After Read Free

meets his gaze. And a few seconds later her eyes fill up with tears.
    “Eva?”
    “I'm sorry,” she says, smiling, but when she blinks the tears escape down her cheeks. “It's just, I've been by myself for so long. I didn't know if I'd ever see anyone again. And now I'm here, washed and rested. Drinking wine.” And then she adds, “With you.”
    And then she presses herself against him and wraps an arm—the one not holding the wine—around him. The eagle is taken aback, but after a few seconds he sets his glass down and puts his arms around her, tentatively, at first, then pulls her close against him. He strokes her hair for a moment. Then he gently sets her away from him. She seems confused. Almost unsettled. But she gives him a smile, then begins diligently sipping from her glass again.
    But then she sets it down, only half empty. Smith looks from the glass to her, dismayed. But he says nothing. He takes two steps toward her. She stiffens, but doesn't back away. And then a few seconds later she touches the palm of her hand to his chest.
    She's swaying a little where she stands. Her pupils are huge.
    “Eva,” he says in a low, gentle voice, “would you do something for me?”
    Smith picks up the bag he'd left by the door, and brings forth some beige cloth.
    When he rotates his wrist the piece of cloth unfurls toward the floor and becomes a delicate, translucent nightgown.
    “Would you put this on for me?”
    Watching her face, he looks surprised when, after just a brief hesitation, she nods and comes to take the garment. She teeters into the bathroom and swings the door closed. Just seconds later she comes back out.
    “Does it look all right?” she asks in a quiet voice either full or void of artifice.
    “You look lovely.”
    His words are incongruous with the sad tone of his delivery. Her look of apprehension escalates to restrained alarm.
    “Here,” he proffers her abandoned wine glass.
    Her hand is shaking as she takes three big swallows, like it's water or medicine.
    Smith finishes off the contents of his own glass, then watches as she does the same.
    “Good girl.” He takes her empty glass from her slack grip and sets it on a shelf.
    “Now, come and lie down,” he says, coaxing her down onto the bed. Her breathing has quickened and her eyes are glued to him as he leans down to help her get settled. “Try and rest a little more. I've got a bit more work to do yet. I'll see you soon.”
    Her eyes go wide and her hand clamps onto his wrist. She's starting to cry a little.
    “Please, stay here. Stay with me.” Her voice is shrill. Panicky.
    “Shhhh. Try to rest,” he whispers, gently prying her fingers from around his wrist.
    “Wait!”
    Smith's hand slips from the doorknob. He turns. Faces her. She is sitting up, swaying slightly like a rooted water plant in a gentle current.
    “Please.” She gestures for him to come back to her. After a long hesitation Smith moves closer, sits on the edge of the bed. Her eyes lock on his, anchor her swaying body there. Slowly but perceptibly, Smith hardens.
    “Don't do it,” she says, plainly trying not to cry but failing, obviously trying to be hard, but shaking. “You don't have to. And it's not right.”
    “Don't do what, Eva?” His voice is low. It has a choked sound it hasn't had before.
    She reaches for his hand. She's off by a little, like she's having trouble focusing.
    But then she finds his hand with hers.
    “Please,” she says, her voice tear-choked, her mouth straining to smile. “You stay. I won't fight you. I'll try. I don't know how, but I'll try to be good.”
    “Eva. What do you think is going to happen?”
    “You drugged me.”
    “Yes.”
    “You drugged me. You dressed me in this thing. And you're leaving.” Smith is still and silent. “You're—“ Her angry accusation withers. Fades to a terrified prophesy.
    “You're giving me to them.”
    She is breaking apart.
    “Ssshhh, Eva.”
    Smith pulls her to him, puts his arms around