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section7mfuIllya's hopes for a quiet evening after the weird day don't happen, for several reasons ... not all of them involving his unwelcome guest.
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: Of course, home shopping networks didn't exist when the show first aired. Neither, I imagine, did marathons of ended shows. But since I don't feel the series is a necessary period piece and don't write it as such, that's the explanation for those lines. And it's just such a small thing anyway that I can't imagine it would be too distracting for those who prefer it as a period piece. :)
Scene Four
Illya supposed he really shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered his bathroom for a late-night shower and found Mr. Ecks sitting on the counter. He gave the spirit a flat look. “You really don't have anything better to do with your afterlife.”
Ecks shrugged. “I'm still just as perplexed as you are, Kuryakin. And increasingly annoyed. I did what you said; I thought about whether or not any bitterness I hold could be keeping me here.”
"And?"
"I am bitter, yes. Even angry. But I don't think that's what's binding me to this plane."
“Well, whatever.” Illya started to pull off his turtleneck shirt. “I am going to take a shower.”
“Go right ahead,” Ecks returned with a blasé sweep of his arm.
“Are you planning to park there the entire time?” Illya asked.
“I’m not especially planning anything. You know it’s out of my control whether I stay or go.”
Unimpressed, Illya asked, “And what would you do if it wasn’t?”
“As I said, I have no interest in being here.” Ecks folded his arms. “If I was free to do as I please, I could certainly find better things to do than watch you wash up for the night.”
“I only wish I could arrange it for you,” Illya grunted as he finished disrobing and climbed into the tub. He pulled the shower curtain forward with a cold and metallic ching.
Ecks kept sitting where he was. "How did Mr. Waverly like your report?" he asked as Illya turned the water on.
"He appreciated the quality of the composition. Not so much what it said."
"I wouldn't think so." Ecks paused. "By the way, I've been wondering something."
"You've never been shy about sharing your opinions."
"The first time I came to you, you said that Solo made you wonder whether you should have stabbed me. You also said that you discussed whether those on the opposing side are always bad and that if I was not, maybe I wouldn't go to Hell, if such a place exists." Ecks jumped down from the counter. "That isn't how you've been behaving lately."
"There is no contradiction. If there is a God, it's up to Him to judge what you are and where you are to go. However, not knowing God's mind or yours, I am left with my own, human thoughts. And I feel far less generous towards you than God might. Especially when I cannot be free of you."
"Fair enough."
Illya opened the curtain just slightly, revealing his soap-covered hair. "I also told you at that time that our discussion erased any lingering doubts from my mind as to whether or not I should have stabbed you. I wasn't going to be bound by such doubts any longer, since it was too late to do anything about them."
"And I said it was easy to say something. Not so easy to do it." Ecks looked entertained.
Illya looked like a storm cloud as he disappeared behind the curtain again.
"It's funny how being dead makes you miss the simplest pleasures," Ecks mused. "I would love to be capable of taking a shower again."
"And here I always heard that being dead distances you from all aspects of being alive. That you even seem detached from worries and cares and loved ones and have no desire to return."
"And you believed that tripe?" Ecks scoffed.
"As you know, I was quite skeptical of everything supernatural until just recently. But on the one hand, it seemed logical to me that a decent afterlife should be so fulfilling that you wouldn't want to leave. On the other hand, it was difficult to imagine not wanting to be with your loved ones above all else."
"Some things they say are true," Ecks said. "All of my senses are enhanced. In some ways, my existence has never felt so real. But I would happily trade all of that just to be alive again and with Wye. Only you say he's dead as well."
"He is."
"Then I would trade it just to find him."
Illya switched off the water and pulled the curtain back. As he stepped out on the bath rug, he said, "Isn't it odd that no one has come to collect you? I've also heard that spirits come to do that, whether it's The Grim Reaper, an Angel of Death, or even a loved one."
"I've wondered about that," Ecks admitted. "But you've also heard about those stuck in Limbo; you suggested that was my state. Maybe no one comes to collect them until they're ready to be collected."
"So it might seem." Illya opened the cupboard and pulled out a large towel. As he began to dry himself off, Ecks backed up and climbed back onto the counter. Illya gave him a withering look. "This is the first and hopefully only time I have ever showered with an audience. Do you plan to watch me go to bed too?"
Ecks shrugged. "Watching you sleep sounds dull. Watching you shower was dull too, for that matter." He smirked. "I'd rather read a book, only I can't turn pages."
