The Immortals

by Jordanna Max Brodsky

  As he walked out of the park, he reached for his phone, thinking to track her down. Then he stopped. Hadn’t he learned from his experience with Helen not to get involved with fanatical women? Thoughts of his ex-girlfriend brought him spiraling back to reality—today was the memorial service.

  Back in his apartment, Theo took a hot shower. He tried not to compare it to the waterfall from the night before, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the sinewy curves of Selene’s body, white in the moonlight. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms. She hadn’t been marble at all—heat flushed her skin despite the waterfall’s chill, and while muscle corded her arms and back, her breasts felt like velvet against his chest.

  Forcing aside the memory, he put on fresh clothes for the first time in days. His best khakis, a button-down, and a dark blazer. His discarded shirt bloomed poppy red in his laundry bin, reminding him that last night’s wonders had come on the heels of its terrors. Had he really stabbed a man? Grappled with another? Held Jenny Thomason in his arms as her blood seeped over his hands? He would never forget the grim rattle, the sudden quiet, the limp weight.

  Tonight would be the Pannychis, the Nightlong Revelry. After that, the two climactic Mysteriotides Nychtes. If they didn’t stop the cult soon, more horrors lay in store. And if he was going to face the murderers again—assuming he could find them in the first place—he needed to be armed. He thought of Selene’s bow and wished for an equally impressive weapon of his own. Then he laughed at himself and packed his outlines, a pen, and his laptop into his satchel. Not exactly a sword and shield, he thought ruefully, but about the closest to Golden Age heroics I’m going to get.

  A large photo of Helen sat on an easel at the front of the auditorium in Earl Hall. She graced the assembled crowd with a small, enigmatic smile.

  Theo spotted Ruth Willever, Helen’s roommate, leaning against the back wall, far from the university administrators and faculty. He and Ruth had become friends through Helen, and they remained close even after the breakup. The young woman peered up at him with bloodshot eyes, as if she hadn’t slept since the murder. He hugged her lightly; she seemed so frail that he feared squeezing too hard. They stood together in silence as a long parade of professors and students spoke of the woman they’d both loved.

  Theo’s fellow faculty members stood on the dais with Helen’s colleagues from the Archeology Department, staring out over the mourners. Martin Andersen, a gangly crane with a bobbing crown of sparse gray hair, looked appropriately grim. He wore an ascot around his neck; pretentious on anyone else, on him it looked appropriately anachronistic. Chairman Bill Webb, standing with his usual praying mantis stoop, whispered something to Nate Balinski. The cocky grin of a satyr flashed across Nate’s face, quickly suppressed as he rose to introduce a slide show in Helen’s honor. Fritz Mossburg, the only who who’d shown Theo any real sympathy recently, was nowhere to be seen.

  Helen’s favorite Sarah McLachlan song began, slow and mournful, as images flashed across the drop-down screen: her as a young woman at the front of a lecture hall, standing beside a photo of the Rosetta Stone. Sitting on a camel before the pyramids at Giza, with Ruth standing awkwardly nearby. Performing in some high school Shakespeare, a teenager in doublet and hose, her hair a brighter yellow than when Theo had known her. A towheaded child building an elaborate castle in a sandbox.

  Beside him, Ruth began to shake. Gently, Theo took her by the elbow and led her out of the building. They sat together on the grass, huddled close as the wind sapped the sun’s warmth. Theo couldn’t help thinking that Helen would never see the sun again.

  “How’re you holding up?” he asked finally.

  “Shitty.” Ruth swiped at her eyes with the cuff of her hoodie. “You?”

  “The same. But I’ve had some practice turning off my emotions where Helen’s concerned. That makes it easier, I guess. Or sadder. I’m not sure.” He laughed bitterly. “She’d be so disappointed. She always knew her mind. None of this emotional ambivalence.” Blinking furiously, he fought against the sudden sting of tears, then finally gave up and let one spill down his cheek.

  “You don’t seem emotionally ambivalent to me,” Ruth offered, pressing a tissue into his hand. “You know, I’ve always wondered why you didn’t fight to get her back. If I were you, I would’ve punched Everett in the face.”

