3.

"I believe you fought a gallant fight with the bed sheets and the netting."

~~

I kicked off all the covers, stretched--toes pointed, arms over my head--and sighed. Loudly. For the past hour or so, I had been hunting Sleep: he was a worthy quarry, eluding me at every turn, disappearing with a start just when my hold on him seemed most certain. I was restless and bored, and the mosquito netting above my bed had long since surrendered its hazy charm.

I considered going for a walk, but in my heart of hearts I knew it wasn't safe even during the day, let alone at this time of night. There were groups that would not hesitate to take me hostage, or even kill me, to further their cause. And... why shouldn't they? Their people were starving. They needed food and clean water, they needed medical supplies and doctors, and, most of all, they needed education. This was a nation that had produced one of the world's most advanced civilizations, and one of its most unique cultures. If Britain claimed Egypt's treasures, the least the British could do was to care for Egypt's children. Or better still, give them the resources and the power to care for themselves.

Lost in thought, I must have drifted for a moment; I saw, or thought I saw, a shadowy figure slip across my bedroom. It made no sound, and I assumed it was just a trick of the light--until that same light caught the figure's arm, plain as day. Its smooth brown wrist was encircled with a bracelet of lapis and turquoise.

I gasped, and the figure turned to face me. It was a man, bare to the waist, dressed in a short white linen kilt and cloth headdress. Oh, no, I thought. No. It can't be. Not now, please...

I shouted, and leaped out of bed... and felt myself being ensnared, trapped, suffocated. A film came over my eyes; I couldn't move or breathe. I thrashed against the attack with every ounce of strength I possessed, but it all seemed to turn back upon me tenfold.

The light suddenly came on, and the next sound I heard was that of footsteps upon the floor. It was followed by the last sound on earth I would have expected, given the circumstances: laughter. Rick's laughter. How incredibly, utterly inappropriate, I thought, for him to be chuckling away while I was being assaulted so viciously! And then I realized what had actually happened.

I had, of course, forgotten the wretched mosquito netting.

"I'll say this for you, Evelyn," he remarked conversationally, plucking me up from the floor and placing me on the bed, "you know how to keep a guy on his toes." He somehow managed to extricate my head and shoulders from the folds.

I blew curls out of my eyes. "Thank you," I replied, with as much aplomb as I could muster I lay flat on my back, nightgown and netting wound tightly about my body, shroud-like.

"Hang on, honey, almost there." Unravelling the remainder of the filmy cloth from my legs with a dextrous little twist, he continued, "How the hell did you manage... you know what? Never mind." He patted the bed. "Lie down and I'll put it back up for you."

"Someone was in my room."

"What? Who?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "It isn't as though I invited him..."

He bent over me, examining my bare arms and legs intently. My face suddenly felt very warm as he ran a hand along first one leg, then the other, but his demeanour was brisk and almost businesslike. "Are you okay? If he hurt you, I'll--"

"I'm fine, Rick. He never touched me."

Having ascertained that I was unharmed, he immediately drew himself up to his full height and did a quick tour of the room, fists balled, eyes wary. A thrill coursed through me in spite of myself: he was very dashing in that moment, clad only in the loose cotton drawers worn as undergarments by many Egyptians. He barged into my closet, looked under my bed, and strode out onto the balcony, finding no one.

"Why didn't you lock your door?" he demanded roughly.

My cheeks stung. I hadn't locked it because my mind had been on other things. Wedding plans, mostly. "I don't know how he got in or what he was doing here. Maybe he unlocked the door when he left," I suggested.

Rick threw open the door and thrust his head out into the hallway. "What did he look like?"

"He was... he looked... he was about your height, slim, dark-skinned, and... dressed like an ancient Egyptian," I blurted. I didn't want to alarm him, but there seemed no other way to say it.

Rick's clenched fists relaxed, and he turned to regard me with a look of such tender concern that I knew what he would say even before he did.

"It was NOT a dream," I added. "I saw him."

"Evelyn..."

"No, Rick! I know what I saw!"

Just then, Jonathan ambled in from the adjoining room. He wore silk pajamas, and was barefoot, the knuckles of one hand grinding his eye like a sleepy child. "The bloody hell's going on?" he demanded. "If you two are going to have little midnight assignations, that's all well and good, but couldn't you at least be quiet? My reputation may not be worth the paper it's printed on, but I had the impression that you had a bit more of a... social sort of... er, um, thing, sis."

"Oh, do shut up, Jonathan," I retorted crossly. I wasn't in the mood for his rambling, which became even more pronounced at times when conciseness was in order.

Jonathan took in Rick's tense pose, and minimal attire, combined with my alarmed expression and prone position, and his face changed ever so slightly. "I say, Evie... I hope O'Connell here is behaving himself?" He posed the question with more tact and sensitivity than most people would give him credit for. Despite his numerous other failings, in that moment I couldn't help but admire my older brother.

"It's all right, Jon. He came in because I yelled for help."

"It's true," affirmed Rick. "She was all tangled up in the mosquito netting."

