2 comments/ 5000 views/ 2 favorites Gloomy Sunday By: KdDiva Chapter 1 He had arrived in New Orleans on the eve of the first full moon of the year. It seemed inconsequential to him at the time but soon it would be so relevant to the rest of his life. He had spent the last 24 hours on a binge in the French Quarter with his golf companions. They'd been to every bar from Decatur to Bourbon Street and back. They'd seen just about everything while wandering through the mass of staggering bodies, it seemed the party raged nonstop whether it was Mardi Gras or a steamy Sunday afternoon. They'd heard every kind of music imaginable; the pounding techno in the neo dance clubs, the unmistakable sound of Dixie Land at Preservation Hall; modern interpretive Jazz that brought Miles Davis and John Coltrane to mind, as well as the persistent, infectious tempo of Cajun Zydeco. But what caught him most was the blues he heard drifting from a small corner pub. It wasn't the rocking blues he knew like BB King or the raw southern delta blues of Robert Johnson, it was something more haunting. He caught the sound of it intermittently, at moments it was drowned out by the noise of the filled streets or the blasting of another band just 5 feet away. He walked closer and the sounds around him began to fade as he focused on the strains of music, he still couldn't make out the words but the melody was written in an eerie minor key and rang in his ear like a woman's cry. He entered the doorway where he was certain the song had been coming from and found a small, dark, dirty pub with a huge, bald bartender and an old man perched on a barstool that looked as decrepit as him. He glanced around, there was no music playing, no band or even a jukebox and yet he was sure this was where it had been coming from. Seven long hours later he was still inebriated from the night before and felt the intense need to get away from the stench of stale beer, urine and vomit that seemed to permeate the French Quarter. Heading up Chartres he caught the trolley heading towards the Garden District. The ride took him through the Uptown area and along the oak tree shaded St. Charles Avenue where many of the grand homes built in the 1890s are meticulously maintained. It was like walking back in time when he stepped off the trolley at Jackson Avenue. He strolled along taking in the different architectural styles that defined this region of Louisiana. New Orleans was also known for its cemeteries or Cities of the Dead as they are called, that are unlike any burial grounds in the world. Since New Orleans is actually below sea level, the graves have to be above ground so they don't wash out. The trolley guide had mentioned there was one on Washington Street so he pulled out the guide book he'd picked up and walked the few blocks up Magazine to the Lafayette Cemetery Number 1. According to the book this was one of the oldest in the city and boasted paranormal activity that he highly doubted existed. As he explored he was struck by the artistic and creative above ground tombs and vaults, the artistry and statuary was surreal and he found himself stopping at several of the graves to take in the intricate details and read what engravings were still legible. It was then that he heard the faint sounds of a siren's call. The hum drifted along with the breeze sending him snippets of the same haunting melody he'd heard coming from that dark pub. He looked around trying to find the source as the strains became louder. He walked to the next aisle, his eyes sweeping, ears straining; he knew it was a woman's voice but he couldn't quite make out the words. He crossed over to the next aisle, the voice now clearer and the lyrics decipherable. Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless, Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless. Her voice was wrought with emotion, a sob just at the edge as she continued. Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you Wouldn't they be angry if I thought of joining you? Gloomy Sunday His gut tightened as the dark words passed her lips. He stopped and wondered if he should just leave her alone in her mourning but the pain he heard in her voice urged him forward another aisle. Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all My heart and I have decided to end it all Now the voice sounded as if it was coming from behind him and yet there had been no one there just a moment before. Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are said I know Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressin' you With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessin' you Gloomy Sunday He caught a glimpse of a woman stepping behind one of the vaults and rushed in that direction. "Excuse me, Ma'am? Are you alright?" he asked "Ma'am I don't mean to intrude but are you ok? Can I be of assistance?" He heard a quiet sob muffled by a hand and the swish of fabric as he stepped behind the tomb where he had seen her briefly, only to find nothing. The melody began again, the gut wrenching emotion of the lyrics and the sadness in her voice sending the hair on the back of his neck on end. Now the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, with dozens of voices echoing repeatedly like an endless loop of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Louder and louder, layer upon layer until he covered his ears in an attempt to drown out the echoes. His heart began to pound as the