"If it will keep you occupied for a while, I will turn on my television or the radio for you," Illya said. "But the volume would have to be low, both for my sake and the neighbors'."
"I don't need it very loud, especially now." Ecks regarded him in amused surprise. "You're being awfully accommodating, Kuryakin."
"I just want a good night's sleep as opposed to entertaining you for hours on end," Illya grunted. "Turning on the television would be welcome if it would accomplish that."
Soon he had dressed and was heading for the living room. Ecks trailed after him, settling in the chair while Illya crossed to the television set. "What's even on at this hour?" he wondered as he whipped off his sunglasses.
Illya glanced at the clock. "Mostly old motion pictures and reruns of situation comedies. And probably those home shopping networks." He paused. "What do you like?"
"A little of everything, but mostly science-fiction," Ecks answered with a cheeky smile.
"Then I will put it on the October marathon of The Twilight Zone," Illya said flatly. "You will have to be satisfied with that."
"That's fine with me," Ecks replied.
Illya plodded out of the room as the eerie strains of the show's theme song wafted out from the set. "My life at this point in time would make an excellent episode of The Twilight Zone," he muttered to himself.
"I heard that," Ecks grinned.
"Do you disagree?" Illya said without skipping a beat.
"No," Ecks smirked.
"I thought not." Illya left, grateful that he could shut his bedroom door and hoping against hope that the show would not enter into his dreams.
****
Illya wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when some insistent knocking broke the flow of the looping Twilight Zone theme that had been playing in the background of all his dreams. Without even thinking, he rose off the bed with the comforter still on his back and the annoyed comment, "You've already awakened me, Mr. Ecks. You realize that, don't you?" Then, chagrined, he pushed the quilt onto the bed and hoped he hadn't spoke loud enough to be overheard by the living.
When he opened the door and entered the living room, he was greeted by the odd sight of Ecks apparently asleep in the chair while the marathon continued. He stared at the spectre as he made his way to the front door, unable to keep from wondering if Ecks was playing at being asleep just to unsettle him. After all, spirits didn't sleep . . . did they?
He was still looking at Ecks as he opened the door. "Yes?"
"Illya, I've been trying to reach you for almost an hour," Napoleon exclaimed. "Is your communicator off?"
Illya started and looked to his partner. "It isn't supposed to be. I must have accidentally shut it off when I was disrobing for a shower." Or worse, he suddenly realized. He might have left the communicator in his pocket when he threw the used clothes into the hamper. That wasn't like him at all. This situation with Mr. Ecks was stressing him out more than he had even thought.
Indeed, Napoleon was giving him a very odd look. "You're usually so careful about your communicator unless something has gone wrong. Actually, Illya, you've been acting strange for the last few days. I can see it's obvious that you don't want to tell me, but if it's starting to interfere with your work . . ."
"It won't!" Illya abruptly interrupted. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I'm still unhappy about our latest case."
"Yes, but that should make you want to improve, not slack off," Napoleon pointed out. "No, it's definitely something else."
"I will go find my communicator," Illya said, turning away from the door. "What is it? A new case?"
"Something came up all of a sudden," Napoleon confirmed. "Mr. Waverly briefed me. I'll brief you on the way to the airport."
"Fine." Illya looked over at the chair again while striding past. Ecks stirred, roused by all the talking, and blinked at Illya in a confused way that suggested he truly had been asleep. Disturbed, Illya looked away.
"What is it about that chair?" Napoleon wondered. "And I didn't know you were into The Twilight Zone."
"It's rather cerebral," Illya said, not unhonestly. "You know I enjoy things that make me think."
"True." Napoleon followed Illya to the bathroom, where Illya flung open the hamper and dug through the new arrivals. "Is it there?"
Illya straightened after a moment. "Yes." He held up the communicator, overcome anew with frustration at himself. "I'll pack right away. Where are we going?"
"Europe," Napoleon replied, still unsettled about Illya's behavior. "Switzerland, to be exact."
"Good," said Illya. "I'm not in the mood for someplace hot."
"I thought that would please you," Napoleon agreed. "I still have to pack myself, so I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He headed for the front door. "Shall I turn off your television?"
"No!" Illya immediately exclaimed. "I mean . . . thank you, Napoleon. I will take care of it on my way out."
Napoleon quirked an eyebrow. "Alright."
