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“Survive,” Eli repeated to himself through that frigid darkness, “sustain me,” He prayed. All sensation was long gone. Nothing but darkness, nothing but cold, nothing but Eli alone at the edge of death in his faith.
“Then they cried out to the Lord their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.”
“Deliver me, deliver me,” Eli Ever begged, “save me, sustain me, send me your savior.”
Phantom hands, barely a touch and hardly a sensation, shifted over what must have been his skin. Shooting warmth through him, jolting in a heartbeat rhythm. If Eli had died and was returning, was he being born-delivered in more ways than one by the Lord’s hand?
The first sense to return to him was sound. A familiar focused mumbling could be heard from far away; muffled as though above whatever dark water Eli found himself in.
Next, the vivid sense of tactile touch. Warmth on his chest, another’s hands pumping steadily over his lungs, followed swiftly by a pain in his ribs. He was grateful, he thought, for any living feeling he was allowed.
Scent; another familiar one. Like his dorm room. A human smell, but not his own. Maybe coffee, maybe well-worn leather, definitely Victor.
Victor.
Sight shot through him like a bullet to the back. A gasp shook him; his first breath. Victor leaning over him, blonde hair hanging around his face, the overhead bathroom light haloing him.
“And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him.”
Eli was healed. Strengthened. Delivered. He could feel it; the bodily difference. Victor’s hands rested on his chest, a strange look in his eye. Fascination, wonder, relief, Eli couldn’t tell and he didn’t care. How could he not have seen it? He had called for a savior, a word, a sign, and here he was.
He reveled in the feeling of the floor below him, of Victor’s hand on him,of life around him. Delirium still held him in its embrace as he muttered aloud, “Oh, Lord.” His first words.
Victor finally cracked that thin-lipped, sarcastic smile. “My name’s still Victor.”
Eli’s lips quivered. Was there really a difference between the Lord and his messenger? Could he not hold equal gratitude? “I. . .I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.” Psalms 30:2. It felt appropriate.
Above him, the messenger looked concerned. “Maybe I should get you to bed.” The touch returned, running from his chest to his armpits, hoisting him to a sitting position on the linoleum. “Come on, Eli.” There was a bite in his tone that Eli didn’t understand yet. Was he somehow upset or spiteful? How could he be? He had succeeded in his mission of retrieving Eli from the shadow of death and delivering him into this new life. Then again, Victor had never understood. Maybe even now when he was directly working under the word of God he didn’t understand. “ Tragic,” Eli thought absently.
His musings were cut short by Victor settling him into his bed. There was still that curtess to his movement, a stiff jerk to the way Victor stripped him of his last damp clothing article and laid him down. A flick of a pail wrist drew the covers over his bare and slowly warming form. Eli sat up, eyes following Victor as he left the room like he was watching a moving target. The messenger returned, notebook in hand as he sat down on the mattress around where Eli’s knees were. A clinical hand reached out and felt up and down Eli’s ribs before swiftly returning to the notebook. Something was scribbled down.
“What?” Eli asked, the word coming out sharp. Something in him was irritated; how could Victor be so Victor right now? Often he was able to appreciate how to-the-point his friend was, always seeing things for what they were, but now he felt himself wishing for. . .what? That Victor would hold him with a different kind of hand, tell him he was strong and that Victor was proud? That Victor would be Angie for him? It was an idiotic notion; the result of a near death delusion.
“Your ribs healed.” Victor said, and Eli was again pulled back into reality. Of course they had healed. Victor had healed them, God had healed them, but Eli couldn’t say that or Victor would freak the fuck out.
“Yeah?” Eli shifted a bit, pulling the blankets up. “Then it worked? I have, what, some kind of healing factor?” That would make perfect sense. Reliance was always a strength of his.
“Only one way to know for sure.” Victor’s thin smile returned as he thumbed at the pages of his pocketbook. “I’ll be right back.” Leaving his book and pen on the bedspread, Victor gave Eli’s knee a pat before striding out of the room. Eli sighed and lay back, folding his hands over his abdomen.