music reverberated through his body; a blinding sharp pain ripping through his head forcing him to one knee before ceasing in an instant. He stood slowly gasping harshly, shaking his head to clear the fog. When he opened his eyes she was standing at the far end of the row of vaults. She was dressed in a knee length black dress with layers of crinoline filling out the skirt. Her long coal black hair coiffed perfectly beneath a pill box hat with mesh veil, and a string of pearls around her neck; she looked like she just stepped off the cover of a 1940's magazine. Her face was like pure porcelain china and her lips a dark blood red that seemed severe against the fairness of her skin. Her eyes were large, almost doe like and the most amazing color green; they were brimming with tears and yet she smiled at him as if she knew him. He cleared his throat and asked quietly if she was ok. She nodded but dabbed at the tears falling down her cheeks with a black silk handkerchief. He took a step closer but she remained still and whispered "Joseph." How did she know his name? Was this one of the many women he'd spent the last evening dancing with? Everything was such a blur but he was certain that he would never forget a woman as beautiful as she, regardless of how drunk he was. His eyes swept across her gorgeous face and petite frame; he scoured his memory for a name to match her image but came up empty. "Do I know you?" he asked quietly. She nodded with a slight Mona Lisa smile. "I'm sorry; I can't remember your name. I've been drunk for 24 hours and I'm afraid my memory is a bit patchy." He combed his hand through his hair; he felt like an ass. "So, um, are you ok? Can I do something to help you?" She stepped toward him and like a magnet he walked towards her. She stopped a few feet away and extended her left hand, palm down; he reached for it and brought her knuckles to his lips like in the old movies. He'd never done that before and couldn't figure out why he had now, except that somehow he knew that was what was expected. He stood and looked into her eyes but didn't release her hand; she smiled and opened her lips slightly. Suddenly he began to hear static like on an old transistor radio with the squeals as the dial moved to find something on the air. He would swear it was coming from her; he took a step closer as the static gave way to the sounds of an old phonograph playing the same song he'd been hearing all day. Her lips began to move along with the lyrics; this sound he was sure was coming from her mouth and he was spellbound as he saw the physical manifestation of that sad melody reenacted upon her lovely face. She slowly turned and holding his hand she led the way to the cemetery gates still singing softly and then out onto Washington. They walked down a few blocks and stopped in front of a grand home that was the quintessential Garden District manor house. Chapter 2 The gate squeaked in disapproval as she swung it wide for their entrance, he heard each foot fall as she climbed the stairs to the fortified wraparound porch, the click of her heels as she strode for the door, the swish of the taffeta of her dress, he seemed to be engulfed in sound as he followed her up the few steps. She turned to him as she reached the door, a sly smile warming her face as the door opened with a slight moan. The light that came through the opened door cast a shadow across the room he entered; dust particles filled the air so thick he waved his hand in front of his face to clear the passage for him to breathe. Without hesitation she began to climb the staircase slowly unzipping her dress down the side of her body before slipping it down her hips and dropped in a heap on the first landing. She wore a full black silk slip that embraced the curves of her body as she continued to scale the flight of stairs. She stopped briefly on the second landing, pushing the straps of her slip down her arms and into another pile. Her smile was enchanting, no longer just a slight stretch of her lips but a lusty smoky smile that made his cock stiffen and his heart hammer. She now stood before him in a black silk bra, panties and garter belt that held her thigh high stockings; her heels continued to clip as she ascended the remaining treads; his eyes locked upon her derriere. He continued to struggle to remember her name, scanning his mind for anything that might give him a clue but everything was smudged with alcohol. As he climbed the stairs the air became clearer, the faded wallpaper began to pop with color, the aged wooden banisters becoming polished and gleaming but he didn't notice the change; all he could see was her. He threw his jacket and tie down with her dress, his shirt and shoes with her slip and as he came to the final landing he was breathless. She had her back to the door while she turned the crank on an old Victrola; he look around to take in his environment, the room was filled with huge antique furniture, burgundy silk draped around the canopied bed filled with countless pillows. He turned his attention back to her when she put the needle to the old vinyl disc; once again that same haunting melody sliced through the air. She turned to him and again lifted her lips in a slight smile; she must have seen the confusion in his eyes because she answered the unasked question "Eva" her voice was like velvet with a delicate southern drawl. "Come to me, Joseph" He moved slowly at first trying to control the urge to run to her; his cock punching at the front of his trousers. 