Illya sighed. He could just imagine what Napoleon was thinking. It isn't like you to be so interested in anything on television. And of course it wasn't. Illya casually liked some shows, but he wasn't a hardcore fan of anything. In their line of work, there really wasn't time for that.
He headed back to his bedroom when he saw Napoleon leave the apartment. As he opened his suitcase and began packing clothing appropriate for Switzerland's autumn climate, he had the sense that Ecks had come to his doorway.
"What was with your pretending to be asleep?" Illya snapped without turning around. "It wasn't amusing."
"I swear, Kuryakin, I don't know," Ecks retorted. "I'm as confused as you are. Maybe more. I honestly seemed to doze off for a few minutes. And while I was in that state, I had the strangest sensation that I was lying flat on something soft."
Illya paused in the middle of packing some shirts. "Provided you are telling the truth, you must have sensed the coffin in which you are buried." Which was more than a little chilling when Illya thought about it.
"I didn't like it, Kuryakin. I didn't like it at all." There was no lie in Ecks' voice. He was absolutely shaken.
"Well, I don't know how to help you," Illya answered. "Napoleon will be back in a few minutes and we'll have to leave. You'll have to stay here with the television."
"No!" Ecks ran over to Illya, panic clearly in his voice and his face. "You're the only one who can see and hear me! I don't want to stay where I don't exist for anyone. I want to stick with you until I disappear again!"
Illya stared at him. On the one hand, it was certainly different to see his enemy so vulnerable and on the verge of hysteria. Illya took no great pleasure in it. But Ecks' own choices had led to his fate and Illya couldn't see his way clear to allowing a ghost to follow him to Switzerland on assignment.
Not that he could really stop it, if Ecks was determined to come.
"Why are we even having this discussion?" Illya frowned, not allowing Ecks to see his inner debate. "We both know you do not need my permission. You appear and disappear against your will, and while you are here, you choose to follow me around and I can do nothing about it. If you want to invite yourself on this assignment, I unfortunately cannot stop you."
"I won't deliberately put you or Solo in danger," Ecks insisted. "I like to tease you and try to get a rise out of you, but I've never done anything malevolent during these meetings, have I?"
"No. But again, what is the point of asking me?" Illya slammed the suitcase shut.
Ecks leaned forward over the bed, spreading his hands on the valise. "I know you don't want to think it, Kuryakin, but since I can't control when and where I come and go, I have to wonder if you can."
Illya stiffened. "You think I am summoning you over and over from the afterlife?!"
"It's a possibility."
"And you accused me of putting too much value on myself," Illya grunted. "Now you think that you matter enough to me that I would unconsciously call you forth? You were completely insignificant to me, just one more enemy agent I had to kill in the course of my duty! I wouldn't have thought any more about you if Mr. Wye hadn't made such a fuss over your death!"
Ecks straightened, completely undaunted. "And if Solo hadn't suggested your action was too rash." He looked at Illya in cold, hard determination. "Only then did you question anything. Even if you decided it was still justified, you doubted for a while. My death was the only one you carried such feelings about in a long time, probably ever since you developed your strong feelings against the enemy."
Illya didn't want to admit that was true. "If you truly believe I'm calling you and sending you back, why not simply ask me to send you back again instead of wanting to come to Switzerland with me?" He grabbed the suitcase by the handle and yanked it off the bed.
"Because . . ." Ecks hesitated for a long moment before answering. "Because death isn't at all what I thought it would be. What I hoped it would be. As I said, the only time I sense anything anymore is when I end up where you are. And if death really is an endless sleep without any Heaven or Hell or seeing departed loved ones . . ." He trembled. "I want to fight it off as long as I can."
Illya gripped the suitcase handle. He also didn't want to admit how troubling and downright haunting Ecks' words were. For part of his growing-up years, he had been taught that there was nothing after death. He hadn't wanted to believe it, and he hadn't found any concrete proof in either direction, so he had just continued to wonder. Now Ecks turned up with many of the same questions and concerns. It was a strange coincidence.
What if Ecks had been a phantom of his mind all along, as Illya had thought at first? What if he was just projecting Illya's hopes and fears and Illya truly needed medical help for seeing him?
. . . Or what if he really was there, as Illya had ended up deciding later?
A knock at the front door startled them both. "I'm ready to go, Illya," Napoleon called. "We need to leave."
"I'm coming!" Illya called back.
Not acknowledging Mr. Ecks, he hurried into the living room and switched off the television before opening the door to meet Napoleon.