"Well, you would have been, too, if you'd woken up to find a strange man in your room!" I exclaimed.

"There's one in my room every night," Rick deadpanned. "Unfortunately, he's my future brother-in-law."

Jonathan completely ignored the intended slight, eyes wide. "Evie, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"That's a relief. I hope you sent the blighter away with a swift kick in the pants, O'Connell."

Rick shot me a look, then cautiously replied, "I didn't see him."

"Ah."

Rick then qualified his statement by adding, "Which might have been because he didn't exist."

"Ah," said my brother again.

"I saw him!" I repeated stubbornly.

"What're you doing up, anyway?" Rick asked Jonathan, as though I hadn't spoken at all. "I thought you were sleeping one off."

Completely unembarrassed by the allegation, Jonathan dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "No, no no no. I was exhausted, my good son--completely knackered. All the, you know, adventure, and whatnot. Eh? But then I rolled over the wrong way," he explained, rubbing at his shoulder. The ugly wound was beginning to fade, but he'd probably carry a lifelong reminder of the scarab that had burrowed into his arm and very nearly killed him. "Think I might just wander down to the bar for a touch of anesthetic. Care to join me, old chap?"

Rick shook his head. "Nah."

"Right-o. I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I?" Jonathan reached over and tweaked my ear smartly with his good hand. "Sleep tight, old mum. Let O'Connell here tuck you in, like a good little girl."

With that, my brother turned on his heel and made his exit. I narrowed my eyes at his retreating form.

Rick, meanwhile, had clambered up onto the bedside table and was working at getting the netting back into place. Left in silence to consider recent events, I was forced to concede that in the cold light of reason, my ghostly intruder began to seem more and more like the product of my overwrought imagination.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I muttered, embarrassed.

"You didn't," he replied. "I couldn't sleep. I was trying to decide whether to come in here and wake you up, or just punch your brother in the stomach."

"Why would you do that?"

"You've known him your whole life and you can't think of an answer to that?"

I laughed. "No, really, what's he done now?"

Rick shrugged. "He snores. It's loud. Gets on my nerves."

"I'm sorry, darling. But it won't be for too much longer, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." The table creaked as he stepped down. "There, good as new." He folded his arms across his broad chest, smiling proudly. I got another little thrill, sharper than the first. It must have shown on my face, because he asked, "What's wrong?"

I passed a hand over my eyes and settled down into bed. "I'll be all right."

"I know that. But that wasn't what I asked you."

"Rick, I'm fine." I'd come over quite strange all of a sudden. My heart was pounding so fast and so heavily, I could swear the front of my nightshirt was trembling. I held my breath, torn between wanting him to stay and wishing he would go. "I'm just... tired."

"Okay." I have to give him credit, in that he knew better than to argue with me. "Just yell if you need me."

"I will."

"Okay."

"All right. Good night," I prompted.

He turned to leave.

"Rick--"

He pivoted on his heel, wheeling back around to face me. The moment I saw his face, I knew: he didn't want to leave any more than I wanted to send him away. But I had to... didn't I?

"Rick," I whispered, my throat suddenly dry as the desert itself. "Stay."

When he finally spoke, his voice seemed to rumble up from somewhere around the soles of his feet. "Evelyn..."

"Please."

"Look, I can't do this with you, okay? I can't just lie there and hold you and not..." he gestured inarticulately for a moment, "not... be with you. I can't--"

"You don't have to," I blurted. "Just stay, and... stay."

He said nothing, but watched me so intently I thought I might burst into flame under the heat of his gaze.

"I need you, Rick," I told him. I felt foolish saying it--rather like a silly, empty heroine of the type usually found in books and moving pictures--but it was the truth. I sat up in the bed and extended both my hands to him, only then becoming conscious of how rapidly and shallowly I was breathing.

He took a step forward, transfixed.

And stopped.

And swore.

"What?" I asked, climbing out of bed. The electric current that had passed between us now dissipated.

"I stepped on something sharp. I..." He hobbled to a nearby chair, sat down, and pulled his bare foot up to examine it. "Jeez. Sorry, Evie. Talk about killing the mood."

"It's all right," I told him, a bit disappointed, but somewhat relieved to be feeling like myself again. "Let's have a look." I knelt by him to examine the sole of his foot. Sure enough, it was bleeding copiously. I snatched up the closest makeshift bandage to hand--in this case, one of my handkerchiefs. "That's a nasty little cut... what on earth could you have trod on?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Rick provided an answer by pointing and grunting wordlessly, yet emphatically. I slid over to the object, picked it up--and very nearly dropped it again, as a shock ran through me.

"What is it, one of your damn earrings?" he demanded irritably.

"No."

I held the tiny object up so that he could see it more clearly. Rick cursed under his breath.

It was a delicately carved bead, a trinket, of a sort that had not been worn in this area for thousands of years. Part of a piece of ancient Egyptian jewellery. More importantly, it was proof that my phantom intruder had not been a figment of my imagination.

A mood-killer, indeed.