'If this is a dream please don't wake me up' he thought to himself. As he stepped to her she raised her arms, wound them around his shoulders and pulled him into her. His face was buried in her hair as they embraced and he was engulfed by the scent of Magnolias and lemons. He pulled back from her slightly, raising his hands to cup her cheeks before touching his lips to hers lightly; she pressed into him her tongue sliding into his mouth as she took the aggressive stance. As her taste flooded his mind he felt a surge shoot through him; an onslaught of emotions blinded him and he was overwhelmed by the feeling that this was what he had been searching for his whole life... this beautiful woman and her love was his destiny. He kissed her again; his passion was molten lava coursing through his veins, their kiss now urgent and demanding. She worked at his belt while he kissed along her chin and nuzzled her neck. He grappled with the hooks on her bra until the material pulled free and slid down her arms; his trousers and boxers fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them as her lace panties joined the pile. He gazed at her and was struck again by her beauty; the skin that covered her entire body was the same beautiful flawless creamy porcelain of her face. When she whispered his name he fell to his knees before her pressing his face against her silken belly, tears filled his eyes as he inhaled her scent, she was beyond perfect, and emotions he couldn't explain wracked his body. She sang along softly with the gut wrenching song that seemed to be playing endlessly while her hands combed through his hair and along his shoulders. He stood quickly and swept her into his arms, kissing her deeply, reveling in the feeling of her cool smooth skin against his before carrying her to the huge ornate bed in the center of the room. He laid her down gently and while still standing brushed his hands across her flesh; starting with her face he traced along her entire body, memorizing each rise and dip, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her tummy. Her breathing became deeper, a slight moan with each exhale as he continued to worship her body; his mouth suckled at her wrist after first kissing each finger tip; his lips followed the trail of his fingers and he didn't miss the sweet sounds coming from her as his tongue swirled around one taut nipple. He climbed atop the bed as he worked his way down her legs. He kissed the arch of her foot and then a playful nibble at her toes, before sliding his hands up her inner thighs and spreading her trembling legs. He kissed her calf and then the other knee, then another kiss on the opposite thigh before engulfing the crease of her thigh with his mouth which elicited an emphatic and breathy "Ohhh" from her. When at last he was resting there between her thighs he found her mound to be as beautiful as the rest of her; it was covered with short black curls, not the usual "landing strip" or clean shaven look most women sport these days, but natural, neat and trimmed. Her lips were full and fleshy, her clit proudly protruding from its hood and he couldn't wait another second to taste her. He kissed against her lips softly putting pressure against her hard jewel; then slowly moving his head as if he were kissing her other lips instead. She moaned when he opened his mouth, his breath hot against her before gliding his tongue along the length of her cleft, then again, parting her and taking that first taste of her arousal. Her hands knotted through his hair, sighing and moaning with delight as he teased her for what seemed like hours; nibbling up one side of her pussy and then down the next; alternately flicking and swirling then sucking her diamond clit; dipping his tongue deep inside of her, flexing it and swishing it around. He sucked her clit into his mouth while gently piercing her with his middle finger; God, she was wet and so tight. Her hips began to buck as he massaged the magic spot inside and continued his oral assault on her jewel. She gasped his name loudly when her muscles clinched around his finger; her body writhed in time with the spasms rocking her pussy. Her sweet honey was dripping around his fingers and he didn't want to waste a drop so his tongue replaced his finger and he lapped at her, savoring her taste. She sighed and whimpered as her body trembled and her thighs closed around his head while he continued to nuzzle her sex determined to make her orgasm last as long as possible. He was shaking as he crawled up her body, her arms wrapped around him as their lips met. They kissed deeply and rolled to their sides, his shaft burning against her hip, arms intertwine, hands exploring. She pushed him back against the mountain of silk and sat up straddling his waist; her delicate hands drew lines across his chest and down his arms; then traveled up her thighs, along her belly and up to her coal black hair. She tugged gently at the knot and it came billowing down her shoulders, back, and across her breasts, the color stark against her china doll skin. The scent of magnolia engulfed him and then lemon as she leaned into him for a sweet kiss, the lengths of her hair falling like a shade of pure silk around their faces. Her green eyes sparkled though her pupils were dilated and he found himself sinking into them, unable to look away as she began to nibble gently on his