Passing Strange
2008
It's the middle of February when he shows up on her doorstep in New York City. He looks tired, the way he always does when he pays her one of his little visits, as few and far between as they tend to be. She peers around the door frame at him, eyeing the bag he's carrying and his slouched posture. He has been dying his hair to cover the silver streak he so prominently wore so many lifetimes ago. A mental war wages inside her as she tries to decide whether or not to let him in. It's like this every time. She's never sure if he can be trusted, but after a few seconds of staring at him, biting down on her bottom lip, she swings open her apartment door and ushers him inside.
He doesn't say anything, but then again, he never does. It is becoming apparent to her that they have established a sort of ritual: she debates about letting him inside, he comes in without saying a word, and usually falls onto whatever sort of makeshift bed she makes up for him and sleeps for hours. Without a word, she leads him down the hall, ignoring the way he is looking around, taking in everything from the expensive sofa to the top of the line kitchen and floor to ceiling windows making up one wall.
Opening the door at the end of the hall, next to the study crammed with books, Eleanor takes a look around, sizing the room up. When she started hunting for an apartment in Manhattan, she had kept in mind her unpredictable visits from the Demon Barber. A guest room seemed perfect, so she'd turned what was once a nursery into a room painted a dust blue color, with a comfortable bed, a bookshelf, fresh flowers and a few candles because at the time she had been into that whole aroma therapy thing.
Knowing he is standing behind her, looking at the room over her shoulder, she makes a dramatic vaudeville arm gesture, urging him into the room. He arches an eyebrow at her and steps inside ahead of her. She takes his bag from him and drops it at the foot of the bed.
"We'll unpack after you've slept, love," she says, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him gently toward the bed with the pure white comforter.
Turning, she walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. Outside his door, she leans against the frame and closes her eyes, using two fingers to massage her temple. She can feel a headache coming on. Every few years, he finds her, wherever she happens to be living at the time, and shows up on her doorstep. He stays for a few days, and then he's gone, sometimes without even saying goodbye. She isn't sure her fragile heart can take this again. She gets used to having him around, just like old times, and then he disappears. And yet she keeps inviting him into her home.
She is beginning to think that therapy might be a good idea. The corners of her mouth quirk into a smile at this. Oh, the things she could tell. Her therapist would need a therapist.
Pushing away from the door of the guest room, she wanders down the hall, into the bathroom. There is a glass shower and a porcelain clawfoot bathtub, tiled floors. She had spared no expense when sprucing up the apartment, because she plans on being in Manhattan for a while. It was so huge, so bursting with life, that she knew she could stay for years without anyone thinking it odd that she never aged. Especially with plastic surgery being so popular. Just look at Joan Rivers.
Walking over to the sink, she spares a glance in the mirror, only barely over her mirror-phobia. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, loose auburn curls falling around her face. She makes a face at herself in the mirror. Jeans, a knit pullover, Uggs. Not exactly fancy, but what did she care? He probably wouldn't notice if she put on a potato sack.
Heaving a defeated sigh, she walks through the living room and into the kitchen, ignoring the loud infomercial blaring from the television about how Oxyclean will get the stains out of anything. Opening the fridge, she makes a mental list of what she'll need to stock up on. Her cabinets are a bit bare, she's been living on peanut butter and Mountain Dew for weeks. She practically lives at the hospital, taking extra shifts, working holidays. Why go home when there isn't anyone there?
Grabbing her purse off the counter, Eleanor jots a quick note for Sweeney on a Post-It and heads out the door, locking it behind her. When she steps out of the lobby and into the biting winter air, the wind is nearly knocked out of her. New York winters are unpleasant, she's already figured out. The next time she moves, it's going to be to Los Angeles.
She is just a block away from the nearest deli when she hears someone call her name from behind. Turning on her heel, she is face to face with her old boyfriend, the man she dated for a few months when she lived in Chicago, working for the Tribune - in the fifties. He's old now, wrinkled and bald. She notices however, that his eyes are still the same ice blue ones she'd fallen for so long ago. It was after this man that she had decided relationships were a bad idea. She had gotten attached, and when you live forever, getting attached isn't allowed. She refuses to acknowledge that a certain barber had anything to do with breaking things off with the sweet man in front of her now.
"Nellie?" He asks in disbelief, openly gaping at her.
She winces inwardly, but on the outside, her face is full of confusion. She has been through this before and she plays her part with finesse. "Um, no. I'm sorry. You must be mistakin' me for someone else, sir."
