After the Fall

Chapter 22

THE TREMORS

Aster slept until almost noon. When he came down the stairs after showering, he massaged a sore spot on his lower back and glanced around the living room carefully until his eyes settled on me.

I had my laptop on my lap while I sat on the couch, scrounging through emails and news headlines in an effort to tune out my anxiety.

How are you doing? he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my hands and pushing my cuticles back. “Somewhere between relaxed and lounging about and scared for my very existence.”

Fair enough. He crossed the room and sat next to me on the couch. Then he took half the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, timidly glancing at my screen. That’s not the book.

“No,” I said, catching my breath from the suddenness in his voice. “I don’t think the book is a good idea now. Or maybe ever.”

Is this because of the shadows?

I blinked. “Yes.”

Aster leaned back. He sucked in his breath and then let it out with a long sigh. You have to write, Stella. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing. It’s the only thing we can do if we want to get out of this. If you’re not writing, certain forces in the universe might actually close in on us.

“I need more time.”

You don’t need more time. You don’t need more anything. He took my hand off my trackpad and squeezed it. How about we work outside today?

“Outside? You mean on the beach?”

Or the patio if you want something more standard, he offered. It will give you the change of pace you need.

I drew a breath and nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. Could we do that?”

Let’s set up a workspace out on the patio. You’re always telling me that you need more fresh air and sunshine anyway.

“You know what? That’s just what I need.

” I leaned over and gave Aster a hug. This was the last time I would hug him.

The last time, really, that the two of us would work together on friendly terms. Aster appeared to be genuinely well-rested from the nap he’d taken.

I felt safer working with him besides. Protected.

When we got up and arranged the furniture on the patio, the Fates seemed to have disappeared.

I figured I had imagined seeing them at all, that my excitement and adrenaline had pulled me into a feverish state.

I mentioned to Aster about the mirror and my lack of reflection when I looked at it.

I could repeat the experiment easily now, with a glass door shielding the dark interior of the home nearby.

“Was it because of your blood when I kissed it? Some kind of chemical reaction? How long will it last?”

Aster examined a hand of newly trimmed nails. I don’t know. Perhaps. Don’t worry about it, Stella.

I took a breath and hugged my arms, shivering while he positioned my laptop.

The clouds continued to gather in the sky. Fortunately the temperature had climbed and the day felt satisfactory for late summer. I looked out at the waves crawling out of the ocean and tried to hear if they still warned me in their chant from earlier.

Aster set up a small, plastic folding table in front of me, and I sat on a worn wicker chair that I hadn’t noticed until now. When he finished, he lifted my screen.

Now write away. The entire world is yours to conquer with only a few words.

I placed my fingers on the keyboard, but my hands started to tremble violently. I made fists, stretched my fingers out again, but the shaking didn’t stop.

Well? Aster asked, oblivious to my plight.

I shook my head and tried to shake off the excess energy. “I don’t know what it is. I’m shaking like a leaf. I can’t write.”

Aster’s jaw stiffened. It seemed that was the only emotional expression he could make, but I didn’t know if he knew more than I did or was equally confused. Take a breath, then. Control yourself.

I took a breath and squared my shoulders and tried to start again, but my hands continued to shake. “It’s getting to me too much. I’m overwhelmed.”

This is your only chance to make it. The only thing you need to do. Keep going.

“Can’t you see I’m doing everything I can?” I hissed at him.

Stella, this isn’t working. I’m overwhelmed too, you know.

“You are?”

Yes, with the fact that I’ve done everything I can to craft a perfect novel with you, and nothing I do is enough.

He turned to the other chair on the back patio and shoved it forcefully away.

Then he planted his hands on his hips and faced me.

Stella, give me an answer. Will you write this, or is it time for me to panic?

My throat was too tight for me to speak.

Don’t tell me you’re giving up after all this, he said, shaking his head. Just because those phantoms gave you a scare. Boo. I can scare you too, you know. Don’t listen to them. Don’t let them get to you.

I lifted my hands from the keyboard and relaxed them in my lap, and the trembling softened.

His voice wavered. All I ever wanted was to help you. I wanted to make you the greatest writer of your generation. But I made one mistake.