bottom lip. His hands cupped her full breasts massaging gently as the peaks wrinkled and hardened beneath his palm. "Joseph" she whispered with a flick of her tongue that shot a bolt of lightning through his system; in a kaleidoscope of blinding light he saw the future of his life, this was who he had been looking for, she was the woman he would make his wife, who would bear his children, spoil his grandchildren and he felt a surge of emotions so intense they took his breath away. His passion overwhelmed him, his heart and body felt his love for her that would begin now and grow over their years together. "Eva!" he gasped before he kissed her fiercely. A groan of satisfaction bellowed from him as she lifted her hips and slid her taut, sodden sex down the length of him. Her hands were pressed against his chest, her nails gently scoring his flesh as she started to rise and fall upon him. He felt drugged as he laid there watching the raven haired beauty spring up and down feverishly on his cock, his hands clasped her breasts as they bounced against her chest. Their eyes never wavered; each seemed to be memorizing everything about this time together. The scratched vinyl LP continued to play the ghostly melody adding to his daze, the tones mixing with the sighs and whispers of his beautiful Eva. Harder and faster she rode him, his hips thrusting to meet hers, his large strong hands pulling at her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she began to whimper and moan. He was so close to cumming and he didn't want to stop but nor did he want to fly off too soon... he wanted this to last forever, wanted to give her more pleasure then she'd ever known so he tried to lift her from his staff but she worked harder, focused on the momentum she had started. "Eva, wait... I'm too close, Eva... wait." It was too late. His hips propelled up as the convulsions pushed him deeper and deeper into her, his seed filled her as her own body climaxed in response, her sinewy sex clutching and releasing, milking him for every drop. She lay down upon his chest, their bodies' slick with a light sheen of sweat. Neither could breathe and their hearts pounded in unison to a crazy beat. He held her there, his arms wrapped around her, just resting as he softened inside of her. She looked up and smiled at him before saying "Joseph, do you believe in fate?" That was an odd question after having just had nearly anonymous sex and yet he thought about it before responding, knowing something deep and mystical was happening. "I'm not sure." He answered honestly "I think that we exercise free will as human beings, we make choices and those choices ultimately influence the natural direction of one's life. But is fate a predetermined destiny or is it simply a result of decisions we've made and experiences we've had? I don't know." He started to apologize for his blathering, wanting to kick himself in the ass for another typical overly analytical diatribe. He was flustered but she just smiled and leaned in for another kiss while gently releasing his now soft member from the warm haven of her sex. She left the bed and after winding the Victrola again she retired to the bath; he could hear the water filling the tub and her sultry voice filtering through the open door as he drifted off to sleep. Gloomy Sunday He woke sometime later sitting up against an old crypt back in Lafayette Cemetery Number 1; his head was pounding and he shook it lightly to clear the muddle. Memories of the afternoon came rushing in and he hurried to his feet. There was no sign of Eva so he called her name a few times before he started laughing. Obviously he'd had entirely too much to drink and passed out in a grave yard and the beautiful Eva was just a product of his drunken, horny man brain... one hell of a wet dream, he thought walking to the gated entrance. The sun was close to setting but instead of heading directly to St. Charles for the trolley he walked a few blocks up Magazine where he had followed his ghostly lover in his alcohol induced hallucination. When he arrived at the home where they had made love he was overcome with confusion as it was the exact same house as in his dream, yet a bit more dilapidated then it had appeared before. He had to know if she was in there so he opened the squeaking gate, up the few steps to the porch and knocked. He peeked through the dirty glass panes alongside the front door; the house was desolate and devoid of any furnishings and yet he recognized the ancient wall paper now pulling away from the walls in the foyer and the grand staircase just beyond. He knocked again and waited; praying that she would answer the door. "Eva?" he said softly and peered through the glass again; it looked as if no one had been there in years. He was kind of sick to his stomach but tried to laugh off the events... maybe he was right it had just been a dream or one hell of a hangover. Chapter 3 Joseph left New Orleans the next morning and swore he'd never return. Work occupied most of his time, plus he was single, wealthy and handsome so he had plenty of ladies to keep him busy. But none could compare, none of them were the beautiful nightingale, the woman his heart and body craved. He never forgot that afternoon with his imagined lover, his beautiful Eva, but he worked hard at trying to fill the emptiness he'd felt since that day. When he returned home from the trip she was all he could think about, he was obsessed with the