  He frowned. “I find the entire idea of fighting over a woman absurd. She makes up her mind, and we abide by her decision. Who can knock out whom seems beside the point. Anyway, we were never right for each other. I knew that early on, I just didn’t have the balls to admit it.”

  Ruth stared down at the grass. “I’m sure you’ll find someone, someday. Someone who’s perfect for you.”

  “I’m not sure anyone’s perfect,” he replied. “I think the best we can hope for is someone who makes us a better version of ourselves while we do the same for them. And I’m not sure I liked the man I was when I was with Helen. Maybe that’s why everyone thinks I had something to do with her death.”

  “What?”

  Theo winced. “I guess you didn’t hear I was a suspect for a while there.” He went on before she could protest. “Don’t worry, I’ve pretty much been cleared.” As she listened, aghast, he explained his difficulties with the police and his theories about the investigation. “Right now, I suspect Helen’s killers are headed to some Dionysian theater ritual. But I have no idea which theater out of the hundreds in the city.”

  “Why don’t you ask your colleagues if they have any suggestions?” Ruth gestured to the professors filing out of the hall beside the other mourners.

  “They all think I’m deranged for even pursuing it. How about you? Got any ideas?”

  “Not a clue. I’m a microbiologist, remember? You saw that picture of me and Helen in Egypt. I was afraid of the camel and too claustrophobic to go into the pyramids. I’m not good with ancient civilizations. Why not call up that crazy grad school roommate of yours instead? Wasn’t he into cults?”

  “Dennis?” Theo shuddered.

  Ruth chuckled. “The look on your face! Is he really that awful?”

  “The last time I saw him was a few years after I got my Ph.D. He was still there, of course—this was before he transferred to NYU—and I’d gone back to do some research in their rare books library. I was walking through Harvard Yard. It was winter, like ten degrees out. Everyone’s all bundled up, walking as fast as they can to get out of the snow and the wind. And there he is, dangling out of a fifth-story window in Widener Library, shirtless, incredibly hirsute, and drunk off his ass. He starts shouting my name. ‘Where you been, dude?’ Like he hasn’t seen me for a few days instead of a few years. And now everyone in the Yard is staring at me. Then he starts rubbing his nipples.”

  Ruth was laughing now, hard.

  “It’s not funny,” he protested with mock indignation. But it was, and he was glad of it. The pain had left Ruth’s eyes for the first time.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I just kept walking like it had never happened and swore—on Jesus, the saints, and the Olympians, too—to shave my chest if I ever got a pelt like his.”

  Ruth wiped her eyes. Whether her tears were from laughter or grief, Theo wasn’t sure. Probably both. She took a shaky breath and asked suddenly, “How’re we ever going to get over this?”

  Theo felt his smile collapse. “I don’t know if we ever will,” he answered truthfully. “But I went to the river where they found her, and I said good-bye. It helped. A little. You want to go back in and try?”

  In the empty auditorium, they stood halfway down the aisle, gazing at the photo of Helen. Theo forced himself not to look away. Ruth was moving her lips. Praying, he realized. After a long moment, she squeezed his hand and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes, better. A little.”

  A sudden movement in the front row caught Theo’s eye. A hunched figure, hands threaded through his wavy black hair.

  Ruth followed his glance. “Everett?�
� she whispered. Theo nodded. She made a small sound of distress. “Do you think I should…”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She surprised him with a quick peck on the cheek.

  “What was that for?”

  “You’re a good man, Theo.”

  He felt a stab of guilt. What would she think if she knew he and Helen had slept together only a few months ago? But he didn’t have the heart to reject Ruth’s compliment. She needed to believe people were still kind. He hugged her, more firmly this time, and she left him alone with Everett. And Helen.

  Everett glanced up as Theo sat beside him. “All those people crying over Helen as if they really knew her,” he said. “But they didn’t, did they? Not the way we did.”

  “I’m not sure if anyone really knew Helen,” Theo said carefully.

