The Immortal by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page A

Helen asked.
    "Fish and chips," Tom said matter-of-factly.
    "Steak," Pascal said. I suppose he was tired of legumes.
    "I want one of everything you just mentioned," I said.
    "You don't even know what that stuff looks like," Helen said.
    "I'll eat with my eyes closed if I don't like the look of it," I replied. Tom and Pascal laughed. Helen studied the menu. She was a picky eater.
    "I feel like some chicken," she finally said.
    The waiter took our orders and the guys got their own bottles of wine. We made a number of toasts: to ourselves, to world peace, to the island of Mykonos. Then I toasted the ancient gods. Tom stared at me when I made that toast.

    "If you are interested in learning about ancient Greece you should visit Delos," Tom said. "Boats leave for it every morning at eight and at nine. I've been there a couple of times. It's fascinating—all the ruins."
    "We were planning to go tomorrow morning," Helen said.
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    "Can you come with us?" I asked.
    Pascal shook his head. "I have to work," Tom said, and he turned to Helen. "I remember last time you were here. You visited Detos regularly."
    Helen paused. "A couple of times. I'm anxious to show it to Josie."
    "Did you see any gods there?" I asked Helen, joking.
    She stared at me. "No."
    We drank more wine and talked and finally our food arrived. Mine looked delicious, and I ate with great relish, trying to force bits down Helen's throat, much to her annoyance. The waiter brought me a drink, soumada, made from crushed almonds. It was particularly good. Tom and I began to dominate the conversation. Pascal seemed content to listen and smile and get drunk. Helen was happy with her chicken—and, I hoped, with me. She had a habit of falling silent for lengthy periods. From experience, I had learned that such silences didn't necessarily mean she was depressed. On the other hand, they could.
    Helen's depression was not something I took lightly.
    Therefore we had a problem on the way. As the evening proceeded it became obvious to me, and I think to Tom, that Josie and Tom were hitting it off nicely. Pascal was nice, handsome, adorable—but he was not my type. A guy had to have wit to capture my imagination. Ralphy Boy had been hilarious—when he wasn't busy feeding his fish, which is what he had called our lovemaking. But Ralph's laughter had been 48
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    stifled around Helen. He said it was the main reason he'd left her. He couldn't be himself. That was puzzling, of course, because Helen could be funny when she wanted to be. But she had to be in the mood.
    Helen was not making many jokes that night. We finished our food and hit the streets. Tom suggested we walk to the harbor. We moved as a group—it was hard to say who was with whom. I was happy for the guides. Hora was a labyrinth of crisscrossing paths, a maze of narrow alleys. Tom said that the first time he entered Hora he had to spend the night because he couldn't find his way out.
    "About four in the morning, you see all the drunk tourists staggering around trying to find their way back to their hotels," Tom said. "I swear, a special service to retrieve them would make a fortune."
    "Why don't you start such a service?" I asked.
    "Because I'm often drunk at that time myself," Tom said.
    "It is me who am ivre," Pascal said. "Tom has to find home for me."
    "How many months out of the year do you work here?" I asked.

    "Just during tourist season," Tom said. "From June to September. The rest of the time I'm in school."
    "Where do you go?" I asked.
    "Oxford," Tom said.
    "He is genius," Pascal said. "All his teachers love Tom."
    "What do you do the rest of the year?" Helen asked 49
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    Pascal. He had been giving Helen the most attention, perhaps sensing that I was interested in Tom, and vice versa.
    "With paralyze —crippled children," he said. "In a school in the country. Many can't walk. Some have trouble—talking."
    "Do you have a degree in that?" Helen asked.
    Pascal shook