bizarre events, the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit, it had been too real to be a dream and it nearly drove him insane. He'd spent countless hours scouring the internet for something, anything that might make sense of what happened to him but the only solid piece of information he'd been able to attach to the day was the song. It had taken him hours of searching but he had finally found it while searching a song lyric database. It was called "Gloomy Sunday" and sung by Billie Holiday but it was loosely based on a song infamously known as The Hungarian Suicide song by Rezső Seress, who jumped to his death from his apartment and created what would become an urban legend about it inspiring hundreds of suicides and being banned from being played or sung in public. He listened to it over and over and each time he relived that day with Eva, it had seemed so real, he could still vividly recall the smell of magnolias, the smoothness of her flesh, the curves of her body and the taste of her kiss. He finally had to stop listening to it for fear that he would become another statistic to further fuel the song's dark reputation. He searched for a way to push it all to the recesses of his brain and try to return to normal. His most recent feminine pursuit had been able to finally ease some of his torment by fucking him whenever and however he wanted until he was too tired to dream. Now, three years later business would take Joseph back to New Orleans and once the trip had been set he was back in that place where his heart was ripped open, his mind a mess and his body aching with a need only one woman could ease. After a few days and countless hours of business meetings Joseph wandered around post Hurricane Katrina New Orleans on a warm and drizzling Sunday morning. He was amazed at the restorations, the French Quarter no longer smelled of booze and decay; even the dives along Bourbon Street had been lovingly refurbished. He thought he was just drifting around aimlessly but found himself heading towards that dank, dirty pub where he'd first heard the strains of that song. Music and people poured out of every door, the streets filled with rowdy revelers and yet when he neared that corner everything faded away as he heard the melody that had haunted him for three years. Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless, Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless. His steps quickened as he pushed through the crowd. Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you He stopped just outside, filled with fear that this would be just another product of his imagination. He closed his eyes as the tune continued the sultry sound of her voice exactly as he remembered. Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you Wouldn't they be angry if I thought of joining you? Gloomy Sunday He stepped through the door to find a bright and beautifully restored pub, not the dark derelict mess it had been before. His eyes adjusted to the lighting and he scanned the room searching for the face that matched the voice and there she was on stage sitting behind a keyboard and microphone at the back of the bar. He made his way through the throng and his knees nearly buckled as their eyes met. Her face registered surprise but she kept singing watching as he made his way towards her. Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all My heart and I have decided to end it all Her beautiful hair was loose and swept down past her waist, her emerald eyes sparkled beneath long lashes, she was more beautiful than he'd remembered but she was without a doubt the woman he'd fallen in love with in the Lafayette Cemetery that day. Her denim skirt and tight tank top were the only things that seemed truly different, a distinct contrast to the vintage black taffeta dress she'd been wearing that day. Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are said I know Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressin' you With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessin' you Gloomy Sunday The crowd burst into cheers as the final notes faded but for the two of them there was nothing and no one else in that room. She walked to the edge of the platform where he was standing and gently cupped his face with her small hands; with her bottom lip held between her teeth she searched his visage; her brow creased and a tear rolled down her cheek as she explored the angles and planes of his face. "Joseph?" she barely whispered. "Eva!" he said as he pulled her to him, his face pressed against her belly and his eyes burning with tears just as they had that day. He reached up and lifted her into his arms, holding her against his body while she wrapped hers around his neck, legs dangling a foot from the ground; eye to eye, face to face, tear to tear as their lips met; he felt that jolt of electricity just as he did before, he could tell she did too. Sweeping his other arm under her knees he carried her out of the noisy bar to a chorus of catcalls and whistles. They didn't speak as he carried her through the now pouring rain but he would stop every few steps to squeeze and kiss her to convince himself she was really there. The door man and the entire lobby stared as the soaked man sloshed across the marble floor with his precious package. He set her down once inside the elevator but crushed her to him and kissed her deeply; both were breathless by the time the doors opened on his