He knew what Victor was planning on, but couldn’t bring himself to be concerned.
“When I am afraid,
I put my trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I shall not be afraid.
What can flesh do to me?”
And what could the flesh do to Eli now? What could be done to his flesh? He supposed they were about to find out. Victor would show him. He would convey the message, just like before.
Victor returned, armed with a letter opener in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.
“In God I trust; I shall not be afraid.
What can man do to me?”
Now it was Victor who was watching him, studying him, pinning him down like a fly to corkboard, but Eli was not afraid. He must have turned the music back on. Eli could hear it playing from the bathroom, slightly muffled. The lyrics escaped him, but the heavy beat pulsed in time with his own slow heartbeat as Victor settled beside him, closer now. He set both knives down on Eli’s thigh, free hand tucking a strand of light hair behind his ear. A sluggish part of Eli’s brain wondered if his hair was soft.
Victor took up the kitchen knife first, his other palm settling on Eli’s chest. There was no pressure, but Eli wasn’t going to move, and he thought that Victor must know that. He wanted to proclaim it, wanted to share with his friend, his guide, what he knew now, but somehow he felt like he shouldn’t, that Victor wasn’t meant to know his role just yet.
Eli could show him later. For now, a test.
The blade ran across Eli’s chest, blood blooming up from the cut. Pain had gooseflesh running after the movement of Victor’s hand as he cut a long, slow gash across Eli that stretched a horizontal journey across the entire expanse. He pressed his head back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling as Victor worked.
The pain began to ebb away and an appreciative hum sounded from above him. “What?” Eli whispered.
“Cut’s gone.” He didn’t sound very excited, just bitter. Victor ran the pad of his index finger across the bloody streak of mended flesh. Eli reached up and clasped his friend’s knife-wielding hand between his, glancing between the bloody blade and the pale hand that held it.
“I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.”
Victor wouldn’t appreciate Eli quoting at him, so he kept it in his head. There were more important things to focus on, like what the next step was. Victor, the messenger, could show him, or they could interpret the signs together. Surely now Victor would understand. Eli would need him to, would need him to walk beside him in whatever journey was set before him. He would need him: his observation, his input, his support, his reviving touch. Victor, who had provided him with the last act of healing Eli would ever need.
“I guess we know what my power is.” Eli answered, gently bringing Victor’s knife-wielding hand down to rest on his chest.
“I guess we do.” That same bitterness tinged Victor’s tone.
“What’s your problem?” Eli wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. What he knew he wanted was Victor on his side and to stay there. How could he achieve that?
“Victor,” He stared into his roommate's eyes imploringly, “what should I do with it? Greater good I know, right, but how?”
Victor rolled his eyes. “Do we really need to cover that now? Plus, don’t you have a deity you can ask about it?”
Eli’s mouth twitched at the corner in an aborted smile. He was petitioning how God, not that Victor understood. It was like praying to a saint, or Mary. Voice it to a messenger. Voice it to Victor.
“I guess you’re right.” Eli mumbled. His thumb ran over Victor’s knuckles to the blade of the knife where Eli pressed the pad of his thumb against the edge until steel hit bone. Pain made itself known, but was easy to ignore when Victor was sitting over him and looking at him like he was special.
“Maybe not special”, Eli thought, “but certainly interesting.”
Victor’s fascination with Eli and that understanding Victor held over him was a threat, before. Now, it seemed a blessing to have someone he couldn’t lie to. He pulled his thumb away from the blade, watching Victor watch it heal. He looked hungry.
“My turn.” Victor commanded.
“Huh?” Eli blinked. He felt really stupid right now and couldn’t discern why.
“ My turn.” Victor repeated.
Victor had already had his turn. They should be figuring out what to do next with Eli’s power, not wasting time trying to repeat mistakes. Besides, Eli wasn’t sure he could handle watching Victor die again–surely the only way Victor had managed it for Eli was with the Lord’s guidance, whether he’d felt it or not. Could Victor not be content in assisting him? Then again, should he not trust in Victor now? How could he discern the message from the man?
