Sibyl [Open]

[Jordan Mercer]

A blank stare.

That was the only response Evelyn had originally given him. After the discussion with Felicia and Lilka, and perhaps as a result of Lilka's chosen residency, he had decided to tell Evelyn about his ability and how he had been using it. Evelyn was, by most accounts, his girlfriend, although he had seldom thought of her as such. But she deserved to know the truth. It would be difficult to tell her, he knew, and difficult for her to accept. They would have to work through it. But they would, he was certain, and they would be okay.

So he had returned to New York and told her. He had described his ability in full, and he had explained how he had used it with her. How he had manipulated her into always thinking well of him, no matter how he treated her; how he had controlled her through the power of suggestion, how so many of the choices she thought she had made had not been entirely hers at all.

She had watched him as he spoke, nodding very slightly from time to time, and at other times just looking at him very closely, as though reading his lips, or as though attempting to see into his heart. Had he done this before his meeting with Felicia, she would have found nothing there. Now, at least, he felt a bit of remorse. He knew what he had done was wrong, and that she had deserved better. He said as much, as his explanation drew to a close; and her only response to that had been a blank stare.

"Evelyn?" he asked quietly once too much time had passed in silence.

She cleared her throat a bit, looking down as she did. "I, um. That's… I don't know."

He stepped toward her. It was an erroneous move; she had been sitting, which meant she now had to look up at him. He did think to take her hand, though, and squeeze it very gently. "I understand if you want to leave. If… you never want to see me again. I'll understand."

"It's not that." She shook her head. "Not really. I just… it's so much."

"I know." He sat next to her on the sofa. The room had become unfamiliar to him, in the time he had been away. Somehow, although Evelyn had made little change to her apartment in that time. "I don't expect you to process it all at once. It'll take time. We'll take time."

She looked at him again; he noticed that her eyes looked clouded, bleary. "Did you love me, Jordan?"

Later, Jordan would realize the significance of her phrasing there. Did, as opposed to do. She had marked the conversation as an end to something even before he told her that it was. She had been observant, and thoughtful enough not to make her observations known. Yet he would wonder whether things could have been different if one of them had approached the matter just a little bit differently.

The answer came not in words; it was in the pause, the formation of his lips without making a sound before he did reply. "Yes, Evelyn. Not nearly as well as you deserved. I didn't know how to show it. I have to learn it. But I will."

She nodded slowly. Another early observation. She had realized that, even after all his explanations and all his promises, he was still lying to her.

"Will you be patient with me? I don't…." He knew what the sentence should have been, what he wanted it to be: I don't want to do this alone. But his pride made him swallow those words, and offer a very different set: "…I'd like you to stick with me."

"I will." Her voice was faint, but the smile she gave him was reassuring, and he was able to give her a reassuring smile in return. Then he kissed her, and they set about making dinner, just as they had so often before. She was quieter than usual, he noted, but, given all he had just told her, that was to be expected.

[Jordan Mercer]

for those who made it, those we lost, and those who have yet to light the darkness

The airport was buzzing, with many travelers coming and going. Many of them wore surgical masks, probably in light of the cholera scare. Jordan rolled his eyes. Cholera was a waterborne and foodborne illness, and, as far as he knew, would not be spread from one person to another just by breathing. He, at least, had not gotten sick yet. And, he figured, giving them the benefit of doubt, maybe the weird kind of cholera this country was facing had some kind of airborne properties. The disease had not affected him in any way yet, so he didn't know.

He barely heard his phone ring. Had he been in a louder part of the airport, he would have missed it entirely. But he was sitting at a nearly empty gate, having arrived for his flight back to Las Vegas very early. He reached into his pocket and glanced at the phone. Evelyn.

"Hey," he said, but there was no answer. "Hey. Evelyn?"

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded strained, as though she had been crying. "I couldn't. I had to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? We did say goodbye. A couple of hours ago, before I left."

"No. I mean…." She groaned softly, but he was not sure why. "I mean, goodbye. I'll never…" Now he could hear her sniffling. "I'll never see you again."

"What? Evelyn, what's going on?" Jordan frowned. This did not sound good. "Where are you?"

"It's too late." She was sobbing openly now, her words coming out in gasps. "I just wanted to hear your voice. And to say I'm sorry. Jordan, goodbye."

"Eve-" He heard the quietness of a call ended. Glancing around the gate, he held the phone in his hand, confused. Something was wrong, but… he needed to get to her. Either she had plans, or she had already done something. Either way, he had to get to her.

He raced out of the airport, brushing past security enough to make a scene, but quickly implanting thoughts into everyone around him to calm the fuck down and leave him the fuck alone. He hailed a taxi and was soon on his way to her apartment. He still had a key to it, thankfully.

But he entered and looked around, and found no one, and no sign of where she had gone.

The next few seconds were spent hyperventilating. After a short period of time, he was able to regain enough presence of mind to call in a favor. Gabriel seemed genuinely surprised by the call, and by the reason for it. But he was able to locate Evelyn easily, which gave Jordan hope. For one, he could now find and help her; for another - if what he feared was true - he could still help her, because Gabriel's tracking ability could only locate the living.

He found another taxi and told the driver to make his way as fast as he could to the address Gabriel had given him. Jordan knew the address; it was her aunt's home. That seemed reasonable enough. He figured her aunt or uncle were there, or would get there soon, and be able to help too. That was before he remembered that the uncle's career took them out of the state very often.

At the apartment building, he raced up the stairs, and tried the door, and knocked, and shouted her name. He was getting ready to give up when he finally heard a very faint "Jordan?"

Then he found his resolve again. After stepping back, he aimed a kick just below the doorknob, and then pushed his way into the flat. "Evelyn?" he called, and, although he got no reply that time, he was able to follow the small coughs and groans into the master bedroom. He found Evelyn lying on the bed, clutching her stomach as though she were sick. The door to the adjoining bathroom was open, and the inside light on; a few pill bottles made a trail from the bathroom to the bed, but most of them were standing upright in the medicine cabinet. All were empty.

"Evie…" Jordan glanced from the bathroom to the bed. "Evie…."

"I'm sorry." Evelyn closed her eyes. "I just… I couldn't… oh, Jordan…."

He bounded over to the bed and took her hand, squeezing it. Her hand was shaking violently. "Evie… I'm so sorry."

She closed her eyes and nodded faintly, and did not open her eyes again.

Suddenly his phone was in his hand, and the next thing he knew, they were loading her into an ambulance, and then he was in the ambulance, sitting next to her, holding her hand, repeating her name; and then he was in a bland room, with chairs and colorful magazines, and someone in a lab coat was standing over him. He looked up and blinked. Time seemed to slow down then. He took a slow breath. Now he was shaking, but out of anxiety.

"…How is she?" he finally found the courage to ask, though still fearing the answer.