floor. Hand in hand they made their way to his suite; the squeak of their wet shoes echoed down the long hall. He held the door for her, never once letting go of her hand and he stopped as he stepped through the entrance but didn't close the door. She turned to face him, shivering as they stood there dripping. "I don't understand..." she said quietly "Neither do I, but we can discuss it as soon as we get you dry and warm." He was so nervous; the woman he'd been dreaming about for three years was real and in his suite. She didn't seem afraid at all, none the less he hesitated; perhaps it was a subconscious attempt at propriety, reminiscent of when he kissed her knuckles that day. "I... um... do you..." he cleared his throat and fidgeted "What I mean is; are you ok with me closing the door?" She tilted her head to the side and smiled as if that was a silly question. "What a perfect gentleman." Her voice, with that sexy lilting southern drawl, was like fine scotch smoldering in his belly on a cold day. "Of course, Joseph, I know I'm safe with you." Chapter 4 He pulled a plush robe from the closet and led her to the bathroom. He didn't want to let go of her hand or even to lose sight of her but he stepped back and closed the door to allow her privacy. He quickly shed his wet clothes, pulled on a pair of jeans and nervously combed his hands through his hair. He was lighting a fire when she walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. The familiar scent of magnolia engulfed him and he inhaled deeply, intoxicated by her scent. "We need to talk." He said before standing. "Yeah, that's an understatement." "Can I get you something to drink? The bar is fully stocked." He felt awkward; he fought the urge to touch her and turned for the kitchenette. "Scotch, if you've got it." He faltered a bit. "Certainly, how do you take it? Straight, mixed, on the rocks?" "Chilled is my usual preference," he stopped short "but under the circumstances, whichever is the quickest is probably best. I'm freaking out right now so you might want to bring the whole bottle." She added with a nervous laugh. He returned a moment later with a cold bottle of Glenfiddich's Vintage Reserve, two chilled glasses and two bottles of water. "I come baring essential liquid provisions." He tried to appear at ease and casual even though he was about to burst. "I was surprised by your request for scotch but, I must say, I was taken aback by your preference for chilled scotch." "And why is that?" she said with a toss of her hair "Do I look like a fruity frozen drink kind of girl? I can probably drink you under the table!" He laughed and responded "No! No, that's not what I meant. I've just never met anyone else who likes their scotch chilled, like me, let alone one that knows enough not to order it on the rocks, because a real scotch lover..." "...would never allow ice to water down a glass of thirty year old perfection." She finished the sentence for him and they both laughed while he poured them each a snifter. They sat facing one another on the rug in front of the fire, each unsure what to say or how to begin. "Well, here's a toast..." he said to break the ice " a toast to... " "Scotch!" she added "To Scotch, indeed!" they both downed the first glass, wanting the delicious burn to warm their bellies; plus they needed the liquid courage immediately and neither was patient enough to sip. She poured the next round while he began with the questions. "So, how do you know me?" "I've dreamt of you." She whispered "When?" "Always." She looked down at her glass "What happens in your dreams?" "There's only one dream; it's always the same dream. I've never told anyone, not even my mother." "Can you tell me?" he whispered "You're the only one I can tell, Joseph. You're the only one who will understand it." She tipped her glass before continuing "I'm standing in the rain outside Lafayette Cemetery watching as the grand funeral parade flows in through the gates. I'm the last one in because I don't want to watch them put the casket in the crypt." She looks into the fire as tears well and overflow. "I stay in the back as the grieving family and friends sing hymns, and I'm angry, really angry because they were praising God when I was cursing him for taking... " she stopped abruptly. "For taking who, Eva?" "My husband... he had been killed in the Second World War." The tears flowed down her cheek, the reflection of the fire dancing in each drop. "Joseph, it was you in that casket and I couldn't let you go!" she flung herself into his arms and he rocked her gently as sobs wracked her body. He was more confused than ever, something was still missing. "What else, Eva? Is there more?" he whispered as she continued to shudder and cry. She nodded slowly and covered her face as she pulled back from him. "Please, Eva, I need to know." "After everyone left and the gates closed I forced myself to get closer until I was sitting on the steps to the vault. You...HE loved to hear me sing and so I sang to him... only, in the dream, I'm singing in Hungarian." She looked up at him "I don't speak Hungarian, Joseph, but my Grandparents did." "What was the song?" He could hardly breathe as he recalled what he had learned about the song's origins. "The one I was singing tonight when you came into the bar. It's called Gloomy Sunday, well Billie Holiday's version is, but it's based on a piece known as..." "The Hungarian Suicide song by Rezső Seress." Their