“Aster,” I started.

He shook his head to silence me. Against all of my better judgment, I decided to bend the rules for you. I told you too much. He squeezed his hands together before making a final confession. I let myself develop feelings for you.

“That happened on its own,” I said.

With our help, yours and mine, said Aster. I deceived myself. I figured that you needed more than simple inspiration, maybe you needed the breath of life. Of love. So I gave it to you. I gave you far more than I ever should have only to have, and now you’re too full of it even to write. I’m a fool.

I wasn’t crying yet, but tears stung the rims of my eyes.

My breaths had grown sharp and ragged, and I knew that once I reached this point, my writing would spin beyond my control.

I curled my trembling hands into fists. “I can’t help it that I can’t write,” I said, my voice quiet and fast. “I can’t do it.

Physically. My hands are shaking. It’s from the exhaustion.

Maybe a quick swim will fix it. There’s no need to get worked up. ”

His nostrils flared.

“And I know more than you think,” I added. So far I hadn’t told him the finer details of my experiences. I hadn’t told him what the Fates said or the snippets from his own life that had played themselves over in my head. I hadn’t told him everything I now knew about muses.

I’d fantasized that the two of us would spend time cuddled on the couch together today when he woke up and I could ask him what he knew or remembered about the days of antiquity, who the shadows were and what they wanted.

Now I could see that it would never happen. I’d have to tell him about everything I’d seen, but he wouldn’t be understanding or gentle when he took the news.

“I can see into your past,” I said. “All the way back. The muses.”

Aster tilted his head. His curiosity watched me through dull narrowed eyes, but he didn’t want to abandon his sulking just yet.

And did they inspire you to write? he asked demurely.

“Not the way you have,” I said. I hoped that the underhanded compliment would cause him to calm down, but his expression remained unchanged. “I came to the beach when you were napping. That’s where I saw them. They said that I was trying to be a god by attempting all this.”

Aster shook his head. Stop talking about the shadows. They don’t have any real power except what you give them.

“They’re the Fates,” I corrected. “They’re the ones who make the final call. We can’t run away from them.”

But we can outsmart them. We can keep them from getting their way. They would have acted already if it were beyond hope.

“Well, it might be too late for that now,” I said. “After what they told me—after what I heard…”

Don’t worry about the Fates, he hissed. He hated my mentioning them.

I’d hoped for a measure of sympathy and basic understanding, an assurance that he’d heard their warnings too and that we could dodge anything they threw at us.

Aster’s abrupt denial of their existence chilled me to the bone.

He wouldn’t deny them unless he feared them... unless they held power.

A deep-rooted terror formed in my gut. My demeanor remained unchanged, but suddenly I felt nauseous, and I looked at the gathering clouds to watch for coming rain. I thought of a sweater I had left in my bedroom and wondered if I could justify running up to grab it.

I had brought my own doom on myself. I could see it now; I could hear it in the stories that they had told me at the beach. I was Arachne and Icharus and Sisyphus. I had climbed too high. And soon everything was going to fall apart, and I would never climb back up again.

Aster sneered. What’s that? Are you still thinking about them?

I glanced at the house behind us. “I’m chilly. I’m going to fetch my sweater from the bedroom.”

Hurry.

I nodded, got up, and ran. I didn’t know if I feared Aster or the Fates or even my own book, but suddenly I wished the draft had never been written.

I considered deleting the file and throwing a distraction at Aster while searching for a place to hide.

Suddenly literary fame felt small, silly.

I wanted life. It didn’t matter if people knew my name.

It didn’t matter if any of my projects came to life.

I just wanted to win in the end, for the world to see me and for my survival to be secured.

I stumbled into the house and blindly climbed up the stairs. Before entering the bedroom, I turned my head in the direction of the bathroom. My eyes caught on the glass and the porcelain and then I saw that something else had tainted it: blood.

Blood spotted the tiled bathroom floor, staining it in specks and splotches. My blood. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

The cuts were everywhere. On my chest, my arms, my shoulders.

Tiny red scratches and scabs that I hadn’t noticed until now.

