody.”
“I see. And why’s that, then?” he asked, his accent and smile disarming her simultaneously.
Ivy faltered. Because nobody is ever here. “I don’t know.”
How it was that ten minutes later Ivy found herself playing the cello for her guest was beyond her. Orrin leant against the doorway with his coffee as Ivy took a deep breath, resting the tall wooden body of the instrument between her legs and adjusting the end pins slightly out of habit. She let her hand fall from the scroll to the strings and then pulled the slender bow across them in one long stroke, soothing and mellow. Ivy pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, shutting out the self consciousness that threatened to overwhelm her. Immediately she was alone again, lost in the music that ebbed and flowed through the room. The tone was warm and deep, almost like a human voice as it rose and fell. Ivy felt the harmonics course through her. She played a bittersweet melody of sorrow and love that drifted and slurred from one note to the next, her bow arm extending fully before sliding back in a continuous melancholic expression. Her fingers shimmered the strings with vibrato, anticipating their movement without conscious thought. It was Ivy's favourite piece. The melody consumed her as she imagined a swan, the inspiration of the composer, gliding effortlessly through water as each note took form.
“Deadly,” Orrin whispered. His eyes were soft and dark. Ivy cleared her throat, blushing. She’d forgotten he was there. “What was that?” he asked.
“'Le Cygne'- The Swan. It's part of a progression of movements composed in 1886 called The Carnival of the Animals.”
Orrin nodded. “It suits you. It’s beautiful, haunting almost. It's strange. I feel like I know it somehow. But I don't really listen to classical music so I don't see why I would. My best friend plays piano like that. I should probably appreciate his talent more.”
“Probably,” Ivy smiled. “You might have heard that piece before somewhere; it's the most famous movement of the suite. There are fourteen altogether and each one is based on a different animal - the donkey, elephant, tortoise, lions, even an aquarium.” She stood and placed the cello back on its end pin in the stand, leaning against the elbow of the bench to face him again. “I think it may even be responsible for my ultimate descent into the archaeological pit, so to speak. This piece sort of- spoke to me, I suppose.” Ivy stopped abruptly and looked away.
Orrin regarded her thoughtfully. “In what way?”
She dismissed him. “No. You'll laugh at me.”
“Scout's honour, I won’t.”
“Were you even a scout?”
“Not even close,” he laughed. “But seriously, why that song?”
Ivy sighed. In for a penny. Ivy picked up her cold coffee and put it in the microwave. “Well, I suppose I first heard it as a child. It's really written for children, you see. So much so that the composer, Camille Saint-Saens, wouldn't even let anyone play the suite until after he'd died- he didn't want to ruin his reputation as a serious French Romanticist.”
“And?”
“And the whole suite just tore into my imagination. All of the animals did, but one of the movements is actually called 'Fossiles' and is meant to represent a dance of dinosaur bones. Ogden Nash, an American poet, wrote words to match the music back in the forties and they recorded it with an orchestra playing behind. It really got to me as a kid; apparently I used to recite it on a daily basis. It just- set fire to my imagination, I guess. The rattling bones, the ghosts - it was entirely captivating to an eight-year-old me. Hence,” Ivy gestured through the door to the shelf of skulls, “the archaeology.” She recovered her warm coffee cup and leant back against the elbow of the bench,
glad she once again had something to hold onto.
“Well?” Orrin prompted.
“Well what?”
“The poem. Let's hear it then.” Orrin put down his coffee cup and leaned forward in anticipation, smiling at her. The simplicity of the movement brought him a touch closer, and a rush of warmth and nervousness gripped her chest. She couldn’t help but return his smile. Ivy’s nose wrinkled as she twisted the smile on her lips nervously, trying to ignore the enticing scents of oak moss and fir from his aftershave.
“You realise I'm indulging you here?” Ivy looked up at him, grinning.
“Absolutely.”
Ivy shook her head. “Okay, the verse goes like this:
At midnight in the museum hall, the fossils gathered for a ball,
There were no drums or saxophones, but just the clatter of their bones,
A rolling, rattling, carefree circus of mammoth polkas and mazurkas,
Sang ghostly prehistoric choruses.