  Everett shot him a surprised look. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you know about the lararium in her office?”

  When Everett shook his head, Theo described the shrine. “Helen’s obsession with her work went beyond academic passion. She really believed in the gods.”

  “She was always talking about them—Apollo and Persephone especially—but I thought it was just part of her research.”

  “Research she never showed you.”

  Everett shook his head miserably. “Is that how she got mixed up in this awful cult? Through some delusional religious belief?”

  “If you know anything about the people she got involved with,” Theo begged, “you’ve got to tell me. It’s gone beyond Helen now, and the more information I have, the more chance of stopping them before another woman dies.”

  “I don’t know anything. She would disappear for hours, sometimes even a few days, but she said she was just thinking or writing. If she was actually sneaking off with other people… God, I didn’t think she’d lie to me about that.”

  At the sight of his colleague’s tear-filled eyes, Theo’s stomach clenched. What would Everett do if he knew Helen had lied about meeting him?

  Suddenly, Everett clutched his stomach, as if he might be sick.

  “You all right?”

  “It’s not really physical. More like heartbreak, I think. I was just starting to believe she’s really gone. Now I’m wondering if she was ever really here to begin with.”

  Theo swallowed his guilt and put a comforting hand on Everett’s arm. He’d wanted to spare Everett this pain. “She loved you. You can be sure of that. A flood tide—that’s what she called it when she met you.”

  “I should’ve kept her safe.”

  Theo shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. I used to feel responsible for her, too—but we have to respect her enough to believe that she knew her own mind. The only one responsible is the man who took her passion and twisted it into something dangerous. The man who killed her.”

  Everett nodded, too choked up to say anything more. Theo went on quickly, “Look, I’m sorry to hash this out with you. I know it’s shitty timing. Bill would be furious if he knew I was bringing this up.”

  “Bill and Martin and the others just want this to blow over before their reputation is wrecked,” Everett managed, swiping away his tears impatiently. “If Helen got involved in some Greek cult after she started hanging out with the Classics Department, it doesn’t look too good for them, does it? They’ll do anything to protect themselves. But you—you’ve been trying to help.” He sat up a bit straighter and looked at Theo with new intensity. “I don’t care what Helen did, what lies she told. I loved her. And you’re right, she loved me. That much I have to believe. So you’re not going to stop looking for her killer, are you?”

  “I don’t… I don’t know if I can.” Theo picked at the seat cushion beneath his legs, suddenly unsure of himself. “I’m working with an investigator, and she does this all the time. Hunts down evil people. It’s addictive.” He turned his gaze back to Everett. “I’ve never done anything like this before. You’ll have to forgive me if I sound like a pretentious prick, but my life feels real somehow for the first time. Like it finally matters. Like I have a job to do.”

  “Like Heracles. Fated for some higher purpose.”

  “Yeah? The cops keep trying to get me to stop. You said the same thing the other day.”

  Everett grabbed Theo’s shoulder. “I was an ass. You’ve done more for Helen than anyone else. I think we all underestimated you. You can find the bastard who did this to her. I believe in you.”

  Theo found himself caught in Everett’s dark stare, flattered and embarrassed at once.

  “Well, I’m only going to succeed if I can figure out where they’re going tonight. It’s a theater, that’s all I know. The cult is up to the seventh night of the Eleusinian Mysteries, the Pannychis, and since it was traditionally performed at the ‘well of beautiful dances,’ that could mean Lincoln Center. The ballet performs there, and it has that famous fountain.”

  “Yes, but that fountain’s too public,” Everett said thoughtfully. “After last night, they have to do something hidden again, something secret, or they’ll be caught too easily. Where was this ancient well supposed to be?”

  “Close to the Bridge of Jests from the Pompe—the Saturday Night Live studio.”

  “Huh. Well, what if the ‘well’ is metaphorical? All of Broadway is like a fountain of beautiful dances, isn’t it? It’s got a lot more theaters than Lincoln Square and it’s closer to Rockefeller Center. I say look in Midtown again.”