He nods, still looking unsure. "Yes, of course...but you look just like her...sound like her too."
She smiles placatingly, apologizes again, and starts off down the street, cursing her inability to become an actress. She's a natural, surely.
In the grocery store, she stares at the selection of potato chips, wondering if he was a spicy chip man or a sour cream guy. Instead of standing there like an idiot, she grabs them both. It turns into a problem after a while however; crunchy peanut butter or smooth? Ketchup or Barbeque sauce? Chicken or beef? When she's sure she has everything either of them could possibly want, she heads to the checkout, wincing when she sees how much everything is going to cost her.
Loaded down with bags, she stands on the curb and hails a cab. When she gets back to her apartment, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open, the place is quiet. Relieved that he must still be sleeping, Eleanor stumbles into the kitchen, arms aching from all the grocery bags, and deposits her things unceremoniously on the counter. She begins putting them away, starting to hum quietly to herself.
It isn't until she's tossing the empty paper bags into the trash that she realizes she's humming along to a song playing somewhere in the apartment. Frowning, she wanders into the living room and looks up into the loft. Sure enough, there he is, fiddling with her stereo. She climbs the stairs two at a time and walks past him to settle onto one of the large, cushioned chairs surrounding a weathered yellow coffee table. The stereo is in the corner, next to the minibar, which she sees he has already gotten into. There's a glass of gin on top of one of the speakers.
She waits for him to speak, tucking her legs beneath her and watching him peruse her CD collection. His index finger slides along the plastic cases, his head is tilted to the side as he reads album titles. She grins slightly at the picture he makes.
She jumps when he finds his voice. "Joni Mitchell?"
Eleanor smiles. "She's classic, dear."
"I suppose the Spice Girls are considered classic as well," he mutters, still not looking at her.
Fighting the urge to blush, she ducks her head. She frowns suddenly. "What the bloody 'ell are you listenin' to?"
Finally turning to face her, he gives her a look. "How should I know? It's your music collection."
Getting to her feet, she walks up behind him and picks up the CD case lying under his glass of gin. She laughs, holding it up for him to see. "The Wiggles. Came free with a 50 dollar purchase at the Disney store." He looks at her like she has two heads, but she ignores this. Her co-worker's little girl is obsessed with anything Disney Princess, and Eleanor has a tendency to dote on her. She has never even opened the Wiggles CD, but she has to admit the Hot Potato song is rather catchy. Flipping off the stereo, she hands him his glass and pushes him down the stairs.
They're in the middle of the dinner she made, sitting across from each other in the dining room, the large windows before them overlooking the Hudson River. Except for their exchange in the loft earlier, Sweeney hasn't said a word, and it unnerves her. He's never been chatty, but he's also never been this quiet.
Something is on his mind.
--
He is aware of her eyes on him, but he does his best to ignore her. He keeps his eyes on his plate mostly, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees her glancing up at him every few seconds, biting her lip in that way she always does when she has something to say but doesn't know how to say it. Finally, he puts down his fork and sighs.
"Is there something you'd like to say, Nellie?" He looks at her expectantly.
She has the good grace to blush, glancing down at her pasta and salad. But then she looks up at him again and she is the Nellie he's always known, bold and unafraid. "I was just wonderin' how long you planned on stayin'."
He had been afraid she would ask the million dollar question. In all honesty, he isn't sure how long he plans to stay, it's been weighing heavily on his mind throughout dinner. Sometimes it's tempting to just stay in one place, he gets so tired of traveling. But what else is there? Stay in one place for what? It isn't as if he has a family. But on the occasions when he stops running and stays with Eleanor for a few days, he always feels like he has come home. This fact only makes him want to run away again. "I haven't really decided yet," he answers quietly.
She nods in understanding, and he watches her bite down on her lip once more. He suppresses the urge to sigh again. "It's just...well, I was thinkin' maybe you could stay here for a while. You don't have to constantly move around anymore, the way you used to. 'Specially not here. You could find a job and live here, settled like." She peers at him hopefully, gripping her wine glass.
Sweeney begins to shake his head. he's so used to moving about, he's not sure he knows how to live any other way.
"Just think about." She cuts him off before he can speak, looking at him pleadingly. "Don't you get tired of always goin' from one place to the next? Don't you get lonely?" She looks into her wine glass. "I know I do, and I'm surrounded by people all the time."
Her needless chatter, while normally enough to give him a headache, is starting to make sense and he gives a noncommital shrug. It's enough for now, because she smiles brilliantly and looks back down at her plate.