Amid the mastodonic wassail, I caught the eye of one small fossil.
'Cheer up, sad world,' he said and winked, 'It's kind of fun to be extinct.’”
Ivy shrugged, her eyes sparkling. “So there you have it Orrin- the sad beginnings of my obsession with bones and very old food implements.”
Orrin pursed his lips, biting back a laugh.
“You promised!”
He held up his hand in surrender. “Scout’s honour.”
“Thank you.” Ivy jutted her chin forward in mock indignation. “I did say it was for children.”
“You did. No, it was, um, how do I put this-? Unique.” Without either of them realizing it, he’d moved closer. “Just like…” Orrin’s fingers grazed hers where they were pressed around the edge of the bench and he stopped still, all trace of humour gone. His brow furrowed for an infinitesimal moment as he studied her face. His eyes flicked down to her mouth then back up.
Ivy suddenly felt too warm. Her breath was too loud. Her fringe shifted into her eyes and she had a fleeting desire to stay hidden behind it. Orrin’s fingers brushed hers again as he lifted his hand hesitantly toward her face. His pupils were blown wide and his shoulders rose and fell hypnotically. So close. Ivy felt his breath stutter and his fingers pause halfway there, a silent question in his eyes. Too close.
Ivy reached up slowly, curling her own hair back behind her ear and met his eyes more boldly than she felt. It would be so easy. His lips were only a moment from hers and the loneliness and longing tempted her forward. She could feel it there, aching, just below the surface. But another, more familiar ache followed quickly behind it. Pain. Loss. Ivy closed her eyes, turning slightly away.
Orrin’s voice broke the silence, a little rough and deeper than usual. “You know, I think I'm finally starting to get inside your head Ivy Carter.” His humour hit a little too close to home.
Ivy straightened, offering a smile tinged with regret. She slipped sideways along the bench, out of reach. “In that case, I think it's probably time for you to go, Orrin James. My head is the last place anyone should be.”
As Ivy sank into a hot bath later that night, her mind buzzed with the events of the day. She pictured Tom in his little apartment downstairs, making himself a cup of tea and going to bed. The amulet he had given her was sitting on the dresser. Although she didn’t often wear jewellery, she quite liked its unusual shape and colour. Its unassuming nature seemed to want to deflect interest, but somehow it held her eye.
Something else had held her eye today, she thought begrudgingly. She didn't know what to make of Orrin, which irritated her. Physically, there was no denying it. He was charismatic, sexy, and intelligent. His easy confidence, that mischievous grin, the way his eyes sparkled as they danced across her and something… something behind those eyes. Something that seemed to know her, or see into her somehow. Something that had the potential to break through the wall she had so carefully constructed around herself to preserve, to protect.
No, absolutely not. Ivy splashed her face with warm water. Orrin was right. He was getting inside her head. Resisting the warm feeling that was creeping through her body, she pushed the thought of him away and changed the scene in her head like a movie. ‘Is she the only chimp here? It's just that I've been looking to extend my own research parameters…’ Orrin's eagerness to use Kyah as a lab rat fell on her again like a dead weight.
“He's just another guy with an agenda”, she said aloud, aggravation flushing her face as she searched through the bubbles for the soap. “You have your research, you have Kyah, and you have your job. If you want to get anywhere in life you can’t get distracted.” The chastisement sounded like a parent berating a wayward teenager; only in this case, the teenager was willing to listen. Hauling herself out of the bath with renewed singularity of thought, Ivy dressed quickly and worked furiously until the early hours of the morning, when sleep finally took her.
Ivy sat up, cursing that once again her mostly sleepless night had ended in horror. Different dreams, different threats but always the same desperation to protect- planning an escape, creating diversions, hiding places, shielding, carrying. All to save herself from losing them over and over again. She could live with death, as long as it was only her own. The dreams had been the same since she was a child. Vivid, extraordinarily real, terrifying.