He recalled the cold, the darkness, the most alone he’d ever felt. Victor’s face slack, the intelligence gone from his eyes. How could Eli let Victor go through that?
“Right now?” Eli asked, fidgeting the sheet between his thumb and forefinger.
Victor’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the knife’s handle. “We’re not putting this off, Ever.”
Ever.
“We can’t do it the same way.” Eli decided.
Victor wrinkled his nose at him. “Why not?”
Because it was awful. “Because we can’t, okay? Some other method.” He folded his arms over his chest, suddenly aware of his state of undress. He decided he should feel awkward about it.
His friend rolled his eyes, upper lip curling in distaste. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, if you can be decisive about it.”
It couldn’t be cold. He couldn’t watch Victor’s life slowly ebb from him; he needed to watch Victor die the way he lived: ravenously, brilliantly, bright and fast and desperate. He needed to remember-just in case it really was the end. Fire? No, it was too hard to contain. Not an overdose again, never again, and no alcohol. No substances. He couldn’t afford to dull Victor at such a pivotal moment. What did they have access to? His eyes darted around the room. Walls, bedside table, knives-knives? No- Victor, Victor and the light behind him as he bent over Eli, illuminating his impatience. Electricity?
It was desperate. It would be painful, far more painful than Eli’s gentle horror in the bathtub.
Victor could handle it.
A part of Eli stirred and he thought that maybe he could more than handle putting Victor through this kind of pain. That part of him seemed louder than before. He glanced up at Victor, meeting his gaze.
“I have an idea.”
. . .
“Bite down.” Eli said, shoving the bit in between Victor’s molars before tightening the straps that kept his friend in place on the table. Finally, he lay his hand over Victor’s heaving chest. He could picture the fluttering lungs under the layers of skin, fat, muscle, bone. Eli bowed his head.
He didn’t speak aloud as he prayed. Prayed for the strength that Victor had wielded when he brought Eli back. Prayed that when Victor awoke, he could see what Eli saw for them. Prayed that Victor would wake. As he began to put Victor’s life in the Lord’s hands, he couldn’t bring himself to.
“Let me take his life in my hands,” He petitioned, “and let me hold it tight and bright and beating before it is returned.”
He shifted on his feet before laying his other hand on Victor’s forehead, smoothing his hair out of his eyes.
Finally, a petition for the messenger. “Trust me,” Was all Eli asked of him before retreating to safety. He rested his hand on the dial and took one last look at Victor as he was before rotating it once, clockwise.
Victor spasmed silently, eyes widening and jaw tightening around the bit as his back arched and torso twisted.
Another click. Victor’s head cracked against the table as he thrashed, eyes darting around the room.
Another turn, and he could hear a pained groan. The thumping of flesh on wood. Victor’s fingers dug into the wood of the table, nail beds bleeding.
Another, and a strange thrill ran through Eli.
Another, and he couldn’t look away from his friend’s writhing form.
Another, and Victor’s head whipped around, locking eyes with him.
Another, and Eli could see that a blood vessel had popped in Victor’s eye, that the tears running down his left cheek were pink. Something burned behind those eyes.
Another, and whimper was partnered with the sound of the machine warning him of the high voltage.
Another, and there wasn’t anything behind his friend’s eyes anymore. Calm washed over Eli. Silence.
He shut off the machine and waited, like Victor had, for his friend to come back on his lonesome before Eli would take action. Once he was certain that there was no possible conductor between the machine and the table before he strode over to sit beside Victor’s limp body.
“Restore him,” Eli hissed, fist tightening in Victor’s pale blonde hair, “deliver him.”
And Victor heaved, life crashing back into him, a merciless wave against weathered rock. An agonized scream split the air, and Victor thrashed again, shaking and hiccuping where he lay. Eli jumped back from him, leaving his partner lashed to the table where he suffered.