He also didn't acknowledge the grateful look as Ecks followed him out. But he did notice it.
Notes: Of course, home shopping networks didn't exist when the show first aired. Neither, I imagine, did marathons of ended shows. But since I don't feel the series is a necessary period piece and don't write it as such, that's the explanation for those lines. And it's just such a small thing anyway that I can't imagine it would be too distracting for those who prefer it as a period piece. :)
Scene Four
Illya supposed he really shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered his bathroom for a late-night shower and found Mr. Ecks sitting on the counter. He gave the spirit a flat look. “You really don't have anything better to do with your afterlife.”
Ecks shrugged. “I'm still just as perplexed as you are, Kuryakin. And increasingly annoyed. I did what you said; I thought about whether or not any bitterness I hold could be keeping me here.”
"And?"
"I am bitter, yes. Even angry. But I don't think that's what's binding me to this plane."
“Well, whatever.” Illya started to pull off his turtleneck shirt. “I am going to take a shower.”
“Go right ahead,” Ecks returned with a blasé sweep of his arm.
“Are you planning to park there the entire time?” Illya asked.
“I’m not especially planning anything. You know it’s out of my control whether I stay or go.”
Unimpressed, Illya asked, “And what would you do if it wasn’t?”
“As I said, I have no interest in being here.” Ecks folded his arms. “If I was free to do as I please, I could certainly find better things to do than watch you wash up for the night.”
“I only wish I could arrange it for you,” Illya grunted as he finished disrobing and climbed into the tub. He pulled the shower curtain forward with a cold and metallic ching.
Ecks kept sitting where he was. "How did Mr. Waverly like your report?" he asked as Illya turned the water on.
"He appreciated the quality of the composition. Not so much what it said."
"I wouldn't think so." Ecks paused. "By the way, I've been wondering something."
"You've never been shy about sharing your opinions."
"The first time I came to you, you said that Solo made you wonder whether you should have stabbed me. You also said that you discussed whether those on the opposing side are always bad and that if I was not, maybe I wouldn't go to Hell, if such a place exists." Ecks jumped down from the counter. "That isn't how you've been behaving lately."
"There is no contradiction. If there is a God, it's up to Him to judge what you are and where you are to go. However, not knowing God's mind or yours, I am left with my own, human thoughts. And I feel far less generous towards you than God might. Especially when I cannot be free of you."
"Fair enough."
Illya opened the curtain just slightly, revealing his soap-covered hair. "I also told you at that time that our discussion erased any lingering doubts from my mind as to whether or not I should have stabbed you. I wasn't going to be bound by such doubts any longer, since it was too late to do anything about them."
"And I said it was easy to say something. Not so easy to do it." Ecks looked entertained.
Illya looked like a storm cloud as he disappeared behind the curtain again.
"It's funny how being dead makes you miss the simplest pleasures," Ecks mused. "I would love to be capable of taking a shower again."
"And here I always heard that being dead distances you from all aspects of being alive. That you even seem detached from worries and cares and loved ones and have no desire to return."
"And you believed that tripe?" Ecks scoffed.
"As you know, I was quite skeptical of everything supernatural until just recently. But on the one hand, it seemed logical to me that a decent afterlife should be so fulfilling that you wouldn't want to leave. On the other hand, it was difficult to imagine not wanting to be with your loved ones above all else."
"Some things they say are true," Ecks said. "All of my senses are enhanced. In some ways, my existence has never felt so real. But I would happily trade all of that just to be alive again and with Wye. Only you say he's dead as well."
"He is."
"Then I would trade it just to find him."
Illya switched off the water and pulled the curtain back. As he stepped out on the bath rug, he said, "Isn't it odd that no one has come to collect you? I've also heard that spirits come to do that, whether it's The Grim Reaper, an Angel of Death, or even a loved one."
"I've wondered about that," Ecks admitted. "But you've also heard about those stuck in Limbo; you suggested that was my state. Maybe no one comes to collect them until they're ready to be collected."
"So it might seem." Illya opened the cupboard and pulled out a large towel. As he began to dry himself off, Ecks backed up and climbed back onto the counter. Illya gave him a withering look. "This is the first and hopefully only time I have ever showered with an audience. Do you plan to watch me go to bed too?"
Ecks shrugged. "Watching you sleep sounds dull. Watching you shower was dull too, for that matter." He smirked. "I'd rather read a book, only I can't turn pages."