  “You may be right.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I just… I’m astonished someone actually wants to help.”

  “I should’ve believed you from the beginning,” Everett said, pounding his own thigh angrily.

  Theo hesitated. He didn’t want another partner, especially not one who might kick his ass if he found out about his illicit night with Helen, but he needed all the help he could get. “Do you want to come with me? I’m going to track down a possible cult expert.”

  “God, I wish I could. But Helen’s brother and sister are due in today. They’re accompanying the casket back home for the funeral, and I promised to help with all the arrangements. But I’m not going to let you down again, Theo. I promise. I’ll keep thinking about your ‘well of beautiful dances.’ If I come up with something more, I’ll let you know right away.” He clasped Theo’s hand in his usual bone-crunching grip.

  “A hidden theater in Times Square is somewhere to start, at least.” Theo heaved himself out of the seat. “You going to be okay here?” Everett nodded. “Take care of yourself. And… thanks. For your faith in me.” I don’t deserve it. Not from you. Not yet, at least.

  As he walked out of the hall, he texted Selene: Think we might need a hidden Bway theater. Whatever that means. Going to visit a Bacchic scholar. Might help. He sent her Dennis’s name and address, then hesitated for a moment, but finally decided to add, Not sure where you are, but it’d be great to have you there. His thumb hovered over the Send button. Just the thought of seeing Selene lessened some of the grief and confusion he’d been carrying around all morning. He erased the last line of the text, changing it to: Would love to see you.

  A sudden memory of her body, all smooth skin and taut muscle beneath his fingers, raised the hair on his arms. He thought of Helen, an open book he’d failed to read. Then Selene, so full of secrets, yet he felt he already knew her. Impulsively, he changed the text once more. Would love to love you. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he erased the last line entirely and just pressed Send.

  Chapter 35

  HE OF THE WILD REVELS

  By the time Theo’d walked up six stories to Apartment J, the sitar music blaring through the door drowned out his panting. He went to knock, but the door swung open at his first touch. Currents of booze and pot and incense and sex wafted toward him.

  “Hello?” he said, raising his voice over the din.

  Dimly visible through the clouds of smoke, a young man reclined on a battered leopard-print couch with a naked woman
slumped against each shoulder. He wore a loosely tied silk robe that did little to hide his expansive, hair-covered body, puffy with the effects of lassitude and drink. At Theo’s greeting, he looked up groggily, his dark eyes bloodshot.

  Theo cleared his throat. “HEY, DENNIS, IT’S ME!”

  Dennis pushed himself off the couch and stood, swaying slightly. The two women—undergrads from the look of them—slumped in place, their chins resting on their chests.

  “Hey, dude… come in, come in. What’s up?” Theo’s old roommate slurred. Theo couldn’t really hear the words, but he got the gist.

  “Well, I know it’s been a long time—” he shouted.

  “Whatever, dude, it hasn’t been that long, has it?”

  Theo shifted his weight uncomfortably and shouted back, “Well, yes, it’s been ten years.”

  “That’s nothing, bro. You want something to drink?” Dennis moved slowly over to a well-stocked bar in the corner.

  “It’s two in the afternoon. I think I’m okay!” Dennis always brought out his most priggish side. Theo felt like he’d never left grad school. If he wanted to get any help, however, this time he’d have to resist hiding in the bathroom when Dennis tried to lure him into vice.

  “Still got a stick up your ass, Schultz?” Dennis gave him a familiar, disappointed frown. “Loosen up, it won’t kill you.”

  “Okay, but just one. Maybe a beer?” he said hopefully.

  “I got my own special brew,” Dennis demurred, handing Theo a Goya Peach Nectar bottle filled with something that looked distinctly unlike juice. The smell wafted toward him, sickeningly sweet, like fruit gone bad.

  “You know, I’m a professor up at Columbia now so I’ve got to stay sober to teach class later today,” Theo shouted over the music as he gazed suspiciously into the bottle in his hand, aware of just how lame he sounded. At least Dennis didn’t seem to remember it was Sunday.