The hunter was humanity in all of its shades of grey. The unpredictable shadows where every man hid a secret cache of darkness. Where good intentions could be misguided and evils justified. Or even perhaps, where evil crept from a mind drawn solely to cruelty and control. It was that which Ivy feared most.
The killer had a single purpose. To hurt these people. To take them from Ivy's life. To leave her empty. Loss.
The boy with the ashen hair and grey eyes laughed in her mind. Ivy buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. Jasper. Some nights, the sound of the river rushed through her dreams, dragging her back under to the place she lost him, the deep swirling black. It had been her idea to go swimming that day. The day Ivy lost her childhood sweetheart and the walls began creeping up around her heart. Within a year, her mother had passed away and her father, stricken with grief, had left. More loss.
The dreams never disappeared when she woke up; they haunted until her mind found a distraction each day. Ivy was used to them now, many years had dulled her waking senses to their potency and she no longer dwelled or cried on them when they woke her at night. Sleep was elusive. Being an insomniac helped for the most part, Ivy didn’t need much sleep to function quite well and a heavy duty work and study schedule benefited from that inconvenience quite nicely. She was only betrayed by somewhat tired eyes and a journal fit for a box-office premiere. Yawning into the mirror and pulling at her tired face, Ivy let a hot shower wash the nightmare away.
She rummaged through her neglected jewellery box for the only silver chain she had. It was cheap with a faulty clasp so Ivy resolved to get a replacement as soon as she could. She threaded the amulet on and closed it behind her neck. I.C. read against the small of her throat. It felt unusually warm against her skin, despite the cold morning. Skipping breakfast, Ivy ducked down the cracked concrete stairs. Her palm brushed lightly across the mass of tiny daises at the entrance of her apartment building. The outstretched fingers of autumns hand seemed to be grasping for something to hold onto this morning.
She was late, as usual. Entering the Residue Analysis lab, Ivy pulled on an old stained laboratory coat and attempted to tie back her uncooperative hair. Jayne was already preparing blood samples for DNA amplification.
“Hey hon!” Jayne looked far too chirpy for this time of day. “I've done a preliminary analysis of the first blade from the Flores dig. Red blood cells all over it.”
Ivy returned Jayne's victory smile, settling down on a nearby bench. “Brilliant. Let me know if you need any help.” Surreptitiously, Ivy noted Jayne's slow and methodical progress and was pleased. A small collection of control samples was already waiting to her left. Tiny vials
of solution would be spun in the centrifuge for hours to filter unwanted particles from the genetic soup-mix. DNA replication would follow, and then reference comparison. Finally, she would identify the animal that fell victim to the blade.
From these tiny samples, Ivy could determine the subsistence patterns of this long extinct and tiny hunter Homo floresiensis. The stone tools told her what animals had been butchered, birds killed, plants crudely chopped, which roots and tubers slowly cooked. It was an emerging specialisation with a complex methodology. Ivy forged through its boundaries. In small laboratories across the world, other scientists kept the race alive. Competition was fierce, academic criticism was rife and the stakes for success were high.
Flicking on the radio and pulling on gloves, Ivy peered into the cardboard box. Within it were a dozen small clear bags holding dirt-sifted stone tools. Each was labelled with an identification number corresponding to the stratigraphic layer in which the tool was found. She pulled out a large volcanic flake of black chert and took up her position at the electron microscope. An image of the roughly triangular stone flickered up onto a large screen above her desk as she focussed. She was surprised by what she saw. Although the excavating team had given her a description of the tools they had found - suggesting they were comparable to those of much more modern Homo sapiens, she couldn't help being cynical. But the technology of this stone was modern, or at least, too modern, and not what she had expected.
It was widely accepted that stone tools got more sophisticated, technically and functionally, the further up the evolutionary tree they appeared. It made sense. From nearly two million years ago, early hominids first started using crude stone choppers to break into marrow and sever the flesh and joints of their prey. Culminating with modern Homo sapiens, tools had progressed to delicate instruments and finely formed stone blades. Each tool was specialised for its use in processing vegetation, meat or decorative functions, skinning, carving or fighting.
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