"If it will keep you occupied for a while, I will turn on my television or the radio for you," Illya said. "But the volume would have to be low, both for my sake and the neighbors'."
"I don't need it very loud, especially now." Ecks regarded him in amused surprise. "You're being awfully accommodating, Kuryakin."
"I just want a good night's sleep as opposed to entertaining you for hours on end," Illya grunted. "Turning on the television would be welcome if it would accomplish that."
Soon he had dressed and was heading for the living room. Ecks trailed after him, settling in the chair while Illya crossed to the television set. "What's even on at this hour?" he wondered as he whipped off his sunglasses.
Illya glanced at the clock. "Mostly old motion pictures and reruns of situation comedies. And probably those home shopping networks." He paused. "What do you like?"
"A little of everything, but mostly science-fiction," Ecks answered with a cheeky smile.
"Then I will put it on the October marathon of The Twilight Zone," Illya said flatly. "You will have to be satisfied with that."
"That's fine with me," Ecks replied.
Illya plodded out of the room as the eerie strains of the show's theme song wafted out from the set. "My life at this point in time would make an excellent episode of The Twilight Zone," he muttered to himself.
"I heard that," Ecks grinned.
"Do you disagree?" Illya said without skipping a beat.
"No," Ecks smirked.
"I thought not." Illya left, grateful that he could shut his bedroom door and hoping against hope that the show would not enter into his dreams.
Illya wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when some insistent knocking broke the flow of the looping Twilight Zone theme that had been playing in the background of all his dreams. Without even thinking, he rose off the bed with the comforter still on his back and the annoyed comment, "You've already awakened me, Mr. Ecks. You realize that, don't you?" Then, chagrined, he pushed the quilt onto the bed and hoped he hadn't spoke loud enough to be overheard by the living.
When he opened the door and entered the living room, he was greeted by the odd sight of Ecks apparently asleep in the chair while the marathon continued. He stared at the spectre as he made his way to the front door, unable to keep from wondering if Ecks was playing at being asleep just to unsettle him. After all, spirits didn't sleep . . . did they?
He was still looking at Ecks as he opened the door. "Yes?"
"Illya, I've been trying to reach you for almost an hour," Napoleon exclaimed. "Is your communicator off?"
Illya started and looked to his partner. "It isn't supposed to be. I must have accidentally shut it off when I was disrobing for a shower." Or worse, he suddenly realized. He might have left the communicator in his pocket when he threw the used clothes into the hamper. That wasn't like him at all. This situation with Mr. Ecks was stressing him out more than he had even thought.
Indeed, Napoleon was giving him a very odd look. "You're usually so careful about your communicator unless something has gone wrong. Actually, Illya, you've been acting strange for the last few days. I can see it's obvious that you don't want to tell me, but if it's starting to interfere with your work . . ."
"It won't!" Illya abruptly interrupted. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I'm still unhappy about our latest case."
"Yes, but that should make you want to improve, not slack off," Napoleon pointed out. "No, it's definitely something else."
"I will go find my communicator," Illya said, turning away from the door. "What is it? A new case?"
"Something came up all of a sudden," Napoleon confirmed. "Mr. Waverly briefed me. I'll brief you on the way to the airport."
"Fine." Illya looked over at the chair again while striding past. Ecks stirred, roused by all the talking, and blinked at Illya in a confused way that suggested he truly had been asleep. Disturbed, Illya looked away.
"What is it about that chair?" Napoleon wondered. "And I didn't know you were into The Twilight Zone."
"It's rather cerebral," Illya said, not unhonestly. "You know I enjoy things that make me think."
"True." Napoleon followed Illya to the bathroom, where Illya flung open the hamper and dug through the new arrivals. "Is it there?"
Illya straightened after a moment. "Yes." He held up the communicator, overcome anew with frustration at himself. "I'll pack right away. Where are we going?"
"Europe," Napoleon replied, still unsettled about Illya's behavior. "Switzerland, to be exact."
"Good," said Illya. "I'm not in the mood for someplace hot."
"I thought that would please you," Napoleon agreed. "I still have to pack myself, so I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He headed for the front door. "Shall I turn off your television?"
"No!" Illya immediately exclaimed. "I mean . . . thank you, Napoleon. I will take care of it on my way out."
Napoleon quirked an eyebrow. "Alright."
Illya sighed. He could just imagine what Napoleon was thinking. It isn't like you to be so interested in anything on television. And of course it wasn't. Illya casually liked some shows, but he wasn't a hardcore fan of anything. In their line of work, there really wasn't time for that.