Victor's wails continued to fill the room as Eli approached again to free him.
Newborn cries, He thought as he unfastened Victor from the table. As soon as his hand brushed against Victor’s thigh, an unfathomable pain rushed through him. An eternal agony with no source, no injury to be healed.
Eli choked, collapsing onto a calmed and panting Victor who squirmed under him, frantically seeking words that through this white-hot pain, Eli could now comprehend. He clawed at Victor’s restraints, managing to free his friend's right hand, gazing up at that thin, pale face as though it could rescue him.
And rescue him it did. An arm snakes around Eli’s shoulder’s and cradles him against Victor's chest as the pain was lifted from him, leached from his flesh and left him shocked and curled up in Victor’s lap.
“Oh, God.” He heard Victor whisper. “Oh, God, Eli.” A shaky hand tightened around the back of Eli’s neck.
“I’m fine.” He turned his head up, cheek pressed against Victor’s clavicle. “Are you?”
Victor huffed and shivered. “Fine. Tired. Get me the hell off of this table and take me home, now.”
There was his Victor. Eli nodded and finished his task of freeing Victor from the table. He slung the other man’s arm over his shoulders and helped him down from the table and out of the lab. As the doors automatically locked behind him, Eli wondered if there was a log of what access codes were used to enter the facility, and when.
Angie wouldn’t mind that he’d used hers. If she did, he could convince her that she didn’t. She was a sweet girl, and she loved him. It was nice to be loved.
Victor didn’t love him, he thought as he helped his roommate through the front door. Shoes off, coats hung up, Victor settled on the couch. As Eli moved to sit as well, Victor grabbed his wrist. “Get me a drink.” He mumbled. Eli rolled his eyes and obliged.
Two glasses, one bottle, no ice. Eli returned, nestling himself beside his friend on the couch, handing him one. Knuckles brushed and a buzzing, hot pain made Eli flinch away. His attention darted from his hand to Victor’s then up to his friend’s expression. A quirk of his lip suggested a smile. Light eyes were trained on Eli’s twitching fingers.
“Sorry.” he said, but Eli didn’t believe it.
“It’s fine.” Eli said, and meant it. “What was that, though?”
A grin peeled across Victor’s face, but he still wouldn’t look up at Eli. He took a sip, glass bumping up against bared teeth. “My power.”
“. . .Right. And that is?”
“What was on your mind when you were dying, Ever?”
You. God. Myself. “Survival, I guess?”
Victor’s hands were cold. His fingers encircled Eli’s wrist. “Resilience, and now you’re invincible.” Nails dug into Eli’s skin, leaving rapidly fading white crescents. The sting, however, lingered longer than normal. “I think a connection could be proven there.”
“What were you thinking of?” He already knew.
“Pain,” Victor said, and discomfort rippled up Eli’s arm, “and how I wanted it to stop.” The pins-and-needles disappeared immediately.
It was perfect. Part of Eli knew not to view friends as tools, but Victor had always served a unique purpose. This was another message; it had to be. Eli, while powerful, should stay humble under God. Who better to remind him of his humanity than an EO who holds pain in the palm of his hand? Pain that Eli would find elusive and fleeting without Victor to sustain it.
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend;
profuse are the kisses of an enemy.”
And Eli knew Victor would be faithful as long as Eli gave him reason to, and he could think of many reasons.
“Interesting,” Eli finally replied, “and it applies to others.” Unlike mine, he thought, but it went unsaid between them. “You should be careful, though. Don’t be numb all the time-”
“-Or I could bleed out from a papercut or something. Yeah, I figured.” Victor swiftly flipped Eli’s hand and left it, palm up, to rest on his thigh. Somehow, the absence was akin to the simulated pain. His friend stood, took up his glass and strode off to his room. He’d regained his balance quickly. Not as quickly as Eli, obviously, but fast. “See you in the morning.”
