APOLLO LUKEIOS

A Short Story by

The Shadow One


1

I love my new research assistant.

Nine years of teaching the hidden mysteries of the human mind to an endless ocean of students with thick glasses and bad complexions, and finally the Gods see fit to bless me with this radiant display of vitality and beauty. Cascades of long hair, dark as shadows with streaks of rich mahogany. Mysterious, volatile gray eyes set within a perfect sea of mocha. If there's a flaw –

"You should smile more, Atremia." I say as we walk down the aseptic-smelling corridor.

"You might not like my smile," she replies. Then she asks about the next patient.

I sigh. "Name is Cameron. Came in last night. Claims to have seen the Greek God Apollo. Works as an accountant for the firm that manages our accounts, I believe. Works long hours, lives alone. Probably suffering from acute exhaustion and delusions brought on by too little sleep, an overactive imagination, and a desperate, solitary existence. Never good for a man to be alone, I say. What do you think?"

Atremia doesn't offer an opinion.

I unlock the door. The room is dark shadows, the shades drawn. I call out: "I'm turning on the light."

"Go ahead," a soft voice replies.

I flip the switch. Lying on the narrow bed is a thin young man in his mid-twenties. His features, like his voice, are soft and feminine, his eyes blue, his hair a Scandinavian blonde that would look almost white in the sunlight. "How are you today, Cameron?"

"I'm fine." He swings his legs off the bed, sitting up. "Are you my doctor?"

"I'm the psychiatrist assigned to your case. This is my assistant, Atremia." I wave a hand in her direction, my fingers brushing her jacket. A spark, like warm ecstasy flows up my arm.

"Hello." He nods at me, smiles at Atremia.

I assume my down-to-business voice. "Let's shed some light on the subject. Atremia, will you open the blinds?"

"No," he says quickly. "Please don't."

Aha, I think. Already the psychosis reveals itself. "Why not? Is something wrong?"

"Well, it's just that – he might find me."

"Who?"

Cameron hesitates, staring at the floor. "You don't believe me, do you?"

I motion Atremia to one of the patient-proof chairs, while I take another. "I haven't heard anything to disbelieve yet. Why don't you try me?"

He smiles slightly. For the first time, I noticed his mouth is sensual, heart-shaped. With a face like that, his childhood must have been a nightmare.

"Well," he begins, "I went to the park for lunch. I go there often, to get away from the chaos of the office. I can walk in the woods and fields. And there's a creek there, people wade in it. A bridge crosses the creek, there's woods on both sides. Cross the bridge and follow the path and you come to a series of open fields where people play soccer. And that's where I saw him."

"Who?" I asked, opening my notebook.

He didn't answer for a moment. Then, he whispered, "Apollo."

"The God Apollo?"

"Yes, the God Apollo."

I assumed my quiet-patient voice. "What did he look like?"

"Golden."

"You mean, like, solid gold?"

"No, of course not. Golden – like dazzling perfection. A perfect body, perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect everything. The kind of person you can't help but fall in love with."

I coughed. "Did you . . . fall in love?"

He snorted. "Didn't you hear me? I couldn't help myself."

Glancing down, I wrote "homoerotic fantasies" in my notebook. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. He just talked to me."

"What did he say?"

"I don't really remember. Not all of it, anyway. It was like a feeling, more than anything. A feeling of warm joy. He said I was – "

"Yes?"

"Well, beautiful."

I wrote the word "egotistic."

"And then he said this: ‘I'll come and get you. Not now, but soon. You can come and live with me.' But that's when I got scared."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because he's a powerful God and who knows what he'll do to me. Besides, I'm not gay."

"Of course not. Can you describe his hair color?"

Cameron frowns. "Well – no, I don't remember."

"Eyes?"

Another pause. "No, just that they were beautiful."

"I see." I close my notebook and rise quickly. "That's enough for today. Try to rest and take it easy. If you get bored, there's television." I motion to Atremia and we step from the room.

"Well, there you have it," I say, as soon as the door is closed and locked. "Illusions of fantasy. So fresh and new, he hasn't even worked out the details yet."

"Do you really think so, doctor?" Atremia's voice is pure music.

"Absolutely. I'd bet my career."

2

I'm walking the same aseptic hallway later that afternoon when I freeze, my eyes staring ahead in horror. The door to Cameron's room stands wide open.

"Atremia!" I cry, running for the room.

"Yes, doctor?" She is already there, standing in the middle of the narrow room, the shades drawn back, the wind whistling through the open window, blowing out her long hair. Familiar as I am with her beauty, I've never seen her like this before, radiant and transcendent. My mind aches to look at her.

"Where is Cameron?" I demand.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she dispenses a laugh so full of demented delight and frightening potential that I'm convinced my mind will shatter like glass. Then I see something that convinces me my mind is already blown.

Outside the window, a tree, a slender laurel tree, trembles and shudders in the act of growing upward, sunlight coloring the leaves to pure gold, branches lifting towards the overhead sun in an act of ecstatic worship. And in the bark, the forming, twisting bark of the tree, I see all that remains of Cameron's feminine face.

Impossible.

But Atremia laughs again and I can't keep the scream from lunging from my mouth.

[Word Count: 999 per MS Word (not counting titles)]

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Just a note of thanks to Monk and everyone else who took the time and effort, and donated the prizes, to make this contest possible.

The Shadow One



Been gone awhile -- yes, a long while.