He headed back to his bedroom when he saw Napoleon leave the apartment. As he opened his suitcase and began packing clothing appropriate for Switzerland's autumn climate, he had the sense that Ecks had come to his doorway.
"What was with your pretending to be asleep?" Illya snapped without turning around. "It wasn't amusing."
"I swear, Kuryakin, I don't know," Ecks retorted. "I'm as confused as you are. Maybe more. I honestly seemed to doze off for a few minutes. And while I was in that state, I had the strangest sensation that I was lying flat on something soft."
Illya paused in the middle of packing some shirts. "Provided you are telling the truth, you must have sensed the coffin in which you are buried." Which was more than a little chilling when Illya thought about it.
"I didn't like it, Kuryakin. I didn't like it at all." There was no lie in Ecks' voice. He was absolutely shaken.
"Well, I don't know how to help you," Illya answered. "Napoleon will be back in a few minutes and we'll have to leave. You'll have to stay here with the television."
"No!" Ecks ran over to Illya, panic clearly in his voice and his face. "You're the only one who can see and hear me! I don't want to stay where I don't exist for anyone. I want to stick with you until I disappear again!"
Illya stared at him. On the one hand, it was certainly different to see his enemy so vulnerable and on the verge of hysteria. Illya took no great pleasure in it. But Ecks' own choices had led to his fate and Illya couldn't see his way clear to allowing a ghost to follow him to Switzerland on assignment.
Not that he could really stop it, if Ecks was determined to come.
"Why are we even having this discussion?" Illya frowned, not allowing Ecks to see his inner debate. "We both know you do not need my permission. You appear and disappear against your will, and while you are here, you choose to follow me around and I can do nothing about it. If you want to invite yourself on this assignment, I unfortunately cannot stop you."
"I won't deliberately put you or Solo in danger," Ecks insisted. "I like to tease you and try to get a rise out of you, but I've never done anything malevolent during these meetings, have I?"
"No. But again, what is the point of asking me?" Illya slammed the suitcase shut.
Ecks leaned forward over the bed, spreading his hands on the valise. "I know you don't want to think it, Kuryakin, but since I can't control when and where I come and go, I have to wonder if you can."
Illya stiffened. "You think I am summoning you over and over from the afterlife?!"
"It's a possibility."
"And you accused me of putting too much value on myself," Illya grunted. "Now you think that you matter enough to me that I would unconsciously call you forth? You were completely insignificant to me, just one more enemy agent I had to kill in the course of my duty! I wouldn't have thought any more about you if Mr. Wye hadn't made such a fuss over your death!"
Ecks straightened, completely undaunted. "And if Solo hadn't suggested your action was too rash." He looked at Illya in cold, hard determination. "Only then did you question anything. Even if you decided it was still justified, you doubted for a while. My death was the only one you carried such feelings about in a long time, probably ever since you developed your strong feelings against the enemy."
Illya didn't want to admit that was true. "If you truly believe I'm calling you and sending you back, why not simply ask me to send you back again instead of wanting to come to Switzerland with me?" He grabbed the suitcase by the handle and yanked it off the bed.
"Because . . ." Ecks hesitated for a long moment before answering. "Because death isn't at all what I thought it would be. What I hoped it would be. As I said, the only time I sense anything anymore is when I end up where you are. And if death really is an endless sleep without any Heaven or Hell or seeing departed loved ones . . ." He trembled. "I want to fight it off as long as I can."
Illya gripped the suitcase handle. He also didn't want to admit how troubling and downright haunting Ecks' words were. For part of his growing-up years, he had been taught that there was nothing after death. He hadn't wanted to believe it, and he hadn't found any concrete proof in either direction, so he had just continued to wonder. Now Ecks turned up with many of the same questions and concerns. It was a strange coincidence.
What if Ecks had been a phantom of his mind all along, as Illya had thought at first? What if he was just projecting Illya's hopes and fears and Illya truly needed medical help for seeing him?
. . . Or what if he really was there, as Illya had ended up deciding later?
A knock at the front door startled them both. "I'm ready to go, Illya," Napoleon called. "We need to leave."
"I'm coming!" Illya called back.
Not acknowledging Mr. Ecks, he hurried into the living room and switched off the television before opening the door to meet Napoleon.
He also didn't acknowledge the grateful look as Ecks followed him out. But he did notice it.
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