Zoe Thanatos(13)

“It’s fine. I’m just tired,” she protested. Her face, though never free of the awe of each new destination, grew wary.

“I think I should take your home, Zoe.”

“No, no,” she protested. “Just one more place, please! I’ve never seen snow.” Her head drooped backwards as her voice cut off. He caught her in his arms as her body went limp with unconsciousness.

He found a stone bench nearby and carefully placed her on top of it. He only knew she lived in Santa Barbara but didn’t know exactly where in the city. He rifled through her bag until he found her wallet. Inside was some cash, a few credit cards and her driver’s license. Immediately he was taken aback by the face in the picture that stared back at him. It must have been a few years old but it was definitely Zoe. She was all eyes and hair, smiling back at him with the carefree manner of a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. He wondered when she last looked like that, and if she ever would again.

He quickly committed her address to memory and slid her license back into its compartment. As he did a small line of numbers caught his eye. It was her 25th birthday. Something inside him turned dark as he looked again at the smiling Zoe captured in the photo, then to the current Zoe in front of him, passed out on a bench beneath the Acropolis. He saw just a hint of what he imagined was her former self when in Paris, but it was clear to him that most of her light had diminished considerably over the years. He could barely fathom the amount of profound sadness required to take one’s own life on their birthday.

Something else caught his eye. Zoe Thanatos. There was a ping of recognition somewhere in the back of his mind, though he couldn’t place what it meant. Everything in him tensed at the name Thanatos. A distant memory fought to come into the forefront of his mind. It was a name he recognized, but from his past, and his home.





Zoe’s eyes opened into darkness. As they adjusted she faintly recognized her own bedroom. It was dark outside and the clock beside the bed displayed an ungodly early morning hour. A thin blanket had been placed over her fully clothed body, and her feet were snug inside a pair of socks. Strangely, she had no recollection of ever coming home. The bedroom door was ajar with a dim stream of light seeping in around the corners. She got up quietly and made her way to the living room.

The lamp beside the couch was turned on and illuminating Evan, who was leaning back comfortably into the sofa. His concentration was on a thin brick of glass glowing with white light as he moved his finger across the screen. From the large window that looked out onto the posh, palm tree lined street, she could see both her car and his rental parked in the driveway.

An image of the Acropolis in Greece came to mind like the memory of a great dream. It was the last moment she could remember before waking up in her bedroom. Somehow he’d found out where she lived, taken her home, put her to bed, and then picked up both their cars from Ventura half an hour away. She really only needed one guess how he managed all of that.

His ability to go anywhere within an instant still astounded her. How was he able to do that? She decided to take him up on his promise to tell her.

“You’re welcome to sleep on the couch if you’d like,” she offered, her voice breaking the silence that had fallen throughout the house.

He looked up and smiled kindly. “I’m not much of a sleeper, but thank you. How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, a bit jet-lagged I suppose.” Even she was surprised by the joke.

“I brought your car back for you,” he announced, his head moving in the direction of the driveway.

“I saw. Thank you. Driving isn’t as fast as popping in and out as you please, is it?”

“It’s not so bad. Freeways are interesting.” He looked contemplative at the thought.

“Yes, well perhaps you’ve missed out on the kind and courteous ways in which people in California drive on those freeways,” she mused. She moved to the sofa and took a seat on the opposite end facing him.

“I, uh, got something for you.” He fumbled for an elegantly decorated box resting on the coffee table. It was long, narrow, and pistachio green in color with gold filigree decorations. ‘Ladurée’ was printed elegantly on the top in gold. Inside she found eight of the most delicate and brightly colored pastries she had ever seen. They smelled fresh.

“Macarons?” she questioned gently.

“From Paris. When you passed out in Greece I had to look at your license for your home address. I noticed that it was your birthday and you seemed so enchanted by Paris...” he drifted off, his eyes still on her as he quieted