: Sitting upright from a sound sleep in their bed, Stavros Phistemopheles gasps for air. He is drenched in sweat, soaking the sheets. Next to him, his fiancee Amanda Napolitano is shaken awake, and sits up, pushing her shoulder length chocolate brown hair out of her eyes.
“Babe, what’s the matter?” she asks.
“Το ένιωσα ξανά! Αυτή η αίσθηση τρόμου!”, he gasps, pushing his fingers through his wet blue-black mane, pulling it back from his face. He’s panting as if he’s just run a marathon. His olive skin is ashen and clammy. Amanda, pale as porcelain, pushes back the dampened sheets and circles the bed to grab a bottle of water on his nightstand.
“Sweetheart, all I can say in Greek at this hour is ‘I need a toilet’ and ‘where is duty-free?’” Grabbing a scrunchie from her night table, she pulls her hair back into a pony tail. She opens the bottle and hands it to him, which he takes and knocks back. As she goes to grab a towel from the bathroom, she calls back “Translate please.”
Stavros, at any other time an imposing physical presence, sits with his broad shoulders hunched over his knees, like a great weight pushing him down. All he can do is pant for breath, trying desperately to slow his pounding heart. Amanda returns and begins drying his shoulders and back. She’s only seen him like this once before. And that was a nightmare she doesn't want to revisit.
Trying to sound calm and soothing, she breathes in and says evenly “tell me what happened?”
Stavros swallows hard and is just about to speak when his cell phone rings loudly. All expression leaves his chiseled face, his eyes staring blankly across the bed. His heart rate slows almost instantly. His panting replaced by short, shallow breaths.
“Oh, fer Chrissakes!” Amanda grumbles, tossing the towel across Stavros’ still shoulders, running back around the bed to her nightstand. “It’s after midnight, who the hell is calling us? Rony, if that’s you, I'm gonna--”
The words freeze on her lips as she sees the caller ID. A sudden tremble wiggles up her spine. She picks up both phones from the charging pad. Silently, she walks back around, handing the ringing phone to Stavros, who takes it without looking. She disappears into the kitchen to make some coffee and text messages. He taps the screen blindly. As he raises the phone, the sound of a familiar ocean half a world away fills his ear. He closes his eyes and says defeatedly,
“Hello Aunt Phil”...This is My New Orleans.
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