Eve: In the Beginning by Heather B. Moore, H. B. Moore Page B

a collection of herbs, as if the shadow has been sleeping among the vines. Perhaps he has been sleeping, or at least hiding, where the trampled circle is.
    Shuffling again — this time moving away. Can the shadow not detect my presence? Have I been all that quiet?
    I let out my breath when all is silent, and I wait as long as I can bear it. Finally, I peer around the mat. There is no one in the alcove. I wait a little longer before leaving the hanging mats. My hands tremble as I wonder what happened to Adam.
    I want to call for him, scream out for him, but I can’t. I walk along the edge of the alcove until I near the opening. I dread looking outside, seeing the barren boulder, seeing no Adam. What if the shadow is waiting for me?
    But I can’t stay here, not with Adam gone, not with the shadow looking for me — for us. What does the shadow want? Why did he come?
    I move to the front of the alcove, listening, moving slowly. When I see the boulder, I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed that it’s empty. The animal skin is again on it, seemingly untouched. I take a step, then another. I am now fully outside the alcove, but there is no sign of Adam.
    Exhaling, I close my eyes, wondering in which direction he might have gone — or where the shadow might have taken him. I decide to start by the pond, reluctant as I am. Just as I open my eyes, decision made, the hairs on my arms stand up.
    Someone is watching me.
    “Eve,” a voice whispers. The sound filters into my mind and body, and it’s as though I feel its reverberations down to the bottom of my feet.
    I don’t turn around. I don’t want to see the man that is not Adam. I want to cry out for my husband, but somehow I know he won’t hear me.
    “The mother of all living,” the voice speaks in a low whisper that is perfectly audible.
    “Who are you?” I’m surprised that I can speak at all.
    Then he is in front of me. I stare at the man in the moonlight. He studies me, his mouth twisted into a half smile. His eyes are indeed black; even in the light of the moon, I can see their void. His face is more angular than Adam’s, his cheekbones prominent, and his eyebrows thick and dark.
    “I am your brother,” he says.
    My stomach jolts. My brother? That means Elohim is his father too. Where has this brother been? Does Adam know we have a brother? I ask none of these questions.
    “How do you know my name?” I ask.
    His face lifts into that crooked smile again. “I have kept my knowledge.”
    I blink rapidly. He has knowledge . Has he eaten of the forbidden fruit? I want to ask him about it, but his gaze is penetrating. Something shudders through me as if he touched me, although he has not. He takes a step forward, and I move back toward the alcove. I can see the length of his body now, and it is covered with something like an animal skin — yet his body doesn’t seem to be solid.
    He nods slightly, as if expecting my reaction to him.
    “Where is Adam?” I ask.
    He doesn’t answer but steps closer. I want to ask him why his body is covered, if he is the one who placed the covering on me the other night, and if he killed the snake.
    But I fail to ask any of this as he walks around me, circling. My stomach knots. This is a man who’s killed animals. Even if he is my brother, I don’t like him here, in my garden.
    He stops close to me, not touching me, but it feels as if he is. I have never touched another person besides Adam. It’s strange to be near this human. How many others are there like him? Do I have more brothers?
    “Tell me where Adam is,” I say. It’s impossible to hide the tremble in my voice.
    “He’s not far,” my brother says in a low voice, his breath brushing against the top of my head. I move away from him, and he chuckles.
    I turn to face him. “How far?”
    One of his eyebrows lifts, and his smile returns. “I see ...”
    I wait for him to finish what he is saying, but he only watches me with that amused look on his face.