eyes met and both knew the song was of immense importance. "Go on." "Well... I'm sitting on the steps of the vault in the pouring rain watching numbly as the blood spills from the slices I made in my wrists." "Oh my God, Eva!" he pulled her closer, wiped the tears from her cheek and tucked her under his chin. "How long have you been having this dream?" "I don't know. Since I was about 12 I guess." She shrugged. He held her there for a few minutes; she could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek; his thick arms and chest gave her the sense that she was safe, that he somehow made her whole. "Now, what about you, how do you know me?" She asked and reluctantly pulled out of his embrace. "Well, this is really going to sound crazy." He paused and shifted uncomfortably "I'm not even sure this is happening." "What do you mean?" she asked, her head tilted to the side. "I... uh... I guess I think I'm going to wake up in the morning and this is all going to be just a crazy dream... or a figment of my imagination." He looked down and added quietly "Just like the last time." "What happened last time?" "Something I've never told anyone, either." He began to tell her about his previous visit to New Orleans, even the sounds and the melody that bound him there. When he told of the woman he raised his face to gauge her reaction "It was you, Eva. My God, I even remember the way you smelled and the clothes you were wearing..." "Vintage black Tea Gown and a funny hat? Like something out of the 40's?" she asked softly, he nodded. Somehow, his vision was interrelated with her dream. "This doesn't make any sense. There's got to be more." Joseph related the remainder of the story about the house, the staircase, the old Victrola; he stuttered and stammered as he reached the more intimate parts but by this time they both knew what transpired in that room. "Will you come somewhere with me?" "Sure, but where?" "Just come with me, ok?" He nodded and pulled on a shirt as she slipped her still damp clothes on in the bathroom. They were both disheveled and for all outward appearances everyone in the lobby, including the door man, assumed she was a prostitute and he her john, but Joseph gripped her hand firmly and led her back out into the pouring rain where he hailed a cab. "Where to?" he asked Eva "Lafayette Cemetery Number 1." Chapter 5 The rain had slowed to a drizzle and as they stood in front of the familiar iron gates both were trembling. "I'm going to go where I'm standing in my dream; you go where you saw me, ok?" he nodded and waited a moment before moving ahead. He had run around in circles that day so it took him a few minutes to find the right area; he came around the last vault and there she stood exactly where he found her that day. He walked towards her as they both cried, the emotions he'd felt on that fateful day came rushing back. The clouds started to clear and the full moon brightened the area where they stood. Both turned towards the vault they were standing in front of and could read the brass inscription plate clearly: Joseph William Edwards and Eva Nikolet Vastag- Edwards Together in life, love and death. Sunday January 11, 1942. He stood there for a moment in shock before he spoke. "That's my name." "And I'm Eva Nikolet; I was named after my grandmother." He staggered a bit. "Are you telling me this is your grandparents vault?" "Yes. And today is Sunday January 11th." "Jesus Christ! What the hell is going on here?" he began to pace and run his hands through his hair as he tried to make sense of everything. "Joseph, there's more." She told him an abbreviated history of the grandparents she never knew and how her mother, Marta, had been left an 11 year old orphan when Eva killed herself that day. Marta lived a difficult life being passed from orphanages to foster homes and back again. She hated her mother for being so selfish, however, a letter addressed to her had been found and when she was old enough to comprehend it she learned the depth of love the original Eva and James shared. She no longer hated her mother but came to admire her bravery and her devotion to the man she loved; Marta had even gone so far as to have the date of her mother's death changed on the plaque to match her father's. As young Eva grew, her mother told her stories of her grandparents and how their love had been the greatest love the world had known; a legacy of love and passion passed from one generation to the next. They would visit their tomb often and her mother would sing that sad Hungarian refrain before walking by the grand house that had once been their home. She swore one day she would buy the house; it was where she had been born and where the memories of her parents were the strongest and she wanted to raise Eva there. But Marta died in an automobile accident when Eva was 14, leaving a grieving husband and yet another broken child. Joseph enveloped her in his arms as tears streamed down her face and she gave in for a moment, just resting there against his strength before taking a deep breath and stepping back. "Now, take me to the house." She looked straight ahead when he stopped, she didn't need to look at the house. "This is my house, Joseph. It was also my grandparent's home." Her words rocked him and he swayed slightly on his feet catching himself with the iron gate. "It had always been my mother's dream to bring it back into the family and restore it. I was finally able to buy her back