They sit in silence for a few more minutes before she looks up again and says, "We should probably find you a job."
He sighs.
--
As much as he is loathe to admit it, Sweeney has to acknowledge that over the years, Eleanor has become quite talented in the art of falsifying records. By the end of the first week, she has made him into a History major with a Masters degree and presented him with updated identification. He hasn't bothered with updating his information since the seventies, which had positively shocked his former partner-in-crime. With everything taken care of and his resume for a teaching position at NYU in the mail, she seems calmer, more content, and he knows he can't possibly back out of staying now, at least not for a few months.
During the day, until he hears back about the teaching job, he wanders about Eleanor's apartment aimlessly, picking through her things curiously while she's at work, masquerading as Dr. Lovett. The thought makes him smirk. He goes through her entire music collection, including the records she keeps along with a record player in her bedroom. She keeps her room tidy, he observes as he sits on the edge of her bed, listening to an Ella Fitzgerald record.
The walls are painted a dark green, but there are touches of white and pinks that give it a feminine touch so uniquely her. There is a comfortable looking cream colored chair in the corner draped casually with a blanket, and he is in the middle of debating whether to move to it so he doesn't rumple her bedding, when a stack of books on the night stand catches his eye. He can just hear her if she ever finds out he spends his days rifling through her personal items, that accent of hers unmistakably thicker when she is angry. He almost enjoys taunting her just to hear it.
A devilish glint in his eye, he decides to stay right where he is and take a look at dear Eleanor's bedtime reading material.
When she leaves the hospital, Nellie stops by the nearest Chinese place for takeout, knowing Sweeney will be expecting it. She finds him in the study when she comes home, draped over a leather sofa, an open book in his lap. She finds it amusing that his favorite room in the whole apartment is painted a deep red but she doesn't mention it. In their relationship since he moved in two weeks ago, they had established some unspoken rules : No leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor. Chinese Food every Friday night. Lucille Ball and 'I Love Lucy'? Off limits. And lastly, but of the utmost importance - No mention of anything that happened in the year of 1846 or before it.
So instead, she flips the light switch to alert him of her presence. "Chinese in the kitchen love."
He nods, glancing up from his book with a smile that instantly makes her uneasy. "I'll be in as soon as I finish this delightful tale of the sexual exploits of a widow and her gardener."
Her mouth drops open, and she grips the doorframe to steady herself. He has found her romance novels. Damn his snooping! Walking up to him, she snatches it from his grasp before he can utter any protest, and proceeds to whack him on the chest with the paperback. "Stay out of my room you bloody smart ass."
He laughs, a genuine laugh that catches her off guard. Afraid she'll ruin the moment by mentioning it, she merely flounces into the kitchen childishly, still clutching her book to her chest. She smiles to herself when she hears his footsteps following behind her. She thinks she's going to like having him around, life is already infinitely more interesting than it was two weeks ago.
--
So many lives, so many destinies, all so intricately intertwined. The balance of all humanity hanging literally by a thread...
Gazing at the complicated threads of humanity, Urd frowns thoughtfully. Everything, for the most part, is going the way it should in the universe. The good people of the world are doing exactly what they are supposed to. Except for two.
Todd and Lovett.
These two have been a pain in her side for over a century. But eventually they will succumb to the ways of Urd and her sisters, she is positive of this. You can try to fight fate, but it always triumphs.
Looking to her sisters, she says, "He is moving in with her, just like I said he would."
Skuld looks unimpressed. "You say a lot of things."
Her frown deepens. "This may be it."
"Nonsense," Skuld replies simply. "We've thought a million times before that it was going to be it. And it never is."
Verdandi sighs pathetically. "They could keep this up for centuries more, I imagine."
"Maybe so," Urd murmurs, already back to looking at the threads tying humans to their destinies, to their very existence. She has a feeling that it's different this time, but she isn't worried if it isn't. Todd and Lovett can fight it as long as they want, but fate always wins.
A/N-Okay, I know this chapter has a bit of a different feel than the first one, but hopefully you all are still digging it. I'm thinking the next chapter is going to be a bit more depressing though.lol Oh, I forgot to mention in my author's note of the last chapter that the Fates are also a part of Greek mythology. I'm using the names of the Norse Fates, but borrowing a few ideas from the Greek version - I just want to make sure I get all my facts straight, and let you all know what I'm doing, I don't want to confuse anyone;) You guys are so fabulous, thank you so much for your reviews and for giving my weird little story a chance.Haha Much love and have a great weekend!