“Sure.” Eli looked down at his palm, unmoving from where Victor had left it. It was strange. Information, sensation, experience, company, had all been freely given and taken away by Victor in the past few hours. Since Eli’s rebirth, Victor held a new power over Eli. It was bizarre. Eli found himself wanting, but not receiving. Wanting Victor’s comfort and attention when before he had received all the doting he’d required from Angie.
Angie. No, he didn’t think he would tell her. If she was meant to know,it would have been communicated to him through Victor, the messenger, upon arrival. They could tell her when it served them.
He flopped back on the couch and wished Victor would come back and sit with him, talk with him, touch him, hurt him, something. Give him a sign to receive. Eli’s gaze drifted to the coffee table where Victor and carelessly left the knife and letter opener in their haste to get to the lab. Their haste to kill him.
Eli shivered at the memory of his friend above him, carving into his chest. His mind wandered to what other damage Victor could inflict upon him now, with his new ability. He wouldn’t need to even touch Eli to inflict that same pain and more.
He took up the kitchen knife, setting the edge of the blade against the palm of the hand Victor had held and pressed down. They kept their knives sharp, the steel sinking in similar to when it cut through a block of cheese. The pain was bright and sobering, unlike the buzz of warmth under his skin that Victor had inflicted. He removed it slowly from his hand.
As the wound healed, Eli was comforted. He was still in God’s favour, still in possession of his gift, even after the decision to make Victor an EO as well.
Of course it had been the right choice, it must have been, to be directed so soon after Eli’s resurrection from the mouth of His messenger.
“Iron sharpens iron,
and one man sharpens another.”
And Victor had sharpened him, honed him into what the Lord had envisioned, into what had been directed, just as Eli had watched Victor be burned away and re-made on the lab’s table.
Eli pressed the healed palm over his mouth and stared up at the ceiling, pensive, trying to categorize his sensations into useful, understandable pieces of information. How long had it been since he’d had to untangle himself instead of others?
First, of course, excitement. Enlightenment. Not joy, but pleasure, at the discovery he and Victor had made. The discoveries both physical and spiritual were major accomplishments, he knew.
Then there was what came with the discovery of Victor’s new role in Eli’s journey. That strange new wanting. Eli was sure he would come to understand it. At least, he would prefer it as a distraction from the darker awareness.
The Loss. Something was missing, something that had once made Eli whole, if he ever had been. It was barely there when Victor was around, laying alone on the couch it was hard to ignore this new hollowness that dug into him. Something had been taken when he had been made anew.
Did Victor feel it? If he did, Eli did not serve the same purpose of filling the gap. If he had, Victor would have stayed to stave off the ache. Maybe Victor was whole and Eli wasn’t, and never had been. Maybe Victor was more than whole, maybe the piece that was gone from Eli had been used to create Victor. Adam’s rib; a necessary sacrifice, the first of many. That extra piece slotted right into Eli’s hollow soul when they were together. Victor, Eve, the helper, the fuller piece to complete the set that bore the human race.
He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, hauling himself to his feet. The ache persisted. It was raw, too fresh a wound to ignore. That was his excuse for walking across the little living area, down the hall, and to the closed door of his friend’s room. He pressed his palm flat against the wood. “Victor?” He muttered, half hoping he wouldn’t be answered.
Instead, the sound of socked feet padding across carpet sounded from within and a shadow passed over the crack of light at the base of the door. The handle jiggled as force was applied on the other side, and the door swung inward.
Victor, outlined by the warm glow of the lamp behind him, quirked an eyebrow at Eli. His hair was tied back in a bun at the base of his skull and Eli knew that he must have been reading in bed, or working bent over his desk. He liked to keep his hair out of his face when he worked. “Hey.” Was all he said.
“Hey,” he responded, “can I come in?”
Victor grinned and stepped aside. “This is new.” As Eli stepped past him, Victor’s hand guided him forward, ghosting against his lower back. Dull pain throbbed up his spine for a moment before numbing as he retracted his touch.
“We’re new.” Eli replied. Victor approached from behind, a nimble hand resting on Eli’s hip, and the ache began to cease.