after Katrina." She opened the gate but it no longer protested and as he followed Eva up the path to the porch, her image flickered back and forth in his mind; one moment she was in the black taffeta dress, the next in her wet mini skirt. He couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening so for the moment he concentrated on watching her bottom sway as she climbed the steps and unlocked the door. Once inside he stood stock still, the house was as he remembered with a few updates here and there. Eva had done a beautiful job restoring the home; she was able to find the antique wallpaper, the wooden floors gleamed as did the railings leading up the stairs. His heart hammered as he remembered the last time he scaled that staircase, the scene played out as his eyes counted each tread; the scent of magnolia's surrounded him and he was lost in reverie until Eva took his hand. His snapped to attention and nearly yelped with surprise. Gloomy Sunday "Joseph, are you ok?" "I don't know." He answered quietly, turning toward her. He brought his hands up to her face and gently cupped her cheeks before dipping his head to take her lips softly. He pulled her petite frame against him as the kiss deepened, her arms wound around his neck while their tongues began to dance. They were breathless when the kiss ended and he swept her up into his arms and scaled the staircase two treads at a time. The bedroom was exactly as he recalled, the massive ornate bed stood in the middle of the room, draped in burgundy and gold silks, and the old Victrola sitting on the side board. He set her down gently and walked to the antique record player, he read the label on the vinyl disc before turning the crank and placing the needle on the scratched surface. The haunting melody began and in that instant the two Eva's became one in his mind. On that day three years ago she had asked him if he believed in fate and he had been honest in his response, he didn't know if he did or not, but that is exactly what this was FATE. Somehow Eva's grandparent's lives were intertwined with theirs; he imagined that perhaps they were the reincarnation of the original Eva and Joseph or just the essence of their love and as he tried to explain his thoughts to Eva the room began to fade a bit and the air distorted slightly. The victrola stopped but the music didn't and soon the room resonated with the original version and Hungarian lyrics to Gloomy Sunday. Suddenly, the old Eva and Joseph were standing there, the grandmother in her taffeta dress singing to the grandfather decked out in full dress uniform as they swayed and danced together. The young couple watched in amazement as the figures continued to twirl to the slow cadence of the song. "Grandmother?" Eva finally whispered, the dancers stopped and turned toward them. "Grandfather?" "Yes, Eva." Her grandfather spoke in a deep husky voice, both heavily accented. "I don't understand...?" the grandmother in full flesh approached the younger version of herself and embraced the granddaughter as she began to speak. "My darling child, we are part of a love story that began thousands of years ago. Our ancestors received a blessing by the Gods of Ancient Rome; it was the gift of eternal love and passion. Through countless lifetimes that blessing has been bestowed upon each female child, and in each lifetime she found her true love through the singing of a song and lived out her days with her soul mate.... again and again and again. But I cursed our family line with my suicide and I left your mother alone, a sin far worse than the taking of my own life. I am bound here by my actions and your Grandfather by his love for me, we are... unable to move on to our final destination." "But you," the Grandfather said, taking young Eva's hand in one and Joseph's with the other; the Grandmother took Eva's to completed the circle "the two of you can reclaim this blessing by completing the cycle of love once again." With a blinding light the young pair was flooded with the memories and emotions of the all the many generations their spirits had been joined together in love; reliving every kiss and caress, feeling the joy of newfound love and the loss of that love at death each time. Joseph saw Eva in her many carnations; first draped in a diaphanous toga standing among wheat nearly as tall as she was; raven locks blowing in the warm summer wind. Her delicious mouth formed the words of an ancient song in a language now lost to man. But its meaning was made clear by the emotion in her eyes, the catch in her voice. Flash forward through the centuries and he was brought back to the Eva who stood before him now. He pulled her into his embrace as their tears fell freely; she had seen and felt the same thing he did and they both knew this was their destiny. "Will you take charge of this legacy young man? Will you love her and honor the gift bestowed upon you and see that it is cultivated in the next generation?" the grandfather asked. "Yes, Sir." He didn't hesitate a second. Twenty two years later, as he walked his eldest daughter, Marta, down the aisle, he realized it had all come full circle. They had indeed restored the blessing by loving one another without holding anything back; they lived each day with passion and raised their 3 daughters in a home where love, song and laughter were always present. And yes, Marta had a song, too. As will Sophia and Alexandra but those are stories for another day.