I’d been so busy kissing Aster’s wounds that I hadn’t even noticed my own.

I looked into the bedroom mirror to examine them only to remember that I couldn’t see my reflection anymore.

Then I closed the door. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest in a fetal position, and outside I heard a roll of distant thunder over the waves.

Aster would come looking for me soon. If I didn’t have the sweater, his patience would run out.

I stood up on shaky legs. The shadows appeared to darken and shift, but I didn’t know if they were Aster’s Fates or not. I didn’t focus on them. I didn’t want to give them the pleasure of attention.

I opened the wicker dresser door, which jammed at first, and then fished through my shirts until I found the loose blue sweater I stashed in there over a month ago. I held the sweater up to my face.

Just then I understood why women throughout history always carried smelling salts. The scent of my home in this less familiar environment better grounded me, and it helped my feet resolve their contact with the floor.

The sweater was stylish but too thin to keep me warm.

Back when I started packing at the start of summer, I assumed that I would be warm all summer and that if I got too cold, I could buy something at a local store.

A souvenir sweatshirt sounded proper for a summer of fun on the coast. But this summer had gone nothing like I had planned.

I couldn’t justify a shopping trip to Aster. I slipped the sweater over my head and pulled the sleeves around my arms. If nothing else, at least I could superficially connect to my past life.

When I headed down the stairs and left out the back glass door, I realized that the sky had darkened over our heads. Aster stood where I’d left him, arms crossed. He had been pacing to kill the time and froze in place when I reappeared.

“I found it,” I said. I looked up and shielded my face with a hand. “Are we expecting rain?”

There’s no rain in the forecast, he said in response. Don’t worry about that. Can you write now?

I could. My hands had stopped shaking, and everything felt more stable with the scent of my home around me. I glanced at the draft and tried a few sentences. Then I pushed my chair back and shrugged.

What’s the problem now? asked Aster.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I can’t get into it, can’t feel it.”

Who even cares about how you feel? Aster seethed. I’m fading away. I lose more of myself with everything that goes wrong. So place your hands on the keyboard and write something. Anything you like.

I started to type. At first I couldn’t see what was happening. But then I realized that none of my words made sense. It was chaos, a string of arbitrary letters and numbers and symbols without meaning.

Aster sucked in a breath of concern. He glanced away and looked at the clouds gathering in the sky.

Trying again, I pressed my lips together. My fingers appeared to be on the right keys, but none of it showed on the screen. “Look at this,” I said.

Aster paced to my side and leaned forward as he scanned the letters. His shoulders dropped and he moistened his lips. What game are you playing? he asked.

“I’m not playing a game,” I said. “The words just came out like this when I typed. It doesn’t make sense.”

That’s my language, said Aster. The language of the muses. I thought it was sealed away from mortals.

“I can’t read it,” I said.

This isn’t a time for games.

I stood up. “You take the seat,” I said, gesturing. “I can’t do it, but you can. Maybe I’ll get better when the effects of your blood wear off.”

Aster cupped a hand to his chin. He stood on the balls of his feet, eager but still hesitant. No, he said after a pause. What do you not understand? We can’t wait. You act as if I poisoned you.

“It doesn’t matter if I write this thing or if you do,” I said, realizing that I might be able to pass at least a part of my judgment on to him. “But let’s face it. I can’t do anything now. Besides that, you’d be good at it. You know this book better than I do. It’s your book, really.”

Aster blinked. He started pacing and cast odd glances at the gray waves nearby.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” I asked. “You’re good at it. And maybe if you’re more human, you can type without getting strained.”

I could, couldn’t I? Aster whispered. I’ve been working on it the whole time. I know it at least as well as you.

“Exactly! Let yourself go. I can help on the side.”

His eyes glittered, starrier than I had ever seen them. I could take it into my hands. I could write the greatest novel in the history of the universe and let the world know my name. And everyone would see me, and everyone would adore my work, and…

He stopped with his mouth still open. The thunder rumbled again.

“Keep going,” I urged.

Aster’s gaze hardened and he looked at me with a furrowed brow. Were you... tempting me just now?

The rain began to fall, and I realized that I had lost my book for good.